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Broken at last by threats more terrible.

Then among streams and flowers
She parted then, and would not hear me more, The little winged Powers
Nor see me. And now three times the naked reaper Went singing carols without torch or bow:
Has clipped the spiky harvest, and as often

The nymphs and shepherds sat
The winter shaken down from the fair woods Mingling with innocent chat
Their tresses green, since I have tried in vain Sports and low whispers; and with whispers low
Every thing to appease her, except death.

Kisses that would not go. Nothing remains indeed but that I die!

The maiden, budding o'er,
And I shall die with pleasure, being certain Kept not her bloom uneyed,
That it will either please her, or be pitied;

Which now a veil must hide,
And I scarce know which of the two to hope for. Nor the crisp apples which her bosom bore:
Pity perhaps would more remunerate

And oftentimes, in river or in lake,
My faith, more recompence my death; but still The lover and his love their merry bath would take.
I must not hope for aught that would disturb
The sweet and quiet shining of her eyes,

'Twas thou, thou, Honour, first And trouble that fair bosom, built of bliss.

That didst deny our thirst
Its drink, and on the fount thy covering set:

Thou bad’st kind eyes withdraw
O lovely age of gold!

Into constrained awe,
Not that the rivers rolled

And keep the secret for their tears to wet:
With milk, or that the woods dropped honey dew; Thou gatheredst in a net
Not that the ready ground

The tresses from the air,
Produced without a wound,

And mad'st the sports and plays
Or the mild serpent had no tooth that slew; Turn all to sullen ways,
Not that a cloudless blue

And put'st on speech a rein, in steps a care.
For ever was in sight,

Thy work it is,-thou shade that wilt not move,Or that the heaven which burns,

That what was once the gift, is now the theft of And now is cold by turns,

Looked out in glad and everlasting light;
No, nor that ev’n the insolent ships from far

Our sorrows and our pains,
Brought war to no new lands, nor riches worse than These are thy noble gains!
But solely that that vain

[war: But oh, thou Love's and Nature's masterer, And breath-invented pain,

Thou conq’ror of the crowned, That idol of mistakes, that worshipped cheat, What dost thou on this ground, That Honour,-since so called

Too small a circle for thy mighty sphere? By vulgar minds appalled,

Go and make slumber dear Played not the tyrant with our nature yet.

To the renowned and high: It had not come to fret

We here, a lowly race, The sweet and happy fold

Can live without thy grace, Of gentle human-kind;

After the use of mild antiquity.
Nor did its hard law bind

Go; let us love; since years
Souls pursed in freedom; but that law of gold, No trace allow, and life soon disappears.
That glad and golden law, all free, all fitted, Go; let us love: the daylight dies, is born;
Which Nature's own hand wrote,–What pleases, But unto us the light
is permitted.

Dies once for all; and sleep brings on eternal night.



Lured by the gentle meaning of his looks;
And the wild antelope, that starts whene'er
The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspend
Her timid steps to gaze upon a form
More graceful than her own.


SOLITUDE. There was a poet, whose untimely tomb No human hands with pious reverence reared, But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness : A lovely youth,—no mourning maiden decked With weeping flowers, or white cypress wreath, The lone couch of his everlasting sleep:Gentle, and brave, and generous, no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh: He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude. Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes, And virgins, as unknown he past, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those orbs has ceased to burn, And silence, too enamoured of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.

By solemn vision, and bright silver dream, His infancy was nurtured. Every sight And sound from the vast earth and ambient air, Sent to his heart its choicest impulses. The fountains of divine philosophy Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great, Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past In truth, or fable consecrates, he felt And knew. When early youth had past, he left His cold fireside and alienated home To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness Has lured his fearful steps; and he has bought With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men, His rest and food. Nature's most secret steps He like her shadow has pursued, where'er The red volcano over-canopies Its fields of snow and pinnacles of ice With burning smoke, or where bitumen lakes On black bare pointed islets ever beat With sluggish surge, or where the secret caves, Rugged and dark, winding among the springs Of fire and poison, inaccessible To avarice or pride, their starry domes Of diamond and of gold expand above Numberless and immeasurable halls, Frequent with crystal column, and clear shrines Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chrysolite. Nor had that scene of ampler majesty Than gems or gold, the varying of heaven And the green earth lost in his heart its claims To love and wonder; he would linger long In lonesome vales, making the wild his home, Until the doves and squirrels would partake From his innocuous hand his bloodless food,

