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(Sylvestra's Chamber.)

Jeron. So, all is hush'd at last. Hist! there she lies,
Who should have been my own: Sylvestra! No;
She sleeps; and from her parted lips there comes
A fragrance such as April mornings draw
From the awakening flowers. There lies her arm,
Stretch'd out like marble on the quilted lid,
And motionless. What if she lives not?---Oh !
How beautiful she is! How far beyond
Those bright creations, which the fabling Greeks
Plac'd on their white Olympus. That great queen,
Before whose eye Jove's starry armies shrank
To darkness, and the wide and billowy seas
Grew tranquil, was a spotted leper to her :
And never in such pure divinity
Could sway the wanton blood as she did-Hark!
She murmurs like a cradled child. How soft'tis.

Sylv. Ha! who's there?
Jeron. 'Tis I.
Sylv. Who is it?

Jeron. Must I then speak, and tell my name to you?
Sylvestra, fair Sylvestra! know me now:
Not now ? and is my very voice so chang’d
By wretchedness, that you—you know me not?

Sylv. Begone. I'll wake my husband, if
You tread a step. Begone.

Jeron. Jeronymo.
Sylv. Ha! speak.
Jeron. Jeronymo.
Sylv. Oh!

Jeron. Hide your eyes :
Aye, hide them, married woma

man-lest you see The wreck of him that lov'd you.

Sylv. Not me.

Jeron. Yes, Lov'd you like life; like heaven and happiness : Lov'd

you, and kept your name against his heart (Ill boding amulet) 'till death. Sylv. Alas!

(thoughts Jeron. And now I come to bring your wandering Back to their innocent home. Thus, as 'tis said, Do spirits quit their leaden urns, to tempt Wretches from sin. Some have been seen o'nights To stand and point their rattling finger at The red moon as it rose; (perhaps to turn Man's thoughts on high.) Some their lean arms have stretch'd

[laugh'd 'Tween murderers and their victims : some have Ghastly, upon-the bed of wantonness, And touch'd the limbs with death.

Sylv. You will not harm me?

Jeron. Why should I not?-No, no, poor girl!

I come not To mar your delicate limbs with outrage. I Have lov'd too well for that. Had you but lov'da

Sylv. I did, I did.

Jeron. Away—my brain is well, (Though late 'twas hot;) You lov'd: Away, away; This to a dying man?

Sylv. Oh! you will live
Long, aye, and happily: will wed perhaps-

Jeron. Nay, pr’ythe cease. Sylvestra, you and I
Were children here some few short springs ago,
And lov'd like children: I the elder; you
The loveliest girl that ever tied her hair
Across a sunny brow of Italy.
I still remember how your delicate foot
Tripped on the lawn at vintage time, and how,
When others ask'd you, you would only give
Your hand to me.

Sylv. Alas! Jeronymo.
Jeron. Aye, that's the name: you had forgot.

Sylv. Oh no.
Can I forget the many hours we've spent,
When care had scarce begun to trouble us ?
How we were wont, on autumn nights, to stray,
Counting the clouds that pass’d across the moon

Jeron. Go on.

Sylv. And figuring many a shape grotesque ; Camels and caravans, and mighty beasts, Hot prancing steeds, and warriors plum'd and

All in the blue sky floating.

Jeron. What is this?
Sylv. I thought you lik’d to hear of it.
Jeron. I do.
Sylv. Then wherefore look so sadly?

Jeron. Fair Sylvestra,
Can I do aught to comfort you?

Sylv. Away,
You do forget yourself.
Jeron. Not so.

Can I
Do aught to serve you? Speak! my time is short,
For death has touch'd me.

Sylv. Now you're jesting.

Jeron. Girl! Now, I am-dying. Oh! I feel my blood Ebb slowly; and before the morning sun Visits your chamber through those trailing vines,.. I shall lie here, here in your chamber, dead, Dead, dead, dead, dead: Nay, shrink not.

Sylv. Pr’ythee go. You fright me.

