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From Chance, and Death, and Mutability,
Id. III. 4,
THE SONG OF TRIUMPH.t
The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness !
Ha! ha! the animation of delight
Which wraps me, like an atmosphere of light, And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind.
Brother mine, calm wanderer,
Happy globe of land and air,
Which penetrates my frozen frame,
And passes with the warmth of flame,
Through me, through me!
* Whatever may be thought of the expediency or Utopianism, there can be but one opinion, it may be presumed, as to the melody and sweetness of the language, and the lofty faith of this dream of an Astræa Redux, and a Golden Age to be.
+ The 'Hallelujah Chorus,' as it may be termed, celebrating in jubilant and ecstatic song the completed Redemption,
Laugh with a vast and inextinguishable laughter:
The oceans, and the deserts, and the abysses,
And the deep air's unmeasured wildernesses, Answer from all their clouds and billows, echoing
The shadow of white death has past
From my path in heaven at last,
And through my newly-woven bowers,
Wander happy paramours,
Thy vales more deep.
As the dissolving warmth of dawn may fold
A half unfrozen dew-globe, green, and gold, And crystalline, till it becomes a winged mist,
And wanders up the vault of the hlue day,
Outlives the noon, and on the sun's last ray Hangs o'er the sea, a fleece of fire and amethyst.
Thou art folded, thou art lying
In the light which is undying
All suns and constellations shower
On thee a light, a life, a power Which doth array thy sphere ; thou pourest thine
On mine, on mine!
Which points into the heavens dreaming delight, Murmuring victorious joy in muy enchanted sleep;
As a youth lulld in love-dreams faintly sighing,
Under the shadow of his beauty lying, Which round his rest a watch of light and warmth
As in the soft and sweet eclipse,
When soul meets soul on lovers' lips, High hearts are calm, and brightest eyes are dull ;
So, when thy shadow falls on nie,
Then am I mute and still, by thee
Full, oh, too full !
Like a Mänad, round the cup
Gazes on the azure sky
As a grey and watery mist
Glows like solid amethyst
When the sunset sleeps
Upon its snow.
THE ELEGY OF ELEGIES.
I WEEP for ADONAIS—he is dead !
Forget the Past, his fame and fate shall be
Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorn'd and hid the coming bulk of death.
Oh, weep for Adonais—he is dead!
Will yet restore him to the vital air !
Most musical of mourners, weep again!
Into the gulf of death ; but his clear sprite
Most musical of mourners, weep anew !