"The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon Was a proud temple called the Parthenon; More beauty clung around her column'd wall Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal, And when old Time my wing did disenthral Thence sprang I--as the eagle from his tower, And years I left behind me in an hour. What time upon her airy bounds I hung, One half the garden of her globe was flung Unrolling as a chart unto my view-- Tenantless cities of the desert too! Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then, And half I wish'd to be again of men." "My Angelo! and why of them to be? A brighter dwelling place is here for thee-- And greener fields than in yon world above, And woman's loveliness--and passionate love." "But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft Fail'd, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft, Perhaps my brain grew dizzy--but the world I left so late was into chaos hurl'd-- Sprang from her station, on the winds apart, And roll'd, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart. Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar And fell--not swiftly as I rose before, But with a downward, tremulous motion thro' Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto! Nor long the measure of my falling hours, For nearest of all stars was thine to ours-- Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth, A red Daedalion on the timid Earth." "We came--and to thy Earth--but not to us Be given our lady's bidding to discuss: We came, my love; around, above, below, Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go, Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod _She_ grants to us, as granted by her God-- But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurl'd Never his fairy wing o'er fairier world! Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes Alone could see the phantom in the skies, When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea-- But when its glory swell'd upon the sky, As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye, We paused before the heritage of men, And thy star trembled--as doth Beauty then!" Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away The night that waned and waned and brought no day. They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts Who hear not for the beating of their hearts. _TO F----S S. O----D_ [Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood] Thou wouldst be loved?--then let thy heart From its present pathway part not! Being everything which now thou art, Be nothing which thou art not. So with the world thy gentle ways, Thy grace, thy more than beauty, Shall be an endless theme of praise, And love--a simple duty. _BRIDAL BALLAD_ The ring is on my hand. And the wreath is on my brow; Satin and jewels grand Are all at my command, And I am happy now. And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my bosom swell-- For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seemed _his_ who fell In the battle down the dell, And who is happy now.