Jeron. Yet I'd not do so, Sylvestra: I will but tell you, you have used me harshly, (That is not much,) and die: nay, fear me not


may lie

I would not chill, with this decaying touch, Threaten’d, and vow'd, cajold, and then-I mar-
That bosom where the blue veins wander 'round, Jeron. Oh!
As if enamoured and loth to leave their homes

Sylv. What's the matter?
Of beauty: nor should this thy white cheek fade

Jeron. Soft! The night wind sounds From fear at me, a poor heart-broken wretch: A funeral dirge, for me, sweet. Let me lie Look at me. Why, the winds sing through my bones, Upon thy breast; I will not chill’t, my love. And children jeer me, and the boughs that wave It is a shrine where Innocence might die: And whisper loosely in the summer air

Nay, let me lie there once ; for once, Sylvestra.

i Shake their green leaves in mockery, as to say

Sylv. Pity me! “ These are the longer livers."

Jeron. So I do.
Sylv. How is this?

Sylv. Then talk not thus ;
Jeron. I've numbered eighteen summers. Much Though but a jest it makes me tremble.

Jeron. Jest ?
In that short compass; but my days have been

Look in my eye, and mark how true the tale Not happy. Death was busy with our house I've told you: On its glassy surface lies Early, and nipped the comforts of my home,

Death, my Sylvestra. It is Nature's last And sickness paled my cheek, and fancies (like And beautiful effort to bequeath a fire Bright but delusive stars) came wandering by me. To that bright ball on which the spirit sate There's one you know of: that—no matter—that Through life; and look'd out, in its various moods, Drew me from out my way, (a perilous guide) Of gentleness and joy, and love and hope, And left me sinking. I had gay hopes too,

And gain'd this frail flesh credit in the world. What needs the mention,they are vanish’d. It is the channel of the soul: its glance Sylv. I

Draws and reveals that subtle power, that doth I thought,- (speak softly, for my husband sleeps) Redeem us from our gross mortality. I thought, when you did stay abroad so long,

Sylv. Why, now you're cheerful. And never sent nor ask'd of me or mine,

Jeron. Yes; 'tis thus I'd die. You'd quite forgotten Italy.

Sylv. Now I must smile. Jeron. Speak again,

Jeron. Do so, and I'll smile too. Was't so indeed ?

I do; albeit-Ah! now my parting words Sylv. Indeed, indeed.

Lie heavy on my tongue; my lips obey not, (can, Jeron. Then be it.

And-speech-comes difficult from me. While! Yet, what had I done Fortune, that she could

Farewell. Sylvestra! where's your hand? Abandon me so entirely? Never mind't:

Sylv. Ah! cold. Have a good heart, Sylvestra: they who hate

Jeron. 'Tis so: but scorn it not, my own poor girl. Can kill us, but no more, that's comfort. Oh!

They've used us hardly: bless’em though. Thou wilt The journey is but short, and we can reckon

Forgive them. One's a mother, and may feel, On slumbering sweetly with the freshest earth

When that she knows me dead. Some air-more air: Sprinkled about us. There no storms can shake

Where are you?-I am blind—my hands are numb'd: Our secure tenement; nor need we fear,

This is a wintry night.-S0,-cover me. (Dies. Though cruelty be busy with our fortunes, Or scandal with our names. Sylv. Alas! alas!

[flowers. Jeron. Sweet! in the land to come we'll feed on

A VISION. Droop not, my beautiful child. Oh! we will love The night was gloomy. Through the skies of June Then without fear; no mothers there; no gold,

Rolled the eternal moon, Nor hate, nor paltry perfidy, none, none;

'Midst dark and heavy clouds, that bore We have been doubly cheated. Who'll believe A shadowy likeness to those fabled thiogs A mother could do this but let it pass :

That sprung of old from man's imaginings. Anger suits not the grave. Oh! my own love, Each seem'd a fierce reality: some wore Too late I see thy gentle constancy:

The forms of sphinx and hippogriff, or seemed I wrote, and wrote, but never heard; at last, Nourished among the wonders of the deep, Quitting that place of pleasure, home I came And wilder than the poet ever dream'd:

(bent, And found you married: Then

And there were cars-steeds with their proud necks Sylv. Alas !

