Nay! but I love (the why I cannot say) Her cold steppes in their silent majesty, Her waving woodlands in their boundless play, Her flooded rivers spreading like the sea. I love to drive adown her country lanes, With longing glance piercing the shades of night, Sighing for rest, to catch thro’ distant panes The glimmering of some mournful village light. I love to see the smoke of smouldering stalk; To watch the waggons o’er the wide waste wend; Or, on hillside, ’mid yellowing fields, to mark The pair of birch trees their white arms extend. With a delight, unknown except to few, Love I to note the well-filled threshing-floor, The peasant’s hut, half hidden in the straw, The shutters with quaint carvings covered o’er; And with no less delight, on holiday, From dewy eve till noon of night, to gaze Upon the dance, with stamp and whistling gay, Amid the roar the merry rustics raise. _TO ----._ We stand apart, yet still thy pictured face I fondly press to this sad heart of mine-- A vision pale, of happiest years a trace, My soul rejoices in this gift of thine. For, though to passions new I’m now resigned, That once-loved face I cannot cease to love; The shrine forsaken still retains the shrined; O’erthrown the image, yet God reigns above. _THE DAGGER._ Well do I love thee, my dagger of steel, My comrade so bright and so cold! Thou wast forged in hate by a Georgian fell, For the fierce fight edged by Circassian bold. Thee to me as a gift did a lily hand bear In the moment of sad farewell; For that once no blood, but a glittering tear, A pearl of passion, adown thee fell. Fixed upon mine, her dark black eyes Full of mysterious sorrow seemed; As plays thy blade when flickering flames arise, Darkling they gloomed, and then they brightly gleamed. Dumb pledge of love to cheer my cheerless way, To wanderer lone a useful guide, My strength of soul I never shall betray, But true like thee, true steel, will I abide! ⁂ No! not for thee flames thus my love’s hot blast; Thy brilliant beauty is not thine for me. In thee I love a passion of the past; My long-lost youth I live again in thee. For when at times entranced I gaze upon thee, Fixing on thy bright eyes a yearning glance, To thee my heart is silent, while beyond thee With her I hold mysterious utterance. I speak with her, my friend of earlier blisses; In your soft lines another’s form I trace. On living lips I press long-silent kisses; In your sweet eyes I see a vanished face. _DISPUTE._[4]