492 BENJAMIN T. GUSHING. [1850-60. I longed to be immortal ; longed to be Like Saj^pho, early lost ! — or Hemans, gone In light eternal — and weave minstrelsy Such as could charm to life th' "Undy- ing One," Or that bright spirit's, who, on Avon's shore, Made Avon's swans " deem Shakspeare lived once more ! " But not alone my fancy soared to reach The heaven of Invention — there was one Whose lightest whisper to my soul could teach A thrilling music — one whose every tone Came o'er my spirit like the fitful wing Of the soft zephyr o'er th' ^olian string ! In my gay rambles at the morn or eve He wandered by my side — knew all my dreams Of passion or of poesy — could grieve When I did grieve — joy in my joy's glad streams ; He sought my flowers, foreran my slight- est want, Nor asked return save what my love could grant ! My love I gave — and thenceforth he be- came Part of my being — for the child of song Loves not with common fervor — the rich flame Blazes at once intense and trebly strong ; Destined to prove, in its ethereal fire, A heavenly beacon or a funeral pyre ! Mine was absorbing as the air of light. The flower of dew — the earth of sum- mer rain — I lived but in his presence ; all my bright And beauteous dreams were clustered in his train ; For him I wished to pluck Corinna's crown, Or draw the glorious notes of angels down! Nay more — I promised to forswear the wreath For which I panted — 'tend his humble cot; Drive home his bleating kine across the heath — The world forgetting, by the world for- got! Blessed in his smile forego all else beside. And lose a kingdom to become his bride ! But he betrayed his trust and left my side. Won by a golden charm and simpering tongue, To woo a richer — not a fairer bride. And I was now alone ! The chords that rung With music and with joy were torn apart — My lips were silent; but it broke my heart ! The flowers have lost their beauty — song its charms — The earth is barren — drear the frowning sky— A bride, I give me into death's cold arms, Yet cannot curse my murderer ere I die! Farewell, my harp — I swell thy strings no more — My dreams of Love and Fame are sadly o'er! COMPLAINT OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. By my lone casement in the eve I'm sitting Looking far out upon the deep blue sky, " Fretted with golden fires," wliile clouds are flitting Across its face. Beneath, the forests lie, And plains and hills in distance ; and the falling Of sheeny waters flashes on my sight —
