POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821.

1 January.

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

I.

"ORPHAN Hours, the Year is dead!
Come and sigh, come and weep!"
"Merry Hours, smile instead,
For the Year is but asleep :

See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.”—

II.

"As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,

So white Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold Year today.
Solemn Hours! wail aloud

For your Mother in her shroud."

III.

"As the wild air stirs and sways

The tree-swung cradle of a child,

So the breath of these rude Days

Rocks the Year. Be calm and mild,
Trembling Hours; she will arise
With new love within her eyes.

IV.

"January grey is here,

Like a sexton by her grave;

February bears the bier;

March with grief doth howl and rave; And April weeps :-but O ye Hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers."

TO NIGHT.

I.

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave

Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,
Swift be thy flight!

II.

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star-inwrought;

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
Come, long-sought!

III.

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turned to her rest,'

Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

IV.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
"Wouldst thou me?"

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,

"Shall I nestle near thy side!

Wouldst thou me ?"—And I replied, "No, not thee."

V.

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled.
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night-
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

TIME.

UNFATHOMABLE Sea, whose waves are years!
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!

Thou shoreless flood which in thy ebb and flow Claspest the limits of mortality,

And, sick of prey yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore ! Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea?

LINES.

FAR, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory,

Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast;
No news of your false Spring
To my heart's winter bring.
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.

Vultures who build your bowers
High in the future's towers!

Withered hopes on hopes are spread:

Dying joys, choked by the dead,

Will serve your beaks for prey

Many a day.

FROM THE ARABIC.

AN IMITATION.

My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;

It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
Bore thee far from me;

My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.

Ah fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,

The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,

Shall mine cling to thee,

Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.

March.

TO EMILIA VIVIANI.'

MADONNA, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet-basil and mignonette,

Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be?

Alas, and they are wet!

Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?

For never rain or dew

Such fragrance drew

From plant or flower. The very doubt endears

My sadness ever new,

The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed, for thee.

Send the stars light; but send not love to me,

In whom love ever made

Health like a heap of embers soon to fade.

THE FUGITIVES.

I.

THE waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar spray is dancing :-
Away!

The whirlwind is rolling,
The thunder is tolling,

The forest is swinging,
The minster-bells ringing
Come away!

The earth is like ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion;
Bird, beast, man, and worm,
Have crept out of the storm :-
Come away!

II.

"Our boat has one sail,

And the helmsman is pale.

A bold pilot, I trow,

Who should follow us now!"

Shouted he.

And she cried: "Ply the oar ;

Put off gaily from shore !"

As she spoke, bolts of death,

Mixed with hail, specked their path O'er the sea:

And from isle, tower, and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke :
And, though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast

From the lee.