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Thou dost: thou art the Spirit of pure Love
Dreamed by the sage of old, which filled the Whole ;
Whose inspirations quickening from above,
Entering, built up, yea, made the poet's soul !
Until his song, poured forth without control,
Became as deathless: thou art she, whose shrine
Still stands where Baiæ's azure waters roll;

In her air still is felt thy breath divine,
As mournfully thou sigh’st o'er haunts no longer thine!




I sit upon a craggy stone

Beneath the vine-embosomed hill;
The Waves are wildly round me thrown,

Each revelling in its own sweet will:
And blue as Ocean is the sky,
Lit by the Sun's all-cloudless eye!


The Spirit of intense delight

Lives here ; the air is joy revealing :
Vesuvius, from his purple height,

Seems basking in the common feeling :
One chain of harmony and love
Links all below-around-above.


And wherefore hangs this cloud of sadness

Upon my heart, when all is gay?
Why lights not upon me the gladness

That animates this glorious day?
It is that on this craggy stone
I feel the only thing-alone.

Yet heaven on earth around me lies!

Those sands—the blue waves dancing o'er : There is no dream of Paradise

Can rival this delicious shore !
The very winds that fragrance bear
Seem breath of incense borne from there.


The Mountains watch me from above;

The Waves invite with their glad voice: Nature smiles on me in her love,

And Heaven bids me alike rejoice :
Yet does my heart alone expand
With memories of my native land !

Yon Sky looked not upon my birth :

The lovelier shore on which I tread Is not my own-my Mother-earth;

I could not sleep within its bed !

I feel my very dust would join
My native Land! at last, with thine!


Even now, while blessing thee, thy hills,

Thy low hills rise before my eye, The greenness of thy herbage fills

My wearied heart refreshingly ! While, looking upward, fills my eye The witchery of thy soft blue Sky !

I see the leafy covert, green,

And rich and shadowy !-far within
Flashes of glancing sunlight seen ;

Glimpses of Paradise—which win
The eye to pierce their depths forbidden,
More dear-because in distance hidden !

I hear the wind-the joyous wind !

Exulting in the outward air,
While all so thick the branches twined,

It cannot rudely enter there;
But makes that music held so dear
By the rapt Poet's musing ear!


Lo-bosomed midst the shadowy trees,

Yon low thatched cottage peers in view ! Mine eye the sun-burnt reaper sees;

The gambols of his urchin crew :
I hear the harvest songs of home,
And marvel how I e'er could roam !


The angry Clouds, the rains that dash

Thy Landscape's changeful cheek with tears ! The rainbow's hue, the sun-light's flash,

Thy gentle calm the more endears :
The storm-the cold—the damp—the chill,
Are but the types of human will.

12. There is a sacred bond between

Man, and that spot where first the dawn, The blessed Light of Day was seen ;

Where first his breath of Life was drawn; Rocks—wastes-seas-mountains round him rise,

Home-home the unexiled spirit flies !

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