II. From a single cloud the lightning flashes, Is bellowing underground. III. But keener thy gaze than the lightning's glare, And swifter thy step than the earthquake's tramp; Thou deafenest the rage of the ocean; thy stare Makes blind the volcanoes; the sun's bright lamp To thine is a fen-fire damp. IV. From billow and mountain and exhalation The sunlight is darted through vapour and blast; From spirit to spirit, from nation to nation, From city to hamlet thy dawning is cast,And tyrants and slaves are like shadows of night In the van of the morning light. GOOD NIGHT. I. GOOD night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite; Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. II. How can I call the lone night good, III. To hearts which near each other move BUONA NOTTE. I. "BUONA notte, buona notte !"-Come mai II. Solinga, scura, cupa, senza speme, Ogni notte, senza dirla, sarà buona. III. Come male buona notte si suona THE WORLD'S WANDERERS. I. TELL me, thou star, whose wings of light Speed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the night Will thy pinions close now? II. Tell me, moon, thou pale and grey III. Weary wind, who wanderest AUTUMN: A DIRGE. I. THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, In your saddest array; Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. II. The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling; Come, months, come away; Put on white, black, and grey; Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. DEATH. I. DEATH is here and death is there, All around, within, beneath, Above is death-and we are death. II. Death has set his mark and seal First our pleasures die-and then Our hopes, and then our fears-and when These are dead, the debt is due, Dust claims dust-and we die too. 1 IV. All things that we love and cherish ORPHEUS.1 A. Nor far from hence. From yonder pointed hill, Sluggish and black, a deep but narrow stream, Upon whose edge hovers the tender light, 10 20 1 Dr. Garnett has hazarded the conjecture that this was improvised by Shelley after the manner of Sgricci, whose gifts in that line were familiar to the poet.-ED. |