Tower, and temple, and broken continent: Jeron. Then I

And all, as upon a sea,
Grew moody, and at times I fear my brain

In the blue ether floated silently.
Was fever'd; but I could not die, Sylvestra, I lay upon my bed, and sank to sleep:
And bid you no farewell.

And then I fancied that I rode upon
Sylv. Jeronymo!

The waters, and had power to call
Break not my heartthus: they-they did deceive me. Up people who had lived in ages gone,
They told me that the girls of France were fair, And scenes and stories half forgot, and all
And you had scorn'd your poor and childish love; That on my young imagination

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Had come like fairy visions, and departed.

Mournfully to the fields of Thessaly. And ever by me a broad current passed

And there I saw, piercing the deep blue sky, Slowly, from which at times up started

And radiant with his diadem of snow, Dim scenes and ill-defined shapes. At last

Crowned Olympus: and the hills below I bade the billows render up their dead,

Looked like inferior spirits tending round And all their wild inhabitants; and I

His pure supremacy; and a sound Summoned the spirits who perished,

Went rolling onwards through the sunny calm, Or took their stations in the starry sky,

As if immortal voices then had spoken,
When Jove himself bowed his Saturnian head And, with rich noises, broken
Before the One Divinity.

The silence which that holy place had bred.

I knelt-and as I knelt, haply in token First, I saw a landscape fair

Of thanks, there fell a honeyed shower of balm; Towering in the clear blue air,

And the imperial mountain bowed his hoary head. Like Ida's woody summits and sweet fields, Where all that Nature yields

And then came one who on the Nubian sands Flourishes. Three proud shapes were seen, Perish'd for love; and with him the wanton queen Standing upon the green

Egyptian, in her state was seen; Like Olympian queens descended.

And how she smil'd, and kissed his willing hands, One was unadorned, and one

And said she would not love, and swore to die, Wore her golden tresses bound

And laughed upon the Roman Antony. With simple flowers; the third was crowned, Oh, matchless Cleopatra ! never since And from amidst her raven hair,

Has one, and never more Like stars, imperial jewels shone.

Shall one like thee tread on the Egypt shore, Not one of those figures divine

Or lavish such royal magnificence: But might have sate in Juno's chair,

Never shall one laugh, love, or die like thee, And smild in great equality

Or own so sweet a witchery : On Jove, though the blue skies were shaken ; And, brave Mark Antony, that thou could'st give Or, with superior aspect, taken

Half the wide world to live From Hebe's hand Nectarean wine.

With that enchantress, did become thee well; And that Dardanian boy was there

For Love is wiser than Ambition.-
Whom pale Ænone loved: his hair

Queen and thou, lofty triumvir, fare ye well.
Was black, and curled his temples 'round;
His limbs were free and forehead fair,

And then I heard the sullen waters roar,
And as he stood on rising ground,

And saw them cast their surf upon the strand, And back his dark locks proudly tossed,

And then rebounding toward some far-seen land, A shepherd youth he looked, but trod

They washed and washed its melancholy shore: On the green-sward like a god ;

And the terrific spirits, bred Most like Apollo when he played

In the sea-caverns, moved by those fierce jars, ('Fore Midas,) in the Phrygian shade,

Rose up like giants from their watery bed, With Pan, and to the Sylvan lost.

And shook their silver hair against the stars.

Then, bursts like thunder-joyous outcries wildAnd now from out the watery floor

Sounds as from trumpets, and from drums, A city rose, and well she wore

And music, like the lulling noise that comes Her beauty, and stupendous walls,

From nurses when they bush their charge to sleep, And towers that touched the stars, and halls

Came in confusion from the deep. Pillar'd with whitest marble, whence

Methought one told me that a child Palace on lofty palace sprung;

Was that night unto the great Neptune born; And over all rich gardens hung,

And then old Triton blew his curled horn, Where, amongst silver waterfalls,

And the Leviathan lashed the foaming seas, Cedars and spice-trees and green bowers,

And the wanton Nereides And sweet winds playing with all the flowers

Came up like phantoms from their coral halls, Of Persia and of Araby,

And laughed and sung like tipsy Bacchanals, Walked princely shapes : some with an air

Till all the fury of the Ocean broke Like warriors, some like ladies fair

Upou my ear.-- -I trembled and awoke. Listening, and, amidst all, the king Nebuchadnezzar rioting In supreme magnificence.

