Poems Read Online

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»Ay, heave the ballast overboard,

And stow the eatables in the aft locker.«

»Would not this keg be best a little lowered?«

»No, now all's right.« »Those bottles of warm tea –

(Give me some straw) – must be stowed tenderly;

Such as we used, in summer after six,

To cram in greatcoat pockets, and to mix

Hard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton,

And, couched on stolen hay in those green harbours

Farmers called gaps, and we schoolboys called arbours,

Would feast till eight.«

. . . . .

With a bottle in one hand,

As if his very soul were at a stand,

Lionel stood – when Melchior brought him steady: –

»Sit at the helm – fasten this sheet – all ready!«

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 Serchio's torrent fierce,

Then flags with intermitting course,

And hangs upon the wave, and stems

The tempest of the ...

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,

Its billows sparkle, toss and boil,

Torturing all its quiet light

Into columns fierce and bright.

The Serchio, twisting forth

Between the marble barriers which it clove

At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm

The wave that died the death which lovers love,

Living in what it sought; as if this spasm

Had not yet passed, the toppling mountains cling,

But the clear stream in full enthusiasm

Pours itself on the plain, then wandering

Down one clear path of effluence crystalline

Sends its superfluous waves, that they may fling

At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine;

Then, through the pestilential deserts wild

Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted pine,

It rushes to the Ocean.

Music

I

I pant for the music which is divine,

My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;

Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine,

Loosen the notes in a silver shower;

Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain,

I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.

II

Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound,

More, oh more, – I am thirsting yet;

It loosens the serpent which care has bound

Upon my heart to stifle it;

The dissolving strain, through every vein,

Passes into my heart and brain.

III

As the scent of a violet withered up,

Which grew by the brink of a silver lake,

When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup,

And mist there was none its thirst to slake –

And the violet lay dead while the odour flew

On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue –

IV

As one who drinks from a charmed cup

Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine,

Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up,

Invites to love with her kiss divine ...

Sonnet to Byron

[I am afraid these verses will not please you, but]

If I esteemed you less, Envy would kill

Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and Despair

The ministration of the thoughts that fill

The mind which, like a worm whose life may share

A portion of the unapproachable,

Marks your creations rise as fast and fair

As perfect worlds at the Creator's will.

But such is my regard that nor your power

To soar above the heights where others [climb],

Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour

Cast from the envious future on the time,

Move one regret for his unhonoured name

Who dares these words: – the worm beneath the sod

May lift itself in homage of the God.

Fragment on Keats

Who Desired that on His Tomb Should Be Inscribed –

»Here lieth One whose name was writ on water.«

But, ere the breath that could erase it blew,

Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,

Death, the immortalizing winter, flew

Athwart the stream, – and time's printless torrent grew

A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name

Of Adonais!

Fragment: »Methought I Was a Billow In the Crowd«

Methought I was a billow in the crowd

Of common men, that stream without a shore,

That ocean which at once is deaf and loud;

That I, a man, stood amid many more

By a wayside ..., which the aspect bore

Of some imperial metropolis,

Where mighty shapes – pyramid, dome, and tower –

Gleamed like a pile of crags –

To-Morrow

Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?

When young and old, and strong and weak,

Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,

Thy sweet smiles we ever seek, –

In thy place – ah! well-a-day!

We find the thing we fled – To-day.

Stanza

If I walk in Autumn's even

While the dead leaves pass,

If I look on Spring's soft heaven, –

Something is not there which was.

Winter's wondrous frost and snow,

Summer's clouds, where are they now?

Fragment: A Wanderer

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream,

Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;

Through desert woods and tracts, which seem

Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

Fragment: Life Rounded With Sleep

The babe is at peace within the womb;

The corpse is at rest within the tomb:

We begin in what we end.

Fragment: »I Faint, I Perish With My Love!«

I faint, I perish with my love! I grow

Frail as a cloud whose [splendours] pale

Under the evening's ever-changing glow:

I die like mist upon the gale,

And like a wave under the calm I fail.

