Know'st thou not ghosts to sue No love thou hast. Else lie, as I will do, And breathe thy last. So out of Life's fresh crown Fall like a rose-leaf down. Thus are the ghosts to woo; Thus are all dreams made true, Ever to last! _SONG FROM THE SHIP._ FROM "DEATH'S JEST-BOOK." To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er; The wanton water leaps in sport, And rattles down the pebbly shore; The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort, And unseen Mermaids' pearly song Comes bubbling up, the weeds among. Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar: To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er. To sea, to sea! Our wide-winged bark Shall billowy cleave its sunny way, And with its shadow, fleet and dark, Break the caved Tritons' azure day, Like mighty eagle soaring light O'er antelopes on Alpine height. The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, The sails swell full. To sea, to sea! _SONG._ My goblet's golden lips are dry, And, as the rose doth pine For dew, so doth for wine My goblet's cup; Rain, O! rain, or it will die; Rain, fill it up! Arise, and get thee wings to-night, Ætna! and let run o'er Thy wines, a hill no more, But darkly frown A cloud, where eagles dare not soar, Dropping rain down. _SONG._ FROM "THE SECOND BROTHER." Strew not earth with empty stars, Strew it not with roses, Nor feathers from the crest of Mars, Nor summer's idle posies. 'T is not the primrose-sandalled moon, Nor cold and silent morn, Nor he that climbs the dusty noon, Nor mower war with scythe that drops, Stuck with helmed and turbaned tops Of enemies new shorn. Ye cups, ye lyres, ye trumpets know, Pour your music, let it flow, 'T is Bacchus' son who walks below. _SONG, BY TWO VOICES._ FROM "THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY." FIRST VOICE. Who is the baby, that doth lie Beneath the silken canopy Of thy blue eye? SECOND. It is young Sorrow, laid asleep In the crystal deep. BOTH. Let us sing his lullaby, Heigho! a sob and a sigh. FIRST VOICE. What sound is that, so soft, so clear, Harmonious as a bubbled tear Bursting, we hear? SECOND. It is young Sorrow, slumber breaking, Suddenly awaking. BOTH. Let us sing his lullaby, Heigho! a sob and a sigh. [Decoration] _SONG._ FROM "TORRISMOND." How many times do I love thee, dear? Tell me how many thoughts there be In the atmosphere Of a new-fall'n year, Whose white and sable hours appear The latest flake of Eternity:-- So many times do I love thee, dear. How many times do I love again? Tell me how many beads there are In a silver chain Of evening rain, Unravelled from the tumbling main, And threading the eye of a yellow star:-- So many times do I love again. [Illustration: Full-page Plate] [Decoration] WILLIAM COX BENNETT. 1820 _CRADLE SONG._