ove;
And she said "We will live gaily
In some sylvan hermitage,
Worshipping all beauty daily,
Till my foolish heart grow sage;
We will have sweet flowers about us,
Birds to sing from every tree
No suspicious friends to doubt us,
So we must live merrily!"

Thus they went, and of their marriage
Jesting spake the giddy world;
Nobles, pillow'd in their carriage,
Laugh'd aloud with proud lips curled,
And fair ladies smiled their pity,
With a sigh for mortal folly,
Whilst rich merchants in the city
Frown'd, and called it, "Melancholy."
What they said, or what they ponder'd
Little reck'd fair Annabel,
As with joyous hearts they wander'd
By green vale and shady dell;
And she cried "O! life was never
Made to be ambition's fool,
Bound in fashion's chains, and ever
Banish'd from the Beautiful!"

TO JENNY LIND.

ON HER RE-APPEARANCE IN ENGLAND

MAY 4th. 1848.

Summer hath come, led on by sunny May
The blue-eyed, round whose brow the first pure ray
That trembles from the opening gates of dawn
Still seems to circle, and the mossy lawn,
As they glide gently onward, ever breathes
A beauty and a fragrance, which enwreathes
Within the being until every thought
With a strange mystery of joy is fraught.
And where the hazel forms a leafy screen
Of verdant matting, the cuckoo, unseen,
Chaunts forth her woodnotes through the stilly air,
Whose silent motions far the accents bear.
And thou hast come, sweet Nightingale! once more
O'er our entranced spirits to outpour
Thy liquid warblings! 'Mid the flow'rets' scent
And summer's gladness rises interblent
Thy loving welcome! Not the bird that sighs
Her thrilling love-tale through the moonlit skies
Of Italy, as erst to Juliet's ear
From the pomegranate tree 'twas wafted near,
Seizes the soul with ravishment more sweet
Than thy soft tones, stealing unto the seat
Of passion, waking echoes in the breast
Of love, and purity, and quiet rest,
Murmuring through the windings of the soul,
Till interpenetrated is the whole
With holy harmonies, and blissful sense
Of joyance, and straightway is refted thence
All baser feeling, and all earthly leaven,
By the dear magic of that voice from heaven.
Fair Priestess of the Beautiful! that bringest
Missions of sweetness from above, and flingest
In a rich flood of song--now faint, yet clear
As Helicon's own murmur