wake.

He heard the voice of rivers; he descried

Pindan Peneus and the slender nymphs That tread his banks but fear the thundering tide;

These, and Amphrysos and Apidanus And poplar-crown'd Spercheus, and reclined

On restless rocks Enipeus, where the winds

Scatter'd above the weeds his hoary hair.

Then, with Pirene and with Panope
Evenus, troubled from paternal tears,
And last was Achelous, king of iles.
Zacynthus here, above rose Ithaca,
Like a blue bubble floating in the
bay.

Far onward to the left a glimm'ring light

Glanced out oblique, nor vanisht; he inquired

Whence that arose, his consort thus replied,

"Behold the vast Eridanus! ere long We may again behold him and rejoice. Of noble rivers none with mightier force Rolls his unwearied torrent to the main." And now Sicanian Etna rose to view: Darkness with light more horrid she confounds,

Baffles the breath and dims the sight of day.

Tamar grew giddy with astonishment And, looking up, held fast the bridal vest;

Winde through the willows, dart along the path,

It nought avails thee, nought our plaint avails.

O happy those before me, who could say,

"Short though thy period, sweet Tacæa, short

Ere thou art destined to the depths below,

Thou passest half thy sunny hours with me."

I mourn not, envy not, what others gain,

Thee, and thy venerable elms I mourn, Thy old protectors, ruthless was the pride,

And gaunt the need that bade their heads lie low.

I see the meadow's tender grass start back,

See from their prostrate trunks the gory glare.

Ah! pleasant was it once to watch thy

waves

Swelling o'er pliant beds of glossy weed; Pleasant to watch them dip amid the stones,

Chirp, and spring over, glance and gleam along,

And tripping light their wanton way pursue.

Methinks they now with mellow mourn. fulness

Bid their faint breezes chide my fond delay,

Nor suffer on the bridge nor on the knee

My poor irregularly pencilled page.
Alas, Tacæa, thou art sore deceived!
Here are no foren words, no fatal seal,
But thou and all who hear me shall

avow

The simple notes of sorrow's song are here.

FESULAN IDYL.

HERE, when precipitate Spring with one light bound

Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires; And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,

Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,

And softer sighs, that know not what they want;

Under a wall, beneath an orange tree Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones

Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off
At what they seemed to show me with
their nods,

Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,

A gentle maid came down the garden steps

And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.

I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth

To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat, (Such I believed it must be); for sweet

scents

Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter

thoughts,

And nurse and pillow the dull memory That would let drop without them her best stores.

They bring me tales of youth and tones of love,

And 'tis and ever was my wish and way

To let all flowers live freely, and all die,

Whene'er their Genius bids their souls depart,

Among their kindred in their native place.

I never pluck the rose; the violet's head

Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank

And not reproacht me; the ever-sacred cup

Of the pure lily hath between my hands Felt safe, unsoiled, nor lost one grain of gold.

I saw the light that made the glossy leaves

More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek

Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit;

I saw the foot, that although half-erect From its gray slippers, could not lift her up

To what she wanted; I held down a branch,

And gathered her some blossoms, since their hour

THE MAID'S LAMENT. [From the Examination of Shakespeare.] I LOVED him not; and yet now he is gone I feel I am alone.

I

checked him while he spoke; yet could he speak,

Alas, I would not check.

For reasons not to love him once I sought

And wearied all my thought

To vex myself and him; I now would give

My love, could he but live Who lately lived for me, and when he found

'Twas vain, in holy ground

He hid his face amid the shades of death.

I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me; but mine returns,

And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,

And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart; for years

Wept he as bitter tears. "Merciful God!" such was his latest

prayer,

"These may she never share!" Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold

Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate,

His name, and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be,

And, O, pray too for me.

WHY, why repine, my pensive friend, At pleasures slipt away?

Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.

I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass;

I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.