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Piloted by the many-wandering blast,
bowers There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers ; Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn Trembles not in the slumbering air, and borne In circles quaint, and ever-changing dance, Like winged stars the fire-flies flash and glance Pale in the open moonshine ; but each one Under the dark trees seems a little sun, A meteor tamed ; a fixed star gone astray From the silver regions of the Milky-way. Afar the Contadino's song is heard, Rude, but made sweet by distance ;—and a bird Which cannot be a nightingale, and yet I know none else that sings so sweet as it At this late hour ;-and then all is still :Now Italy or London, which you will !
Next winter you must pass with me ; I'll have My house by that time turned into a grave Of dead despondence and low-thoughted care, And all the dreams which our tormentors are. O that Hunt and
were there, With every thing belonging to them fair ! We will have books ; Spanish, Italian, Greek, And ask one week to make another week As like his father, as I'm unlike mine. Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine, Yet let's be merry ; we'll have tea and toast ; Custards for supper, and an endless host Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, And other such lady-like luxuries,Feasting on which we will philosophise. And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's
wood, To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood. And then we'll talk ;—what shall we talk about ? Oh ! there are themes enough for many a bout Of thought-entangled descant ; as to nerves With cones and parallelograms and curves, I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare To bother me,- when you are with me there. And they shall never more sip laudanum From Helicon or Himeros ; * - well, come, And in spite of *** and of the devil, Will make our friendly philosophic revel Outlast the leafless time ;-till buds and flowers Warn the obscure inevitable hours Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew :“ To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.".
* "Imepos, from which the river Himera was named, is, with some slight shade of difference, a synonyme of Love.
The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling
Were stored with magic treasures—sounds ofair,
Folded in cells of crystal silence there;
Will never die-yet ere we are aware,
At first she lived alone in this wild home,
And her thoughts were each a minister, Clothing themselves or with the ocean-foam,
Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire, To work whatever purposes might come
Into her mind : such power her mighty Sire Had girt them with, whether to fly or run, Through all the regions which he shines upon.
And there lay visions swift, and sweet, and quaint, The Ocean-nymphs and Hamadryades,
Oreads and Naiads with long weedy locks, Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint Offered to do her bidding through the seas, With the soft burthen of intensest bliss :
Under the earth, and in the hollow rocks, It is its work to bear to many a saint
And far beneath the matted roots of trees, Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is, And in the gnarled heart of stubborn oaks, Even Love's—and others white, green, grey, and So they might live for ever in the light And of all shapes and each was at her beck. (black, | Of her sweet presence-each a satellite.
And odours in a kind of aviary
“ This may not be," the wizard maid replied; Of ever-bloorning Eden-trees she kept,
“ The fountains where the Naiades bedew Clipt in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy
Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried; Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew As bats at the wired window of a dairy, (slept ; | Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide;
They beat their vans; and each was an adept, The boundless ocean, like a drop of dew When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds, Will be consumed the stubborn centre must To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.
Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust.
Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device, She spoke and wept: the dark and azure well
The works of some Saturnian Archimage, Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears, Which taught the expiations at whose price And every little circlet where they fell,
Men from the Gods might win that happy age Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice; [rage And intertangled lines of light:-a knell
And which might quench the earth-consuming Of sobbing voices came upon her ears Of gold and blood—till men should live and move From those departing Forms, o'er the serene Harmonious as the sacred stars above.
Of the white streams and of the forest green.
And how all things that seem untameable,
Not to be checked and not to be confined, Obey the spells of wisdom's wizard skill ;
Time, Earth, and Fire—the Ocean and the Wind, And all their shapes and man's imperial will ;
And other scrolls whose writings did unbind The inmost lore of Love-let the profane Tremble to ask what secrets they contain.
All day the wizard lady sat aloof,
Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity,
Or broidering the pictured poesy
Which the sweetsplendour of her smiles could dye
And wondrous works of substances unknown, While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece
To which the enchantment of her father's power Of sandal-wood, rare gums, and cinnamon; Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone, Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is,
Were heaped in the recesses of her bower; Each flame of it is as a precious stone Carved lamps and chalices, and phials which shone Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this
In their own golden beams-each like a flower, Belongs to each and all who gaze upon. Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand Under a cypress in a starless night.
She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand.
The plant grew strong and green—the snowy flower And ever as she went, the Image lay
Fell, and the long and gourd-like fruit began With folded wings and unawakened eyes; To turn the light and dew by inward power And o'er its gentle countenance did play To its own substance: woven tracery ran
The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies, Of light firm texture, ribbed and branching, o'er Chasing the rapid smiles that would not stay, The solid rind, like a leaf's veined fan,
And drinking the warm tears, and the sweet sighs Of which Love scooped this boat, and with soft Inhaling, which, with busy murmur vain, Piloted it round the circumfluous ocean. [motion They had aroused from that full heart and brain.
This boat she moored upon her fount, and lit
A living spirit within all its frame, Breathing the soul of swiftness into it.
Couched on the fountain like a panther tame,
Or as on Vesta's sceptre a swift flame,
And ever down the prone vale, like a cloud
Upon a stream of wind, the pinnace went:
The calm and darkness of the deep content
Of white and dancing waters, all besprent
And down the earthquaking cataracts which shiver A haven, beneath whose translucent floor
The tremulous stars sparkled unfathomably,
And around which the solid vapours lioar,
Lifted their dreadful crags; and like a shore
Of wintry mountains, inaccessibly Its fall down the hoar precipice of spray,
Hemmed in with rifts and precipices grey, Lighting it far upon its lampless way.
And hanging crags, many a cove and bay.
LV. Where, like a meadow which no seythe has shaven, These were tame pleasures.
es.- She would often climb Which rain could never bend, or whirl-blast shake, The steepest ladder of the crudded rack With the Antarctic constellations paven,
Up to some beaked cape of cloud sublime, Canopus and his crew, lay th’ Austral lake And like Arion on the dolphin's back There she would build herself a windless haven Ride singing through the shoreless air. Oft time
Out of the clouds whose moving turrets make Following the serpent lightning's winding track, The bastions of the storm, when through the sky She ran upon the platforms of the wind, The spirits of the tempest thundered by.
And laughed to hear the fire-balls roar behind.