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Ay, alive and still bold," muttered Earth, "Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,

In terror and blood and gold,

A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;

And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled."

Fragment: The Awakener

OME, thou awakener of the spirit's

ocean,

Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or

cave

No thought can trace! speed with thy gentle

motion !

Fragment: Rain

The gentleness of rain was in the wind.

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Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,

Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes

tame;

Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame,
Art veils her glass, or from the pageant

starts

As to oblivion their blind millions fleet,

Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery

Of their own likeness. What are numbers

knit

By force or custom? Man who man would

be,

Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.

Fragment: A Wanderer

E wanders, like a day-appearing

dream,

Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;

Through desert woods and tracts, which seem Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

Fragment: Great Spirit

JREAT Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought

Nurtures within its unimagined

caves,

In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,

Giving a voice to its mysterious waves.

The Aziola

I.

you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh,"

Said Mary, as we sate

In dusk, ere stars were lit, or

candles brought;

And I, who thought

This Aziola was some tedious woman,

Asked, "Who is Aziola?"

How elate

I felt to know that it was nothing human,

No mockery of myself to fear or hate:

And Mary saw my soul,

And laughed, and said, " Disquiet yourself not; 'Tis nothing but a little downy owl.”

II.

Sad Aziola! many an eventide

Thy music I had heard

By wood and stream, meadow and mountain

side,

And fields and marshes wide,

Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird,

The soul ever stirred;

Unlike and far sweeter than them all.

Sad Aziola! from that moment I

Loved thee and thy sad cry.

Fragment: O Thou
Immortal Deity

THOU immortal deity

Whose throne is in the depth of human thought,

I do adjure thy power and thee

By all that man may be, by all that he is not, By all that he has been and yet must be !

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