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MARCIAN AND JULIA.
Fred. I'll be a miser of thee; watch thee ever: In thy most soft and winning eloquence;
In woman's gentleness and love (now bent
Thou shalt sing to me
When the waves are sleeping, And say how long 'twas taking: then, thy voice
And the winds are creeping As rich as stringed harp swept by the winds
'Round the embowering chesnut tree. In autumn, gentle as the touch that falls
Thou shalt sing by night, On serenader's moonlit instrument
When no birds are calling, Nothing shall pass unheeded. Thou shalt be
And the stars are falling
Brightly from their mansions bright.
Of those thy song shall tell
From whom we've never parted, Fred. Oh! not so.
The young, the tender-hearted,
The gay, and all who loved us well.
Such a gentle hour,
Nor our favourite bower,
With a thought that tastes of pain.
FROM MARCIAN COLONNA.
“ Yes,-mixed with these wild visionings, a form Fred. With delight.
Descended, fragile as a summer cloud,
And with her gentle voice she stilled the storm: But I may worship thee in silence, still. Gia. The evening's dark; now I must go: farewell
I never saw her face, and yet I bowed
Down to the dust, as savage men, they say,
Adore the sun in countries far away.
I felt the music of her words like balm
Raining upon my soul, and I grew calm On lovers reunited. Why, she smiles,
As the great forest lion that lay down
At Una's feet, without a single moan,
Vanquish'd by love; or as the herds that hung
Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung. Gia. Farewell.
- I never saw her,-never: but her voice Nay, nay, I must go. Fred. We will go together.
Was the whole world to me. It said · rejoice, Gia. It must not be to-night: my servants wait
For I am come to love thee, youth, at last, My coming at the fisher's cottage.
To recompense thy pains and sorrow past. Fred. Yet,
No longer now, amongst the mountains high, A few more words, and then I'll part with thee,
Shalt thou over thy single destiny
Mourn: I am come to share it. I, whom all For one long night: to-morrow bid me come (Thou hast already with thine eyes) and bring
Have worshipped like a shrine, have left the hall My load of love and lay it at thy feet.
Of my proud parents, and without a sigh -Oh! ever while those floating orbs look bright,
Am come to roam by caverns and by floods, Shalt thou to me a sweet guiding light.
And be a dweller with thee in the woods." Once, the Chaldean from his topmost tower
He ended, and with kisses sweet and soft Did watch the stars, and then assert their power She recompensed his words, and bade him dwell Throughout the world: so, dear Giana, I
No more upon the past, but look aloft Will vindicate my own idolatry.
And pray to heaven; and yet she bade him tell And in the beauty and the spell that lies
Again the story of that lady young, In the dark azure of thy love-lit eyes;
Who o'er him in such dream-like beauty hung. In the clear veins that wind thy neck beside, “ You saw her, Marcian-No?"_" My love, my 'Till in the white depths of thy breast they hide,
love, And in thy polish'd forehead, and thy hair
My own," he said, “ 'twas thou, my forest dove, Heap'd in thick tresses on thy shoulders fair; Who soothed one in the wilderness, and crept In thy calm dignity; thy modest sense;
Into my heart, and o'er my folly wept
FROM THE SAME.
From dusky evening to the streaming morn,
ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
O thou vast Ocean! ever sounding sea!
Thou symbol of a dread immensity! Aside and kissed again his forehead fair.
Thou thing that windest round the solid world “ Come, thou shalt lie upon-aye, on my breast,
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurl'd And I will sing thee into golden rest.”
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. Thus talked they, following, as lovers will; Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep A pleasant pastime,—and when worldly pain Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. Comes heavily on us, it is pleasant still
Thou speakest in the east and in the west To read of this in song: it brings again
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast The hours of youth before man's jaded eye,
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life Spreading a charm about him silently.
Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife. -Oh! never shall thy name, sweet Poesy,
The earth hath nought of this: no chance nor change Be flung away, or trampled by the crowd
Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare As a thing of little while I aloud
Give answer to the tempest-waken air; May--(with a feeble voice indeed) proclaim
But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range The sanctity, the beauty of thy name.
At will, and wound its bosom as they go: Thy grateful servant am I, for thy power
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; Has solaced me thro' many a wretched hour;
But to their stated rounds the seasons come, In sickness—aye, when frame and spirit sank, And pass like visions to their viewless home, I turned me to thy crystal cup and drank
And come again, and vanish: the young spring Intoxicating draughts. Faithfullest friend,
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, Most faithful—perhaps best—when none were nigh, And winter always winds his sullen horn, Unto thy green recesses did I send
When the wild autumn with a look forlorn My thoughts, and freshest rills of poesy
Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies Came streaming all around from fountains old; Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies. And so I drank and drank, and haply told
- Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power, How thankful was I unto the night wind
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour, Alone,-a cheerless confidant, but kind.
