TO THE MOON.
RT thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,-
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
SONG FOR TASSO.
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 I think,
But strangely, for my heart can drink
The dregs of such despair, and live,
And if I think, my thoughts come fast,
I mix the present with the past,
And each seems uglier than the last.
Till by the grated casement's ledge
It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge
Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge.
THE WANING MOON.
ND like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapt in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky earth,
A white and shapeless mass.
HESE are two friends whose lives were undivided, So let their memory be, now they have glided Under the grave; let not their bones be parted, For their two hearts in life were single hearted.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER.
ING, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove,
The Herald-child, king of Arcadia
And all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet love Having been interwoven, modest May
Bore Heaven's dread Supreme—an antique grove
Shadow'd the cavern where the lovers lay
In the deep night, unseen by Gods or Men,
And white-arm'd Juno slumber'd sweetly then.
Now, when the joy of Jove had its fulfilling,
And Heaven's tenth moon chronicled her relief,
She gave to light a babe all babes excelling,
A schemer subtle beyond all belief;
A shepherd of thin dreams, a cow-stealing,
A night-watching, and door-waylaying thief,
Who 'mongst the Gods was soon about to thieve
And other glorious actions to achieve.
The babe was born at the first peep of day;
He began playing on the lyre at noon,
And the same evening did he steal away
Apollo's herds ;-the fourth day of the moon
On which him bore the venerable May,
From her immortal limbs he leap'd full soon,
Nor long could in the sacred cradle keep,
But out to seek Apollo's herds would creep.
Out of the lofty cavern wandering
He found a tortoise, and cried out-" A treasure!" (For Mercury first made the tortoise sing)
The beast before the portal at his leisure
The flowery herbage was depasturing,
Moving his feet in a deliberate measure
Over the turf. Jove's profitable son
Eyeing him laugh'd, and laughing thus begun :
"A useful god-send are you to me now, King of the dance, companion of the feast, Lovely in all your nature! Welcome, you
Excellent plaything! Where, sweet mountain beast,
Got you that speckled shell? Thus much I know,
You must come home with me and be my guest;
You will give joy to me, and I will do
All that is in my power to honour you.
"Better to be at home than out of door ;-
So come with me, and though it has been said
That you alive defend from magic power,
I know you will sing sweetly when you're dead."
Thus having spoken, the quaint infant bore,
Lifting it from the grass on which it fed,
And grasping it in his delighted hold,
His treasured prize into the cavern old.
Then scooping with a chisel of grey steel,
He bored the life and soul out of the beast→→
Not swifter a swift thought of woe or weal
Darts through the tumult of a human breast
Which thronging cares annoy-not swifter wheel
The flashes of its torture and unrest
Out of the dizzy eyes-than Maia's son
All that he did devise hath featly done.
And through the tortoise's hard strong skin
At proper distances small holes he made,
And fasten'd the cut stems of reeds within,
And with a piece of leather overlaid
The open space and fix'd the cubits in,
Fitting the bridge to both, and stretch'd o'er all
Symphonious cords of sheep-gut rhythmical
When he had wrought the lovely instrument,
He tried the chords, and made division meet,
Preluding with the plectrum, and there went
Up from beneath his hand a tumult sweet
Of mighty sounds, and from his lips he sent
A strain of unpremeditated wit
Joyous and wild and wanton-such you may
Hear among revellers on a holiday.
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