Whilst light and darkness bound it, To make it ours and thine! Or, with thine harmonizing ardours fill And frowns and fears from Thee, Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds. Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine AUTUMN; A DIRGE. THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wail ing, [dying; The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are And the year On the earth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, In your saddest array; Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawl ing, 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; Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. DEATH. 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 First our pleasures die—and then Dust claims dust-and we die too. All things that we love and cherish, LIBERTY. THE fiery mountains answer each other, From a single cloud the lightning flashes, 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 WORLD'S WANDERERS. TELL me, thou star, whose wings of light Speed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the night Tell me, moon, thou pale and gray Weary wind, who wanderest THE TOWER OF FAMINE.* AMID the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now the grave, Upon some prison-homes, whose dwellers rave There stands the pile, a tower amid the towers Are by its presence dimmed-they stand aloof, Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror At Pisa there still exists the prison of Ugolino, which goes by the name of "La Torre della Fame:" in the adjoining building the galley-slaves are confined. It is situated near the Ponte al Mare on the Arno. |