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This first false passion of his breast
Roll'd like a torrent o'er the rest.
He sue for mercy! He dismayed
By wild words of a timid maid !
He, wrong'd by Venice, vow to save
Her sons, devoted to the grave !
Nonthough that cloud were thunder's worst,
And charged to crush him—let it burst.

He looked upon it earnestly,
Without an accent of reply ;
He watched it passing ; it is flown:
Full on his eye the clear moon shone,
And thus he spake" Whate'er my fate ;
I am no changeling—'tis too late :
The reed in storms may bow and quiver,
Then rise again ; the tree must shiver.
What Venice made me, I must be,
Her foe in all, save love to thee :
But thou art safe: oh, fly with me !”.
He turned, but she is gone !
Nothing is there but the column stone.
Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air ?
He saw not, he knew not; but nothing is there.


Or view the Lord of the unerring bow,
The God of life, and poesy, and light-
The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow
All radiant from his triumph in the fight;
The shaft hath just been shot-the arrow bright
With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might,

And majesty, flash their full lightnings by,
Developing in that one glance the Deity.

But in his delicate form-a dream of love,
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast
Long'd for a deathless lover from above,
And madden'd in that vision—are exprest
All that ideal beauty ever blest
The mind with in its most unearthly mood,
When each conception was a heavenly guest

A ray of immortality—and stood
Starlike, around, until they gather’d to a god !

And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven
The fire which we endure, it was repaid
By him to whom the energy was given,
Which this poetic marble hath array'd
With an eternal glory-which, if made
By human hands, is not of human thought;
And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid

One ringlet in the dust—nor hath it caught
A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which

'twas wrought.

ANACREONTIC SONG. Fill the goblet again ! for I never before Felt the glow that now gladdens my heart to its core ; Let us drink ! who would not ? since through life's

varied round In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; I have basked in the beam of a dark rolling eye ; I have loved ! who has not ? but what heart can

declare That pleasure existed while passion was there? In the days of my youth, when the heart's in the spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing,

I had friends! who has not ? but what tongue will


That friends, rosy wine ! are so faithful as thou ? The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst

change; Thou grow'st old; who does not ? but on earth what

appears Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years ? Yet if bless'd to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to our idol below, We are jealous ! who's not ? thou hast no such alloy, For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. Then the season of youth and its vanities pass'd, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last ; There we find, do we not ? in the flow of the soul, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl ! When the box of Pandora was opened on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over mirth, Hope was left, was she not ? but the goblet we kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. Long life to the grape ! for when summer is flown, The age of our nectar shall gladden our own; We must die, who shall not ? may our sins be forgiven, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.


Seraph !

From thy sphere !
Whatever star contain thy glory ;

In the eternal depths of heaven
Albeit thou watchest with the “ seven,


* The archangels, said to be seven in number.

Though through space infinite and hoary
Before thy bright wings worlds be driven,

Yet hear !
Oh! think of her who holds thee dear!

And though she nothing is to thee,
Yet think that thou art all to her.
Thou canst not tell,—and never be
Such pangs decreed to aught save me,-

The bitterness of tears.
Eternity is in thy years,
Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes ;
With me thou canst not sympathize,

Except in love, and there thou must

Acknowledge that more loving dust
Ne'er wept beneath the skies.
Thou walk’st thy many worlds, thou see'st

The face of him who made thee great,
As he hath made me of the least
Of those cast out from Eden's gate.

Yet, Seraph dear!

Oh hear!
For thou hast loved me, and I would not die

Until I know, what I must die in knowing,
That thou forget’st in thine eternity

Her whose heart death could not keep from o'er. For thee, immortal essence as thou art !

[flowing Great is their love, who love in sin and fear;

And such, I feel, are waging in my heart
A war unworthy: to an Adamite
Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear,
For sorrow is our element;

An Eden kept afar from sight,
Though sometimes with our visions blent.

The hour is near
Which tells me we are not abandon'd quite

Appear! Appear!

Seraph !
My own Azaziel ! be but here,
And leave the stars to their own light!


Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ?
Sounds not the lang of conflict on the heath?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ;
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ?—the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high :—from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ;

Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,
Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.

Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon;
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon
Flashing afar,-and at his iron feet
Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done ;

For on this morn three potent nations meet, [sweet. To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most


Hark! through the silence of the cold, dull night,

The hum of armies gathering rank on rank! Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight

Along the leaguered wall and bristling bank Of the armed river, while with straggling light

The stars peep through the vapours dim and dank,

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