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Stamp Yet ve
Moun And Wher
He w To he A mi Amic Or si And Heh
Their loads of green through all the year,
She whom I loved bas fled; Laurel, and dusky juniper:
And now with the lost dead So may some friends, whose social talk
I rank her; and the heart that loved her so, I love, there take their evening walk,
(But could not bear her pride,) And spend a frequent holiday.
In its own cell hath died,
And turn'd to dust,,but this she shall not know.
'Twould please her did she think Stored with books of poesy,
That my poor frame did shrink, Tale, science, old morality,
And waste and wither; and that love's own light Fable, and divine history,
Did blast its temple, where Ranged in separate cases round,
'Twas worshipped many a year; Each with living marble crown'd;
Veild (like some holy thing) from human sight. Here should Apollo stand, and there
Oh! had you seen her when
She languished, and the men
Turned, but returned again
To mark the winding vein Or the wing’d Mercurius,
Steal tow'rd her marbled bosom silently. Or some that conquest lately brought
What matters this :-thou Lyre, From the land Italian.
Nothing shall e'er inspire And one I'd have, whose heaving breast
Thy master to rehearse those songs again : Should rock me nightly to my rest,
She whom he loved is gone, By holy chains bound fast to me,
And he, now left alone,
Sings, when he sings of love, in vain, in vain.
TO A CHILD. (Else, haply, she might change as soon,)
Fairest of earth's creatures! Or Portia, that high Roman dame,
All thy innocent features Or she who set the world on flame,
Moulded in beauty do become thee well. Spartan Helen, who did leave
Oh! may thy future years Her husband-king to grieve,
Be free from pains, and fears, And fled with Priam's shepherd-boy,
False love, and others envy, and the guile And caus'd the mighty tale of Troy.
That lurks beneath a friendlike smile,
And all the various ills that dwell She should be a woman who
In this so strange compounded world; and may (Graceful without much endeavour)
Thy look be like the skies of May, Could praise or excuse all I do,
Supremely soft and clear, And love me ever.
With, now and then, a tear I'd have her thoughts fair, and her skin
For joy, or others sorrows, not thy own; White as the white soul within;
And may thy sweet voice
Like a stream afar
Flow in perpetual music, and its tone
Be joyful, and bid all who hear rejoice. As did of old Pygmalion.
And may thy bright eye, like a star,
And take in all the beauty of the flowers,
Which thou may'st note above thee
Brightly the passion rose,
And, till it's turbulent close,
Deem me not false, ye fair,
Who, with your golden hair And soft
chain man's heart to yours: the deer Thus bound by beauty's chain
Wanders not again :
His Wh And His
Shine sweet, and cheer the hearts that love thee,
Deep woods and running brooks, and the rich sights
At noontide, or on interlunar nights,
B A T H
GUIDO AND ISABEL.
And love for innocence, when thou didst face Speak of forbearance, 'till from her pouting lip
She frowned, and wore that self-betraying air
That women loved and flattered love to wear.
Oft would he, as on that same spot they lay
Beneath the last light of a summer's day, And note all things below that own a grace,
Tell (and would watch the while her stedfast eye,) Mountain, and cataract, and silent lake,
How on the lone Pacific he had been, And wander in the fields of poesy,
When the sea lion on his watery way
Went rolling thro' the billows green,
He rambled in his boyhood far away,
And spoke of other worlds and wonders fair
And mighty and magnificent, for he He was the last of all his race, and fled
Had seen the bright sun worshipp'd like a god
Upon that land where tirst Columbus trod; To haughty Genoa where the Dorias reigned :
And travelled by the deep Saint Lawrence' tide, A mighty city once, tho' now she sleeps
And by Niagara's cataracts of foam, Amidst her amphitheatre of hills,
And seen the wild deer roam
Amongst interminable forests, where
The serpent and the savage have their lair
Together. Nature there in wildest guise
Stands undebased and nearer to the skies; And budding girls when first their dreamings faint
And midst her giant trees and waters wide Shew them such forms as maids may love. He stood
The bones of things forgotten, buried deep, Fine as those shapely spirits heaven-descended,
Give glimpses of an elder world, espied
By us but in that fine and dreamy sleep,
When fancy, ever the inother of deep truth,
Breathes her dim oracles on the soul of youth.
CONCLUSION OF THE FALCON.
Giana! my Giana! we will have
Nothing but halcyon days: Oh! we will live Enough to say that she was born to bless.