His wandering step, Obedient to high thoughts, has visited The awful ruins of the days of old: Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste Where stood Jerusalem, the fallen towers Of Babylon, the eternal pyramids, Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange Sculptured on alabaster obelisk, Or jasper tomb, or mutilated sphynx, Dark Æthiopia in her desert hills Conceals. Among the ruined temples there, Stupendous columns, and wild images Of more than man, where marble dæmons watch The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around, He lingered, poring in memorials Of the world's youth; through the long burning day Gazed in those speechless shapes, nor, when the moon Filled the mysterious halls with floating shades Suspended he that task, but ever gazed And gazed, till meaniug on his vacant mind Flashed like strong inspiration, and he saw The thrilling secrets of the birth of time,




So now my summer task is ended, Mary,
And I return to thee, mine own heart's home;
As to his queen some victor knight of faery,
Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome;
Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame become
A star among the stars of mortal night,
If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom,
Its doubtful promise thus I would unite
With thy beloved name, thou child of love and light.

The toil which stole from thee so many an hour
Is ended. And the fruit is at thy feet!
No longer where the woods to frame a bower
With interlaced branches mix and meet,
Or where with sound like many voices sweet
Water-falls leap among wild islands green
Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat
Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen:
But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been,

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Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the when first


power, The clouds which wrap this world from youth did Which says:-let scorn be not repaid with scorn. I do remember well the hour which burst

And from thy side two gentle babes are born My spirit's sleep: a fresh Maydawn it was,

To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we When I walked forth upon the glittering grass,

Most fortunate beneath life's beaming morn; And wept I knew not why; until there rose And these delights, and thou, have been to me From the near school-rooin, voices, that alas! The parents of the song I consecrate to thee. Were but one echo from a world of woes, The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.

Is it that now my inexperienced fingers

But strike the prelude to a loftier strain ? And then I clasped my hands and looked around- Or must the lyre on which my spirit lingers But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, Soon pause in silence ne'er to sound again, Which poured the warm drops on the sunny Though it might shake the anarch Custom's reign, ground

And charm the minds of men to Truth's own sway, So without shame, I spake:-“ I will be wise, Holier than was Amphion's ? it would fain And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies

Reply in hope-but I am worn away, [prey. Such power; for I grow weary to behold

And death and love are yet contending for their The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.” I then controuled

And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and

Time may interpret to his silent years. bold.

Yet in the paleness of thy thoughtful cheek,

And in the light thine ample forehead wears, And from that hour did I with earnest thought And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears, Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore;

And in thy gentle speech, a prophecy Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught

Is whispered to subdue my fondest fears: I cared to learn, but from that secret store

And through thine eyes, even in thy soul I see Wrought linked armour for my soul, before

A lamp of vestal fire burning internally,
It might walk forth to war among mankind; [more
Thus power and hope were strengthened more and

They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, Within me, till there came upon my mind

Of glorious parents, thou aspiring child. A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined.

I wonder not for one then left this earth

Whose life was like a setting planet mild, Alas, that love should be a blight and snare

Which clotbed thee in the radiance undefiled To those who seek all sympathies in one!

Of its departing glory; still her fame Such once I sought in vain; then black despair,

Shines on thee, through the tempests dark and wild The shadow of a starless night, was thrown

Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim Over the world in which I moved alone:

The shelter from thy sire, of an immortal name. Yet never found I one not false to me, Hard hearts, and cold, like weights of icy stone

One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit, Which crushed and withered mine, that could not be

Which was the echo of three thousand years; Aught but a lifeless clog until revived by thee.

And the tumultuous world stood mute to hear it,

As some lone man, who in a desart hears Thou friend, whose presence on my wintery heart The music of his home :-unwonted fears Fell like bright spring upon some herbless plain ; Fell on the pale oppressors of our race, How beautiful and calm and free thou wert And faith and custom and low-thoughted cares, In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain Like thunder-stricken dragons, for a space (place. Of custom thou didst burst and rend in twain, Left the torn human heart, their food and dwelling And walked as free as light the clouds among, Which many an envious slave then breathed in vain

Truth's deathless voice pauses among mankind! From his dim dungeon, and my spirit sprung

If there must be no response to my cryTo meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long.

If men must rise and stamp with fury blind

On his pure name who loves them,-thou and I, No more alone through the world's wilderness, Sweet friend! can look from our tranquillity Although I trod the paths of high intent,

Like lamps into the world's tempestuous night,I journeyed now: no more companionless,

Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by, Where solitude is like despair, I went.

