And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a dutyWhere Love's a grown-up God— Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Therefore, thou art not wrong, An unimpassioned song ; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest ! Merrily live, and long! The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suit– Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy lute Well may the stars be mute! Yes, Heaven is thine; but this Our flowers are merely-flowers, Is the sunshine of ours. If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky. SILENCE. THERE are some qualities-some incorporate things. That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs From matter and light, evinc'd in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence-sea and shore Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore, Render him terrorless : his name's "No More." He is the corporate Silence: dread him not! Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, FAIR isle, that from the fairest of all flowers, At sight of thee and thine at once awake! How many thoughts of what entombed hopes ! How many visions of a maiden that is No more no more upon thy verdant slopes ! No more! alas, that magical sad sound Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more, Thy memory no more! Accursed ground! Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante ! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante !" THOU wouldst be loved?-then let thy heart |