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THE EVENING STAR.
Lu! in the painted oriel of the West,
my beloved, my sweet Hesperus!
Tuou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
So long beneath the heaven's o'erhanging eaves,
TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of
gloom, With thoughtful pace, and sad, majestic eyes, Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise, Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom; Yet in thy heart what human sympathies, What soft compassion glows, as in the skies The tender stars their clouded lamps relume! Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks, By Fra Hilario in his diocese, As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, Thy voice along the cloister whispers, “Peace!”