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And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night

of time In which suns perished; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;

And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's

serene abode.


But now, thy youngest, dearest one has

perished, The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden

cherished, And fed with true love tears, instead of dew; Most musical of mourners, weep anew! Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the

last, The bloom, whose petals, nipped before they

blew, Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; The broken lily lies—the storm is overpast.

VII. To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came; and bought, with price of purest

breath, A grave among the eternal.—Come away! Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;

Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII. He will awake no more, oh, never more !Within the twilight chamber spreads apace, The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface

So fair a prey, till darkness, and the law Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain


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O, weep for Adonais !—The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living

streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he

taught The love which was its music, wander not, Wander no more, from kindling brain to

brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and

mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet

pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home


And one with trembling hands clasps his cold

head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and

cries; “ Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; “ See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, “ Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies “ A tear some Dream has loosened from his

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!

She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

XI. One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs as ifembalming them; Another clipped her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and wingèd reeds, as if to stem

A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.

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Another Splendour on his mouth alit,
That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the

breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded

wit, And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp

death Quenched its caress upon his icy lips; And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night

clips, It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed

to its eclipse. i Compare this and line 2 of stanza xiii with a passage in Rosalind and Helen (vol. ii, p. 261):

a winged band
Of bright persuasions, which had fed
On his sweet lips and liquid eyes.-ED.


And others came ... Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, Splendours, aud Glooms, and glimmering

Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies; And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the

gleam Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp;—the moving pomp

might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

XIV. All he had loved, and moulded into thought, From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet

sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair un

bound, Wet with the tears which should adorn the

ground, Dimmed the aërial eyes that kindle day; Afar the melancholy thunder moaned,

Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in

their dismay.

XV. Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief with his remembered lay, And will no more reply to winds or fountains, Or amorous birds perched on the young

green spray, Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear

Than those for whose disdain she pined away

Into a shadow of all sounds :-à drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the wood

men hear.

XVI. Grief made the young Spring wild, and she

threw down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is

For whom should she have waked the sullen

To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear
Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both
Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere

Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odour, to sigh

ing ruth.

XVII. Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, Mourns not her mate with such melodious

pain; Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale Heaven, and could nourish in thesun's domain Her mighty youth with morning, doth com

plain, Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy innocent

breast, And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest!

XVIII. Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year;

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