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LITTLE AGLAË

TO HER FATHER, ON HER STATUE BEING

CALLED LIKE HER

FATHER ! the little girl we see
Is not, I fancy, so like me ;
You never hold her on your knee.
When she came home, the other day,
You kiss'd her ; but I cannot say
She kiss'd you first and ran away.

Then becomes worst; what loveliest, most

deform'd.
The heart is bardest in the softest climes,
The passions flourish, the affections die.
O thou vast tablet of these awful truths,
That fillest all the space between the seas,
Spreading from Venice's deserted courts
To the Tarentine and Hydruntine mole,
What lifts thee up ? what shakes thee? 't is

the breath
Of God. Awake, ye nations ! spring to life!
Let the last work of his right hand appear
Fresh with his image, Man.

TO A CYCLAMEN

FROM “GEBIR"
I COME to visit thee agen,
My little flowerless cyclamen ;

TAMAR AND THE NYMPH
To touch the hand, almost to press,
That cheer'd thee in thy loneliness. “ 'Twas evening, though not sunset, and
What could thy careful guardian find

the tide, Of thee in form, of me in mind,

Level with these green meadows, seem'd What is there in us rich or rare,

yet higher : To make us claim a moment's care ? 'T was pleasant, and I loosen'd froin my Unworthy to be so carest,

neck We are but withering leaves at best. The pipe you gave me, and began to play.

O that I ne'er had learn'd the tuneful

art ! DIRCE

It always brings us enemies or love.

Well, I was playing, when above the waves STAND close around, ye Stygian set, Some swimmer's head methought I saw With Dirce in one boat convey'd,

ascend ; Or Charon, seeing, may forget

I, sitting still, survey'd it with my pipe That he is old, and she a shade. Awkwardly held before my lips half-clos'd.

Gebir! it was a Nymph! a Nymph divine !

I cannot wait describing how she came, AN INVOCATION

How I was sitting, how she first assum'd

The sailor ; of what happen'd there remains We are what suns and winds and waters Enough to say, and too much to forget.

The sweet deceiver stepp'd upon this bank The mountains are our sponsors, and the Before I was aware ; for with surprise rills

Moments fly rapid as with love itself. Fashion and win their nursling with their Stooping to tune afresh the hoarsen'd reed, smiles.

I heard a rustling, and where that arose But where the land is dim from tyranny, My glance first lighted on her nimble feet. There tiny pleasures occupy the place Her feet resembled those long shells exOf glories and of duties ; as the feet

plor'd Of fabled faeries when the sun goes down By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight Trip o'er the grass where wrestlers strove Would blow the pungent powder in the eye. by day.

Her eyes too! O immortal gods ! her eyes Then Justice, call’d the Eternal One above, Resembled — what could they resemble ? Is more inconstant than the buoyant form

what That burst into existence from the froth Ever resemble those ? Even her attire Of ever-varying ocean : what is best Was not of wonted woof nor vulgar art:

make us ;

now

lay?'

Her mantle show'd the yellow samphire- | I clung around her neck; the vest beneath pod,

Rustled against our slippery limbs entwin'd: Her girdle the dove-color'd wave serene. Often mine springing with eluded force "Shepherd,' said she, “and will you wrestle Started aside and trembled till replaced :

And when I most succeeded, as I thought, And with the sailor's hardier race engage ?' My bosom and my throat felt so compress'd I was rejoiced to hear it, and contriv'd That life was almost quivering on my lips. How to keep up contention : could I fail Yet nothing was there painful : these are By pressing not too strongly, yet to press ? signs Whether å shepherd, as indeed you seem, Of secret arts and not of human might; Or whether of the hardier race you boast, What arts I cannot tell ; I only know I am not daunted ; no ; I will engage.' My eyes grew dizzy and my strength “But first,' said she, what wager will you decay'd ;

I was indeed o'ercome — with what regret, A sheep,' I answered : “add whate'er you And more, with what confusion, when I will.'

reach'd I cannot,' she replied, “make that return : The fold, and yielding up the sheep, she Our hided vessels in their pitchy round

cried, Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a sheep. • This pays a shepherd to a conquering But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue

maid.' Within, and they that lustre have imbib'd She smild, and more of pleasure than disIn the sun's palace-porch, where when un

dain yok'd

Was in her dimpled chin and liberal lip, His chariot-wheel stands midway in the And eyes that languish'd, lengthening, just wave :

like love. Shake one and it awakens, then apply She went away ; I on the wicker gate Its polish'd lips to your attentive ear, Leant, and could follow with my eyes And it remembers its august abodes,

alone And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there. The sheep she carried easy as a cloak ; And I have others given me by the nymphs, But when I heard its bleating, as did, Of sweeter sound than any pipe you bave : And saw, she hastening on, its hinder feet Bat we, by Neptune ! for no pipe contend ; Struggle, and from her snowy shoulder slip, This time a sheep I win, a pipe the next.' One shoulder its poor efforts had unveild, Now came she forward eager to engage, Then all my passions mingling fell in tears ; But first her dress, her bosom then survey'd Restless then ran I to the highest ground And heav’d it, doubting if she could deceive. To watch her; she was gone ; gone down Her bosom seem'd, inclos'd in haze like the tide ; heaven,

And the long moonbeam on the hard wet To baffle touch, and rose forth undefin'd;

sand Above her knee she drew the robe succinct, Lay like a jasper column half uprear'd.” Above her breast, and just below her arms. This will preserve my breath when tightly

bound, If struggle and equal strength should so constrain.'

