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Fred. I'll be a miser of thee; watch thee ever: In thy most soft and winning eloquence;
At morn, at noon, at eve, and all the night.

In woman's gentleness and love (now bent
We will have clooks that with their silver chime On me, so poor) shall lie my argument.
Shall measure out the moments: and I'll mark
The time, and keep love's pleasant calendar.

To day I'll note a smile: to-morrow how
Your bright eyes spoke-how saucily; and then

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 chesnut tree. In autumn, gentle as the touch that falls

Thou shalt sing by night, On serenader's moonlit instrument

When no birds are calling, Nothing shall pass unheeded. Thou shalt be

And the stars are falling
My household goddess-nay smile not, nor shake

Brightly from their mansions bright.
Backwards thy clustering curls, 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,
There was a statuary once who lov'd

The gay, and all who loved us well.
And worshipped the white marble that he shaped ; But we'll not profane
Till, as the story goes, the Cyprus' queen,

Such a gentle hour,
Or some such fine kind-hearted deity,

Nor our favourite bower,
Touch'd the pale stone with life, and it became

With a thought that tastes of pain.
At last, Pygmalion's bride: but thee-on whom
Nature had lavish'd all her wealth before,
Now love has touch'd with beauty: doubly fit

For human worship thou, thou—let me pause,
My breath is gone.
Gia. With talking.

“ Yes,-mixed with these wild visionings, a form Fred. With delight.

Descended, fragile as a summer cloud,

And with her gentle voice she stilled the storm: But I may worship thee in silence, still. Gia. The evening's dark; now I must go: farewell

I never saw her face, and yet I bowed

Down to the dust, as savage men, they say,
Uotil to-morrow,

Adore the sun in countries far away.
Fred. Oh! not yet, not yet.
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

At Una's feet, without a single moan,
And bids you tarry: will you disobey
The lady of the sky ? beware.

Vanquish'd by love; or as the herds that hung

Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung. Gia. Farewell.

- I never saw her,-never: but her voice Nay, nay, I must go. 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

Mourn: I am come to share it. I, whom all For one long night: to-morrow bid me come (Thou hast already with thine eyes) and bring

Have worshipped like a shrine, have left the hall 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 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 him 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 him 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 hung. In the clear veins that wind thy neck beside, “ You saw her, Marcian-No?"_" My love, my '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 dove, Heap'd in thick tresses on thy shoulders fair; Who soothed one in the wilderness, and crept In thy calm dignity; thy modest sense;

Into my heart, and o'er my folly wept

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From dusky evening to the streaming morn,

Showers of sparkling tears. Oh! how forlorn
Was I without thee. Should I lose thee now-
“ Away, away,” she said, and on his brow

O thou vast Ocean! ever sounding sea!
Pressed her vermillion lips, and drew his hair

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 To read of this in song: it brings again

At once, and on thy heavily laden breast The 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 Be flung away, or trampled by the crowd

Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare As a thing of little 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: Thy grateful servant am I, for thy power

Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; Has 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, I turned me to thy crystal cup and drank

And come again, and vanish: the young spring Intoxicating draughts. Faithfullest friend,

Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, Most faithful—perhaps best—when none were nigh, And winter always winds his sullen horn, Unto 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, How thankful was I unto the night wind

A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour, Alone,-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
Tis said once wandered from her wastes of blue, Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves
And all for love; filling a shepherd's dreams Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
With beauty and delight. He slept, he slept, I love to wander on thy pebbled beach,
And on his eyelids white the huntress wept Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
Till morning; and looked thro', on nights like this, And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach-
His lashes dark, and left her dewy kiss.-

“ Eternity, eternity, and power.
But never more upon the Latmos hill
May she descend to kiss that forest boy,
And give-receive gentle and innocent joy,

When clouds are distant far, and winds are still:

The Vale of Enna.
Her bound is circumscribed, and curbed her will.
-Those were immortal stories :—are they gone?

The pale queen is dethroned. Endymion

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


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Is this of Enna! every thing that comes

In the centre of the world,
From the green earth, springs here more graciously; Where the sinful dead are hurled?
And the blue day, methinks, smiles lovelier now

Mark him as he moves along
Than it was wont, even in Sicily.

Drawn by horses black and strong, My spirit mounts as triumphing, and my heart,

Such as may belong to night In which the red blood hides, seems tumulted

Ere she takes her morning flight. By some delicious passion. Look, above,

Now the chariot stops: the god Above-how nobly through the cloudless sky

On our grassy world hath trod : The great Apollo goes!—Jove's radiant son

Like a Titan steppeth he, My father's son: and here, below, the bosom

Yet full of his divinity. of the green earth is almost hid by flowers.