As happily as the bees that hive their sweets, She was surpassing fair: her gentle voice
And gaily as the summer fly, but wiser: Came like the fabled music that beguiles
I'll be thy servant ever; yet not so.
Oh! my own love, divinest, best, I'll be
And thou shalt be iny flower perennial,
My heart, and thou shalt never never fade.
I'll love thee mightily, my queen, and in And Guido, with his arm 'round Isabel,
The sultry hours I'll sing thee to thy rest Unclasped the tresses of her chesnut hair,
With music sweeter than the wild birds' song:
And I will swear thine eyes are like the stars,
My gentle deity! I'll crown thee with
The whitest lilies and then bow me down And oh! 'twas sweet to see her delicate hand Love's own idolater, and worship thee. Pressed 'gainst his parted lips, as tho' to check And thou wilt then be mine? my love, love! In mimic anger all those whispers bland
How foodly will we pass our lives together;
And wander, beart-link'd, thro' the busy world
Gia. Oh! you rave.
A DRAMATIC SCENE.
MARCLAN AND JULIA.
Fred. I'll be a miser of thee; watch thee ever: In thy most soft and winning eloquence;
In woman's gentleness and love (now bent
Thou shalt sing to me Record a kiss pluck'd from your currant lip,
When the waves are sleeping, And say how long 'twas taking: then, thy voice
And the winds are creeping As rich as stringed harp swept by the winds
'Round the embowering chesaut tret. In autumn, gentle as the touch that falls
Thou shalt sing by night, On serenader's moonlit instrument
When no birds are calling,
And the stars are falling
Brightly from their mansions bright.
incredulous: I swear it shall be so: it shall, my love.
Of those thy song shall tell Gia. Why, now thou’rt mad indeed: mad.
From whom we've never parted, Fred. Oh! not so.
The young, the tender-hearted,
The gay, and all who loved us well.
Such a gentle hour,
Nor our favourite bower,
With a thought that tastes of pain.
FROM MARCIAN COLONNA.
“ Yes,-mixed with these wild visionings
, a la Fred. With delight.
Descended, fragile as a summer cloud, But I may worship thee in silence, still.
And with her gentle voice she stilled the stora: Gia. The evening's dark; now I must go: farewell
I never saw her face, and yet I bowed Until to-mortow.
Down to the dust, as savage men, they say, Fred. Oh! not yet, not yet.
Adore the sun in countries far away. Behold! the moon is up, the bright ey'd moon,
I felt the music of her words like balm And seems to shed her soft delicious light
Raining upon my soul, and I grew calm On lovers reunited. Why, she smiles,
As the great forest lion that lay down And bids you tarry: will you disobey
At Una's feet, without a single moan, The lady of the sky? beware.
Vanquish'd by love; or as the herds that hues Gia. Farewell.
Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung Nay, nay, I must go.
-I never saw her,-never : but her voice Fred. We will go together.
Was the whole world to me. It said. rejoice, Gia. It must not be to-night: my servants wait
For I am come to love thee, youth, at last, My coming at the fisher's cottage.
To recompense thy pains and sorrow past. Fred. Yet,
No longer now, amongst the mountains high, A few more words, and then I'll part with thee,
Shalt thou over thy single destiny For one long night: to-morrow bid me come Mourn: I am come to share it. I, whom all (Thou hast already with thine eyes) and bring
Have worshipped like a shrine, have left the be? My load of love and lay it at thy feet.
Of my proud parents, and without a sigh -Oh! ever while those floating orbs look bright,
Am come to roam by caverns and by floods, Shalt thou to me be a sweet guiding light.
And be a dweller with thee in the woods." Once, the Chaldean from his topmost tower
He ended, and with kisses sweet and soft Did watch the stars, and then assert their power
She recompensed his words, and bade bin dwell Throughout the world: so, dear Giana, I
No more upon the past, but look aloft Will vindicate my own idolatry.
And pray to heaven; and yet she bade hia tell And in the beauty and the spell that lies
Again the story of that lady young, In the dark azure of thy love-lit eyes;
Who o'er him in such dream-like beauty bung. In the clear veins that wind thy neck beside,
“ You saw her, Marcian-No:"_" My love, tj 'Till in the white depths of thy breast they hide,
love, And in thy polish'd forehead, and thy hair
My own,” he said, “ 'twas thou, my forest dore, Heap'd in thick tresses on thy shoulders fair;
Who soothed me in the wilderness, and crept In thy calm dignity; thy modest sense ;
Into my heart, and o'er my folly wept
FROM THE SAME.
