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And love for innocence, when thou didst face Speak of forbearance, 'till from her pouting lip
The treble-shaped Chimæra. But he is gone He snatched the honey-dews that lovers sip,
That struck the sparkling stream from Helicon; And then, in crimsoning beauty, playfully
And never hath one risen in his place,

She frowned, and wore that self-betraying air Stamped with the features of that mighty race. That women loved and flattered love to wear. Yet wherefore grieve I-seeing how easily

Oft would he, as on that same spot they lay
The plumed spirit may its journey take
Through yon blue regions of the middle air;

Beneath the last light of a summer's day,
And note all things below that own a grace,

Tell (and would watch the while her stedfast eye,)

How on the lone Pacific he had been,
Mountain, and cataract, and silent lake,
And wander in the fields of poesy,

When the sea lion on his watery way
Where avarice never comes, and seldom care.

Went rolling thro' the billows green,
And shook that ocean's dead tranquillity:
And he would tell her of past times, and where

He rambled in his boyhood far away,

And spoke of other worlds and wonders fair
And mighty and magnificent, for he

Had seen the bright sun worshipp'd like a god He was the last of all his race, and fled

Upon that land where tirst Columbus trod; To haughty Genoa where the Dorias reigned:

And travelled by the deep Saint Lawrence' tide, A mighty city once, tho' now she sleeps

And by Niagara's cataracts of foam, Amidst her amphitheatre of hills,

And seen the wild deer roam
Or sits in silence by her dashing deeps,

Amongst interminable forests, where
And not a page in living story fills.
He had that look which poets love to paint,

The serpent and the savage have their lair
And artists fashion, in their happier mood,

Together. Nature there in wildest guise

Stands undebased and nearer to the skies;
And budding girls when first their dreamings faint
Shew them such forms as maids may love. He stood

And midst her giant trees and waters wide

The bones of things forgotten, buried deep, Fine as those shapely spirits heaven-descended,

Give glimpses of an elder world, espied Hermes or young Apollo, or whom she

By us but in that finc and dreamy sleep, The moon-lit Dian, on the Latmian hill,

When fancy, ever the mother of deep truth, When all the woods and all the winds were still,

Breathes her dim oracles on the soul of youth. Kissed with the kiss of immortality. And in his eye where love and pride contended, His dark, deep-seated eye, there was a spell

CONCLUSION OF THE FALCON. Which they who love and have been lov'd can tell. And she-but what of her, his chosen bride, His own, on whom he gazed in secret pride,

Giana! my Giana! we will have And loved almost too much for happiness ?

Nothing but halcyon days: Oh! we will live Enough to say that she was born to bless.

As happily as the bees that hive their sweets, She was surpassing fair: her gentle voice

And gaily as the summer fly, but wiser: Came like the fabled music that beguiles

I'll be thy servant ever; yet not so. The sailor on the waters, and her smiles

Oh! my own love, divinest, best, I'll be
Shone like the light of heaven, and said ' rejoice!' Thy sun of life, faithful through every season,

And thou shalt be iny flower perennial,
That morn they sat upon the sea-beach green; My bud of beauty, my imperial rose,
For in that land the sward springs fresh and free My passion flower, and I will wear thee on
Close to the ocean, and no tides are seen

My heart, and thou shalt never never fade.
To break the glassy quiet of the sea:

I'll love thee mightily, my queen, and in And Guido, with his arm 'round Isabel,

The sultry hours I'll sing thee to thy rest Unclasped the tresses of her chesnut hair,

With music sweeter than the wild birds' song: Which in her white and heaving bosom fell

And I will swear thine eyes are like the stars, Like things enamour'd, and then with jealous air (They are, they are, but soster) and thy shape Bade the soft amorous winds not wanton there; Fine as the vaunted nymphs who, poets feign’d, And then his dark eyes sparkled, and he wound Dwelt long ago in woods of Arcady. The fillets like a coronet around

My gentle deity! I'll crown thee with Her brow, and bade her rise and be a queen. The whitest lilies and then bow me down And oh! 'twas sweet to see her delicate hand Love's own idolater, and worship thee. Pressed 'gainst his parted lips, as tho' to check And thou wilt then be mine? my love, love! In mimic anger all those whispers bland

How fondly will we pass our lives together; He knew so well to use, and on his neck

And wander, heart-link'd, thro' the busy world Her round arm hung, while half as in command Like birds in eastern story. And half entreaty did her swimming eye

Gia. Oh! you rave.


