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Good night? ah ! no ; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;

Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,

Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?

Be it not said, thought, understood,
Then it will be good night. .

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,

That night is good; because, my love,
They never say good night.


Oh! footer-nurse of man's abandoned glory,
Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendour;
Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in story.
As ocean its wrecked fanes, severe yet tender :—
The light-invested angel Poesy
Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee^

And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught

By loftiest meditations; marble knew

The sculptor's fearless soul—and as ho wrought,

The grace of his own power and freedom grew.

And more than all, heroic, just, sublime

Thou wert among the false—was this thy crime?

Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twine
Of direst weeds hangs garlanded—the snake
Inhabits its wrecked palaces ;—in thine
A beast of subtler venom now doth make
Its lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown,
And thus thy victim's fate is as thine own.

* Thin fragment refers (o an event, tolll io Sismondi's Histolre den Republiques ItaUlime*, which occur id during the war when Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to a proviuce. The opening stanzas aic addressed to the conquering city.


The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare,
And love and freedom blossom but to wither;
And good nnd ill like vines entangled are,
So that their grapes may oft be plucked together;—"
Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then make
Thy heart rejoice for dead Mazenghi's sake*

No record of his crime remains in story,
But if the morning bright as evening shone,
It was some high and holy deed, by glory
Pursued into forgetfulness, which won
From the blind crowd he made secure and frde
The patriots meed, toil, death, and infamy.

For when by sound of trumpet was declared
A price upon his life, and there was set
A penilly of blood on all who shared
So much of water wir^ him as might wet
His lips which speech divided not—he went
Alone, as you may guess, to banishment.

Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast,
He hid himself, and hunger, cold, and toil,
Month after month endured; it was a feast
Whene'er he found those globes of deep red gold
Which in the woods the strawberry-tree doth bear.
Suspended in their emerald atmosphere.

And in the roofless huts of vast morasses,
Deserted by the fever-stricken serf,"
All overgrown with reeds and long rank grasses,
And hillocks heaped of moss-inwoven turf,

An'l where the huge and speckled aloe made,
Rooted in stones,abrpad an I pointed shade,

He housed himself. There is a point of strand
Near VadaJs tower and town; and on one side
The treacherous marsh divides it from the land,
Shadowed by pine and ilex forests wide,
And on the other creeps eternaHy,
Through muddy weeds, the shallow, sullen sea.

Naples, ISIS


I Loved—alas! our life is love;

But when we cease to breathe and move

I do suppose love ceases too.

I thought, but not as now I do.

Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,

Of all that men had thought before,

And all that nature shows, and more.

And still I love and still 1 think,
But strangely, for my heart can drink
The dregs of such despair, and live,
And love; [ ]
And if I think, my thoughts come fast,
1 mix the present with the past,
And each seems uglier than the last.

Sometimes I see before me flee

A silver spirit's form, like thee,

O Leanora, and 1 sit

[ ] still watching it,

Till by the grated casement's ledge

It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge

Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge.

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