To the Spirit of her Lover.

Wilt thou follow me into the wild?
Wilt thou follow me over the plain?
Art thou from earth or from heaven exil'd?
Or how comes thy spirit at large to remain?

Vision of beauty, vision of love,
Follow me, follow me over the earth;
Ne'er leave me, bright shadow, wherever I rove,
For dead is my soul to the accents of mirth.

Thou formest my pleasure, thou formest my pain;
I see thee, but wo is my eye-sight to me;
Thy heavenly phantom doth near me remain,
But ah! thy reality where shall I see?
In the darkness of night, as I sit on the rock,
I see a thin form on the precipice brink;
Oh! Lover illusive, my senses to mock--
'Tis madness presents if I venture to think.

Unreal that form which now hovers around,
Unreal those garments which float on the wind,
Unreal those footsteps that touch not the ground,
Unreal those features, wan vision, I find.

Oh! vain combination!--oh! embodied mist!
I dare not to lean on thy transparent form;
I dare not to clasp thee, tho' sadly I list--
Thou would'st vanish, wild spirit, and leave me forlorn.

Ah! wilt thou not fall from that edge of the steep?
The pale moon obliquely shines over the lake;
The shades are deceptive below is the deep,
And I see thy fair form in its clear waters shake.

Yet ah! I forget, thou art light as a breath;
That aerial form, which no atoms combine,
Might dizzily sport down the abyss of death,
Or tremble secure on the hazardous line.

That hand unsubstantial, oh! might it but press
These temples, which beat with the madness of love;
Oh! let, if thou seest my frantic distress,
Some sign of emotion thy consciousness prove.

Lo! see thy dim arms are extending for me;
Thy soul then exists, comprehends, and is mine;
The life now is ebbing which mine shall set free;
Ah! I feel it beginning to mingle with thine.