« AnteriorContinuar »
Good night? ah ! no ; the hour is ill
Let us remain together still,
How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood,
To hearts which near each other move
That night is good; because, my love,
Oh! footer-nurse of man's abandoned glory,
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
* 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,
No record of his crime remains in story,
For when by sound of trumpet was declared
Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast,
And in the roofless huts of vast morasses,
An'l where the huge and speckled aloe made,
He housed himself. There is a point of strand
SONG FOR TASSO.
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,
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.