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Men held with one another; nor did he,
Like one who labors with a human woe,
Decline this talk; as if its theme might be

An old man toiling up, a weary wight,
And soon within her hospitable hall
She saw his white hairs glittering in the light

Another, not himself, he to and fro

of the wood fire, and round his shoulders fall; Question'd and canvass'd it with subtlest wit,

And his wan visage and his wither'd mien And none but those who loved him best could know Yet calm and [ ) and majestical. That which he knew not, how it gall’d and bit

And Athanase, her child, who must have been His weary mind, this converse vain and cold;

Then three years old, sate opposite and gazed. For like an eyeless night-mare, grief did sit


Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold
Press'd out the life of life, a clinging fiend
Which clench'd him if he stirr'd with deadlier hold;
And so his grief remain d—let it remain-untold.* Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds

An amaranth glittering on the path of frost,

When autumn nights have nipt all weaker kinds PART II.

Thus had his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tost, FRAGMENT I.

Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he fill'd PRINCE Athanase had one beloved friend,

From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,
An old, old man, with hair of silver white,
And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child,

With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore
With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild
Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds.
He was the last whom superstition's blight And sweet and subtle talk they evermore,

The pupil and master shared ; until,
Had spared in Greece—the blight that cramps and Sharing the undiminishable store,

blinds, And in his olive hower at Enoe

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill
Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran

His teacher, and did teach with native skill
A fertile island in the barren sea,
One mariner who has survived his mates

Strange truths and new to that experienced man; Many a drear month in a great ship-so he,

Still they were friends, as few have ever been

Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span, With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being :“ The mind becomes that which it contemplates,"

And in the caverns of the forest green,

Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar, And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing

Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen
Their bright creations, grew like wisest men;
And when he heard the crash of nations fleeing By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar

Sounded o'er, earth and sea its blast of war,
A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,
O sacred Hellas! many weary years
He wander'd till the path of Laian's glen

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,

Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Was grass-grown-and the unremember'd tears

Piercing the stormy darkness like a star,
Were dry in Laian for their honor'd chief,
Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears :-

Which pours beyond the sea one sted fast beam, And as the lady look'd with faithful grief

Whilst all the constellations of the sky

Seem'd wrecked. From her high lattice o'er the rugged path,

They did but seemWhere she once saw that horseman toil, with brief

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And blighting hope, who with the news of death

And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight,

And far o'er southern waves, immovably She saw beneath the chestnuts, far beneath,

Belted Orion hangs—warm light is flowing * The Author was pursuing a fuller development of the

From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.ideal character of Athanase, when it struck him that in

O, summer night! with power divine, bestowing an attempt at extreme refinement and analysis, his con. ceptions might be betrayed into the assuming a morbid“ On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm character. The reader will judge whether he is a loser Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, or gainer by this diffidence.-Author's Note.

Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm

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Of fever'd brains, oppress'd with grief and madness,'T was at this season that Prince Athanase
Were lull'd by thee, delightful nightingale ! Past the white Alps—those eagle-baffling mountains
And those soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness, Slept in their shrouds of snow ;-beside the ways
" And the far sighings of yon piny dale

The waterfalls were voiceless—for their fountains
Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here, Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now,
I bear alone what nothing may avail

Or by the curdling winds—like brazen wings To lighten—a strange load !"-No human ear

Which clang'd alone the mountain's marble brow, Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan

Warp'd into adamantine fretwork, hung Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere

And fill'd with frozen light the chasm below.

Of dark emotion, a swift shadow ran,
Like wind upon some forest-bosom'd lake,

Glassy and dark.—And that divine old man

Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all

We can desire, O Love! and happy souls, Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake,

Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall, Even where its inmost depths were gloomiestAnd with a calm and measured voice he spake, Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls

Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew;And with a soft and equal pressure, prest

Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls That cold lean hand :>" Dost thou remember yet When the curved moon, then lingering in the west, Invests it; and when heavens are blue

Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fan " Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, The shadow of thy moving wings imbue How in those beams we walk'd, half resting on the sea ?

Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear 'Tis just one year—sure thou dost not forget Beauty like some bright robe ;-thou ever svartst

Among the towers of men, and as soft air Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Linger'd like moonlight in the moonless east, In spring, which moves the unawaken'd forest, For we had just then read—thy memory

Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak,

Thou floatest among men ; and aye implorest “ Is faithful now—the story of the feast;

That which from thee they should implore:—the weak And Agathon and Diotima seem'd From death and [

) released.

Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts
The strong have broken--yet where shall any seek
A garment whom thou clothest not?