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds Sleep softly, on your bridal pillows, sleep,
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven Excellent pair! happy and young and true;
Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind, And o’er your days, and o'er your slumbers deep
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind, And airy dreams, may love's divinest dew
And stretch thine arms, and warat once with heaven. Be scatter'd like the April rains of heaven: And may your tender words, whispered at even, Thou trackless and immeasurable main! Be woven into music; and as the wind
On thee no record ever lived again Leaves when it flies a sweetness still behind,
To meet the hand that writ it: lipe nor lead When distant, may each silver-sounding tone Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps, Weigh on the other's heart, and bring (tho' gone) Where haply the huge monster swells and sleeps, The absent back; and may no envy sever
King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said, Your joys, but may each love-be loved for ever.
Can move the mighty ocean into storm
Oh! wonderful thou art, great element:
“ Eternity, eternity, and power.”
THE RAPE OF PROSERPINE.
The Vale of Enna.
Proser. Now come and sit around me, Hath vanished; and the worship of this earth And I'll divide the flowers, and give to each Is bowed to golden gods of vulgar birth.
What most becomes her beauty. What a vale
Is this of Enna! every thing that comes
In the centre of the world,
Mark him as he moves along
Drawn by horses black and strong, My spirit mounts as triumphing, and my heart,
Such as may belong to night In which the red blood hides, seems tumulted
Ere she takes her morning flight. By some delicious passion. Look, above,
Now the chariot stops: the god Above-how nobly through the cloudless sky
On our grassy world hath trod : The great Apollo goes!—Jove's radiant son
Like a Titan steppeth he, My father's son: and here, below, the bosom
Yet full of his divinity. of the green earth is almost hid by flowers.
On his mighty shoulders lie Who would be sad to-day! come round, and cast
Raven locks, and in his eye Each one her odorous heap from out her lap,
A cruel beauty, such as none
Of us may wisely took upon.
Proser. He comes indeed. How like a god he looks! And we be blest in giving.,
Terribly lovely-shall I shun his eye,
Which even here looks brightly beautiful? (This one half blown) shall be my Maia's portion, What a wild leopard glance he has.-I am For that like it her blush is beautiful:
Jove's daughter, and shall I then deign to fly? And this deep violet, almost as blue
I will not: yet, methinks, I fear to stay. As Pallas' eye, or thine, Lycimnia,
Come, let us go, Cyane. I'll give to thee; for like thyself it wears
(Pluto enters.] Its sweetness, never obtruding. For this lily,
Pluto. Stay, oh! stay. Where can it hang but at Cyane's breast?
Proserpina, Proserpina, I come And yet 'twill wither on so white a bed,
From my Tartarean kingdom to behold you. If flowers have sense for envy:- It shall lie
The brother of Jove am I. I come to say Amongst thy raven tresses, Cytheris,
Gently, beside this blue Sicilian stream, Like one star on the bosom of the night.
How much I love you, fair Proserpina. The cowslip, and the yellow primrose,--they Think me not rude that thus at once I tell Are gone, my sad Leontia, to their graves ;
My passion. I disarm me of all power; And April hath wept o'er them, and the voice And in the accents of a man I sue, Of March hath sung, even before their deaths, Bowing before your beauty. Brightest maid! The dirge of those young children of the year. Let me-still unpresuming—say I have But here is heart's-ease for your woes. And now, Roamed through the earth, where many an eye hath The honeysuckle flower I give to thee,
smiled And love it for my sake, my own Cyane:
In love upon me, though it knew me not; It hangs upon the stem it loves, as thou
But I have passed free from amongst them all, Hast clung to me, thro' every joy and sorrow; To gaze on you alone. I might have clasped It flourishes with its guardian's growth, as thou dost; Lovely and royal maids, and throned queens, And if the woodmau's axe should droop the tree, Sea nymphs, and airy shapes, that glide along The woodbine too must perish.— Hark! what Like light across the hills, or those that make Do ye see aught?
(sound- Mysterious music in the desert woods,
Or lend a voice to fountains or to caves,
Or answering hush the river's sweet reproachBehold, behold, Proserpina !
Oh! I've escaped from all, to come and tell Dark clouds from out the earth arise,
How much I love you, sweet Proserpina.
Come with me, away, away, Some fearful being from afar
Fair and young Proserpina. Comes onward. As he moves along the ground,
You will die unless you fee, A dull and subterranean sound
Child of crowned Cybele. Companions him; and from his face doth shine, Think of all your mother's love, Proclaiming him divine,
Of every stream and pleasant grove A light that darkens all the vale around.
