Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, The purity of heaven to earthly joys, The dull satiety which all destroys [cloys? And root from out the soul the deadly weed which Alas! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert; whence arise The weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes; Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies, And trees whose gums are poison; such the plants Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. Oh, Love! no habitant of earth thou artAn unseen seraph, we believe in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see The naked eye, thy form, as it should be; The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, Even with its own desiring phantasy, And to a thought such shape and image given, As haunts the unquench'd soul-parch'd-weariedwrung and riven. EUTHANASIA. When Time, or soon or late, shall bring The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion! may thy languid wing With no officious mourners near: Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives and him who dies. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past; Even Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath, And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret without a groan! For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, And pain been transient or unknown. 66 Ay, but to die, and go," alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seenCount o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be. MARINO FALIERO'S IMPRECATION AGAINST VENICE. I speak to Time and to Eternity, Of which I grow a portion, not to man. I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner, Float up from the abyss of time to be, And show these eyes, before they close, the doom When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark, Shedding so much blood in her last defence As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her, Who shall despise her!-She shall stoop to be A province for an empire, petty town Then when the few who still retain a wreck With some large gondolier or foreign soldier, When all the ills of conquer'd states shall cling thee; Prurient, yet passionless, cold studied lewdness, Depraving Nature's frailty to an art; Meanness and weakness, and a sense of woe 'Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and darest not murmur, Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts, Amidst thy many murders think of mine! Thus I devote thee to the infernal gods! [Here the Doge turns, and addresses the executioner. Slave, do thine office! Strike as I struck the foe! Have struck those tyrants! Strike and but once! Strike as I would Strike deep as my cursę! [The Doge throws himself upon his knees, and as the executioner raises his sword the scene closes. FAREWELL. Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, But waft thy name beyond the sky. These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; |