It was in this lone valley she would charm

The ling'ring noon, where flow'rs a couch had strown;

Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm

On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown :

And aye that volume on her lap is thrown

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.

Which every heart of human mould endears;

With Shakespeare's self she speaks and smiles alone,
And no intruding visitation fears,

To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest tears.

For, save her presence, scarce an ear had heard
The stock-dove plaining through its gloom profound,
Or winglet of the fairy humming-bird,

Like atoms of the rainbow, fluttering round;
Till chance had usher'd to its inmost ground
The stranger guest of many a distant clime;
He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound;
But late th' equator suns his cheek had tann'd,
And California's gales his roving bosom fann'd.

A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm,
He led dismounted; ere his leisure pace,
Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm,
Close he had come, and worshipp'd for a space
Those downcast features:-she her lovely face
Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame
Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace:
Iberian seem'd his boot-his robe the same,
And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became.

For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair
Has pointed where the father's mansion stood.
Returning from the copse he soon was there;
And soon as Gertrude hied from dark green wood;

Nor joyless, by the converse, understood,

Between the man of age and pilgrim young,

That gay congeniality of mood,

And early liking from acquaintance sprung:

Full fluently conversed their guest in England's tongue.

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.

And well could he his pilgrimage of taste
Unfold, and much they loved his fervid strain,—
While he each fair variety retraced

Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main :-
Now happy Switzer's hills,-romantic Spain,-
Gay lilied fields of France, or, more refined,
The soft Ausonia's monumental reign;

Nor less each rural image he design'd,

Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind.

Anon some wilder portraiture he draws;
Of Nature's savage glories he would speak,-
The loneliness of earth that overawes,-
Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique,
The llama-driver on Peruvia's peak,

Nor voice nor living motion marks around ;

But storks that to the boundless forest shriek ;
Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound,
That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado sound.

Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ply
Each earnest question, and his converse court;
But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why

A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short.
"In England thou hast been-and, by report,

An orphan's name (quoth Albert) mayst have known:

Sad tale!-when latest fell our frontier fort,

One innocent-one soldier's child-alone

Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my own.

66

Young Henry Waldegrave three delightful years

These very walls his infant sports did see;

But most I loved him when his parting tears

Alternately bedew'd my child and me:

SWEET SPIRIT OF MY LOVE.

His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee;
Nor half its grief his little heart could hold :
By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea-
They tore him from us when but twelve years old,
And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consoled."

His face the wand'rer hid; but could not hide
A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell;-
"And speak, mysterious stranger!" Gertrude cried;
"It is it is!-I knew-I knew him well!
'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to tell!"
A burst of joy the father's lips declare;
But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell!

At once his open arms embraced the pair,

Was never group more blest, in this wide world of care.

SWEET SPIRIT OF MY LOVE.

SWEET Spirit of my love!
Thro' all the world we walk apart :
Thou mayst not in my bosom lie:
I may not press thee to my heart,

Nor see love-thinking light thine eye:
Yet art thou with me. All my life
Orbs out in thy warm beauty's sphere;

My bravest dreams of thee are rife,
And, colour'd with thy presence, dear.

Thomas Campbell

SWEET SPIRIT OF MY LOVE.

Sweet Spirit of my love!

I know how beautiful thou art,

But never tell the starry thought:

I only whisper to my heart,

"She lights with heaven thy earthliest spot." And birds that night and day rejoice,

And fragrant winds, give back to me

A music ringing of thy voice,

And surge my heart's love-tide to thee.

Sweet Spirit of my love!

The Spring and Summer bloom-bedight,
That garland Earth with rainbow showers,-
Morn's kissing breath, and eyes of light,
That wake in smiles the winking flowers,
The air with honey'd fragrance fed,

The flashing waters,-soughing tree,-
Noon's golden glory,-sundown red,
Aye warble into songs of thee.

Sweet Spirit of my love!

When Night's soft silence clothes the earth,
And wakes the passionate bird of love;
And stars laugh out in golden mirth,
And yearning souls divinelier move;
When God's breath hallows every spot,
And, lapp'd in feeling's luxury,
The heart's break-full of tender thought;
Then art thou with me, still with me.

Sweet Spirit of my love!

I listen for thy footfall,- feel

Thy look is burning on me, such
As reads my heart: I sometimes reel

And throb, expectant for thy touch!