Fragment: The Lady of the South

Faint with love, the Lady of the South

Lay in the paradise of Lebanon

Under a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouth

Of love was on her lips; the light was gone

Out of her eyes –

Fragment: Zephyrus the Awakener

Come, thou awakener of the spirit's ocean,

Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or cave

No thought can trace! speed with thy gentle motion!

Fragment: Rain

The gentleness of rain was in the wind.

Fragment: »When Soft Winds and Sunny Skies«

When soft winds and sunny skies

With the green earth harmonize,

And the young and dewy dawn,

Bold as an unhunted fawn,

Up the windless heaven is gone, –

Laugh – for ambushed in the day, –

Clouds and whirlwinds watch their prey.

Fragment: »And That I Walk Thus Proudly Crowned«

And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal

Is that 'tis my distinction; if I fall,

I shall not weep out of the vital day,

To-morrow dust, nor wear a dull decay.

Fragment: »The Rude Wind is Singing«

The rude wind is singing

The dirge of the music dead;

The cold worms are clinging

Where kisses were lately fed.

Fragment: »Great Spirit«

Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought

Nurtures within its unimagined caves,

In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,

Giving a voice to its mysterious waves –

Fragment: »O Thou Immortal Deity«

O thou immortal deity

Whose throne is in the depth of human thought,

I do adjure thy power and thee

By all that man may be, by all that he is not,

By all that he has been and yet must be!

Fragment: The False Laurel and the True

»What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest

The wreath to mighty poets only due,

Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?

Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few

Who wander o'er the Paradise of fame,

In sacred dedication ever grew:

One of the crowd thou art without a name.«

»Ah, friend, 'tis the false laurel that I wear;

Bright though it seem, it is not the same

As that which bound Milton's immortal hair;

Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quicken

Under its chilling shade, though seeming fair,

Are flowers which die almost before they sicken.«

Fragment: May the Limner

When May is painting with her colours gay

The landscape sketched by April her sweet twin ...

Fragment: Beauty's Halo

Thy beauty hangs around thee like

Splendour around the moon –

Thy voice, as silver bells that strike

Upon

Fragment: »The Death Knell Is Ringing«

The death knell is ringing

The raven is singing

The earth worm is creeping

The mourners are weeping

Ding dong, bell –

Fragment: »I Stood Upon a Heaven-Cleaving Turret«

I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret

Which overlooked a wide Metropolis –

And in the temple of my heart my Spirit

Lay prostrate, and with parted lips did kiss

The dust of Desolations [altar] hearth –

And with a voice too faint to falter

It shook that trembling fane with its weak prayer

'Twas noon, – the sleeping skies were blue

The city

The Zucca

I

Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring,

And infant Winter laughed upon the land

All cloudlessly and cold; – when I, desiring

More in this world than any understand,

Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring,

Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand

Of my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and flowers

Pale for the falsehood of the flattering Hours.

II

Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep

The instability of all but weeping;

And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleep

I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.

Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep

The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping

From unremembered dreams, shalt see

No death divide thy immortality.

III

I loved – oh, no, I mean not one of ye,

Or any earthly one, though ye are dear

As human heart to human heart may be; –

I loved, I know not what – but this low sphere

And all that it contains, contains not thee,

Thou, whom, seen nowhere, I feel everywhere.

From Heaven and Earth, and all that in them are,

Veiled art thou, like a star.

IV

By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest,

Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden;

Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,

When for a moment thou art not forbidden

To live within the life which thou bestowest;

And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden,

Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight,

Blank as the sun after the birth of night.

V

In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,

In music and the sweet unconscious tone

Of animals, and voices which are human,

Meant to express some feelings of their own;

In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,

In flowers and leaves, and in the grass fresh-shown,

Or dying in the autumn, I the most

Adore thee present or lament thee lost.

