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 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 Con sospiri e parole interotte!Il modo di aver la notte buona E mai non di dir la buona notte. 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. grey Tell me, moon, thou pale and 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 Come, months, come away, In your saddest Follow the bier 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, II. Death has set his mark and seal First our pleasures die-and then Our hopes, and then our fears—and when Dust claims dust-and we die too. IV. All things that we love and cherish ORPHEUS.1 A. NOT far from hence. From yonder pointed hill, Sluggish and black, a deep but narrow stream, Upon whose edge hovers the tender light, ΙΟ 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. |