From dusky evening to the streaming morn,
ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
O thou vast Ocean! ever sounding sea!
Thou symbol of a dread immensity! Aside and kissed again his forehead fair.
Thou thing that windest round the solid world • Come, thou shalt lie upon-aye, on my breast,
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurl'd And I will sing thee into golden rest.
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. Thus talked they, following, as lovers will; Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep A pleasant pastime,-and when worldly pain Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. Comes heavily on us, it is pleasant still
Thou speakest in the east and in the west [o read of this in song: it brings again
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast l'he hours of youth before man's jaded eye,
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life spreading a charm about him silently.
Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife. -Oh! never shall thy name, sweet Poesy,
The earth hath nought of this: no chance nor change 3e flung away, or trampled by the crowd
Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare Is a thing of little worth, while I aloud
Give answer to the tempest-waken air; May-(with a feeble voice indeed) proclaim
But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range The sanctity, the beauty of thy name.
At will, and wound its bosom as they go: Chy grateful servant am I, for thy power
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; las solaced me thro' many a wretched hour;
But to their stated rounds the seasons come, in sickness—aye, when frame and spirit sank, And pass like visions to their viewless home, 3 turned me to thy crystal cup and drank
And come again, and vanish: the young spring ntoxicating draughts. Faithfullest friend, Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, Tost faithful-perhaps best-when none were nigh, And winter always winds his sullen horn, Into thy green recesses did I send
When the wild autumn with a look forlorn My thoughts, and freshest rills of poesy
Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies Came streaming all around from fountains old; Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies. And so I drank and drank, and haply told
- Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power, low thankful was I unto the night wind
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour, llone,-a cheerless confidant, but kind.
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds Sleep softly, on your bridal pillows, sleep,
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven Excellent pair! happy and young and true;
Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind, And o'er your days, and o'er your slumbers deep
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind, And airy dreams, may love's divinest dew
And stretch thine arms, and warat once with heaven. Be scatter'd like the April rains of heaven : And may your tender words, whispered at even, Thou trackless and immeasurable main! Be woven into music; and as the wind
On thee no record ever lived again Leaves when it flies a sweetness still behind, To meet the hand that writ it: lipe nor lead When distant, may each silver-sounding tone Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps, Weigh on the other's heart, and bring (tho' gone) Where haply the huge monster swells and sleeps, The absent back; and may no envy sever
King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said, Your joys, but may each love-be loved for ever. Can move the mighty ocean into storm
Oh! wonderful thou art, great element: Now, as I write, lo! thro' my window streams And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent, The midnight moon-crescented Dian, who
And lovely in repose: thy summer form
Eternity, eternity, and power."
THE RAPE OF PROSERPINE.
The Vale of Enna.
Proser. Now come and sit around me, Hath vanished; and the worship of this earth And I'll divide the flowers, and give to each Is bowed to golden gods of vulgar birth.
What most becomes her beauty. What a vale
Is this of Enna! every thing that comes
In the centre of the world,
Mark him as he moves along
Drawn by horses black and strong,
Such as may belong to night
Ere she takes her morning flight.
Now the chariot stops: the god
On our grassy world hath trod :
Like a Titan steppeth he,
Yet full of his divinity.
On his mighty shoulders lie
Raven locks, and in his eye
A cruel beauty, such as none
Of us may wisely look upon.
Proser. He comes indeed. How like a god he looks!
Terribly lovely—shall I shun his eye,
Which even here looks brightly beautiful?
Jove's daughter, and shall I then deign to fly?
I will not: yet, methinks, I fear to stay.
Come, let us go, Cyane.
Pluto. Stay, oh! stay.
Proserpina, Proserpina, I come
From my Tartarean kingdom to behold you.
The brother of Jove am I. I come to say
Gently, beside this blue Sicilian stream,
How much I love you, fair Proserpina.
My passion. I disarm me of all power;
In love upon me, though it knew me not ;
But I have passed free from amongst them all,
(sound- Mysterious music in the desert woods,
Or lend a voice to fountains or to caves,
Or answering hush the river's sweet reproach-
Oh! I've escaped from all, to come and tell
How much I love you, sweet Proserpina.
Come with me, away, away,
Fair and young Proserpina.
Child of crowned Cybele.
Think of all your mother's love,
Of every stream and pleasant grove
That you must for ever leave,
If the dark king you believe.
Think not of his eyes of fire,
Nor his wily heart's desire,
Nor the locks that round his head
1 For what of evil doth he roam
Run like wreathed snakes, and fing
A shadow o'er his eyes glancing;