For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, And far o'er southern waves immovably Belted Orion hangs-warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.— "O summer eve! with power divine, bestowing 46 Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm "Of fevered brains oppressed with grief and madness Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale ! And these soft waves murmuring a gentle sadness, "And the far sighings of yon piny dale Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here.-I bear alone what nothing may avail "To lighten-a strange load!"-No human ear Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan Of dark emotion, a swift shadow ran, Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake, Glassy and dark. And that divine old man Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake, Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest: And with a calm, and measured voice he spake, And with a soft and equal pressure pressed That cold lean hand.. "Dost thou remember yet, When the curved moon, then lingering in the west, "Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea: 'Tis just one year—sure thou dost not forget! "Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Lingered. like moonlight in the moonless east, For we had just then read-thy memory "Is faithful now-the story of the feast.; And Agathon and Diotima seemed From death and dark. forgetfulness released." 'TWAS at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber. As a spherèd angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden Stands up before its mother bright and mild, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems— So stood before the Sun, which shone and smiled To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams, grove Waxed green, and flowers burst forth like starry beams; The grass in the warm sun did start and move, And sea-buds burst beneath the waves serene. How many a one, though none be near to love, Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen In any mirror—or the Spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green! How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps-and over wide dominions Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms!-the wide world shrinks below, When winter and despondency are past. 'TWAS at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps. Those eagle-baffling mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow. Beside the ways The waterfalls were voiceless; for their fountains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now, Or, by the curdling winds-like brazen wings Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung, And filled with frozen light the chasm below. THOU art the wine whose drunkenness is all Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew. Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls Investeth it; and, when the heavens are blue, Thou fillest them; and, when the earth is fair The shadows of thy moving wings imbue Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear Beauty like some bright robe. Thou ever soarest Among the towers of men; and as soft air In Spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men, and aye implorest That which 'from thee they should implore. The weak Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts The strong have broken :-yet where shall any seek A garment, whom thou clothest not? HER hair was brown; her spherèd eyes were brown, And in their dark and liquid moisture swam Like the dim orb of the eclipsèd moon.; Yet, when the spirit flashed beneath, there came The light from them, as when tears of delight Double the western planet's serene flame. MARLOW, 1817. IV. THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE. SWIFT as a spirit hastening to his task Of darkness fell from the awakened earth. The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above crimson clouds, and at the birth |