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Fred. I'll be a miser of thee; watch thee ever: In thy most soft and winning eloquence;
At morn, at noon, at eve, and all the night.

In woman's gentleness and love (now bent
We will have clooks that with their silver chime On me, so poor) shall lie my argument.
Shall measure out the moments: and I'll mark
The time, and keep love's pleasant calendar.

To day I'll note a smile: to-morrow how
Your bright eyes spoke-how saucily; and then

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, Nothing shall pass unheeded. Thou shalt be

And the stars are falling
My household goddess-nay smile not, nor shake

Brightly from their mansions bright.
Backwards thy clustering curls, incredulous:
I swear it shall be so: it shall, my love.

Of those thy song shall tell
Gia. Why, now thou’rt mad indeed: mad.

From whom we've never parted, Fred. Oh! not so.

The young, the tender-hearted,
There was a statuary once who lov'd

The gay, and all who loved us well.
And worshipped the white marble that he shaped ; But we'll not profane
Till, as the story goes, the Cyprus' queen,

Such a gentle hour,
Or some such fine kind-hearted deity,

Nor our favourite bower,
Touch'd the pale stone with life, and it became

With a thought that tastes of pain.
At last, Pygmalion's bride: but thee-on whom
Nature had lavish'd all her wealth before,
Now love has touch'd with beauty: doubly fit

For human worship thou, thou—let me pause,
My breath is gone.
Gia. With talking.

“ Yes,-mixed with these wild visionings, a form Fred. With delight.

Descended, fragile as a summer cloud,

And with her gentle voice she stilled the storm: But I may worship thee in silence, still. 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,
Uotil to-morrow,

Adore the sun in countries far away.
Fred. Oh! not yet, not yet.
Behold! the moon is up, the bright ey'd moon,

I felt the music of her words like balm
And seems to shed her soft delicious light

Raining upon my soul, and I grew calm On lovers reunited. Why, she smiles,

As the great forest lion that lay down

At Una's feet, without a single moan,
And bids you tarry: will you disobey
The lady of the sky ? beware.

Vanquish'd by love; or as the herds that hung

Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung. Gia. Farewell.

- I never saw her,-never: but her voice Nay, nay, I must go. 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

Mourn: I am come to share it. I, whom all For one long night: to-morrow bid me come (Thou hast already with thine eyes) and bring

Have worshipped like a shrine, 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, Shalt thou to me a sweet guiding light.

And be a dweller with thee in the woods." Once, the Chaldean from his topmost tower

He ended, and with kisses sweet and soft Did watch the stars, and then assert their power She recompensed his words, and bade him dwell Throughout the world: so, dear Giana, I

No more upon the past, but look aloft Will vindicate my own idolatry.

And pray to heaven; and yet she bade him tell And in the beauty and the spell that lies

Again the story of that lady young, In the dark azure of thy love-lit eyes;

Who o'er him in such dream-like beauty hung. In the clear veins that wind thy neck beside, “ You saw her, Marcian-No?"_" My love, my 'Till in the white depths of thy breast they hide,

love, And in thy polish'd forehead, and thy hair

My own," he said, “ 'twas thou, my forest dove, Heap'd in thick tresses on thy shoulders fair; Who soothed one in the wilderness, and crept In thy calm dignity; thy modest sense;

Into my heart, and o'er my folly wept

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From dusky evening to the streaming morn,

Showers of sparkling tears. Oh! how forlorn
Was I without thee. Should I lose thee now-
“ Away, away,” she said, and on his brow

O thou vast Ocean! ever sounding sea!
Pressed her vermillion lips, and drew his hair

Thou symbol of a dread immensity! Aside and kissed again his forehead fair.

Thou thing that windest round the solid world “ Come, thou shalt lie upon-aye, on my breast,

Like a huge animal, which, downward hurl'd And I will sing thee into golden rest.”

From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,

Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. Thus talked they, following, as lovers will; Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep A pleasant pastime,—and when worldly pain Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. Comes heavily on us, it is pleasant still

Thou speakest in the east and in the west To read of this in song: it brings again

At once, and on thy heavily laden breast The hours of youth before man's jaded eye,

Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life Spreading a charm about him silently.

