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At evening close from killing the tall The world is full of Woodmen who expel treen, Love's gentle Dryads from the haunts of life,

The soul of whom by nature's gentle law Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever green

And vex the nightingales in every dell.

The pavement and the roof of the wild copse,

Chequering the sunlight of the blue

serene

Make a green space among the silent bowers,

With jagged leaves, and from the forest tops

Singing the winds to sleep-or weeping Or barter wrong for wrong, until the

oft

Fast showers of aërial water drops

Into their mother's bosom, sweet and

soft,

Visit the tower of Vado, and unlearn Nature's pure tears which have no bitter- Such bitter faith beside Marenghi's urn.

ness;Around the cradles of the birds aloft They spread themselves into the loveli

ness

Of fan-like leaves, and over pallid flowers

Hang like moist clouds :-or, where high branches kiss,

Like a vast fane in a metropolis,
Surrounded by the columns and the

MARENGHI1

towers

with branch-like

All overwrought
traceries

In which there is religion-and the mute
Persuasion of unkindled melodies,
Odours and gleams and murmurs, which

the lute

Of the blind pilot-spirit of the blast
Stirs as it sails, now grave and now acute,
Wakening the leaves and waves, ere it
has past
To such brief unison as on the brain
One tone, which never can recur, has
cast,

One accent never to return again.

I

LET those who pine in pride or in

revenge,

Or think that ill for ill should be

repaid,

exchange

Ruins the merchants of such thriftless trade,

II

A massy tower yet overhangs the town,
A scattered group of ruined dwellings

now.

III

Another scene ere wise Etruria knew

Its second ruin through internal strife, And tyrants through the breach of dis

cord threw

The chain which binds and kills. As death to life,

As winter to fair flowers (though some be poison)

So

Monarchy succeeds to Freedom's foison.

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By loftiest meditations; marble knew The sculptor's fearless soul-and as he

wrought,

The grace of his own power and freedom grew.

Inhabits its wrecked palaces ;-in thine A beast of subtler venom now doth make

Its lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown,

And thus thy victim's fate is as thine

own.

X

The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare,

And love and freedom blossom but to wither;

And good and ill like vines entangled

are,

So that their grapes may oft be plucked together ;

Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then make

Thy heart rejoice for dead Marenghi's sake.

XI

No record of his crime remains in story, But if the morning bright as evening shone,

It was some high and holy deed, by glory

Pursued into forgetfulness, which won From the blind crowd he made secure and free

The patriot's meed, toil, death, and infamy.

VIII

XII

And thou in painting didst transcribe For when by sound of trumpet was all taught

declared

A price upon his life, and there was

set

A penalty of blood on all who shared
So much of water with him as might

wet

And more than all, heroic, just, sublime, His lips, which speech divided not-he Thou wert among the false-was this thy crime?

went

Alone, as you may guess, to banishment.

IX

XIII

Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the Amid the mountains, like a hunted twine

Of direst weeds hangs garlanded-the

beast, He hid himself, and hunger, toil, and cold,

snake

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XXI

He mocked the stars by grouping on And each weed

XXV

SO were kindled powers and thoughts which made

The summer dewdrops in the golden

When mem

dawn;

ory came

And, ere the hoar-frost vanished, he (For years gone by leave each a deepencould read

ing shade),

Its pictured footprints, as on spots of lawn

XXII

His spirit basked in its internal flame,-

Its delicate brief touch in silence weaves As, when the black storm hurries round The likeness of the wood's remembered leaves.

at night,

The fisher basks beside his red firelight.

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His solitude less dark.

XXVI

Yet human hopes and cares and faiths

and errors,

Like billows unawakened by the wind,

Slept in Marenghi still; but that all

terrors, Weakness, and doubt, had withered in his mind.

Iis couch...

XXVII

And, when he saw beneath the sunset's planet

A black ship walk over the crimson ocean,

Its pennons streaming on the blasts that fan it,

Its sails and ropes all tense and without motion,

Like the dark ghost of the unburied even Striding across the orange-coloured heaven,

XXVIII

The thought of his own kind who made the soul

Which sped that winged shape through night and day,— The thought of his own country.

SONNET

LIFT not the painted veil which those who live

Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,

And it but mimic all we would believe With colours idly spread,-behind, lurk Fear

And Hope, twin destinies; who ever

weave

Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.

I knew one who had lifted it—he sought, For his lost heart was tender, things to love,

But found them not, alas! nor was there aught The world contains, the which he could

approve.

Through the unheeding many he did

move,

For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

FRAGMENT: TO BYRON

O MIGHTY mind, in whose deep stream this age Shakes like a reed in the unheeding storm,

Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage?

FRAGMENT: APPEAL TO

To track along the lapses of the air This wandering melody until it rests Among lone mountains in some . . .

SILENCE

SILENCE! O well are Death and Sleep and Thou Three brethren named, the guardians gloomy-winged

Of one abyss, where life, and truth, and joy Are swallowed up—yet spare me, Spirit, pity me,

Until the sounds I hear become my soul, And it has left these faint and weary limbs,

FRAGMENT: THE STREAM'S MARGIN

It

Toseek, or haply, if I sought, to find ;
came unsought);-to wonder that a

A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that

strove

THE fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses

Track not the steps of him who drinks of it;

For the light breezes, which for ever fleet Around its margin, heap the sand there

on.

FRAGMENT: A LOST LEADER

My head is wild with weeping for a grief Which is the shadow of a gentle mind. I walk into the air (but no relief

chief

Among men's spirits should be cold and blind.

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