VI

And thus I went lamenting, when I saw

A plant upon the river's margin lie,

Like one who loved beyond his nature's law,

And in despair had cast him down to die;

Its leaves, which had outlived the frost, the thaw

Had blighted; like a heart which hatred's eye

Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew

Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.

VII

The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth

Had crushed it on her unmaternal breast

. . . . . .

VIII

I bore it to my chamber, and I planted

It in a vase full of the lightest mould;

The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted

Fell through the window-panes, disrobed of cold,

Upon its leaves and flowers; the stars which panted

In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled

Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light

Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

IX

The mitigated influences of air

And light revived the plant, and from it grew

Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,

Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew,

Overflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere

Of vital warmth enfolded it anew,

And every impulse sent to every part

The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.

X

Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,

Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it;

For one wept o'er it all the winter long

Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it

Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song

Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it

To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,

Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.

XI

Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers

On which he wept, the while the savage storm

Waked by the darkest of December's hours

Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm;

The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,

The fish were frozen in the pools, the form

Of every summer plant was dead ...

Whilst this ...

. . . . . .

The Magnetic Lady to Her Patient

I

»Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;

My hand is on thy brow,

My spirit on thy brain;

My pity on thy heart, poor friend;

And from my fingers flow

The powers of life, and like a sign,

Seal thee from thine hour of woe;

And brood on thee, but may not blend

With thine.

II

Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;

But when I think that he

Who made and makes my lot

As full of flowers as thine of weeds,

Might have been lost like thee;

And that a hand which was not mine

Might then have charmed his agony

As I another's – my heart bleeds

For thine.

III

Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of

The dead and the unborn

Forget thy life and love;

Forget that thou must wake forever;

Forget the world's dull scorn;

Forget lost health, and the divine

Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;

And forget me, for I can never

Be thine.

IV

Like a cloud big with a May shower,

My soul weeps healing rain

On thee, thou withered flower!

It breathes mute music on thy sleep;

Its odour calms thy brain!

Its light within thy gloomy breast

Spreads like a second youth again.

By mine thy being is to its deep

Possessed.

V

The spell is done. How feel you now?«

»Better – Quite well,« replied

The sleeper. – »What would do

You good when suffering and awake?

What cure your head and side? –«

»What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:

And as I must on earth abide

Awhile, yet tempt me not to break

My chain.«

Lines: »When the Lamp is Shattered«

I

When the lamp is shattered

The light in the dust lies dead –

When the cloud is scattered

The rainbow's glory is shed.

When the lute is broken,

Sweet tones are remembered not;

When the lips have spoken,

Loved accents are soon forgot.

II

As music and splendour

Survive not the lamp and the lute,

The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute: –

No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruined cell,

Or the mournful surges

That ring the dead seaman's knell.

III

When hearts have once mingled

Love first leaves the well-built nest;

The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possessed.

O Love! who bewailest

The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

IV

Its passions will rock thee

As the storms rock the ravens on high;

Bright reason will mock thee,

Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter

Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter,

When leaves fall and cold winds come.

To Jane: the Invitation

Best and brightest, come away!

Fairer far than this fair Day,

Which, like thee to those in sorrow,

Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow

To the rough Year just awake

In its cradle on the brake.

The brightest hour of unborn Spring,

Through the winter wandering,

Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn

To hoar February born.

Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,

It kissed the forehead of the Earth,

And smiled upon the silent sea,

And bade the frozen streams be free,

And waked to music all their fountains,

And breathed upon the frozen mountains,

And like a prophetess of May

Strewed flowers upon the barren way,

Making the wintry world appear

Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,

To the wild wood and the downs –

To the silent wilderness

Where the soul need not repress

Its music lest it should not find

An echo in another's mind,

While the touch of Nature's art

Harmonizes heart to heart.

I leave this notice on my door

For each accustomed visitor: –

»I am gone into the fields

To take what this sweet hour yields; –

Reflection, you may come to-morrow,

Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. –

You with the unpaid bill, Despair, –

You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, –

I will pay you in the grave, –

Death will listen to your stave.

