The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 474, Supplementary Number. Various

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      My sister! my sweet sister! if a name

      Dearer and purer were, it should be thine,

      Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim

      No tears, but tenderness to answer mine.

      Go where I will, to me thou art the same—

      A loved regret which I would not resign.

      There yet are two things in my destiny—

      A world to roam through, and a home with thee.

      The first were nothing—had I still the last,

      It were the haven of my happiness;

      But other claims and other ties thou hast,

      And mine is not the wish to make them less.

      A strange doom is thy father's son's, and part

      Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;

      Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore—

      He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.

      If my inheritance of storms hath been

      In other elements, and on the rocks

      Of perils overlook'd or unforeseen,

      I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks,

      The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen

      My errors with defensive paradox;

      I have been cunning in mine overthrow,

      The careful pilot of my proper woe.

      Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.

      My whole life was a contest, since the day

      That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd

      The gift—a fate, or will, that walk'd astray;

      And I at times have found the struggle hard,

      And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay:

      But now I fain would for a time survive,

      If but to see what next can well arrive.

      Kingdoms and empires in my little day

      I have outlived, and yet I am not old;

      And when I look on this, the petty spray

      Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd

      Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away:

      Something—I know not what—does still uphold

      A spirit of slight patience—not in vain,

      Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.

      Perhaps the workings of defiance stir

      Within me—or perhaps a cold despair,

      Brought on when ills habitually recur—

      Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air,

      (For even to this may change of soul refer,

      And with light armour we may learn to bear,)

      Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not

      The chief companion of a calmer lot.

      I feel almost at times as I have felt

      In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,

      Which do remember me of where I dwelt

      Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,

      Come as of yore upon me, and can melt

      My heart with recognition of their looks:

      And even at moments I could think I see

      Some living thing to love—but none like thee.

      Here are the Alpine landscapes which create

      A fund for contemplation.—to admire

      Is a brief feeling of a trivial date;

      But something worthier do such scenes inspire:

      Here to be lonely is not desolate.

      For much I view which I could most desire,

      And, above all, a lake I can behold

      Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.

      Oh that СКАЧАТЬ