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And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time

In which suns perished; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode..

VI.

But now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished,

The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished,

And fed with true love tears, instead of dew;
Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the
last,

The bloom, whose petals, nipped before they blew,

Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; The broken lily lies-the storm is overpast.

VII.

To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,

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grave among the eternal. Come away! Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay; Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII.

He will awake no more, oh, never more!— Within the twilight chamber spreads apace, The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace

His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface So fair a prey, till darkness, and the law Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

IX.

O, weep for Adonais !—The quick Dreams, The passion-wingèd Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living

streams

Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught

The love which was its music, wander not,Wander no more, from kindling brain to

brain,

But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot

Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet

pain,

They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

X.

And one with trembling hands clasps his cold

head,

And fans him with her moonlight wings, and

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cries;

Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead;

See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, "Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies

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A tear some Dream has loosened from his

brain."

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!

She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

XI.

One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs as if embalming them; Another clipped her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and wingèd reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbèd fire against his frozen cheek.

XII.

Another Splendour on his mouth alit,1

That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath

Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,

And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp death

Quenched its caress upon his icy lips;

And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips,

It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse.

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Compare this and line 2 of stanza xiii with a passage in Rosalind and Helen (vol. ii, p. 261):—

a winged band

Of bright persuasions, which had fed
On his sweet lips and liquid eyes.—ED.

XIII.

And others came... Desires and Adorations,
Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies,
Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering
Incarnations

Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies;
And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,
And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the
gleam

Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp;-the moving pomp might seem

Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

XIV.

All he had loved, and moulded into thought, From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound,

Lamented Adonais. Morning sought

Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,

Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,

Dimmed the aërial eyes that kindle day;
Afar the melancholy thunder moaned,
Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay,

And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.

XV.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief with his remembered lay, And will no more reply to winds or fountains, Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray,

Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear

Than those for whose disdain she pined away Into a shadow of all sounds -à drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.

XVI.

Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down

Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown

For whom should she have waked the sullen year?

To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear

Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both

Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.

XVII.

Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, Mourns not her mate with such melodious

pain;

Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain,

Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast,

And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest!

XVIII.

Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year;

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