On his mighty shoulders lie Who would be sad to-day! come round, and cast

Raven locks, and in his eye Each one her odorous heap from out her lap,

A cruel beauty, such as none
Into one pile. Some we'll divide amongst us,

Of us may wisely took upon.
And, for the rest, we'll fling them to the hours;
So may Aurora's path become more fair,

Proser. He comes indeed. How like a god he looks! And we be blest in giving.,

Terribly lovely-shall I shun his eye,
Here-this rose

Which even here looks brightly beautiful? (This one half blown) shall be my Maia's portion, What a wild leopard glance he has.-I am For that like it her blush is beautiful:

Jove's daughter, and shall I then deign to fly? And this deep violet, almost as blue

I will not: yet, methinks, I fear to stay. As Pallas' eye, or thine, Lycimnia,

Come, let us go, Cyane. I'll give to thee; for like thyself it wears

(Pluto enters.] Its sweetness, never obtruding. For this lily,

Pluto. Stay, oh! stay. Where can it hang but at Cyane's breast?

Proserpina, Proserpina, I come And yet 'twill wither on so white a bed,

From my Tartarean kingdom to behold you. If flowers have sense for envy:- It shall lie

The brother of Jove am I. I come to say Amongst thy raven tresses, Cytheris,

Gently, beside this blue Sicilian stream, Like one star on the bosom of the night.

How much I love you, fair Proserpina. The cowslip, and the yellow primrose,--they Think me not rude that thus at once I tell Are gone, my sad Leontia, to their graves ;

My passion. I disarm me of all power; And April hath wept o'er them, and the voice And in the accents of a man I sue, Of March hath sung, even before their deaths, Bowing before your beauty. Brightest maid! The dirge of those young children of the year. Let me-still unpresuming—say I have But here is heart's-ease for your woes. And now, Roamed through the earth, where many an eye hath The honeysuckle flower I give to thee,

smiled And love it for my sake, my own Cyane:

In love upon me, though it knew me not; It hangs upon the stem it loves, as thou

But I have passed free from amongst them all, Hast clung to me, thro' every joy and sorrow; To gaze on you alone. I might have clasped It flourishes with its guardian's growth, as thou dost; Lovely and royal maids, and throned queens, And if the woodmau's axe should droop the tree, Sea nymphs, and airy shapes, that glide along The woodbine too must perish.— Hark! what Like light across the hills, or those that make Do ye see aught?

(sound- Mysterious music in the desert woods,

Or lend a voice to fountains or to caves,

Or answering hush the river's sweet reproachBehold, behold, Proserpina !

Oh! I've escaped from all, to come and tell Dark clouds from out the earth arise,

How much I love you, sweet Proserpina.
And wing their way towards the skies,
As they would veil the burning blush of day.

And, look! upon a rolling car,

Come with me, away, away, Some fearful being from afar

Fair and young Proserpina. Comes onward. As he moves along the ground,

You will die unless you fee, A dull and subterranean sound

Child of crowned Cybele. Companions him; and from his face doth shine, Think of all your mother's love, Proclaiming him divine,

Of every stream and pleasant grove A light that darkens all the vale around.

That you must for ever leave,

If the dark king you believe.

Think not of his eyes of fire,
'Tis he, 'tis he: he comes to us

Nor his wily heart's desire,
From the depths of Tartarus.

Nor the locks that round his head
For what of evil doth he roam

Run like wreathed snakes, and fing
From his red and gloomy home,

A shadow o'er his eyes glancing;




Nor, the dangerous whispers hung,

Come round me, virgins. Am I then betrayed? Like honey, roofing o'er his tongue.

O fraudful king! But think of all thy mother's glory

Pluto. No, by this kiss, and this: Of her love-of every story

I am your own, my love, and you are mine
Of the cruel Pluto told,

For ever and for ever.-Weep Cyane.
And which grey Tradition old,
With all its weight of grief and crime,
Hath plucked from out the grave of time.

They are gone,

afar-afar: Once again I bid thee flee,

Like the shooting of a star, Daughter of great Cybele.

See,-their chariot fades away.

Farewell, lost Proserpina.
Proser. You are too harsh, Cyane.
Pluto. Oh! my love,

(Cyane is gradually transformed.) Fairer than the white Naiad-fairer far

But, ah! what frightful change is here: Than aught on earth, and fair as aught in heaven:

Cyane, raise your eyes, and hear! Hear me, Proserpina !