That you must for ever leave,
If the dark king you believe.
Think not of his eyes of fire,
Nor his wily heart's desire,
Nor the locks that round his head
Run like wreathed snakes, and fing
A shadow o'er his eyes glancing;
Nor, the dangerous whispers hung,
Come round me, virgins. Am I then betrayed? Like honey, roofing o'er his tongue.
O fraudful king! But think of all thy mother's glory
Pluto. No, by this kiss, and this: Of her love-of every story
I am your own, my love, and you are mine
For ever and for ever.-Weep Cyane.
They are gone,
afar-afar: Once again I bid thee flee,
Like the shooting of a star, Daughter of great Cybele.
See,-their chariot fades away.
Farewell, lost Proserpina.
(Cyane is gradually transformed.) Fairer than the white Naiad-fairer far
But, ah! what frightful change is here: Than aught on earth, and fair as aught in heaven:
Cyane, raise your eyes, and hear! Hear me, Proserpina !
We call thee,-vainly; on the ground Proser. Away, away.
She sinks, without a single sound, I'll not believe you. What a cunning tongue
And all her garments float around. He has, Cyane; has he not ?-Away.
Again, again, she rises,-light; Can the gods flatter?
Her head is like a fountain bright, Pluto. By my burning throne !
And her glossy ringlets fall, I love you, sweetest: I will make you queen
With a murmur musical, Of my great kingdom. One third of the world
O'er her shoulders, like a river Shall you reign over, my Proserpina ;
That rushes and escapes for ever. you shall rank as high as any she,
-Is the fair Cyane gone? Save one, within the starry court of Jove,
And is this fountain left alone Proser. Will you be true ?
For a sad remembrance, where Pluto. I swear it. By myself!
We may in after times repair, Come then, my bride.
With heavy heart, and weeping eye, Proser. Speak thou again, my friend.
To sing songs to her memory? Speak, harsh Cyane, in a harsher voice, And bid me not believe him. Ah! you droop Oh ! then farewell: and now with hearts that mourn Your head in silence.
Deeply, to Dian's temple will we go: Pluto. Come, my brightest queen!
But ever on this day we will return, Come, beautiful Proserpina, and see
Constant, to mark Cyane's fountain flow: The regions over which your husband reigns; And haply,-for among us who can know His palaces, and radiant treasures, which
The secrets written on the scrolls of fate, Mock and outstrip all fable; his great power,
A day may come, when we may cease our woe; Which the living own, and wandering ghosts obey, And she, redeemed at last from Pluto's hate, And all the elements.—Oh! you shall sit
Rise in her beauty old, pure, and regenerate.
THE LAST SONG.
Must it be ?-then farewell,
Thou whom my woman's heart cherished so long: Proser. Speak out, Cyane !
Farewell, and be this song Pluto. But, above all, in my heart shall you reign The last, wherein I say " I loved thee well." Supreme, a goddess and a queen indeed, Without a rival. Oh! and you shall share
Many a weary strain My subterranean power, and sport upon
(Never yet heard by thee) bath this poor breath
Uttered, of love and death,
And maiden grief, hidden and chid in vain. And mazy rivers, and eternal groves
Oh! if in after years Of bloom and beauty, the good spirits walk:
The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart, shall take your station in the skies
Bid not the pain depart;
But shed, over my grave, a few sad tears.
Think of me-still so young,
Silent, tho' fond, who cast my
away, Nothing but force shall ever-Ah! away
Daring to disobey I'll not believe-fool that I am to smile.
The passionate spirit that around me clung.
Farewell again; and yet,
Was never fashioned in a summer dream, Must it indeed be somand on this shore
Where Nymph or Naiad from the hot sunbeam Shall you and I no more
Might hide, or in the waters cool her feet. Together see the sun of the summer set?
-A lovelier rivulet was never seen For me, my days are gone:
Wandering amidst Italian meadows, where
Clitumnus lapses from his fountain fair; No more shall I, in vintage times, prepare
Nor in that land where gods, 'tis said, have been; Chaplets to bind my hair,
Yet there Cephisus ran thro' olives green, As I was wont: oh 'twas for you alone.
And on its banks Aglaia bound her hair.
Perhaps the lady of my love is now
Looking upon the skies. A single star
Is rising in the east, and from afar
Doth wear it like a jewel on her brow:
But see, it motions, with its lovely light,
To its appointed course stedfast and true.
So, dearest, would I fain be unto thee,
And yet more like art thou a jewel rare. Than this romantic solitary stream,
Oh! brighter than the brightest star, to me, Over whose banks so many branches meet,
Come hither, my young love; and I will wear Entangling:-a more shady bower or neat
Thy beauty on my breast delightedly.