How had my spirit soar'd, and made its fame A glory for thy brow!-Dreams, dreams!the fire Burns faint within me. Yet I leave my name As a deep thrill may linger on the lyre Sad thoughts of me :-I leave it, with a sound, ELYSIUM. FAIR wert thou in the dreams Of elder time, thou land of glorious flowers Fair wert thou with the light On thy blue hills and sleepy waters cast Along the mountains!—but thy golden day And ever, through thy shades, A swell of deep Æolian sound went by, And young leaves trembling to the winds light breath, Which ne'er had touch'd them with a hue of death! And the transparent sky Rung as a dome. all thrilling to the strain And dim remembrances, that still draw birth And who, with silent tread, Moved o'er the plains of asphodel? Call'd from the dim procession of the dead, Who, 'midst the shadowy amaranth-bowers might dwell, And listen to the swell Of those majestic hymn-notes, and inhale They of the sword, whose praise, [round! With the bright wine at nations' feasts, went They of the lyre, whose unforgotten lays Forth on the winds had sent their mighty sound, And in all regions found Their echoes 'midst the mountains!-and become In man's deep heart as voices of his home! They of the daring thought! Daring and powerful, yet to dust allied— Whose flight through stars, and seas, and depths had sought The soul's fair birth-place-but without a guide! Sages and seers, who died, And left the world their high mysterious dreams, Born 'midst the olive woods, by Grecian streams. But the most loved are they Of whom fame speaks not with her clarion voice, Around their steps; till silently they die, And these-of whose abode, 'Midst her green valleys earth retain'd no trace, Save a flower springing from their burial-sod, A shade of sadness on some kindred face, A dim and vacant place [for these, In some sweet home;-thou hast no wreaths Thou sunny land! with all thy deathless trees! The peasant at his door Might sink to die when vintage feasts were spread, And songs on every wind! From thy bright shore No lovelier vision floated round his head— Thou wert for nobler dead! He heard the bounding steps which round him fell, And sigh'd to bid the festal sun farewell! The slave, whose very tears Were a forbidden luxury, and whose breast Kept the mute woes and burning thoughts of years, As embers in a burial-urn compress'd; He might not be thy guest! No gentle breathings from thy distant sky Came o'er his path, and whisper'd "Liberty!" Calm, on its leaf strewn bier, Too rose-like still, too beautiful, too dear, E'en so to pass away, With its bright smile!-Elysium! what wert thou To her, who wept o'er that young slumb'rer's brow? Thou hadst no home, green land! For the fair creature from her bosom gone, With life's fresh flowers just opening in its hand, And all the lovely thoughts and dreams unknown Which, in its clear eye, shone Like spring's first wakening! but that light was past Where went the dew drop swept before the blast' Not where thy soft winds play'd, Not where thy waters lay in glassy sleep! Fade with thy bowers, thou Land of Visions, fade! From thee no voice came o'er the gloomy deep, And bade man cease to weep! Fade, with the amaranth plain, the myrtle grove, Which could not yield one hope to sorrowing love. THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. No cloud to dim the splendor of the day Which breaks o'er Naples and her lovely bay, And lights that brilliant sea and magic shore With every tint that charm'd the great of yore; Th' imperial ones of earth-who proudly bade Their marble domes e'en Ocean's realm invade. That race is gone-but glorious Nature here Reveals each charm of many a fairy isle, |