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" What think you, as she lies in her green cove,
“ Never mind,” said Lionel, “Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About yon poplar tops ; and see ! The white clouds are driving merrily, And the stars we miss this morn will light More willingly our return to-night. List, my dear fellow, the brecze blows fair; How it scatters Dominic's long black hair! Singing of us, and our lazy motions, If I can guess a boat's emotions."
The chain is loosed, the sails are spread,
In morning's smile its eddies coil,
The Serchio, twisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm The wave that died the death which lovers love, Living in what it sought; as if this spasm Had not yet past, the toppling mountains cling, But the clear stream in full enthusiasm Pours itself on the plain, until wandering, Down one clear path of effluence crystalline Sends its clear waves, that they may fling At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine ; Then, through the pestilential deserts wild Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted fir, It rushes to the Ocean.
Swifter far than summer's flight,
Art thou come and gone. • There is evidently something wrong in this passage
As the earth when leaves are dead,
I am left lone, alone.
The swallow Summer comes again,
To fly with thee, false as thou.
Sunny leaves from any bough.
Lilies for a bridal bed,
Pansies let my flowers be:
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
The serpent is shut out from paradise;
In which its heart-cure lies ;
The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower,
Fled in the April hour:
The miserable one
Therefore if now I see you seldomer,
Your looks because they stir
I scarce can bear; yet I,
When I return to my cold home, you ask
You spoil me for the task
Of acting a forced part on life's dull scene,-
Of author, great or mean,
Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot
“ She loves me -loves me not." * And if this meant a vision long since fledIf it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought
If it meant-but I dread
The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home;
When it no more would roam ;
And thus, at length, find rest:
I asked her, yesterday, if she believed
Would ne'er have thus relieved
* See Faust.