Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow And their long tangles in each other lock, And with unending involutions shew

Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock The torture and the death within, and saw The solid air with many a ragged jaw.

IV.

And from a stone beside, a poisonous eft
Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes;
Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft

Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise
Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft,
And he comes hastening like a moth that hies
After a taper; and the midnight sky

Flares, a light more dread than obscurity.

V.

'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror;

For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare Kindled by that inextricable error,

Which makes a thrilling vapour of the air

Become a

and ever-shifting mirror

Of all the beauty and the terror there

A woman's countenance, with serpent locks,

Gazing in death on heaven from those wet rocks.

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.

(With what truth I may say -
Roma! Roma! Roma !
Non è più come era prima !)

I.

My lost William, thou in whom
Some bright spirit lived, and did

That decaying robe consume
Which its lustre faintly hid,
Here its ashes find a tomb,
But beneath this pyramid

Like thee can die, thy funeral shrine
Is thy mother's grief and mine.

II.

Where art thou, my gentle child?

Let me think thy spirit feeds, With its life intense and mild,

The love of living leaves and weeds, Among these tombs and ruins wild ;

Let me think that through low seeds Of the sweet flowers and sunny grass, Into their hues and scents may pass A portion

THE SENSITIVE PLANT.

PART FIRST.

A SENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,
And closed them beneath the kisses of night.

And the Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt every where ;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

But none ever trembled and panted with bliss

In the garden, the field, or the wilderness,

Like a doe in the noon-tide with love's sweet want, As the companionless Sensitive Plant.

The snow-drop, and then the violet,

Arose from the ground with warm rain wet,

And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.

Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall,
And narcissi, the fairest among them all,

Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess,
Till they die of their own dear loveliness;

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale,

Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,
That the light of its tremulous bells is seen
Through their pavilions of tender green;

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue,
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense,
It was felt like an odour within the sense;

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air

The soul of her beauty and love lay bare :

And the wand-like lily, which lifted up,

As a Mænad, its moonlight-coloured cup,
Till the fiery star, which is its eye,

Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky;

And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,
The sweetest flower for scent that blows;
And all rare blossoms from every clime
Grew in that garden in perfect prime.

And on the stream whose inconstant bosom

Was prankt under boughs of embowering blossom, With golden and green light, slanting through Their heaven of many a tangled hue,

Broad water lilies lay tremulously,

And starry river-buds glimmered by,

And around them the soft stream did glide and dance
With a motion of sweet sound and radiance.

And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss,
Which led through the garden along and across,
Some open at once to the sun and the breeze,
Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees,

Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells
As fair as the fabulous asphodels,

And flowrets which drooping as day drooped too
Fell into pavilions, white, purple, and blue,
To roof the glow-worm from the evening dew.

And from this undefiled Paradise

The flowers (as an infant's awakening eyes
Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet

Can first lull, and at last must awaken it,)

When Heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them,
As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem,

Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one

Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun;