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Its very hush and creeping Seem whispering us a smile:— Something divine and dim Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of Cherubim, Who say, “We’ve finished here.”

SONG.

WRITTEN TO BE SET TO MUSIC BY WINCENT Now Ello.

When lovely sounds about my ears
Like winds in Eden's tree-tops rise,
And make me, though my spirit hears,
For every luxury close my eyes,
Let none but friends be round about
Who love the smoothing joy like me,
That so the charm be felt throughout,
And all be harmony.

And when we reach the close divine,
Then let the hand of her I love
Come with its gentle palm on mine
As soft as snow or lighting dove;
And let, by stealth, that more than friend
Look sweetness in my opening eyes,
For only so such dreams should end,
Or wake in Paradise.

TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON, ow His DEPARTURE FOR ITALY AND GREECE. Dio ti dia, baron, ventura.-Pulci.

Since you resolve, dear Byron, once again
To taste the far-eyed freedom of the main,
And as the coolness lessens in the breeze,
Strike for warm shores that bathe in classic seas,
May all that hastens, pleases, and secures,
Fair winds and skies, and a swift ship, be yours,
Whose sidelong deck affords, as it cuts on,
An airy slope to lounge and read upon;
And may the sun, cooled only by white clouds,
Make constant shadows of the sails and shrouds;
And may there be sweet, watching moons at night,
Or shows, upon the sea, of curious light;
And morning wake with happy-blushing mouth,
As though her husband still had “eyes of youth;”
While fancy, just as you discern from far
The coasts of Virgil and of Sannazzar,
May see the nymphs emerging, here and thers,
To tie up at the light their rolling hair.

I see you now, half eagerness, halfease,
Ride o'er the dancing freshness of the seas;
I see you now (with fancy's eyesight too)
Find, with a start, that lovely vision true,
While on a sudden, o'er the horizon's line
Phoebus looks forth with his long glance divine,
At which old ocean's white and shapely daughters
Crowd in the golden ferment of the waters,
And halcyons brood, and there's a glistering show
Of harps, midst bosoms and long arms of snow;
And from the breathing sea, in the God's eye,
A gush of voices breaks up to the sky
To hail the laurelled bard, that goes careering by.

And who, thus gifted, but must hear and see
Wonders like these, approaching Italy —
Enchantress Italy,–who born again
In Gothic fires, woke to a sphery strain,
And rose and smiled, far lovelier than before,
Copier of Greece, and Amazon no more,
But altogether a diviner thing,
Fit for the Queen of Europe's second spring,
With fancies of her own, and finer powers
Not to enslave these mere outsides of ours, [flowers.
But bend the godlike mind, and crown it with her

Thus did she reign, bright-eyed, with that sweet
Long in her ears; and right before her throne [tone
Have sat the intellectual Graces three,
Music, and Painting, and wing'd Poetry, [fac'd,
Of whom were born those great ones, thoughtful-
That led the hierarchy of modern taste;—
Heavenly composers, that with bow symphonious
Drew out, at last, music's whole soul harmonious;
Poets, that knew how Nature should be wooed,
With frank address, and terms heart-understood;
And Painters, worthy to be friends of theirs,
Hands that could catch the very finest airs
Of natural minds, and all that soul express
Of ready concord, which was made to bless,
And forms the secret of true amorousness.

Not that our English clime, how sharp soe'er,
Yields in ripe genius to the warmest sphere;
For what we want in sunshine out of doors,
And the long leisure of abundant shores,
By freedom, may by sufferance, is supplied,
And each man's sacred sunshine, his fire-side.
But all the four great Masters of our Song,
Stars that shine out amidst a starry throng,
Have turned to Italy for added light,
As earth is kissed by the sweet moon at night;-
Milton for half his style, Chaucer for tales,
Spenser for flowers to fill his isles and vales,
And Shakspeare's self for frames already done
To build his everlasting piles upon.
Her genius is more soft, harmonious, fine;
Our's bolder, deeper, and more masculine:
In short, as woman's sweetness to man's force,
Less grand, but softening by the intercourse,
So the two countries are, so may they be,
England the high-souled man, the charmer Italy.

