Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,

Could thy dear eyes, in following mine,
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

Thrasimene1-From Childe Harold.'

1.

And I roam

By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles
Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home;
For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles
Come back before me, as his skill beguiles
The host between the mountains and the shore,
Where courage falls in her despairing files,

And torrents, swollen to rivers with their gore,
Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scattered o'er,

2.

Like to a forest felled by mountain winds;
And such the storm of battle on this day,
And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds
To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray,
An earthquake reeled unheededly away!
None felt stern nature rocking at his feet,
And yawning forth a grave for those who lay
Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet;

Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet!

3.

The earth to them was as a rolling bark
Which bore them to eternity; they saw
The ocean round, but had no time to mark
The motions of their vessel; nature's law,
In them suspended, recked not of the awe

Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds
Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw

From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds
Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words.

4.

Far other scene is Thrasimene now:

Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain

Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough;

Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain

Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath ta'en

A little rill of scanty stream and bed

A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain;

And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead

Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red.

1 The Lake of Perugia in Central Italy. The Romans were here defeated by the Carthaginian general, Hannibal, 217 B.C. Sixteen thousand Romans are said to have been either massacred or drowned in the lake, and so great was the fury on both sides as to render them unconscious of the shock of an earthquake which occurred during the battle.

Thomas Moore: 1779-1852.
The Dirge of Hinda. From 'Lalla Rookh
1.

Farewell-farewell to thee, Araby's daughter!
(Thus warbled a Peri1 beneath the dark sea)
No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water,
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.

2.

Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing,
How light was thy heart till love's witchery came,
Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing,
And hushed all its music and withered its frame!

3.

But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands,

Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb.

4.

And still, when the merry date-season is burning,
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old,
The happiest there, from their pastime returning,
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.

5.

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses
Her dark flowing hair for some festival day,
Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses,
She mournfully turns from the mirror away.

6.

Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero! forget thee-
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start,
Close, close by the side of that hero she 'll set thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart.

7.

Farewell; be it ours to embellish thy pillow

With everything beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep.

8.

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber

That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept; With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber, We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept.

9.

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head;

We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling, And gather their gold to strew over thy bed.

10.

Farewell-farewell-until pity's sweet fountain
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave,
They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mountain,
They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave.

1 In Persian mythology, an imaginary female fairy.

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music

The moon rains out her beams, and That panted forth a flood of rapture sɔ

As from thy presence showers a rain of A thing wherein we feel there is some