Imágenes de páginas
PDF

By moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs,
Murmuring, where is Doria ? fair Milan,
Within whose veins lo»g ran

The viperst palsying venom, lifts her tree!

To bruise his head. The signal and the seal
(If Hope and Tnith and Juslice can avail)
Art Thou of all these hopes.—O hail!

AM1STBOPHE fl. y.

Florence! beneath the sun,

Of cities fairest one, Blushes within her bower for Freedom's expectation:

From eyes of quenchless hope

Rome tears the priestly cope,
As ruling once by powert so now by admiration,

An athlete stript to run

From a remoter station
For the high prize lost on Philippi's shore :—
As then Hope, Truth, and Justice did avail,
So now may Fraud and Wrong! O hail!

Epode I, /?.

Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms

Arrayed against the everliving Gods? The crash and darkness of u thousand storms

+ The viper was the armorial device of the Visconti, lyran of Mil an.

Bursting their inaccessible abodes

Of crags aud thunder-clouds? See ye the banners blazoned to the day

Inwrought with emblems of barbaric pride )
Dissonant threats kill Silence far away,

The serene Heaven which wraps our Eden wide
W ith iron light is dyed.
The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legions

Like Chaos o'er creation, uncreating;
An hundred tribes nourished on strange religions
And lawless slaveries,— down the aerial regions
Of the white Alps, desolating.
Famished wolves that bide no waiting,
Blotting the glowing footsteps of old glory,
Trampling our columned cities into dust,

Their dull and savage lust
On Beauty's corse to sickness satiating—
They come! The fields they tread look black and hoary
With fire—from their red feet the streams run gory I

EPODE II. 0,

Great Spirit, deepest Love! Which rulest aud dost move All things which live and are, within the Italian shore; Who spreadest heaven around it, Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it; Who sittest in thy star, o'er Ocean's western floor, Spirit of beauty ! at whose soft command The sunbeams ami the showers distil its foison

From the Earth's bosom chill; O bid those lwams be each a blinding brand Of lightning ! bid those showers be dewi of p3tson!

Bid the Earth's plenty kill!

Bid thy bright Heaven above,

Whilst light and darkness bound it,

Be their tomb who planned

To make it ours and thine! Or, with thine harmonizing ardours fill And raise thy sons, as o'er the! prone horizon Thy lamp feeds every twilight wave with fire— Be man's high hope and uhextinct desire, The instrument to work thy will divine! Tlien clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from leopards,

And frowns and fears from Thee,

Would not more swiftly flee Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds.— Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine Thou yieldest or withholdest, Oh let be This city of thy worship ever free!

September, IS20.

MONT BLANC

LINES WRITTEN INTHE VALEOFCHAMOUNI

I

The everlasting universe of things

Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,

Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—

Now lending splendour, where from secret springs

The source of human thought its tribute brings

Of waters,—with a sound but half its own,

Such as a feeble brook will oft assume

In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

Where waterfalls around it leap for ever,

"Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river

Over its rocks carelessly bursts and raves.

II.

Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine —
Thou many-coloured, many-voiced vale,
Over whose pines and crags and caverns sail
Fast clouds, shadows, and sunbeams : awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
From the ice gulphsthat gird his secret throne,

Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame

Of lightning thro' the tempest;—thou dost lie,

Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,

Children of elder time, in whose devotion

The chainless winds still come and ever came

To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging

To hear—an old aud solemn harmony:

Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep

Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil

Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep

Which, when the voices of the desart fail,

Wraps alt in its own deep eternity ;—

Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commotion

A loud, lone sound, no other sound can tame;

Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,

Thou art the path of that unresting sound—

Dizzy Ravine ! and when I gaze on thee

I seem as in a trance sublime and strange

To muse on my own separate phantasy,

My own, my human mind, which passively

Now renders and receives fast influencings,

Holding an unremitting interchange

With the clear universe of things around;

One legion ot wild thoughts, whose wandering wings

Now float above thy darkness, and now rest

Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,

In the still cave of the witch Poesy,

Seeking among the shadows that pass by

Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,

Some phanton,some faint image till the breast

From which they fled recalls them, thou art there I

« AnteriorContinuar »