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And nearer to the river's trembling edge
And floating water-lilies, broad and bright,
With moonlight beams of their own watery light;
Under the bowers
Where the Oceap Powers Sit on their pearled thrones,
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones :
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams Weave a nel-work of colour'd light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves Are as green as the forest's night:
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark, Under the ocean foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts, They pass'd to their Dorian home.
Methought that of these visionary flowers
I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers
Were mingled or opposed, the like array
Within my hand, -and then, elate and gay,
And now from their fountains
In Enna's mountains, *Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Ai sud-rise they leap
From their cradles steep
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below,
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARISE from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me—who knows how? To thy chamber window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent streamThe champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must on thine, Beloved as thou art!
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling;
Of the dead cold year,
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day, This and the former poem were writt in at the request of a friend, to be inserted in a urama on the subject of Midas. Apollo and Pan contended before I'molus for the prize in music.
Speeded by my sweet pipinys. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With envy of my sweet pipings.
They from the throng of men had stepp'd aside,
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the dædal Earth, And of Heaven-and the giant wars,
And Love, and Death, and Birth,
And then I changed my pipings, — Singing how down the vale of Menalus
I pursued a maiden and clasp'd a reed : Gods and men, we are all deluded thus !
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed. All wept, as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.
« What think you, as she lies in her green cove,
ON THE SERCHIO.
Our boat is asleep in Serchio's stream,
Never mind, - said Lionol, • Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About yon poplar tops; and see, The white clouds are driving merrily, And the stars we miss this morn will light More willingly our return tv-night.List, my dear fellow, the breeze blows fair; How it scalters Dominic's long black hair, Singing of us, and our lazy motions, If I can guess a boat's emotions.-, The chain is loosed, the sails are spread, The living breath is fresh behind, As with dews and sunrise fed, Comes the laughing morning wind;The sails are full, the boat makes head Against the Scrchio's torrent fierce, Then flags with intermitting course, And hangs upon the wave, [ ] Which fervid from its mountain source Shallow, smooth and strong doth come,Swift as fire, tempestuously It sweeps into the affrighted sea; In morning's smile its eddies coil, Jts billows sparkle, toss and boil, Torturing all its quiet light Into columns fierce and bright.
The stars burnt out in the pale blue air,
Day had awaken'd all things that be,
The Serchio, (wisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove Ai Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm The wave that died the death that lovers love, Living in what it sought; as if this spasm Had not yet past, the toppling mountains cling, But the clear stream in full enthusiasm Pours itself on the plain, until wandering, Down one clear path of effluence crystalline Sends its clear waves, that they may fling Al Arno's feet tribute of corn and winc, Then, through the pestilential deserts wild Of tangied marsh and woods of stunted fir, It rushes to the Ocean,
All rose to do the task He set to each,
And many rose Whose woe was such that fear became desire;Melchior and Lionel were not among those;
THE ZUCCA. 1
I. SUMMER was dead and Autump was expiring, Aud infant Winter laugh'd upon the land
Some say, there is a precipice
Where one vast pine is frozen fo ruin O'er piles of snow and chasms of ice
Mid Alpine mountains;
That winged shape, for ever flics
Its aery fountains.
when nights are dry and clear, And the death dews sleep on the morass, Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller
Which makes night day: And a silver shape like his early love doth pass
Upborne by her wild and glittering hair, And when he awakes on the fragrant grass,
He finds night day.
Tuere late was one within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloud That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky, Genius and youth contended.
I never saw the sun? We will walk here
A FRAGMENT. They were two cousins, almost like to twins, Except that from the catalogue of sins Nature had razed their love-which could not be But by dissevering their nativity. And so they grew together, like two flowers Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers Lull or awaken in their purple prime, Which the same hand will gather--the same clime Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see All those who love,-and who ever loved like thee, Fiordispina ? Scarcely Cosimo, Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow The ardours of a vision which obscure The very idol of its portraiture; lle faints, dissolved into a sense of love; But thou art as a planet sphered above, But thou art Love itself-ruling the motion Of his subjected spirit.-Such emotion Must end in sin or sorrow, if sweet May Ilad not brought forth this morn-your wedding-day.
That night the youth and lady mingled lay
A BRIDAL SONG. The golden gates of sleep unbar
Where strength and beauty met together, Kindle their image like a star
In a sea of glassy weather.
Darkness, weep thy holiest dew,–
• Inheritor of more than earth can give, Passionless calm, and silence unreproved, Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest,