VI.

This hour will in thy memory
Be a dream of days forgotten long,
We soon shall dwell by the azure sea
Of serene and golden Italy,

Or Greece, the Mother of the free;

And I will teach thine infant tongue
To call upon those heroes old
In their own language, and will mould.
Thy growing spirit in the flame
Of Grecian lore, that by such name
A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim!

CANCELLED PASSAGES OF THE POEM TO WILLIAM SHE LEY.

I.

THE world is now our dwelling-place;
Where'er the earth one fading trace

Of what was great and free does keep,
That is our home!

Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race
Shall our contented exile reap;
For who that in some happy place
His own free thoughts can freely chase
By woods and waves can clothe his face
In cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep.

II.

This lament,

The memory of thy grievous wrong
Will fade...

But genius is Omnipotent
To hallow...

ON FANNY GODWIN.

HER voice did quiver as we parted,

Yet knew I not that heart was broken From which it came, and I departed Heeding not the words then spoken. Misery-O Misery,

This world is all too wide for thee.

OTHO.

I.

THOU wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be,
Last of the Romans, though thy memory claim
From Brutus his own glory-and on thee

Rests the full splendour of his sacred fame;
Nor he who dared make the foul tyrant quail
Amid his cowering senate with thy name,
Though thou and he were great-it will avail
To thine own fame that Otho's should not fail.

II.

'Twill wrong thee not-thou wouldst, if thou couldst feel, Abjure such envious fame-great Otho died Like thee-he sanctified his country's steel,

At once the tyrant and tyrannicide,

In his own blood-a deed it was to bring

Tears from all men-though full of gentle pride, Such pride as from impetuous love may spring, That will not be refused its offering.

III.

Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil,

Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind, Have ever grieved that man should be the spoil

Of his own weakness, and with earnest mind
Fed hopes of its redemption, these recur

Chastened by deathful victory now, and find
Foundations in this foulest age, and stir
Me whom they cheer to be their minister.

IV.

Dark is the realm of grief: but human things
Those may not know who cannot weep for them.

*

V.

Once more descend

The shadows of my soul upon mankind,
For to those hearts with which they never blend,

Thoughts are but shadows which the flashing mind From the swift clouds which track its flight of fire,

Casts on the gloomy world it leaves behind.

FRAGMENT OF A SONG.

O THAT a chariot of cloud were mine!

Of cloud which the wild tempest weaves in air, When the moon over the ocean's line

Is spreading the locks of her bright grey hair. O that a chariot of cloud were mine!

I would sail on the waves of the billowy wind
To the mountain peak and the rocky lake,
And the....

FRAGMENT: TO A FRIEND LEAVING PRISON.

FOR me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble

In my faint eyes, and that my heart beat fast
With feelings which make rapture pain resemble,

Yet, from thy voice that falsehood starts aghast,
I thank thee-let the tyrant keep
His chains and tears, yea let him weep
With rage to see thee freshly risen,

Like strength from slumber, from the prison,
In which he vainly hoped the soul to bind
Which on the chains must prey that fetter humankind.

FRAGMENT: SATAN LOOSE.

A GOLDEN-WINGED Angel stood

Before the Eternal Judgment-seat: His looks were wild, and Devils' blood Stained his dainty hands and feet.

The Father and the Son

Knew that strife was now begun.

They knew that Satan had broken his chain,
And with millions of dæmons in his train,
Was ranging over the world again.
Before the Angel had told his tale,
A sweet and a creeping sound

Like the rushing of wings was heard around;

And suddenly the lamps grew pale-
The lamps, before the Archangels seven,
That burn continually in heaven.

TWO FRAGMENTS TO MUSIC.

I.

SILVER key of the fountain of tears,
Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;
Softest grave of a thousand fears,

Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child,
Is laid asleep in flowers.

II.

No, Music, thou art not the "food of Love,"
Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self,
Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.

FRAGMENT: UNSATISFIED DESIRES.

To thirst and find no fill-to wail and wander
With short uneasy steps-to pause and ponder-
To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle
Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle;
To nurse the image of unfelt caresses
Till dim imagination just possesses
The half created shadow.

STANZA: WEALTH AND LOVE.

WEALTH and dominion fade into the mass

Of the great sea of human right and wrong,
When once from our possession they must pass;
But love, though misdirected, is among
The things which are immortal, and surpass
All that frail stuff which will be-or which was.

15

FRAGMENT: THOUGHTS.

My thoughts arise and fade in solitude,

The verse that would invest them melts away Like moonlight in the heaven of spreading day: How beautiful they were, how firm they stood, Flecking the starry sky like woven pearl!

A HATE-SONG. (IMPROVISED.)

A HATER he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took an old cracked lute;

And he sang a song which was more of a screech 'Gainst a woman that was a brute.

LINES TO A CRITIC.

I.

HONEY from silkworms who can gather,
Or silk from the yellow bee?
The grass may grow in winter weather
As soon as hate in me.

II.

Hate men who cant, and men who pray,
And men who rail like thee;

An equal passion to repay

They are not coy like me.

III.

Or seek some slave of power and gold,
To be thy dear heart's mate,
Thy love will move that bigot cold
Sooner than me thy hate.

IV.

A passion like the one I prove
Cannot divided be;

I hate thy want of truth and love-
How should I then hate thee?