LV.

The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given ;
The massy earth and spherèd skies are riven!

I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar :

Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

490

495

SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.

NOR happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,

Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame,
Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts
As to oblivion their blind- millions fleet,
Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery
Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit
By force or custom? Man who man would be,
Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.

5

ΙΟ

THE AZIOLA.

I.

"Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh,"

Said Mary, as we sate

In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;
And I, who thought

This Aziola was some tedious woman,

Asked, "Who is Aziola?"

5

How elate

I felt to know that it was nothing human,

No mockery of myself to fear or hate:

And Mary saw my soul,

And laughed, and said, "Disquiet yourself not; 'Tis nothing but a little downy owl."

II.

Sad Aziola! many an eventide

IO

Thy music I had heard

By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side,
And fields and marshes wide,

15

Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird,

The soul ever stirred;

Unlike and far sweeter than them all.

Sad Aziola! from that moment I

Loved thee and thy sad cry.

A LAMENT.

I.

Он, world! oh, life! oh, time!

On whose last steps I climb

Trembling at that where I had stood before;

1821.

20

When will return the glory of your prime?
No more - O, never more!

Out of the day and night

A joy has taken flight;

II.

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, my faint heart with grief, but with delight

Move

5

10

1821.

5

II.

The swallow summer comes again-
The owlet night resumes his reign-
But the wild-swan youth is fain

To fly with thee, false as thou.
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow

Sunny leaves from any bough.

00

15

WHERE art thou, beloved To-morrow?
When young and old and strong and weak,
Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,

Thy sweet smiles we ever seek,

In thy place ah! well-a-day!
We find the thing we fled - To-day.

1821.

LINES.

IF I walk in Autumn's even

While the dead leaves pass,

If I look on Spring's soft heaven, -
Something is not there which was.
Winter's wondrous frost and snow,
Summer's clouds, where are they now?

5

5

WHEN passion's trance is overpast,
If tenderness and truth could last
Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep,
I should not weep, I should not weep!