Expectation too, be off!

To-day is for itself enough;

Hope, in pity mock not Woe

With smiles, nor follow where I go;

Long having lived on thy sweet food,

At length I find one moment's good

After long pain – with all your love,

This you never told me of.«

Radiant Sister of the Day,

Awake! arise! and come away!

To the wild woods and the plains,

And the pools where winter rains

Image all their roof of leaves,

Where the pine its garland weaves

Of sapless green and ivy dun

Round stems that never kiss the sun;

Where the lawns and pastures be,

And the sandhills of the sea; –

Where the melting hoar-frost wets

The daisy-star that never sets,

And wind-flowers, and violets,

Which yet join not scent to hue,

Crown the pale year weak and new;

When the night is left behind

In the deep east, dun and blind,

And the blue noon is over us,

And the multitudinous

Billows murmur at our feet,

Where the earth and ocean meet,

And all things seem only one

In the universal sun.

To Jane: the Recollection

I

Now the last day of many days,

All beautiful and bright as thou,

The loveliest and the last, is dead,

Rise, Memory, and write its praise!

Up, – to thy wonted work! come, trace

The epitaph of glory fled, –

For now the Earth has changed its face,

A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

II

We wandered to the Pine Forest

That skirts the Ocean's foam,

The lightest wind was in its nest,

The tempest in its home.

The whispering waves were half asleep,

The clouds were gone to play,

And on the bosom of the deep

The smile of Heaven lay;

It seemed as if the hour were one

Sent from beyond the skies,

Which scattered from above the sun

A light of Paradise.

III

We paused amid the pines that stood

The giants of the waste,

Tortured by storms to shapes as rude

As serpents interlaced,

And soothed by every azure breath,

That under Heaven is blown,

To harmonies and hues beneath,

As tender as its own;

Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,

Like green waves on the sea,

As still as in the silent deep

The ocean woods may be.

IV

How calm it was! – the silence there

By such a chain was bound

That even the busy woodpecker

Made stiller by her sound

The inviolable quietness;

The breath of peace we drew

With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew.

There seemed from the remotest seat

Of the white mountain waste,

To the soft flower beneath our feet,

A magic circle traced, –

A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling, silent life, –

To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife;

And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there

Was one fair form that filled with love

The lifeless atmosphere.

V

We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough, –

Each seemed as 'twere a little sky

Gulfed in a world below;

A firmament of purple light

Which in the dark earth lay,

More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day –

In which the lovely forests grew,

As in the upper air,

More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.

There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark green wood

The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.

Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,

Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.

And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,

An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.

Like one beloved the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast,

Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth expressed;

Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought,

Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.

Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,

Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind,

Than calm in waters, seen.

The Pine Forest of the Cascine Near Pisa

Dearest, best and brightest,

Come away,

To the woods and to the fields!

Dearer than this fairest day

Which, like thee to those in sorrow,

Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow

To the rough Year just awake

In its cradle in the brake.

The eldest of the Hours of Spring,

Into the Winter wandering,

Looks upon the leafless wood,

And the banks all bare and rude;

Found, it seems, this halcyon Morn

In February's bosom born,

Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,

Kissed the cold forehead of the Earth,

And smiled upon the silent sea,

And bade the frozen streams be free;

And waked to music all the fountains,

And breathed upon the rigid mountains,

And made the wintry world appear

Like one on whom thou smilest, Dear.

Radiant Sister of the Day,

Awake! arise! and come away!

To the wild woods and the plains,

To the pools where winter rains

Image all the roof of leaves,

Where the pine its garland weaves

Sapless, gray, and ivy dun

Round stems that never kiss sun –

To the sandhills of the sea,

Where the earliest violets be.

Now the last day of many days,

All beautiful and bright as thou,

The loveliest and the last, is dead,

Rise, Memory, and write its praise!

