Or worse; but 't is a bitter woe That love or reason cannot change The despot's rage, the slave's revenge.
Padua, thou within whose walls Those mute guests at festivals, Son and Mother, Death and Sin, Played at dice for Ezzelin,
Till Death cried, "I win, I win!" And Sin cursed to lose the wager, But Death promised, to assuage her, That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor, When the destined years were o'er, Over all between the Po And the eastern Alpine snow, Under the mighty Austrian. Sin smiled so as Sin only can,
And since that time, ay, long before, Both have ruled from shore to shore, That incestuous pair, who follow Tyrants as the sun the swallow, As Repentance follows Crime, And as changes follow Time.
In thine halls the lamp of learning, Padua, now no more is burning; Like a meteor, whose wild way Is lost over the grave of day, It gleams betrayed and to betray: Once remotest nations came To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth On this cold and gloomy earth: Now new fires from antique light Spring beneath the wide world's might; But their spark lies dead in thee, Trampled out by tyranny. As the Norway woodman quells, In the depth of piny dells, One light flame among the brakes, While the boundless forest shakes, And its mighty trunks are torn By the fire thus lowly born: The spark beneath his feet is dead, He starts to see the flames it fed Howling through the darkened sky With a myriad tongues victoriously, And sinks down in fear: so thou, O Tyranny, beholdest now Light around thee, and thou hearest The loud flames ascend, and fearest: Grovel on the earth; ay, hide In the dust thy purple pride!
Noon descends around me now: "T is the noon of autumn's glow, When a soft and purple mist, Like a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolvèd star,
Mingling light and fragrance, far From the curved horizon's bound To the point of heaven's profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie Underneath; the leaves unsodden Where the infant frost has trodden With his morning-wingèd feet, Whose bright print is gleaming yet; And the red and golden vines, Piercing with their trellised lines The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; The dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary tower In the windless air; the flower Glimmering at my feet; the line Of the olive-sandalled Apennine In the south dimly islanded; And the Alps, whose snows are spread High between the clouds and sun; And of living things each one;
And my spirit, which sɔ long
Darkened this swift stream of song,- Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky: Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from heaven like dew doth fall, Or the mind which feeds this verse Peopling the lone universe.
Noon descends, and after noon Autumn's evening meets me soon, Leading the infantine moon, And that one star, which to her Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings From the sunset's radiant springs: And the soft dreams of the morn (Which like wingèd winds had borne To that silent isle, which lies Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being) Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, And its ancient pilot, Pain, Sits beside the helm again.
Other flowering isles must be In the sea of life and agony; Other spirits float and flee O'er that gulf; even now, perhaps, On some rock the wild wave wraps, With folded winds they waiting sit For my bark, to pilot it To some calm and blooming cove, Where for me, and those I love, May a windless bower be built, Far from passion, pain, and guilt, In a dell 'mid lawny hills, Which the wild sea-murmur fills. And soft sunshine, and the sound Of old forests echoing round, And the light and smell divine Of all flowers that breathe and shine: -We may live so happy there,
That the spirits of the air, Envying us, may even entice
To our healing paradise
The polluting multitude;
But their rage would be subdued By that clime aivine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves; While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies;
And the love which heals all strife, Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood:
They, not it, would change; and soon 370 Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again!
STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES
THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent might: The breath of the moist earth is light
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