LVI.

That light skiff, bird-like, closely nearing now,
Shows one therein whose eyes are fixed on her,
Those eyes that sunk beneath his sickly brow,
And wan as lights within their sepulchre,
Now soften with the look familiar

Of unforgotten ties! he springs to land,

And they embrace as those whose spirits are
United whose affections more expand,

As time and distance knit them with a stronger band.

LVII.

The Sister's love, the holy, and the pure,

Recals again all Nature's wonted force

Even in TASSO! other loves endure

To perish, lighted at an earthlier source,
Dimmed by doubt, fear, or buried in remorse:

Oh, if there be one pure receptacle,

One feeling flowing purer in its course,

One love an Angel might not blush to tell,

'Tis when a Sister's heart to thine doth fondly swell!

LVIII.

The exile came for quiet: to forget

The blighted hope, the inexpiable wrong :
To soften here in solitude regret

Of a love stamped immortal in his song!
Which, but for him, had lain the dead among,
Unheard, unknown; oh, if thou would'st conceal
Forms once loved, memories that too busy throng;
If inmost wounds, corroding, thou would'st heal,
Each sight, each sound shall, there, those forms to

life reveal;

LIX.

All thou would'st exorcise-the flower, the star,
Shall be the links of Memory's thrilling chain,
Vibrating on thy heart, until they wear

Its pulse away: so didst thou feel how vain
To waken here thy boyhood's dream again;
Until, for very refuge, thou didst fly

From Nature's ever fresh and joyous reign,

Back to the deserts of humanity,

To bear hate-scorn

remorse-to madden-and to die!

LX.

It is the hour when her sweet cheek, though faded,

Hath more on it of beauty's heavenly spell,

Her brow with dews, her feet with roses braided,
Meek Twilight turns to bid the Earth farewell!
How doth his darkened brow his sadness tell!

Yet is a softness pictured there, ye trace
Reflected, oh, how eloquently well,

The beauty of his parting Sister's face:

Stealing from her, expression's melancholy grace.

LXI.

For oh, round her departing tread how lingers

Beauty, enamoured of her to the last!

How while grey Evening shuts, with silent fingers,
The Gates of Day, she throws on him, ere past,
Her loveliest look; and even, while closing fast
Those cloudy portals, doth she lingering yearn,
Her eyes with a prophetic feeling cast

On him, who watches bent above his urn

Of roses, which shall bloom no more till she return!

LXII.

Blest hour of Twilight! who could feel thy power,

Or from Minerva's ruined shrine behold

The earth, undying beauty for its dower:

The Sky-the deep Sea's music round him rolled,

Nor feel, Italia! what thou wert of old,

And-what thou art: nor, Freedom! call to thee

Even with a kindred spirit uncontrolled :

Until the Song with passionate melody,

Exults o'er all thou wert-on all thou yet shalt be!

ODE

AMONG THE RUINS OF THE TEMPLE OF MINERVA,

ON THE PROMONTORY OF SORRENTO.

Italia, oh, Italia! now,

1.

While bending o'er this fallen shrine,

I trace upon thy glorious brow

The lines by Nature stamped divine;

The spirit that hues thy land and sea ;

Let me pour

forth my soul to thee !

2.

The ardent thoughts that fill my breast,
That prophet-like, my soul inspire:

The hope that from its eagle nest,

Rises upon its wings of fire!

Whence swells this passion's burst so free,

Thou glorious shrine! save caught from thee?

3.

The Spectres of the mighty Dead,

I feel, unseen, are hovering near:

The Spirits of forty Ages fled

Pour down prophetic breathings here; Till, like the Delphic priest of old,

The god is from my bosom rolled!

4.

Birth-place of heroes-shrine of Gods!

All shrunk within one nameless tomb,

Memory's unchangeable abodes:

Oh! can it be, youth's purple bloom

Once clad these wrecks around me hurled?

Once graced the garden of the world?

Y