O joy! O fear! what will be done EPITHALAMIUM NIGHT, with all thine eyes look down! Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, Hence, swift hour! and thy loved flight BOYS O joy! O fear! what may be done In the absence of the sun? Come along! The golden gates of sleep unbar! When strength and beauty meet together, Kindles their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather. Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, Hence, swift hour! and thy loved flight Oft renew. GIRLS O joy! O fear! what may be done In the absence of the sun? Come along! Epithalamium. Published by Medwin, Life of Shelley, 1847. Fairies! sprites! and angels keep her! Hence, swift hour! and quench thy light, BOYS AND GIRLS O joy! O fear! what will be done In the absence of the sun? Come along! ANOTHER VERSION BOYS SING NIGHT! with all thine eyes look down! Haste, coy hour! and quench all light, Haste, swift hour! and thy loved flight GIRLS SING Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her! O joy! O fear! there is not one Another Version. Published by Rossetti, 1870. In the absence of the sun : BOYS Oh, linger long, thou envious eastern lamp In the damp Caves of the deep! GIRLS Nay, return, Vesper! urge thy lazy car! The gates of Sleep! CHORUS The golden gate of Sleep unbar, When Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image, like a star In a sea of glassy weather. May the purple mist of love Round them rise, and with them move, Nourishing each tender gem Which, like flowers, will burst from them. As the fruit is to the tree May their children ever be ! EVENING PONTE AL MARE, PISA I THE sun is set; the swallows are asleep; The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep, And evening's breath, wandering here and there Over the quivering surface of the stream, Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream. II There is no dew on the dry grass to-night, And in the inconstant motion of the breeze III Within the surface of the fleeting river It trembles, but it never fades away; You, being changed, will find it then as now. IV The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut Growing and moving upwards in a crowd, And over it a space of watery blue, i. 6 summer, Mrs. Shelley, 18392 || silent, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. THE AZIOLA I "Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh," Said Mary, as we sate In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought; This Aziola was some tedious woman, And laughed, and said, "Disquiet yourself not, 'Tis nothing but a little downy owl." II Sad Aziola! many an eventide Thy music I had heard By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, And fields and marshes wide, Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird, The soul ever stirred; Unlike and far sweeter than them all. Sad Aziola! from that moment I Loved thee and thy sad cry. The Aziola. Published by Mrs. Shelley, in The Keepsake, 1829. |