Which wrap them from the foundering seaman's There is the wisdom of a stern content,


(light. When poverty can blight the just and good, That burn from year to year with unextinguished When infamy dares mock the innocent, And cherished friends turn with the multitude To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood !


It was a temple, such as mortal hand Now has descended a serener hour,

Has never built, nor ecstacy, nor dream And with inconstant fortune friends return;

Reared in the cities of enchanted land:


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'Twas likest heaven, ere yet day's purple stream Their own deep fire--soon as the woman came Ebbs o'er the western forest, while the gleam Into that hall, she shrieked the spirit's name Of the unrisen moon among the clouds

And fell; and vanished slowly from the sight. Is gathering,—when with many a golden beam Darkness arose from her dissolving frame, The thronging constellations rush in crowds, Which gathering filled that dome of woven light, Paving with fire the sky and the marmoreal floods. Blotting its sphered stars with supernatural night. Like what may be conceived of this vast dome, Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glide When from the depths which thought can seldom In circles on the amethystine floor, Genius beholds it rise, his native home, [pierce, Small serpent eyes wailing from side to side, Girt by the desarts of the universe:

Like meteors on a river's grassy shore, Yet, nor in paintings light, or mightier verse, They round each other rolled, dilating more Or sculpture's marble language, can invest

And more, then rose commingling into one, That shape to mortal sense,—such glooms immerse One clear and mighty planet, hanging o'er That incommunicable sight, and rest

A cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrown Upon the labouring brain, and overburthened breast. Athwart the glowing steps, and the crystalline

throne. Winding among the lawny islands fair, Whose blossomy forests starred the shadowy deep, The cloud which rested on that cone of flame The wingless boat paused where an ivory stair Was cloven ; beneath the planet sate a form, Its fretwork in the crystal sea did sleep,

Fairer than tongue can speak, or thought may frame, Encircling that vast fane's aerial heap:

The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm We disembarked, and through a portal wide Flowed forth, and did with softest light inform We past,—whose roof, of moonstone carved, did keep The shadowy dome, the sculptures and the state A glimmering o'er the forms on every side, [eyed. Of those assembled shapes—with clinging charm, Sculptures like lise and thought; immoveable,deep- Sinking upon their hearts and mine.-He sate

Majestic, yet most mild-calm, yet compassionate. We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof (sheen Was diamond, which had drunk the lightning's In darkness, and now poured it through the woof

FROM ROSALIND AND HELEN. Of spell-enwoven clouds hung there to screen Its blinding splendour,-through such veil was seen “ Lo, where red morning through the woods That work of subtlest power divine and rare; Is burning o'er the dew;" said Rosalind. [flood Orb above orb, with starry shapes between,

And with these words they rose, and towards the And horned moons, and meteors strange and fair,

Of the blue lake, beneath the leaves now wind On night-black columns poised-one hollow he- With equal steps and fingers intertwined; misphere!

Thence to a lonely dwelling, where the shore

Is shadowed with steep rocks, and cypresses Ten thousand columns in that quivering light Cleave with their dark green cones the silent skies, Distinct,-between whose shafts wound far away And with their shadows the clear depths below, The long and labyrinthine aisles more bright And where a little terrace from its bowers, With their own radiance than the heaven of day;

Of blooming myrtle and faint lemon-flowers, And on the jasper walls around there lay

Scatters its sense-dissolving fragrance o’er Paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought,

The liquid marble of the windless lake; Which did the spirit's history display;

And where the aged forest's limbs look hoar, A tale of passionate change, divinely taught, Under the leaves which their green garments make, Which in their winged dance unconscious Genii

They come: 'lis Helen's home, and clean and white, wrought.

Like one which tyrants spare on our own land Beneath there sate on many a sapphire throne

In some such solitude; its casements bright The great, who had departed from mankind;

Shone through their vine-leaves in the morning sun,

And even within 'twas scarce like Italy. [ned, A mighty senate ;--some whose white hair shone Like mountain snow, mild, beautiful, and blind.

And when she saw how all things there were planSome, female forms, whose gestures beamed with

As in an English hoine, dim memory mind;

Disturbed poor Rosalind: she stood as one

Whose mind is where his body cannot be,
And ardent youths, and children bright and fair;
And some had lyres, whose strings were intertwined

Till Helen led her where her child yet slept,
With pale and clinging flames, which ever there

And said, “ Observe, that brow was Lionel's, Walked, faint yet thrilling sounds, that pierced the

Those lips were his, and so he ever kept crystal air.