And do thy wonted work and trace

The epitaph of glory fled;

For now the Earth has changed its face,

A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

We wandered to the Pine Forest

That skirts the Ocean's foam,

The lightest wind was in its nest,

The tempest in its home.

The whispering waves were half asleep,

The clouds were gone to play,

And on the woods, and on the deep

The smile of Heaven lay.

It seemed as if the day were one

Sent from beyond the skies,

Which shed to earth above the sun

A light of Paradise.

We paused amid the pines that stood,

The giants of the waste,

Tortured by storms to shapes as rude

With stems like serpents interlaced.

How calm it was – the silence there

By such a chain was bound,

That even the busy woodpecker

Made stiller by her sound

The inviolable quietness;

The breath of peace we drew

With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew.

It seemed that from the remotest seat

Of the white mountain's waste

To the bright flower beneath our feet,

A magic circle traced; –

A spirit interfused around,

A thinking, silent life;

To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife; –

And still, it seemed, the centre of

The magic circle there,

Was one whose being filled with love

The breathless atmosphere.

Were not the crocuses that grew

Under that ilex-tree

As beautiful in scent and hue

As ever fed the bee?

We stood beneath the pools that lie

Under the forest bough,

And each seemed like a sky

Gulfed in a world below;

A purple firmament of light

Which in the dark earth lay,

More boundless than the depth of night,

And clearer than the day –

In which the massy forests grew

As in the upper air,

More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any waving there.

Like one beloved the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast

Its every leaf and lineament

With that clear truth expressed;

There lay far glades and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark green crowd

The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Under a speckled cloud.

Sweet views, which in our world above

Can never well be seen,

Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.

And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian air,

An atmosphere without a breath,

A silence sleeping there.

Until a wandering wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought,

Which from my mind's too faithful eye

Blots thy bright image out.

For thou art good and dear and kind,

The forest ever green,

But less of peace in S––'s mind,

Than calm in waters, seen.

With a Guitar, to Jane

Ariel to Miranda: – Take

This slave of Music, for the sake

Of him who is the slave of thee,

And teach it all the harmony

In which thou canst, and only thou,

Make the delighted spirit glow,

Till joy denies itself again,

And, too intense, is turned to pain;

For by permission and command

Of thine own Prince Ferdinand,

Poor Ariel sends this silent token

Of more than ever can be spoken;

Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who,

From life to life, must still pursue

Your happiness; – for thus alone

Can Ariel ever find his own.

From Prospero's enchanted cell,

As the mighty verses tell,

To the throne of Naples, he

Lit you o'er the trackless sea,

Flitting on, your prow before,

Like a living meteor.

When you die, the silent Moon,

In her interlunar swoon,

Is not sadder in her cell

Than deserted Ariel.

When you live again on earth,

Like an unseen star of birth,

Ariel guides you o'er the sea

Of life from your nativity.

Many changes have been run

Since Ferdinand and you begun

Your course of love, and Ariel still

Has tracked your steps, and served your will;

Now, in humbler, happier lot,

This is all remembered not;

And now, alas! the poor sprite is

Imprisoned, for some fault of his,

In a body like a grave; –

From you he only dares to crave,

For his service and his sorrow,

A smile to-day, a song to-morrow.

The artist who this idol wrought,

To echo all harmonious thought,

Felled a tree, while on the steep

The woods were in their winter sleep,

Rocked in that repose divine

On the wind-swept Apennine;

And dreaming, some of Autumn past,

And some of Spring approaching fast,

And some of April buds and showers,

And some of songs in July bowers,

And all of love; and so this tree, –

O that such our death may be! –

Died in sleep, and felt no pain,

To live in happier form again:

From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star,

The artist wrought this loved Guitar,

And taught it justly to reply,

To all who question skilfully,

In language gentle as thine own;

Whispering in enamoured tone

Sweet oracles of woods and dells,

And summer winds in sylvan cells;

