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Sudden, from out that city sprung | At last her plank an eddy crost,

A light that made the earth grow red; And bore her to the city's wall, Two flames that each with quivering Which now the flood had reached almost; tongue

| It might the stoutest heart appal Licked its high domes, and overhead | To hear the fire roar and hiss Among those mighty towers and fanes | Through the domes of those mighty Dropped fire, as a volcano rains

palaces. Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.


The eddy whirled her round and round XIII

Before a gorgeous gate, which stood And hark! a rush as if the deep

Piercing the clouds of smoke which Had burst its bonds; she looked

bound behind

Its aëry arch with light like blood; And saw over the western steep

She looked on that gate of marble clear, A raging flood descend, and wind

| With wonder that extinguished fear, Through that wide vale; she felt no fear, But said within herself, 'Tis clear These towers are Nature's own, and she

For it was filled with sculptures rarest, To save them has sent forth the sea.

Of forms most beautiful and strange, XIV

Like nothing human, but the fairest And now those raging billows came

Of winged shapes, whose legions range Where that fair Lady sate, and she

Throughout the sleep of those that are, Was borne towards the showering flame

Like this same Lady, good and fair. By the wild waves heaped tumultu

xx ously

And as she looked, still lovelier grew And on a little plank, the flow Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.

Those marble forms;—the sculptor


| Was a strong spirit, and the hue The flames were fiercely vomited

or his own mind did there endure From every tower and every dome,

After the touch, whose power had And dreary light did widely shed

braided O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Such grace, was in some sad change Beneath the smoke which hung its night

faded, On the stained cope of heaven's light.


She looked, the flames were dim, the XVI

flood The plank whereon that Lady sate

Grew tranquil as a woodland river Was driven through the chasms, about Winding through hills in solitude; and about,

Those marble shapes then seemed to Between the peaks so desolate

quiver, Of the drowning mountains, in and And their fair limbs to float in motion,

Like weeds unfolding in the ocean. As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind

sailsWhile the flood was filling those hollow And their lips moved; one seemed to vales.







When suddenly the mountains crackt, Upon the verge of nature's utmost And through the chasm the flood did sphere, break

Till the world's shadowy walls are With an earth-uplifting cataract:

past and disappear. The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin dream Listed the Lady from the stream, Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it

lingers XXIII

O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling The dizzy flight of that phantom pale

wings, Waked the fair Lady from her sleep, The blood and life within those snowy And she arose, while from the veil

fingers Of her dark eyes the dream did creep, Teach witchcraft to the instrumental And she walked about as one who knew

strings. That sleep has sights as clear and true My brain is wild, my breath comes As any waking eyes can view.

quickThe blood is listening in my frame,

And thronging shadows, fast and thick, TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING

Fall on my overflowing eyes; My heart is quivering like a flame;

As morning dew, that in the sunbeam Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, .

dies, Perchance were death indeed !--Con- ! I am dissolved in these consuming stantia, turn !

ecstasies. In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were

IV thy voice, which burn

I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Whilst, like the world - surrounding Within thy breath, and on thy hair, air, thy song like odour it is yet,

Flows on, and fills all things with And from thy touch like fire doth leap. melody Even while I write, my burning Now is thy voice a tempest swift and cheeks are wet,

strong, Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, On which, like one in trance upborne, but not forget!

Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.

Now 'tis the breath of summer night, A breathless awe, like the swift change which when the starry waters sleep,

Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, | Round western isles, with incense. Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably

blossoms bright, strange,

Lingering, suspends my soul in its Thou breathest now in fast ascending voluptuous flight.

The cope of heaven seems rent and

By the enchantment of thy strain,
And on my shoulders wings are woven,
To follow its sublime career,

The rose that drinks the fountain dew Beyond the mighty moons that wane In the pleasant air of noon,

which burn


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Grows pale and blue with altered hue

“MIGHTY EAGLE” In the gaze of the nightly moon; For the planet of frost, so cold and


WILLIAM GODWIN Makes it wan with her borrowed light. MIGHTY eagle ! thou that soarest

O'er the misty mountain forest,

And amid the light of morning Such is my heart-roses are fair,

Like a cloud of glory hiest,

And when night descends defiest
And that at best a withered blossom;
But thy false care did idly wear

The embattled tempests' warning! Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom;

TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR And fed with love, like air and dew, Its growth —

Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest

crest FRAGMENT: TO ONE singing of that soul, knotted, many - headed

worm My spirit like a charmed bark doth Which rends our Mother's bosomswim

Priestly Pest ! Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet Masked Resurrection of a buried singing,

Form ! Far away into the regions dim

II of rapture—as a boat, with swift sails winging

Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice Its way adown some many - winding sold, river.