WISHES. - This was famous Babylon.

Now, give me but a cot that's good, That glorious vision passed on,

In some great town's neighbourhood: And then I heard the laurel-branches sigh,

A garden, where the winds may play That still grow where the bright-ey'd muses walk’d: Fresh from the blue hills far away, And Pelion shook his piny locks, and talked

And wanton with such trees as bear


Their loads of green through all the year,

She whom I loved has fed; Laurel, and dusky juniper:

And now with the lost dead So may some friends, whose social talk

I rank her; and the heart that loved her so, I love, there take their evening walk,

(But could not bear her pride,) And spend a frequent holiday.

In its own cell hath died,

And turn'd to dust, but this she shall not know. And may I own a quiet room, Where the morning sun may come,

'Twould please her did she think Stored with books of poesy,

That my poor frame did shrink, Tale, science, old morality,

And waste and wither; and that love's own light Fable, and divine history,

Did blast its temple, where Ranged in separate cases round,

'Twas worshipped many a year; Each with living marble crown'd;

Veild (like some holy thing) from human sight. Here should Apollo stand, and there

Oh ! had you seen her when
Isis, with her sweeping hair,

She languished, and the men
Here Phidian Jove, or the face of thought From the dark glancing of her fringed eye
Of Pallas, or Laocoon,

Turned, but returned again
Or Adrian's boy Antinous,

To mark the winding vein Or the wing'd Mercurius,

Steal tow'rd her marbled bosom silently. Or some that conquest lately brought

What matters this ?-thou Lyre, From the land Italian.

Nothing shall e'er inspire And one I'd have, whose heaving breast

Thy master to rehearse those songs again: Should rock me nightly to my rest,

She whom he loved is gone, By holy chains bound fast to me,

And he, now left alone, Faster by Love's sweet sorcery.

Sings, when he sings of love, in vain, in vain. I would not have my beauty as Juno or Paphian Venus was, Or Dian with her crested moon,

TO A CHILD. (Else, haply, she might change as soon,)

Fairest of earth's creatures! Or Portia, that high Roman dame,

All thy innocent features Or she who set the world on flame,

Moulded in beauty do become thee well. Spartan Helen, who did leave

Oh! may thy future years Her husband-king to grieve,

Be free from pains, and fears, And Aled with Priam's shepherd-boy,

False love, and others envy, and the guile And caus’d the mighty tale of Troy.

That lurks beneath a friendlike smile, She should be a woman who

And all the various ills that dwell (Graceful without much endeavour)

In this so strange compounded world; and may

Thy look be like the skies of May,
Could praise or excuse all I do,
And love me ever.

Supremely soft and clear,

With, vow and then,
I'd have her thoughts fair, and her skin
White as the white soul within;

For joy, or others sorrows, not thy own;
And her fringed eyes of darkest blue,

And may thy sweet voice

Like a stream afar
Which the great soul looketh through,
Like heaven's own gates cerulean :

Flow in perpetual music, and its tone
And these I'd gaze and gaze upon,

Be joyful, and bid all who hear rejoice,
As did of old Pygmalion.

And may thy bright eye, like a star,
Shine sweet, and cheer the hearts that love thee,

And take in all the beauty of the flowers,

Deep woods and running brooks, and the rich sights Lic silent now, my lyre,

Which thou may'st note above thee

At noontide, or on interlunar nights, For all thy master's fire

Or when blue Iris, after showers, Is gone.--It vanish'd like the summer sun.

Bends her cerulean bow, and seems to rest Brightly the passion rose,

On some distant mountain's breast, Aud, till it's turbulent close,

Surpassing all the shapes that lie
It shone as bright; though all he wished was won.

Haunting the sunset of an autumn sky.
Deem me not false, ye fair,
Who, with your golden hair

And soft eyes chain man's heart to yours: the deer

Thus bound by beauty's chain
Wanders not again:

Oh, for that winged steed, Bellerophon!
Prisoner to love, like me-never to fear.

That Pallas gave thee in her infinite grace




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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