ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. AND was thy home, pale wither'd thing, Wert thou a nurseling of the Spring, Those suns in golden light, e'en now, Look o'er the Poet's lovely grave, Those winds are breathing soft, but thou Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave. The flowers o'er Posilippo's brow, Thy place is void-oh! none on earth, Save that which souls of loftiest birth Another leaf ere now hath sprung, On the green stem which once was thineWhen shall another strain be sung Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine? FOR A DESIGN OF A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SKULL. CREATURE of air and light, Emblem of that which may not fade or die, To chase the south-wind through the glowing sky? With Silence and Decay, Fix'd on the wreck of cold Mortality? The thoughts once chamber'd there, Have gather'd up their treasures, and are goneWill the dust tell us where They that have burst the prison-house are flown? Rise, nursling of the day, If thou wouldst trace their way— Earth hath no voice to make the secret known. Who seeks the vanish'd bird By the forsaken nest and broken shell ?— Yet free and joyous in the woods to dwell. Take the bright wings of morn! Thy hope calls heaven-ward from yon ruin'd cell. THE LOST PLEIAD. "Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below." BYRON. AND is there glory from the heavens departed? -Oh! void unmark'd!--thy sisters of the sky Still hold their place on high, Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started, Thou, that no more art seen of mortal eye. Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night? They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning- To them the sailor's wakeful eye is turning-- Couldst thou be shaken from thy radiant place Ev'n as a dew-drop from the myrtle spray, Swept by the wind away? Wert thou not peopled by some glorious race, And was there power to smite them with decay? Why, who shall talk of thrones, of sceptres riven? A world sinks thus-and yon majestic heaven THE SLEEPER ON MARATHON. I LAY upon the solemn plain And by the funeral mound, Where those who died not there in vain, So many a voice had there been hush'd, I slumber'd on the lonely spot, For on my dreams, that shadowy hour, I saw their spears, on that red field, Chased to the seas, without his shield |