But I must finish, and shall chatter less
On Greece, for reasons which yourself may guess.
Only remember what you promised me
About the flask from dark-welled Castaly,–
A draught, which but to think of, as I sit,
Makes the room round me almost turn with wit.
Gods! What may not come true, what dream divine,
If thus we are to drink the Delphic wine!

Remember too elsewhere a certain town, Whose fame, you know, Caesar will not handon

And pray, my Lord, in Italy take care, You that are poet, and have pains to bear, Of lovely girls, that step across the sight, Like Houris in a heaven of warmth and light, With rosy-cushioned mouths, in dimples set, And ripe dark tresses and glib eyes of jet. The very language, from a woman's tongue, Is worth the finest of all others sung.

And so adieu, dear Byron-dear to me For many a cause, disinterestedly;First, for unconscious sympathy, when boys, In friendship, and the Muse's trying joys:Next for that frank surprise, when Moore and or Came to my cage, like warblers kind and tre, And told me, with your arts of cordiallying, How well I look'd, when you both thogo Next for a rank worn simply, and the scom soOf those who trifle with an age free-bomFor early storms, on Fortune's basking short, That cut precocious ripeness to the core:For faults unhidden, other's virtues owned; Nay, unless Cant's to be at once enthroned, For virtues too, with whatsoever blended, Ande'en were none possessed,fornone roLastly, for older friends—fine hearts, held o Through every dash of chance, from first.” For taking spirit as it means to beFor a stretched hand, ever the same tomer And total, glorious want of vile hypocrio.

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'Tis like thy patient valour thus to keep,
Great Kosciusko, to the rural shade,
While Freedom's ill-found amulet stillio”
Pretence for old aggression, and a heap
of selfish mockeries. There, as in theo
Of stormier fields, thou, earnest with th; *
Transformed, not inly altered, to the spade, sr.
Thy never-yielding right to a calm sleep. .
Nature, 'twould seem, would leave to o:
The small and noisier parts of this wo"
And keep the calm green amplitude"
Sacred from fopperies and inconson' .
Cities may change, and sovereign; o tis Ji,
Thou, and the country old, be still the *
12th November, 1816.

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\nd you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, aving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, Dne to the fields, the other to the hearth, [strong Both have your sunshine; both though small are At your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song, In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth. 30th December, 1816.

WRITTEN UNDER THE ENGRAVING or A PortRAIT of RAFAEL, PAINTED BY HIMSELF when HE was Young.

Rafael ! It must be he: we only miss
Something which manhood gave him, and the fair;
A look still sweeter and more thoughtful air;
But for the rest, 'tis every feature his,
The oval cheek, clear eye, mouth made to kiss,
Terse lightsome chin, and flush of gentle hair
Clipped ere it loitered into ringlets there,
The beauty, the benignity, the bliss.
How sweetly sure he looks: how unforlorn!
There is but one such visage at a time;
'Tis like the budding of an age new born,
Remembered youth, the cuckoo in the prime,
The maid's first kiss, or any other thing
Most lovely, and alone, and promising.

To BENJAMiN Robert HAYDoN.

Haydon, whom now the conquered toil confesses
Painter indeed, gifted, laborious, true,
Fit to be numbered in succession due
With Michael, whose idea austerely presses,
And sweet-soul’d Raphael with his amorous tresses:
Well hast thou urged thy radiant passage through
A host of clouds; and he who with thee grew,
The bard and friend, congratulates and blesses.
'Tis glorious thus to have one's own proud will,
And see the crown acknowledged that we earn;
But nobler yet, and nearer to the skies,
To feel one's-self, in hours serene and still,
One of the spirits chosen by heaven to turn
The sunny side of things to human eyes.

1816.

The Nile.

It flows through old hushed AEgypt and its sands,
Like some grave mighty thoughtthreading a dream,
And times and things, as in that vision, seem
Keeping along it their eternal stands,-
Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands
That roamed through the young world, the glory
extreme
Of high Sesostris, and that Southern beam,
"he laughing queen that caught the world's great
hands.
Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong,
As of a world left empty of its throng,
And the void weighs on us; and then we wake,

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