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The beetle forgot to wind his horn,
The crickets were still in the meadow and hill:
Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun
Night's dreams and terrors, every one,
Fled from the brains which are their prey,
From the lamp's death to the morning ray:

All rose to do the task He set to each,
Who shaped us to his ends and not our own;
The million rose to loarn, and one to teach
What none yet ever knew or can be known ;

And many rose Whose woe was such that fear became desire ; Melchior and Lionel were not among those : They from the throng of men had stepped aside, And made their home under the green hill side, It was that hill, whose intervening brow Screens Lucca from the Pisan's envious eye, Which the circumfluoas plain waving below, Like a wide lake of green fertility, With streams and fields and mar-hes bare, Divides from the far Apennines—which lie Islanded in the immeasurable air.

What think you, as she lies in her green cove, Our little sleeping boat is dreaming of ? If morning dreams are true, why I should guess That she was dreaming of our idleness, And of the miles of watery way We should have led her by this time of day?.

.66 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 breeze 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.

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The chain is loosed, the sails are spread,
The living breath is fresh behind,
As with dews and sunrise fed,
Comes the laugbing morning wind ;
The sails are full, the boat makes head
A gainst the Serchio's torrent fierce,
Then flags with intermitting course,
And hangs upon the wave, [ ]
Which fervid from its mountain source
Shallow, smooth and strong doth come,-
Swift as fire, tempestuously
It sweeps into the affrighted sea ;
In morning's smile its eddies coil,
Its billows sparkle, toss and boil,
Torturing all its quiet light
Into columns fierce and bright.

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 chrystalline
Sends its clear waves, that they may fling
At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine,
Then, through the pestilential desarts wild
Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted fire,
It rushes to the Ocean.

July, 1821.



SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring,

And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold ;-when I, desiring

More in this world than any understand, Wept o'er the beauty, which like sea retiring,

Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand Of my poor heart, and o'er the grass and Powers Pale for the falsehood of the lattering hours.


Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep

The instability of all but weeping ;
And on the earth lulled in her winter sleep

I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep

The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unrenembered dreams, shalt [ ] see No death divide thy immortality.


I loved-0

I mean not one of ye, Or any earthly one, though ye are dear As human heart to human heart may be ;I loved, I know not what — but this low sphere And all that it contains, contains not thee,


* Pumpkin.

Thou, whom seen no where, I feel every where, Dim object of my soul's idolatry.

Veiled art thou like


By heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest,

Neither to be contained, delayed, or hidden, Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,

When for a moment thou art not forbidden
To live within the life which thou bestowest;

And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden,
Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight,
Blank as the sun after the birth of night.


In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,

In music and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voices which are human,

Meant to express some feelings of their own; In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,

In flowers and leaves, and in the fresh grass shewn, Or dying in the autumn, I the most Adore thee present or lament thee lost.


And thus I went, lamenting when I saw

A plant upon the river's margin lie,
Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law,
And in despair had cast him down to die;

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