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For on the night that they were buried, she
Restored the embalmers' ruining, and shook

The light out of the funeral lamps, to bo
A mimic day within that deathy nook;

And she unwound the woven imagery

Of second childhood's swaddling bands, and took

The coffin, its last cradle, from its niche,

And threw it with contempt into a ditch.

And there the body lay, age after age,

Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying,

Like one asleep in a green hermitage,

With gentle sleep about its eyelids playing,

And living in its dreams beyond the rage

Of death or life; while they were still arraying

In liveries ever new the rapid, blind,

And fleeting generations of mankind.

And she would write strange dreams upon the brain
Of those who were less beautiful, and make

All harsh and crooked purposes more vain
Than in the desert is the serpent's wake

Which the sand covers,—all his evil gain

The miser in such dreams would rise and shake

Into a beggar's lap;—the lying scribe

Would his own lies betray without a bribe.

The priests would write an explanation full,
Translating hieroglyphics into Greek,

How the god Apis really was a bull,

And nothing more; and bid the herald stick

The same against the temple doors, and pull The old cant down; they licensed all to speak

Whate'er they thought of hawks, and cats, and geese,

By pastoral letters to each diocese.

The king would dress an ape up in his crown
And robes, and seat him on his glorious seat,

And on the right hand of the sunlike throno
Would place a gaudy mock-bird to repeat

The chatterings of the monkey.—Every one
Of the prone courtiers crawled to kiss the feet

Of their great Emperor when the morning came;

And kissed—alas, how many kiss the same!

The soldiers dreamed that they were blacksmiths, Walked out of quarters in somnambulism, [and

Round the red anvils you might see them stand Like Cyclopses in Vulcan's sooty abysm,

Beating their swords to ploughshares;—in a band The gaolers sent those of the liberal schism

Free through the streets of Memphis; much, I wis,

To the annoyance of king Amasis.

And timid lovers who had been so coy,

They hardly knew whether they loved or not,

Would rise out of their rest, and take sweet joy,
To the fulfilment of their inmost thought;

And when next day the maiden and the boy
Met one another, both, like sinners caught,

Blushed at the thing which each believed was

Only in fancy—till the tenth moon shone; [done


And then the Witch would let them take no ill: Of many thousand schemes which lovers find

The Witch found one,—and so they took their fill Of happiness in marriage warm and kind.

Friends who, by practice of some envious skill, Wero torn apart, a wide wound, mind from

She did unite again with visions clear [mind!

Of deep affection and of truth sincere.

Lxxvni. These were the pranks she played among the cities

Of mortal men, and what she did to sprites And Gods, entangling them in her sweet ditties,

To do her will, and show their subtle slights, I will declare another time; for it is

A tale more fit for the weird winter nights— Than for these garish summer days, when we Scarcely believe much more than we can see.


EPODE I. a. I Stood within the city disinterred t; And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls Of spirits passing through the streets; and heard The Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals Thrill through those roofless halls; The oracular thunder penetrating shook

The listening soul in my suspended blood;
I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spoke—
I felt, but heard not:—through white columns
The isle-sustaining Ocean flood, [glowed

A plane of light between two heavens of azure:
Around me gleamed many a bright sepulchre
Of whose pure beauty, Time, as if his pleasure
Were to spare Death, had never made erasure;
But every living lineament was clear
As in the sculptor's thought; and there
The wreaths of stony myrtle, ivy and pine,

Like winter leaves o'ergrown by moulded snow,
Seemed only not to move and grow
Because the crystal silence of the air

Weighed on their life; even as the Power divine, Which then lulled all things, brooded upon mine.

EPODE II. a. Then gentle winds arose, With many a mingled close Of wild /Eolian sound and mountain odour keen; And where the Baian ocean Welters with air-like motion, Within, above, around its bowers of starry green, Moving the sea-flowers in those purple caves, Even as the ever stormless atmosphere Floats o'er the Elysian realm, It bore me, like an Angel o'er the waves Of sunlight, whose swift pinnace of dewy air

* The Author has connected many recollections of his visit to Pompeii and Boite with the enthusiasm excited by the intelligence of the proclamation of a Constitutional Government at Naples. This has given a tinge of picturesque and descriptive imagery to the introductory Epodcs, which depicture the scenes and some of the majestic feelings permanently connected with the: of this animating event Author'! Note,

t Pompeii.

No storm can overwhelm;

I sailed where ever flows

Under the calm Serene

A spirit of deep emotion,

From the unknown graves

Of the dead kings of Melody *. Shadowy Aornos darkened o'er the helm The horizontal tether; heaven stript bare Its depths over Elysium, where the prow Made the invisible water white as snow; From that Typhsean mount, Inarime, There streamed a sunlit vapour, like the standard

Of some ethereal host;

Whilst from all the coast, Loudcrandlouder,gatheringround, there wandered i Over the oracular woods and divine sea Prophe8yings which grew articulate— They seize me—I must speak them;—be they fate!

STROPHE a. 1. Naples! thou Heart of men, which ever pantest I

Naked, beneath the lidless eye of heaven!
Elysian City, which to calm enchantest

The mutinous air and sea! they round thee, even
As sleep round Love, are driven!
Metropolis of a ruined Paradise

Long lost, late won, and yet but half regained!
Bright Altar of the bloodless sacrifice,
Which armed Victory offers up unstained
To Love, the flower-enchained!
Thou which wert once, and then didst cease to be,
Now art, and henceforth ever shalt be, free,
If Hope, and Truth, and Justice can avail.
Hail, hail, all hail 1


Thou youngest giant birth,

Which from the groaning earth Leap'st, clothed in armour of impenetrable scale!

Last of the Intercessors

Who 'gainst the Crowned Transgressors Pleadest before God's love! Arrayed in Wisdom's mail,

Wave thy lightning lance in mirth;

Nor let thy high heart fail, Though from their hundred gates the leagued Oppressors,

With hurried legions move!

Hail, hail, all hail!


What though Cimmerian Anarchs dare blaspheme

Freedom and thee 1 thy shield is as a mirror To make their blind slaves see, and with fierce gleam

To turn his hungry sword upon the wearer; A new Acbeon's error Shall theirs have been—devoured by their own

Be thou like the imperial Basilisk, [hounds! Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds!

Gaze on oppression, till, at that dread risk

Aghast, she pass from the Earth's disk; Fear not, but gaze—for freemen mightier grow, And slaves more feeble, gazing on their foe.

If Hope, and Truth, and Justice may avail,

Thou shalt be great.—All hail!


From Freedom's form divine,
From Nature's inmost shrine,

• Homer and Virgil.

Strip every impious gawd, rend Error veil by veil:

O'er Ruin desolate,

O'er Falsehood's fallen state, Sit thou sublime, unawed ; be the Destroyer pale!

And equal laws be thine,

And winged words let sail, Freighted with truth even from the throne of God:

That wealth, surviving fate,

Be thine.—All hail!


Didst thou not start to hear Spain's thrilling p&ean

From land to land re-echoed solemnly,
Till silence became music! From the . K:ean *
To the cold Alps, eternal Italy
Starts to hear thine I The Sea
Which paves the desert streets of Venice, laughs

In light and music ; widowed Genoa wan,
By moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs,
Murmuring, where is Doria I fair Milan,
Within whose veins long ran
The viper's + palsying venom, lifts her heel
To bruise his head. The signal and the seal
(If Hope, and Truth, and Justice can avail)
Art Thou of all these hopes.—O hail 1


Florence! beneath the sun,

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

From eyes of quenchless hope [tion:

Rome tears the priestly cope, As ruling once by power, 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! 0 hail!

Epode I. $. Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms Arrayed against the ever-living Gods I < The crash and darkness of a thousand storms Bursting their inaccessible abodes

Of crags and thunder clouds t Sec 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 With 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— [hoary They come I The fields they tread look black and With fire—from their red feet the streams run gory!


Great Spirit, deepest Love!
Which rulest and dost move

Mk», the Wand of Circe. t The riper was the armorial device of the Yisconti, tyrant* of Milan.

All things which live and are, within the Italian
Who spreadest heaven around it, [shore;
Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it;
Who sittcst in thy star, o'er Ocean's western floor,
Spirit of beauty ! at whose soft command
The sunbeams and the showers distil its foison!
From the Earth's bosom chill;
0 bid those beams be each a blinding brand
Of lightning! bid those showers bedews of poison!
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 1
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 unextinct desire
The instrument to work thy will divine!
Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from Ieo-
And frowns and fears from Thee, [pards,
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 I


The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,

The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are

And the year [dying,

On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves

Is lying. [dead,

Come, months, come away,

From November to May,

In your saddest array;

Follow tlie bier

Of the dead cold year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling

For the year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling; Come, months, come away; Put on white, black, and grey, Let your light sisters play— Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear.


And 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 shapelei


Death is here, and death is there,
Death is busy everywhere,
All around, within, beneath,
Above is death—and we are death.

Death has set his mark and seal
On all we are and all we feel,
On all we know and all we fear,

First our pleasures die—and then
Our hopes, and then our fears—and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust—and we die too.

