And of one selfish heart, whose rancour clung
Like curses on them; are ye slow to borrow
The lore of truth from such a tale?
Or in this world’s deserted vale,
Do ye not see a star of gladness
Pierce the shadows of its sadness,–
When ye are cold, that love is a light sent
From Heaven, which none shall quench, to cheer the innocent?
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I.
Methinks she must be nigh,’Said Mary, as we sateIn dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;And I, who thoughtThis Aziola was some tedious woman,Asked, ‘Who is Aziola?’ How elateI felt to know that it was nothing human,No mockery of myself to fear or hate:And Mary saw my soul,And laughed, and said, ‘Disquiet yourself not;‘Tis…
(With what truth may I say–
Non e piu come era prima!)I.My lost William, thou in whomSome bright spirit lived, and didThat decaying robe consumeWhich its lustre faintly hid,–Here its ashes find a tomb,But beneath this pyramidThou art not—if a thing divineLike thee can die, thy funeral shrineIs thy mother’s grief and mine.II.Where art thou, my gentle child?Let me think thy…
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
What! leapest thou forth as of oldIn the light of thy morning mirth,The last of the flock of the starry fold?Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?How! is not thy quick heart cold?What spark is alive on thy hearth?How! is…
Heigho! the lark and the owl!
Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,Sings like the fool through darkness and light.‘A widow bird sate mourning for her loveUpon a wintry bough;The frozen wind crept on above,The freezing stream below.‘There was no leaf upon the forest bare,No flower upon the ground,And little motion in the airExcept the mill-wheel’s sound.’
Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle–k.t.l.
The azure sea, I love the land no more;The smiles of the serene and tranquil deepTempt my unquiet mind.—But when the roarOf Ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foamGathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst,I turn from the drear aspect to the homeOf Earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed,When winds blow loud, pines make…
Ye gentle visitations of calm thought–
Which come arrayed in thoughts of little worth,Like stars in clouds by the weak winds enwrought,–But that the clouds depart and stars remain,While they remain, and ye, alas, depart!