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Ev'n by the' excess of luxury, and oppressed
And, as by spells Ogygian, all unmann'd

Into one sense of rapture-he might deem

The landscape breathing with one charm'd command— "Love ye who gaze,-for this is Love-your monarch'sland!"

III.

But all round them was life-the living scene,
The real sky, and earth, and wave, and air;
The turf on which Egeria's steps had been,
The shade, stream, grotto, which had known her care.
Still o'er them floated an inspiring breath-
The odour and the atmosphere of song-

The legend-glory-verse-that vanquish'd death
Still thro' the orange glades were borne along,
And sunk into their souls to swell the horde

Of those delicious thoughts the miser Passion stored!
Love oft is conquered by Ambition's lust,
But Love, I ween, hath ever his revenge-
Ambition moulders, and her marble bust,
Her ivied arches, and the pillar'd range
Of her long temples, and her regal halls—
Yea! ev'n the desolation of her dust

Become to Love the ministers and food!

For in such scenes the passion triumphs most,
And ev❜n within the Cæsar's ruined walls

The very zeal which fills the solitude,

And paints the bare stone with an armed host,
Rouses unseen, but vividly, a brood

Of thoughts which turn to passion-for whate'er
Deep Fancy nurtures in the cell" Romance,"
Hath in its very nature seeds that bear
Fruit unto Love. All memory is a trance,
In which Love is the fondest of the dreams-
Or-let us change the image in the shrine
Of the veil'd soul there is a lyre, whose themes
Are vow'd to love--the feelings are its strings--
Touch one---and on the altar--the divine

Music is stirr'd--and thus the notes we raise
In our fond thought-to Virtue---Valour-Praise
Worship--Grief---Memory--are but spells which move
The hidden spirit of the lyre of Love!

IV.

But they required no fuel to the flame
Which burnt within them, all undyingly,
No scene to steep their passion in romance,
No spell from outward nature to enhance
The nature at their bosoms—all the same
Their love had been if cast upon a rock,
And frown'd on from the arctic's haggard sky;
Nay-ev'n the vices and the cares, which move
Like waves-o'er that foul ocean of dull life,
Which rolls through cities in a sullen strife

With heaven-had raged on them, nor in the shock,
Crumbled one atom from their base of love;
And, like still waters, poesy lay deep

Within the hushed yet haunted soul of each,
And the fair moon, and all the stars that steep
Heaven's silence and its spirit in delight,
Had with that tide a sympathy and speech!
For them there was a glory in the night,
A whisper in the forest, and the air!
Love is the priest of Nature, and can teach
A world of mystery, to the few that share
With self-devoted faith, the winged Flamen's care.

V.

In each lay poesy-for woman's heart

Nurses the stream, unsought, and oft unseen;
And if it flow not through the tide of art,
Nor woo the glittering day-light—you may ween
It slumbers, but not ceases; and if check'd
The egress of rich words, it flows in thought,
And in its silent mirror doth reflect
Whate'er Affection to its banks has brought.
This makes her love so glowing and so tender,
Dying it in such deep and dream-like hues,
Earth-Heaven-creative Genius-all that render
In man their wealth and homage to the muse;
Pouring their pomp into the golden verse,
The vision and the vague delight of song,

In her produce but feelings which disperse
Their powers in love-the consecrated throng
Of dreamier thoughts that from the universe
We store to two Gods-Love and Song are plighted,
But woman's soul is Love and Song united.
O treasure! which awhile the world outweighs
The mine of fondness in a woman's heart!
What are the triumphs of our afterdays,

To what to ev'n the dream of what-thou art!
But these are vow'd to Sorrow's funeral pyre,
Ev'n in the bud-life's earliest fruits and best!
And Thought but gleans cold ashes from the fire,
To hoard and bury in that urn, the breast!
Ev'n as a child upon the water side,

Love standeth truant on Fate's flowing river,
And plucks in wanton idlesse every flower

(In youth how many flowers!) which grows beside,
And weaves them into wreaths, and laughing flings
One after one the garlands on the tide ;

(While to the deep the water rolls, and never
Back to the idler's hand the offering brings,)
Till all around is rifled, and the pride
Of life's whole summer lavish'd in an hour!

VI.

Twice thro' her course the Carian's goddess rode
Since thus they met; and well, I ween, she shone

Not upon others as for them she glowed,
For their life was a mystery; and had grown
An essence and a spirit of all things

Most fair and most divine-the' o'erflowing springs
Of their bright being were like blessed tides,
Fed from the river which the land divides

The unfallen father of the nations trod:

When peace and bliss dwelt by the Amaranth sides
Of the smooth wave, reflecting as it flowed
The forms of Angels and the breath of God!

VII.

'Twas eve! and Zoe watched upon the hill
Where they were wont to meet-the parting ray
Of him adored in Delos-lingered still

O'er the dark pine, and through the breathless boughs
Gliding, fell broadly on the ruins grey,
That at her feet in desolate glory lay.

Among those wrecks arose the glossy green

Of that sweet plant which blooms for lover's brows,
And Venus wore in Ida !—there the vast

And sullen foliage of the Aloe cast

A shadow o'er the marble-there the scene

Wore like a smile the wall-flower's odorous bloom!
Where Zoe stands, the Cæsar's palace stood,
And from that lofty terrace-ye survey
The towers—the temples-the eternal tomb
Where Memory guards the buried name of Rome!

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