Marlow, 1817.
'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings
From slumber, as a sphered angel's child,

Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings,

OH! foster-nurse of man's abandon'd glory, Stands up before its mother bright and mild,

Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendor ,

Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in story, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems

As ocean its wreck'd fanes, severe yet tender: So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled

The light-invested angel Poesy

Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee. To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams, The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove

And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught Wax'd green—and flowers burst forth like starry By loftiest meditations ; marble knew beams;

The sculptor's fearless soul-and as he wrought,

The grace of his own power and freedom grew. The grass in the warm sun did start and move,

And more than all, heroic, just, sublime And sea-buds burst under the waves serene :

Thou wert among the false—was this thy crime? How many a one, though none be near to love,

Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twine Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen

Of direst weeds hangs garlanded—the snake In any mirror-or the spring's young minions,

Inhabits its wreck'd palaces ;—in thine The winged leaves amid the copses green ; A beast of subtler venom now doth make

Its lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown, How many a spirit then puts on the pinions And thus thy victim's fate is as thine own. of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps—and over wide dominions

* This fragment refers to an event, told in Sismondi s

Histoire des Républiques Italiennes, which occurred duSweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast,

ring the war when Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reMore fleet than storms--the wide world shrinks below duced it to a province. The opening stanzas are addressed When winter and despondency are past.

to the conquering city.

The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare, of the circumfluous waters,-every sphere
And love and freedom blossom but to wither; And every flower and beam and cloud and wave
And good and ill like vines entangled are, And every wind of the mute atmosphere,
So that their grapes may oft be pluck'd together;-
Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then make And every beast stretch'd in its rugged cave,
Thy heart rejoice for dead Mazenghi's sake. And every bird lull’d on its mossy bough,

And every silver moth fresh from the grave,
No record of his crime remains in story,
But if the morning bright as evening shone, Which is its cradle-ever from below
It was some high and holy deed, by glory

Aspiring like one who loves too fair, too far
Pursued into forgetfulness, which won

To be consumed within the purest glow
From the blind crowd he made secure and free
The patriot's meed, toil, death, and infamy.

Of one serene and unapproached star,

As if it were a lamp of earthly light,
For when by sound of trumpet was declared

Unconscious, as some human lovers are,
A price upon his life, and there was set
A penalty of blood on all who shared

Itself how low, how high beyond all height
So much of water with him as might wet

The heaven where it would perish!—and every for. His lips, which speech divided not-he went

That worshipp'd in the temple of the night Alone as you may guess, to banishment.

Was awed into delight, and by the charm Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast,

Girt as with an interminable zone, He hid himself, and hunger, cold, and toil,

Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a stormk Month-after month endured; it was a feast Whene'er he found those globes of deep-red gold Which in the woods the strawberry-tree doth bear, Out of their dreams ; harmony became love

Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion
Suspended in their emerald atmosphere.

In every soul but one-
And in the roofless huts of vast morasses,
Deserted by the fever-stricken serf,
All overgrown with reeds and long rank grasses, And so this man return'd with axe and saw
And hillocks heap'd of moss-inwoven turf, At evening close from killing the tall treen,
And where the huge and speckled aloe made The soul of whom by nature's gentle law
Rooted in stones, a broad and pointed shade,

Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever green He housed himself. There is a point of strand

The pavement and the roof of the wild copsé, Near Vada's tower and town; and on one side

Chequering the sunlight of the blue serene
The treacherous marsh divides it from the land,
Shadow'd by pine and ilex forests wide,
And on the other creeps eternally,

With jagged leaves, and from the forest tops

Singing the winds to sleep-or weeping oft Through muddy weeds, the shallow, sullen sea.

Fast showers of aerial water-drops Naples, 1818.

Into their mother's bosom, sweet and soft,

Nature's pure tears which have no bitterness ;THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE. Around the cradles of the birds aloft A WOODMAN whose rough heart was out of tune (I think such hearts yet never came to good)

They spread themselves into the loveliness Hated to hear, under the stars or moon,

Of fan-like leaves, and over pallid flowers

Hang like moist clouds :-or, where high brancher One nightingale in an interfluous wood

kiss, Satiate the hungry dark with melody And as a vale is water'd by a flood,

Make a green space among the silent bowers,

Like a vast fane in a metropolis,
Or as the moonlight fills the open sky

Surrounded by the columns and the towers
Struggling with darkness—as a tuberose
Peoples some Indian dell with scents which lie

All overwrought with branch-like traceries

In which there is religion-and the mute
Like clouds above the flower from which they rose, Persuasion of unkindled melodies,
The singing of that happy nightingale
In this sweet forest, from the golden close

Odors and gleams and murmurs, which the lute

of the blind pilot-spirit of the blast
Of evening, till the star of dawn may fall, Stirs as it sails, now grave and now acute,
Was interfused upon the silentness;
The folded roses and the violets pale

Wakening the leaves and waves ere it has past

To such brief unison as on the brain
Ileard her within their slumbers, the abyss One tone, which never can recur, has cast,
Of heaven with all its planets; the dull ear
Of the nighi-cradled earth; the loneliness One accent never to return again.

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