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 Be flung away, or trampled by the crowd

Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare As a thing of little while I aloud

Give answer to the tempest-waken air; May--(with a feeble voice indeed) proclaim

But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range The sanctity, the beauty of thy name.

At will, and wound its bosom as they go: Thy grateful servant am I, for thy power

Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; Has solaced me thro' many a wretched hour;

But to their stated rounds the seasons come, In sickness—aye, when frame and spirit sank, And pass like visions to their viewless home, I turned me to thy crystal cup and drank

And come again, and vanish: the young spring Intoxicating draughts. Faithfullest friend,

Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, Most faithful—perhaps best—when none were nigh, And winter always winds his sullen horn, Unto thy green recesses did I send

When the wild autumn with a look forlorn My thoughts, and freshest rills of poesy

Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies Came streaming all around from fountains old; Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies. And so I drank and drank, and haply told

- Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power, How thankful was I unto the night wind

A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour, Alone,-a cheerless confidant, but kind.

When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,

A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds Sleep softly, on your bridal pillows, sleep,

Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven Excellent pair! happy and young and true;

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 airy dreams, may love's divinest dew

And stretch thine arms, and warat once with heaven. Be scatter'd like the April rains of heaven: And may your tender words, whispered at even, Thou trackless and immeasurable main! Be woven into music; and as the wind

On thee no record ever lived again Leaves when it flies a sweetness still behind,

To meet the hand that writ it: lipe nor lead When distant, may each silver-sounding tone Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps, Weigh on the other's heart, and bring (tho' gone) Where haply the huge monster swells and sleeps, The absent back; and may no envy sever

King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said, Your joys, but may each love-be loved for ever.

Can move the mighty ocean into storm

Oh! wonderful thou art, great element:
Now, as I write, lo! thro' my window streams And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent,
The midnight moon-crescented Dian, who And lovely in repose: thy summer form
Tis said once wandered from her wastes of blue, Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves
And all for love; filling a shepherd's dreams Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
With beauty and delight. He slept, he slept, I love to wander on thy pebbled beach,
And on his eyelids white the huntress wept Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
Till morning; and looked thro', on nights like this, And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach-
His lashes dark, and left her dewy kiss.-

“ Eternity, eternity, and power.
But never more upon the Latmos hill
May she descend to kiss that forest boy,
And give-receive gentle and innocent joy,

When clouds are distant far, and winds are still:

The Vale of Enna.
Her bound is circumscribed, and curbed her will.
-Those were immortal stories :—are they gone?

The pale queen is dethroned. Endymion

Proser. Now come and sit around me, Hath vanished; and the worship of this earth And I'll divide the flowers, and give to each Is bowed to golden gods of vulgar birth.

What most becomes her beauty. What a vale


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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
Into one pile. Some we'll divide amongst us,

Of us may wisely took upon.
And, for the rest, we'll fling them to the hours;
So may Aurora's path become more fair,

Proser. He comes indeed. How like a god he looks! And we be blest in giving.,

Terribly lovely-shall I shun his eye,
Here-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 Are gone, my sad Leontia, to their graves ;

My passion. I disarm me of all power; And April hath wept o'er them, and the voice And in the accents of a man I sue, Of March hath sung, even before their deaths, Bowing before your beauty. Brightest maid! The dirge of those young children of the year. Let me-still unpresuming—say I have But here is heart's-ease for your woes. And now, Roamed through the earth, where many an eye hath 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 It flourishes with its guardian's growth, as thou dost; Lovely and royal maids, and throned queens, And if the woodmau's axe should droop the tree, Sea nymphs, and airy shapes, that glide along The woodbine too must perish.— Hark! what Like light across the hills, or those that make Do ye see aught?

(sound- Mysterious music in the desert woods,

Or lend a voice to fountains or to caves,

Or answering hush the river's sweet reproachBehold, behold, Proserpina !

Oh! I've escaped from all, to come and tell Dark clouds from out the earth arise,

How much I love you, sweet Proserpina.
And wing their way towards the skies,
As they would veil the burning blush of day.

And, look! upon a rolling car,

Come with me, away, away, Some fearful being from afar

Fair and young Proserpina. Comes onward. As he moves along the ground,

You will die unless you fee, A dull and subterranean sound

Child of crowned Cybele. Companions him; and from his face doth shine, Think of all your mother's love, Proclaiming him divine,

Of every stream and pleasant grove A light that darkens all the vale around.

