without strife subdued, the ready slave, So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly—       Yieldeth my soul to thee! Therefore my soul doth from its lord depart, Because, beloved, its native home thou art; Because the twins recall the links they bore, And soul with soul, in the sweet kiss of yore, Meets and unites once more! Thou, too—Ah, there thy gaze upon me dwells, And thy young blush the tender answer tells; Yes! with the dear relation still we thrill, Both lives—though exiles from the homeward hill—       One life—all glowing still! 

         MELANCHOLY—TO LAURA.     Laura! a sunrise seems to break Where'er thy happy looks may glow. Joy sheds its roses o'er thy cheek, Thy tears themselves do but bespeak The rapture whence they flow; Blest youth to whom those tears are given—    The tears that change his earth to heaven; His best reward those melting eyes—    For him new suns are in the skies! Thy soul—a crystal river passing, Silver-clear, and sunbeam-glassing, Mays into bloom sad Autumn by thee; Night and desert, if they spy thee, To gardens laugh—with daylight shine, Lit by those happy smiles of thine! Dark with cloud the future far Goldens itself beneath thy star. Smilest thou to see the harmony Of charm the laws of Nature keep? Alas! to me the harmony Brings only cause to weep! Holds not Hades its domain Underneath this earth of ours? Under palace, under fame, Underneath the cloud-capped towers? Stately cities soar and spread O'er your mouldering bones, ye dead! From corruption, from decay, Springs yon clove-pink's fragrant bloom; Yon gay waters wind their way From the hollows of a tomb. From the planets thou mayest know All the change that shifts below, Fled—beneath that zone of rays, Fled to night a thousand Mays; Thrones a thousand—rising—sinking, Earth from thousand slaughters drinking Blood profusely poured as water;—    Of the sceptre—of the slaughter—    Wouldst thou know what trace remaineth? Seek them where the dark king reigneth! Scarce thine eye can ope and close Ere life's dying sunset glows; Sinking sudden from its pride Into death—the Lethe tide. Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise? Boastest thou those radiant eyes?—    Or that cheek in roses dyed? All their beauty (thought of sorrow!)    From the brittle mould they borrow. Heavy interest in the tomb For the brief loan of the bloom, For the beauty of the day, Death the usurer, thou must pay, In the long to-morrow! Maiden!—Death's too strong for scorn; In the cheek the fairest, He But the 

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