TO YOUTH Thus, pulling hard to fasten it, she spake, And, rushing at me, clos’d: I thrill'd WHERE art thou gone, light-ankled Youth ? throughout

With wing at either shoulder, And seein'd to lessen and shrink up with And smile that never left thy mouth cold.

Until the Hours grew colder: Again with violent impulse gush'd my blood, And hearing nought external, thus absorb’d, Then somewhat seem'd to whisper near I heard it, rushing through each turbid vein, That thou and I must part ; Shake my unsteady swimming sight in air. I doubted it; I felt no fear, Yet with anyielding though uncertain arms No weight upon the heart.

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Walk'd off ? ”T were most ungrateful : for The boon she tender'd, and then, finding not sweet scents

The ribbon at her waist to fix it in, Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter Dropp'd it, as loth to drop it, on the rest.

thoughts, And nurse and pillow the dull memory That would let drop without them her best

FAREWELL TO ITALY stores. They bring me tales of youth and tones of I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy ! no more love,

From the high terraces, at even-tide, And 't is and ever was my wish and way To look supine into thy depths of sky, To let all flowers live freely, and all die Thy golden moon between the cliff and me, (Whene'er their Genius bids their souls Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses depart)

Bordering the channel of the milky way. Among their kindred in their native place. Fiesole and Valdarno must be dreams I never pluck the rose ; the violet's head Hereafter, and my own lost Affrico Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank Murmur to me but in the poet's song: And not reproach'd me; the ever-sacred I did believe (what have I not believ'd?), cup

Weary with age, but unoppress’d by pain, Of the pure lily bath between my hands To close in thy soft clime my quiet day Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of gold. And rest my bones in the mimosa's shade. I saw the light that made the glossy leaves Hope! Hope! few ever cherish'd thee so More glossy ; the fair arm, the fairer cheek little; Warm'd by the eye intent on its pursuit ; Few are the heads thou hast so rarely rais'd; I saw the foot that, although half-erect But thou didst promise this, and all was From its gray slipper, could not lift her up

well. To what she wanted : I held down a branch For we are fond of thinking where to lie And gather'd her some blossoms; since When every pulse hath ceas’d, when the their hour

lone heart Was come, and bees had wounded them, Can lift no aspiration – reasoning and flies

As if the sight were unimpair’d by death, Of harder wing were working their way Were unobstructed by the coffin-lid, through

And the sun cheer'd corruption ! Over all And scattering them in fragments under The smiles of Nature shed a potent charm, foot.

And light us to our chamber at the grave.
So crisp were some, they rattled unevolvd,
Others, ere broken off, fell into shells,
Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow,
And like snow not seen through, by eye or
sun :

THE MAID'S LAMENT
Yet every one her gown receiv'd from me
Was fairer than the first. I thought not so,
But so she prais’d them to reward my care.
I said, “You find the largest.”

I lov'd him not ; and yet now he is gone « This indeed,"

I feel I am alone. Cried she, “is large and sweet.” She held I check’d him while he spoke ; yet could one forth,

he speak, Whether for me to look at or to take

Alas ! I would not check. She knew not, nor did I ; but taking it For reasons not to love him once I sought, Would best have solv'd (and this she felt)

And wearied all my thought her doubt.

To vex myself and him : I now would give I dar'd not touch it ; for it seem'd a part

My love, could he but live Of her own self; fresh, full, the most Who lately liv'd for me, and when he found mature

'Twas vain, in holy ground Of blossoms, yet a blossom ; with a touch He hid his face amid the shades of death To fall, and yet unfallen. She drew back

I waste for him my breath

ELIZABETHAN

But when we play the fool, how wide
The theatre expands ! beside,
How long the audience sits before us!
How many prompters ! what a chorus !

THERE FALLS WITH EVERY

WEDDING CHIME

Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns,

And this lone bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep

And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart : for

years

Wept he as bitter tears. Merciful God! such was his latest prayer,

These may she never share! Quieter is bis breath, his breast more cold,

Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the church

yard gate,

His name and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be,

And oh ! pray too for me!

THERE falls with every wedding chime
A feather from the wing of Time.
You pick it up, and say “How fair
To look upon its colors are !”
Another drops day after day
Unheeded ; not one word you say.
When bright and dusky are blown past,
Upon the hearse there nods the last.

MARGARET

SHAKESPEARE AND MILTON

MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel;
My fingers ache, my lips are dry;
Oh, if
you

felt the pain I feel !
But oh, who ever felt as I !
No longer could I doubt him true,
All other men may use deceit;
He always said my eyes were blue,
And often swore my lips were sweet.

The tongue of England, that which myriads Have spoken and will speak, were paralyz'd Hereafter, but two mighty men stand

forth Above the flight of ages, two alone ; One crying out,

All nations spoke through me. The other :

True; and through this trumpet burst God's word; the fall of Angels, and the

doom First of immorlal, then of mortal, Man. Glory! be glory! not to me, to God.

ON MUSIC

Many love music but for music's sake ; Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half

dead, And rise to follow where she loves to lead. What various feelings come from days

MACAULAY

gone by!

What tears from far-off sources dim the

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THE dreamy rhymer's measur'd snore
Falls heavy on our ears no more ;
And by long strides are left behind
The dear delights of woman-kind,
Who win their battles like their loves,
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves,
And have achiev'd the crowning work
When they have truss'd and skewer'd a

Turk.
Another comes with stouter tread,
And stalks among the statelier dead.
He rushes on, and hails by turns
High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns,
And shows the British youth, who ne'er
Will lag behind, what Romans were,
When all the Tuscans and their Lars
Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars.

PLAYS

Alas, how soon the hours are over Counted us out to play the lover ! And how much narrower is the stage Allotted us to play the sage !

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