That you must for ever leave,

If the dark king you believe.

Think not of his eyes of fire,
'Tis he, 'tis he: he comes to us

Nor his wily heart's desire,
From the depths of Tartarus.

Nor the locks that round his head
For what of evil doth he roam

Run like wreathed snakes, and fing
From his red and gloomy home,

A shadow o'er his eyes glancing;




Nor, the dangerous whispers hung,

Come round me, virgins. Am I then betrayed? Like honey, roofing o'er his tongue.

O fraudful king! But thìək of all thy mother's glory

Pluto. No, by this kiss, and this: Of her love-of every story

I am your own, my love; and you are mine
Of the cruel Pluto told,

For ever and for ever.-Weep Cyane.
And which grey Tradition old,
With all its weight of grief and crime,
Hath plucked from out the grave of time.

They are gone, afar-afar:
Once again I bid thee flee,

Like the shooting of a star, Daughter of great Cybele.

See,-their chariot fades away.

Farewell, lost Proserpina.
Proser. You are too harsh, Cyane.
Pluto. Oh! my love,

(Cyane is gradually transformed.) Fairer than the white Naiad-fairer far

But, ah! what frightful change is here:
Than aught on earth, and fair as aught in heaven: Cyane, raise your eyes, and hear!
Hear me, Proserpina !

We call thee,-vainly; on the ground
Proser. Away, away.

She sinks, without a single sound, I'll not believe you. What a cunning tongue

And all her garments float around. He has, Cyane; has he not ?-Away.

Again, again, she rises,-light; Can the gods flatter?

Her head is like a fountain bright, Pluto. By my burning throne !

And her glossy ringlets fall, I love you, sweetest: I will make you queen

With a murmur musical, Of my great kingdom. One third of the world

O'er her shoulders, like a river Shall you reign over, my Proserpina ;

That rushes and escapes for ever. And you shall rank as high as any she,

- Is the fair Cyane gone? Save one, within the starry court of Jove.

And is this fountain left alone Proser. Will you be true ?

For a sad remembrance, where Pluto. I swear it. By myself!

We may in after times repair, Come then, my bride.

With heavy heart, and weeping eye, Proser. Speak thou again, my friend.

To sing songs to her memory? Speak, harsh Cyane, in a harsher voice, And bid me not believe him. Ah! you droop Oh ! then farewell: and now with hearts that mourn Your head in silence.

Deeply, to Dian's temple will we go: Pluto. Come, my brightest queen!

But ever on this day we will return, Come, beautiful Proserpina, and see

Constant, to mark Cyane's fountain flow: The regions over which your husband reigns; And haply,-for among us who can know His palaces, and radiant treasures, which

The secrets written on the scrolls of fate, Mock and outstrip all fable; his great power, A day may come, when we may cease our woe;. Which the living own, and wandering ghosts obey, And she, redeemed at last from Pluto's hate, And all the elements.-Oh! you shall sit

Rise in her beauty old, pure, and regenerate.
illuminated throne, and be
A queen indeed; and round your forehead shall run
Circlets of gems, as bright as those which bind

The brows of Juno on heav'n's festal nights,
When all the gods assemble, and bend down

Must it be?-then farewell,
In homage before Jove.

Thou whom my woman's heart cherished so long: Proser. Speak out, Cyane !

Farewell, and be this song Pluto. But, above all, in my heart shall you reign

The last, wherein I say

" I loved thee well." Supreme, a goddess and a queen indeed, Without a rival. Oh! and you shall share

Many a weary strain My subterranean power, and sport upon

(Never yet heard by thee) hath this poor breath

Uttered, of love and death, The fields Elysian, where, 'midst softest sounds,

And maiden grief, hidden and chid in vain. And odours springing from immortal flowers, And mazy rivers, and eternal groves

Oh! if in after years Of bloom and beauty, the good spirits walk:

The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart, And you shall take your station in the skies

Bid not the pain depart;
Nearest the queen of heaven, and with her hold

But shed, over my grave, a few sad tears.
Celestial talk, and meet Jove's tender smile,
So beautiful-

Think of me-still so young,
Proser. Away, away, away.

Silent, tho' fond, who cast my life away, Nothing but force shall ever-Ah! away

Daring to disobey I'll not believe-fool that I am to smile.

The passionate spirit that around me clung.

On my

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