All things that we love and cherish.
Like ourselves, must fade and perish;
Such is our rude mortal lot—
Love itself would, did they not.


The fiery mountains answer each other;
Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone;
The tempestuous oceans awake one another.
And the ice-rocks are shaken round winter's
When the clarion of the Typhoon is blown.

From a single cloud the lightning flashes,
Whilst a thousand isles arc illumined around;
Earthquake is trampling one city to ashes,
An hundred are shuddering and tottering; the
Is bellowing underground.

But keener thy gaze than the lightning's glare,
And swifter thy step than the earthquake's tramp;
Thou deafenest the rage of the ocean ; thy stare
Makes blind the volcanoes; the sun's bright lamp
To thine is a fen-fire damp.

From billow and mountain and exhalation
The sunlight is darted through vapour and blast;
From spirit to spirit, from nation to nation,
From city to hamlet, thy dawning is cast,—
And tyrants and slaves are like shadows of night
In the van of the morning light.


Art 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 I


It was a bright and cheerful afternoon,
Towards the end of the sunny month of June,
When the north wind congregates in crowds
The floating mountains of the silver clouds
From the horizon—and the stainless sky
Opens beyond them like eternity.
All things rejoiced beneath the sun, the weeds,
The river, and the corn-fields, and the reeds;
The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze,
And the firm foliage of the larger trees.

It was a winter such as when birds die
In the deep forests ; and the fishes lie
Stiffened in the translucent ice, which makes
Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes
A wrinkled clod, as hard as brick ; and when,
Among their children, comfortable men
Gather about great fires, and yet feel cold:
Alas! then for the homeless beggar old!


Amid the desolation of a city,

Which was the cradle, and is now the grave,

Of an extinguished people; so that pity

Weeps o'er the shipwrecks of oblivion s wave,

There stands the Tower of Famine. It is built

Upon some prison-homes, whose dwellers rave

For bread, and gold, and blood: pain, linked to

Agitates the light flame of their hours, [guilt,

Until its vital oil is spent or spilt:

There stands the pile, a tower amid the towers

And sacred domes ; each marble-ribbed roof,

The brazen-gated temples, and the bowers

Of solitary wealth ! the tempest-proof

Pavilions of the dark Italian air

Are by its presence dimmed—they stand aloof,

And are withdrawn—so that the world is bare,

As if a spectre, wrapt in shapeless terror,

Amid a company of ladies fair

Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror

Of all their beauty, and their hair and hue,

The life of their sweet eyes, with all its error,

Should be absorbed, till they to marble grew.


A Portal as of shadowy adamant

Stands yawning on the highway of the life Which we all tread, a cavern huge and gaunt;

Around it rages an unceasing strife
Of shadows, like the restless clouds that haunt
The gap of some cleft mountain, lifted high
Into the whirlwinds of the upper sky.

• At Piaa there still exists the priann of Ugolino, which goes by the name of "La Torre della Fame:" in the adjoining building the galley-slave* are confined. It is situated near the Ponte al Mare on the Arno.

And many passed it by with careless tread,
Not knowing that a shadowy [ ]

Tracks every traveller even to where the dead
Wait peacefully for their companion new;

But others, by more curious humour led,
Pause to examine,—these are very few,

And they learn little there, except to know

That shadows follow them where'er they go.


Tell me, thou star, whose wings of light
Speed thee in thy fiery flight,
In what cavern of the night

Will thy pinions close now 1

Tell me, moon, thou pale and grey
Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way,
In what depth of night or day
Seekest thou repose now?

Weary wind, who wanderest
Like the world's rejected guest,
Hast thou still some secret nest
On the tree or billow t


Ye hasten to the dead! What seek ye there,

Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes

Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wear!

0 thou quick Heart, which pantest to possess

All that anticipation feigneth fair!

Thou vainly curious Mind which wonldest guess

Whence thou didst come,and whither thou mayest go,

And that which never yet was known wouldst

know— Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path, Seeking alike from happiness and woe A refuge in the cavern of grey death! 0 heart, and mind, and thoughts! What thing

do you Hope to inherit in the grave below!


Alas! good friend, what profit can you see
In hating such a hateless thing as me t
There is no sport in hate where all the rage
Is on one side. In vain would you assuage
Your frowns upon an unresisting smile,
In which not even contempt lurks, to beguile
Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate.
Oh conquer what you cannot satiate!
For to your passion I am far more coy
Than ever yet was coldest maid or boy
In winter noon. Of your antipathy
If I am the Narcissus, you are free
To pine into a sound with hating me.

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