For it had learned all harmonies

Of the plains and of the skies,

Of the forests and the mountains,

And the many-voiced fountains;

The clearest echoes of the hills,

The softest notes of falling rills,

The melodies of birds and bees,

The murmuring of summer seas,

And pattering rain, and breathing dew,

And airs of evening; and it knew

That seldom-heard mysterious sound,

Which, driven on its diurnal round,

As it floats through boundless day,

Our world enkindles on its way. –

All this it knows, but will not tell

To those who cannot question well

The Spirit that inhabits it;

It talks according to the wit

Of its companions; and no more

Is heard than has been felt before,

By those who tempt it to betray

These secrets of an elder day:

But, sweetly as its answers will

Flatter hands of perfect skill,

It keeps its highest, holiest tone

For our beloved Jane alone.

To Jane: »The Keen Stars Were Twinkling«

I

The keen stars were twinkling,

And the fair moon was rising among them,

Dear Jane!

The guitar was tinkling,

But the notes were not sweet till you sung them

Again.

II

As the moon's soft splendour

O'er the faint cold starlight of Heaven

Is thrown,

So your voice most tender

To the strings without soul had then given

Its own.

III

The stars will awaken,

Though the moon sleep a full hour later,

To-night;

No leaf will be shaken

Whilst the dews of your melody scatter

Delight.

IV

Though the sound overpowers,

Sing again, with your dear voice revealing

A tone

Of some world far from ours,

Where music and moonlight and feeling

Are one.

A Dirge

Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief too sad for song;

Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long;

Sad storm, whose tears are vain,

Bare woods, whose branches strain,

Deep caves and dreary main, –

Wail, for the world's wrong!

Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici

She left me at the silent time

When the moon had ceased to climb

The azure path of Heaven's steep,

And like an albatross asleep,

Balanced on her wings of light,

Hovered in the purple night,

Ere she sought her ocean nest

In the chambers of the West.

She left me, and I stayed alone

Thinking over every tone

Which, though silent to the ear,

The enchanted heart could hear,

Like notes which die when born, but still

Haunt the echoes of the hill;

And feeling ever – oh, too much! –

The soft vibration of her touch,

As if her gentle hand, even now,

Lightly trembled on my brow;

And thus, although she absent were,

Memory gave me all of her

That even Fancy dares to claim: –

Her presence had made weak and tame

All passions, and I lived alone

In the time which is our own;

The past and future were forgot,

As they had been, and would be, not.

But soon, the guardian angel gone,

The daemon reassumed his throne

In my faint heart. I dare not speak

My thoughts, but thus disturbed and weak

I sat and saw the vessels glide

Over the ocean bright and wide,

Like spirit-winged chariots sent

O'er some serenest element

For ministrations strange and far;

As if to some Elysian star

Sailed for drink to medicine

Such sweet and bitter pain as mine.

And the wind that winged their flight

From the land came fresh and light,

And the scent of winged flowers,

And the coolness of the hours

Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day,

Were scattered o'er the twinkling bay.

And the fisher with his lamp

And spear about the low rocks damp

Crept, and struck the fish which came

To worship the delusive flame.

Too happy they, whose pleasure sought

Extinguishes all sense and thought

Of the regret that pleasure leaves,

Destroying life alone, not peace!

Lines: »We Meet Not as We Parted«

I

We meet not as we parted,

We feel more than all may see;

My bosom is heavy-hearted,

And thine full of doubt for me: –

One moment has bound the free.

II

That moment is gone for ever,

Like lightning that flashed and died –

Like a snowflake upon the river –

Like a sunbeam upon the tide,

Which the dark shadows hide.

III

That moment from time was singled

As the first of a life of pain;

The cup of its joy was mingled

– Delusion too sweet though vain!

Too sweet to be mine again.

IV

Sweet lips, could my heart have hidden

That its life was crushed by you,

Ye would not have then forbidden

The death which a heart so true

Sought in your briny dew.

V

. . . . . . .

. . . .