Truth trampled, Nature's landmarks


And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold, A FRAGMENT : TO MUSIC Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruc

tion's throne. Silver key of the fountain of tears, Where the spirit drinks till the brain

111 is wild ;

And, whilst that sure slow Angel which Softest grave of a thousand fears,

aye stands Where their mother, Care, like a Watching the beck of Mutability drowsy child,

Delays to execute her high commands, Is laid asleep in flowers.

And, thcugh a nation weeps, spares

thine and thee,



O let a father's curse be on thy soul,

1 And let a daughter's hope be on thy No, Music, thou art not the “ food of tomb; Love,"

Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet

| To weigh thee down to thine ap. Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.

proaching doom !






| By the dark creeds which cover with I curse thee by a parent's outraged love,

eclipse By hopes long cherished and too

Their pathway from the cradle to the lately lost,

tombBy gentle feelings thou couldst never

prove, By griefs which thy stern nature never By thy most impious Hell, and all its crost;

terror; By all the grief, the madness, and the

guilt By those infantine smiles of happy light, of thine impostures, which must be Which were a fire within a stranger's

their errorhearth,

That sand on which thy crumbling Quenched even when kindled, in un

power is built-
timely night,
Hiding the promise of a lovely birth;

By thy complicity with lust and hate-

Thy thirst for tears—thy hunger after By those unpractised accents of young The ready frauds which ever on thee

goldspeech, Which he who is a father thought to


| frame

The servile arts in which thou hast To gentlest lore, such as the wisest

grown oldteach

XIII Thou strike the lyre of mind ! O

| By thy most killing sncer, and by thy grief and shame!

smile By all the arts and snares of thy

black den, By all the happy see in children's And–for thou canst outweep the crocogrowth

dile-That undeveloped flower of budding

By thy false tears—those millstones

R years

braining menSweetness and sadness interwoven both, Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears

By all the hate which checks a father's


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By all the scorn which kills a father's By all the days under an hireling's care,

careOf dull constraint and bitter heavi.

eava | By those most impious hands which ness,

dared remove O wretched ye if ever any were,

Nature's high bounds— by thee-and Sadder than orphans, yet not father

by despair-

XV By the false cant which on their inno- Yes, the despair which bids a father cent lips

groan, Must hang like poison on an opening And cry, “My children are no longer bloom,



The blood within those veins may be Near thy sweet mother's anxious heart, mine own,

Which thou with joy shalt fill, But — Tyrant -- their polluted souls With fairest smiles of wonder thrown are thine ;—"

On that which is indeed our own,

| And which in distant lands will be XVI

| The dearest playmate unto thee. I curse thee—though I hate thee notO slave !

IV If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming Hell

Fear not the tyrants will rule for ever, Of which thou art a dæmon, on thy

Or the priests of the evil faith ; grave

| They stand on the brink of that raging This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well !

Whose waves they have tainted with

death. | It is fed from the depth of a thousand


Around them it foams and rages and


And their swords and their sceptres I The billows on the beach are leaping floating see, around it,

Like wrecks on the surge of eternity. The bark is weak and srail, The sea looks black, and the clouds

that bound it Darkly strew the gale.

Rest, rest, and shriek not, thou gentle Come with me, thou delightsul child, Come with me, though the wave is wild,

1 | The rocking of the boat thou fearest, And the winds are loose, we must not

|| And the cold spray and the clamour

wild ?stay, Or the slaves of the law may rend thee

There sit between us two, thou away.

Me and thy mother-well we know

The storm at which thou tremblest so, They have taken thy brother and sister

With all its dark and hungry graves, dear,

Less cruel than the savage slaves They have made them unfit for thee;

Who hunt us o'er these sheltering waves. They have withered the smile and dried

the tear Which should have been sacred to me.

This hour will in thy memory To a blighting faith and a cause of Be a dream of days forgotten long, crime

We soon shall dwell by the azure sea They have bound them slaves in youthly Of serene and golden Italy, prime,

| Or Greece, the Mother of the free; And they will curse my name and thee And I will teach thine infant tongue Because we are fearless and free. To call upon those heroes old

In their own language, and will mould III

Thy growing spirit in the fame Come thou, beloved as thou art ; Or Grecian lore, that by such name Another sleepeth still

| A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim !

child !

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