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Fred. I'll be a miser of thee; watch thee ever: In thy most soft and winning eloquence;
In woman's gentleness and love (now bent
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,
And the stars are falling
Of those thy song shall tell
From whom we've never parted, Fred. Oh! not so.
The young, the tender-hearted,
The gay, and all who loved us well.
Such a gentle hour,
Nor our favourite bower,
With a thought that tastes of pain.
FROM MARCIAN COLONNA.
MARCIAN AND JULIA.
“ Yes,-mixed with these wild visionings, a form Fred. With delight.
Descended, fragile as a summer cloud, But I may worship thee in silence, still.
And with her gentle voice she stilled the storm : 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,
Adore the sun in countries far away.
I felt the music of her words like balm
Raining upon my soul, and I grew calm On lovers reunited. Why, she smiles,
As the great forest lion that lay down And bids you tarry: will you disobey
At Una's feet, without a single moan, The lady of the sky? beware.
Vanquish'd by love; or as the herds that hung Gia. Farewell.
Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung. Nay, nay, I must go.
-I never saw her,-never: but her voice 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 For one long night: to-morrow bid me come
Mourn: I am come to share it. I, wliom all (Thou hast already with thine eyes) and bring
Have worshipped like a slırine, 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,
And be a dweller with thee in the woods."
He ended, and with kisses sweet and soft
No more upon the past, but look aloft
Again the story of that lady young,
Who o'er him in such dream-like beauty hung. 'Till in the white depths of thy breast they hide,
You saw her, Marcian-No?"_“ My love, my
love, And in thy polish'd forehead, and thy hair Heap'd in thick tresses on thy shoulders fair;
My own,” he said, “ 'twas thou, my forest dove,
Who soothed me in the wilderness, and crepe
Came And How Alone
Sle Exce And And Be se
lear Whe Wei The You
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FROM THE SAME.
From dusky evening to the streaming morn,
ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
O thou vast Ocean! ever sounding sea!
Thou symbol of a dread immensity!
Thou thing that windest round the solid world “ Come, thou shalt lie upon-aye, on my breast,
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurlid
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone.
Thou speakest in the east and in the west
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life
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
Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare
Give answer to the tempest-waken air;
But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range
At will, and wound its bosom as they go:
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow;
But to their stated rounds the seasons come,
And come again, and vanish: the young spring
When the wild autumn with a look forlorn
Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies
-Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power,
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour,
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven
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 stretch thine arms, and warat once with heaven.
On thee no record ever lived again
To meet the hand that writ it: lipe nor lead
King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said,
Can move the mighty oceau into storm
Oh! wonderful thou art, great element:
And lovely in repose: thy summer form
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach
“ Eternity, eternity, and power.”
THE RAPE OF PROSERPINE.
The Vale of Enna.
Proser. Now come and sit around me,
And I'll divide the flowers, and give to each
What most becomes her beauty. What a vale
lore; ar is the lence when the net er,-terer: bathetic
F Fait Tha Hea
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
Of us may wisely took upon.
Proser. He comes indeed. How like a god he looks!
Terribly lovely—shall I shun his eye, lere-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
My passion. I disarm me of all power;
Bowing before your beauty. Brightest maid!
Let me—still unpresuming-say I have
hath But here is heart's-ease for your woes. And now,
Roamed through the earth, where many an eye 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
Sea nymphs, and airy shapes, that glide along
Like light across the hills, or those that make
Mysterious music in the desert woods,
Or lend a voice to fountains or to caves, Behold, behold, Proserpina!
Or answering hush the river's sweet reproachDark clouds from out the earth arise,
Oh! I've escaped from all, to come and tell And wing their way towards the skies,
How much I love you, sweet Proserpina.
Come with me, away, away,
Fair and young Proserpina. A dull and subterranean sound
You will die unless you flee, Companions him; and from his face doth shine,
Child of crowned Cybele. Proclaiming him divine,
Think of all your mother's love, A light that darkens all the vale around.
Of every stream and pleasant grove
That you must for ever leave,
If the dark king you believe.
Think not of his eyes of fire,
Nor his wily heart's desire,
Nor the locks that round his head
Run like wreathed snakes, and ding
Cc TE HE M W A
Nor, the dangerous whispers hung,
Come round me, virgins. Am I then betrayed ?
O fraudful king!
Pluto. No, by this kiss, and this:
I am your own, my love; and you are mine
For ever and for ever.
They are gone,
Like the shooting of a star,
See, their chariot fades away.
Farewell, lost Proserpina.
(Cyane is gradually transformed.)
But, ah! what frightful change is here?
Cyane, raise your eyes, and hear!
We call thee,—vainly; on the ground
She sinks, without a single sound,
And all her garments float around.
Again, again, she rises,-light;
Her head is like a fountain bright,
And her glossy ringlets fall,
With a murmur musical,
O'er her shoulders, like a river
That rushes and escapes for ever.
- Is the fair Cyane gone?
And is this fountain left alone
For a sad remembrance, where
We may in after times repair,
With heavy heart, and weeping eye,
To sing songs to her memory?
Deeply, to Dian's temple will we go:
But ever on this day we will return,
Constant, to mark Cyane's fountain flow:
The secrets written on the scrolls of fate,
Rise in her beauty old, pure, and regenerate.
THE LAST SONG.
Must it be — then farewell,
Thou whom my woman's heart cherished so long :
Farewell, and be this song
Many a weary strain
(Never yet heard by thee) bath this poor breath The fields Elysian, where, 'midst softest sounds,
Uttered, of love and death,
And maiden grief, hidden and chid in vain.
Oh! if in after years
The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart,
Bid not the pain depart;
But shed, over my grave, a few sad tears.
Think of me--still so young,
Silent, tho' fond, who cast my life away,
Daring to disobey
The passionate spirit that around me clung.
Farewell again; and yet,
Was never fashioned in a summer dream, Must it indeed be so—and on this shore
Where Nymph or Naiad from the bot 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 No more shall I, in vintage times, prepare
Clitumnus lapses from his fountain fair;
Nor in that land where gods, 'tis said, have been; Chaplets to bind my hair,
Yet there Cephisus ran thro' olives green,
And on its banks Aglaia bound her hair.
Perhaps the lady of my love is now
Looking upon the skies. A single star
Is rising in the east, and from afar
But 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,
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.
'T Tha Coo Whe Twa Fors 'T
T AN Wh An AM WE
1 As HI