One arm in sleep, pillowing his head with it.

You cannot see his eyes, they are two wells One seal was vacant in the midst, a throne

Of liquid love: let us not wake him yet.” Reared on a pyramid, like sculptured flame

But Rosalind could bear no more, and wept Distinct, with circling steps, wbich rested on A shower of burning tears, which fell upon

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His face, and so his opening lashes shone

Wilt thou be, when the sea-mever With tears unlike his own, as he did leap

Flies, as once before it flew, In sudden wonder from his innocent sleep.

O'er thine isles depopulate,

And all is in its antient state, So Rosalind and Helen lived together

Save where many a palace gate Thenceforth, changed in all else, yet friends again,

With green sea-flowers overgrown Such as they were, when o'er the mountain heather

Like a rock of ocean's own, They wandered in their youth, through sun and rain.

Topples o'er the abandoned sea And after many years, for human things

As the tides change sullenly. Change even like the ocean and the wind,

The fisher on his watery way, Her daughter was restored to Rosalind,

Wandering at the close of day, And in their circle thence some visitings

Will spread his sail and seize his oar Of joy ’mid their new calm would intervene:

Till he pass the gloomy shore, A lovely child she was, of looks serene,

Lest thy dead should, from their sleep And motions which o'er things indifferent shed

Bursting o'er the starlight deep, The grace and gentleness from whence they came.

Lead a rapid masque of death
And Helen's boy grew with her, and they fed

O'er the waters of his path.
From the same flowers of thought, until each mind
Like springs which mingle in one flood became,

Those who alone thy towers behold
And in their union soon their parents saw

Quivering through aerial gold, The shadow of the peace denied to them.

As I now behold them here, And Rosalind, for when the living stem

Would imagine not they were Is cankered in its heart, the tree must fall,

Sepulchres, where human forms, Died ere her time; and with deep grief and awe

Like pollution-nourished worms,
The pale survivors followed her remains

To the corpse of greatness cling,
Beyond the region of dissolving rains,
Up the cold mountain she was wont to call

Murdered, and now mouldering:

But if Freedom should awake Her tomb; and on Chiavenna's precipice

In her omnipotence, and shake They raised a pyramid of lasting ice,

From the Celtic Anarch's hold Whose polished sides, ere day had yet begun,

All the keys of dungeons cold,
Caught the first glow of the unrisen sun,

Where a hundred cities lie
The last, when it had sunk; and through the night Chained like thee, ingloriously,
The charioteers of Arctos wheeled round

Thou and all thy sister band
Its glittering point, as seen from Helen's home,
Whose sad inhabitants each year would come,

Might adorn this sunny land,

Twining memories of old time
With willing steps climbing that rugged height, With new virtues more sublime;
And hang long locks of hair, and garlands bound

If not, perish thou and they,
With amaranth flowers,which, in the clime's despite, Clouds which stain truth's rising day
Filled the frore air with unaccustomed light:

By her sun consumed away,
Such flowers, as in the wintry memory bloom

Earth can spare ye: while like flowers, Of one friend left, adorned that frozen tomb.

In the waste of years and hours,
Helen, whose spirit was of softer mould,

From your dust new nations spring
Whose sufferings too were less, death slowlier led With more kindly blossoming.
Into the peace of his dominion cold:

Perish ! let there only be
She died among her kindred, being old.

Floating o'er thy hearthless sea, And know, that if love die not in the dead

As the garment of thy sky As in the living, none of mortal kind

Clothes the world immortally,
Are blest, as now Helen and Rosalind.

One remembrance, more sublime
Than the tattered pall of time,

Which scarce hides thy visage wan;

That a tempest-cleaving swan

Of the songs of Albion,
Sun-girt City, thou hast been

Driven from his ancestral streams Ocean's child, and then his queen;

By the might of evil dreams, Now is come a darker day,

Found a nest in thee; and ocean And thou soon must be his prey,

Welcomed him with such emotion If the power that raised thee here

That its joy grew his, and sprung Hallow so thy watery bier.

From his lips like music flung A less drear ruin then than now,

O'er a mighty thunder-fit, With thy conquest-branded brow

Chastening terror: what though yet Stooping to the slave of slaves

Poesy's unfailing river, From thy throne, among the waves

Which through Albion winds for ever,

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