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The sky is changed!—and such a changel Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder | Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud 1

And this is in the night:—Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber 1 let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black,-and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.

Now where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted; Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted theirlife's bloom, and then departed:– Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters, war within themselves to wage.

Now, where the quick Rhone thus has cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand: For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around ; of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath forked His lightnings, as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation worked, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurkcd.

Sky, mountains, rivers, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests l is the goal Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest


“Aditu, adieu ! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue ;
The Night-winds sign, the breakers roar
And shrieks the wild seamew.
Yon Sun that sets upon he sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land–Good night !

* A few short hours and He wisl rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies.
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.

“And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me !
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again,
He'd tear me where he stands.

“With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine ;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome ye dark-blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves'
My native Land–Good Night!"

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The inoon is up and yet it is not night—
Sunset divides the sky with her—a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast Iris of the West,
Where the day joins the past eternity;
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
Floats through the azure air—an island of the blest

A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Rolled o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill,
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaimed her order:—gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil
The odorous purple of a new-born rose,

Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it


- Filled with the face of leaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon the waters; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,
Their magical variety diffuse:
And now they change ; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away

Tie last still loveliest, till—-'tis gone.--and all is gray



Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man imarks the earth with ruin—his control Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknow.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, where are they ! Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realins to deserts:—not so thou. Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow— Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

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