Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!

Ye signs and wonders of the element ! Utter forth GOD, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy skypointing peaks,

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene

Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast

Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low

In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,

Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth!

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,

Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,

Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,

And tell the stars, and tell yon rising

Hath he not always treasures, always friends,

The good great man? three treasures, LOVE, and LIGHT,

And CALM THOUGHTS, regular as infant's breath:

And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,

HIMSELF, his MAKER, and the ANGEL DEATH!

1802. September 23, 1802.

THE PAINS OF SLEEP

ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest.
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, everywhere
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I pray'd aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured

me:

A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:

For all seem'd guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame!

So two nights passed the night's dis-
may
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calmity.

The third night, when my own loud

scream

Had waked me from the fiendish dream. O'ercome with sufferings strange and

wild,

Strew'd before thy advancing!

Nor do thou, Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour

Of thy communion with my nobler nrind

By pity or grief, already felt too long! Nor let my words import more blame than needs.

The tumult rose and ceased: for Peace is nigh

Where wisdom's voice has found a Histening heart

Amid the howl of more than wintry storms,

The halcyon hears the voice of vernal hours

Already on the wing.

Eve following eve. Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home

Is sweetest! moments for their own sake hailed

And more desired, more precious, for

thy song,

In silence listening, like a devout child,

My soul lay passive, by thy various strain

Driven as in surges now beneath the

VERSE, a breeze mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a beeBoth were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,

When I was young!

When I was young ?-Ah, woeful When! Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!

This breathing house not built with hands,

This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along :-
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or

weather

When Youth and I lived in't together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree;

the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old!

Ere I was old? Ah woeful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
9. Youth! for years so many and sweet,
Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd :—-
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,

This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life 's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,
When we are old:

That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
1823-April, 1832. 1828-June, 1832.

Or pause and listen to the tinkling bells Frow the high tower, and think that there she dwells.

With old Boccaccio's soul I stand possest. And breathe an air like life, that swelis my chest.

The brightness of the world, O thou once free,

And always fair, rare land of courtesy! O Florence! with the Tuscan fields and hills

And famous Arno, fed with all their rills;

Thou brightest star of star-bright Italy! Rich, ornate, populous, all treasures thine,

The golden corn, the olive, and the vine.