We call thee,-vainly; on the ground Proser. Away, away.

She sinks, without a single sound, I'll not believe you. What a cunning tongue

And all her garments float around. He has, Cyane; has he not ?-Away.

Again, again, she rises,-light; Can the gods flatter?

Her head is like a fountain bright, Pluto. By my burning throne !

And her glossy ringlets fall, I love you, sweetest: I will make you queen

With a murmur musical, Of my great kingdom. One third of the world

O'er her shoulders, like a river Shall you reign over, my Proserpina ;

That rushes and escapes for ever. you shall rank as high as any she,

-Is the fair Cyane gone? Save one, within the starry court of Jove,

And is this fountain left alone Proser. Will you be true ?

For a sad remembrance, where Pluto. I swear it. By myself!

We may in after times repair, Come then, my bride.

With heavy heart, and weeping eye, Proser. Speak thou again, my friend.

To sing songs to her memory? Speak, harsh Cyane, in a harsher voice, And bid me not believe him. Ah! you droop Oh ! then farewell: and now with hearts that mourn Your head in silence.

Deeply, to Dian's temple will we go: Pluto. Come, my brightest queen!

But ever on this day we will return, Come, beautiful Proserpina, and see

Constant, to mark Cyane's fountain flow: The regions over which your husband reigns; And haply,-for among us who can know His palaces, and radiant treasures, which

The secrets written on the scrolls of fate, Mock and outstrip all fable; his great power,

A day may come, when we may cease our woe; Which the living own, and wandering ghosts obey, And she, redeemed at last from Pluto's hate, And all the elements.—Oh! you shall sit

Rise in her beauty old, pure, and regenerate.
On my illuminated throne, and be
A queen indeed; and round your forehead shall run
Circlets of gems, as bright as those which bind

The brows of Juno on heav'n's festal nights,
When all the gods assemble, and bend down

Must it be ?-then farewell,
In homage before Jove.

Thou whom my woman's heart cherished so long: Proser. Speak out, Cyane !

Farewell, and be this song Pluto. But, above all, in my heart shall you reign The last, wherein I say " I loved thee well." Supreme, a goddess and a queen indeed, Without a rival. Oh! and you shall share

Many a weary strain My subterranean power, and sport upon

(Never yet heard by thee) bath this poor breath

Uttered, of love and death,
The fields Elysian, where, 'midst softest sounds,
And odours springing from immortal flowers,

And maiden grief, hidden and chid in vain. And mazy rivers, and eternal groves

Oh! if in after years Of bloom and beauty, the good spirits walk:

The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart, shall take your station in the skies

Bid not the pain depart;
Nearest the queen of heaven, and with her hold

But shed, over my grave, a few sad tears.
Celestial talk, and meet Jove's tender smile,
So beautiful

Think of me-still so young,
Proser. Away, away, away.

Silent, tho' fond, who cast my


away, Nothing but force shall ever-Ah! away

Daring to disobey I'll not believe-fool that I am to smile.

The passionate spirit that around me clung.

And you

Farewell again; and yet,

Was never fashioned in a summer dream, Must it indeed be somand on this shore

Where Nymph or Naiad from the hot sunbeam Shall you and I no more

Might hide, or in the waters cool her feet. Together see the sun of the summer set?

-A lovelier rivulet was never seen For me, my days are gone:

Wandering amidst Italian meadows, where

Clitumnus lapses from his fountain fair; No more shall I, in vintage times, prepare

Nor in that land where gods, 'tis said, have been; Chaplets to bind my hair,

Yet there Cephisus ran thro' olives green, As I was wont: oh 'twas for you alone.

And on its banks Aglaia bound her hair.
But on my bier I'll lay
Me down in frozen beauty, pale and wan,

Perhaps the lady of my love is now
Martyr of love to man,

Looking upon the skies. A single star
And, like a broken flower, gently decay.

Is rising in the east, and from afar
Sheds a most tremulous lustre: silent night

Doth wear it like a jewel on her brow:

But see, it motions, with its lovely light,
Onwards and onwards thro' those depths of blue,

To its appointed course stedfast and true.

So, dearest, would I fain be unto thee,
There is no river in the world more sweet, Stedfast for ever,-like yon planet fair;
Or fitter for a sylvan poet's dream,

And yet more like art thou a jewel rare. Than this romantic solitary stream,

Oh! brighter than the brightest star, to me, Over whose banks so many branches meet,

Come hither, my young love; and I will wear Entangling:-a more shady bower or neat

Thy beauty on my breast delightedly.

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