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I

Io look once more into each other's face:

CHURCHILL'S GRAVE.
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED.
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire-but hour by hour

I stoon beside the grave of him who blazed
They fell and faded-and the crackling trunks The comet of a season, and I saw
Extinguish'd with a crash-and all was black. The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
The brows of men by the despairing light

With not the less of sorrow and of awe Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

On that neglected turf and quiet stone, The flashes fell upon them; some lay down With name no clearer than the names unknown, And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Which lay unread around it; and I ask'd Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled, The Gardener of that ground, why it might be And others hurried to and fro, and fed

That for this plant strangers his memory task'd Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up Through the thick deaths of half a century; With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

And thus he answer'-"Well, I do not know The pall of a past world; and then again

Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrimsso;
With curses cast them down upon the dust, He died before my day of Sextonship,
And gnash'd their teeth and howled: the wild birds And I had not the digging of this grave'
shriek’d,

And is this all? I thought,- and do we rip
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

The veil of Immortality ? and crave
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes I know not what of honor and of light
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd Through unborn ages, to endure this blight:
And twined themselves among the multitude, So soon and so successless ? As I said,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food : The Architect of all on which we tread,
And War, which for a moment was no more, For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay
Did glut himself again ;-a meal was bought To extricate remembrance from the clay,
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; Were it not that all life must end in one,
All earth was but one thought-and that was death, Of which we are but dreamers;--as he caught
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun, Of famine fed upon all entrails--men

Thus spoke he,--I believe the man of whom Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; You wot, who lies in this selected tomb, The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,

Was a most famous writer in his day, Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, And therefore travellers step from out their way And he was faithful to a corse, and kept

|To pay him honor,--and myself whate'er The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, Your honor pleases,”-then most pleased I shook Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead From out my pocket's avaricious nook Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere But with a piteous and perpetual moan,

Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

So much but inconveniently ;--- Ye smile, Which answer'd not with a caress-he died. I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while, The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two Because my homely phrase the truth would tell. Of an enormous city did survive,

You are the fools, not I-for I did dwell And they were enemies; they met beside

With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye, The dying embers of an altar-place

On that Old Sexton's natural homily,
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things In which there was Obscurity and Fame,
For an unholy usage; they raked up,

The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd, and died

PROMETHEUS.
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

TITIAN! to whose immortal eyes
The populous and the powerful was a lump,

The sufferings of mortality, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless

Seen in their sad reality, A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay.

Were not as things that gods despise ; The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still.

What was thy pity's recompense ? And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths ;

A silent suffering, and intense ; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

The rock, the vulture, and the chain, And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd| All that the proud can feel of pain, They slept on the abyss without a surge

The agony they do not show, The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The suffocating sense of wo, The moon, their mistress, had expired before;

Which speaks but in its loneliness, The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

And then is jealous lest the sky And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Should have a listener, nor will sigh Of aid from them-She was the universe.

Until its voice is echoless.

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II.

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, Titian! to thee the strife was given

Let superstition hail the pile,

Let priests, to spread their sable reign,
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill ;

With tales of mystic rites beguile.
And the inexorable Heaven,
And the deaf tyranny of Fate,

Shall man confine his Maker's sway
The ruling principle of Hate,

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone ? Which for its pleasure doth create

Thy temple is the face of day; The things it may annihilate,

Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless throne. Refused thee even the boon to die: The wretched gift eternity

Shall man condemn his race to hell
Was thine-and thou hast borne it well.

Unless they bend in pompous form;
All that the Thunderer wrung from thee, Tell us that all, for one who fell,
Was but the menace which flung back

Must perish in the mingling storm ?
On him the torments of thy rack ;
The fate thou didst so well foresee,

Shall each pretend to reach the skies,
But would not to appease him tell;

Yet doom his brother to expire, And in thy Silence was his Sentence,

Whose soul a different hope supplies,
And in his Soul a vain repentance,

Or doctrines less severe inspire ?
And evil dread so ill dissembled
That in his hand the lightnings trembled.

Shall these, by creeds they can't expound,
III.

Prepare a fancied bliss or wo?

Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground, Thy Godlike crime was to be kind,

Their great Creator's purpose know?
To render with thy precepts less

The sum of human wretchedness,
And strengthen man with his own mind;

Shall those, who live for self alone,
But baffled as thou wert from high,

Whose years float on in daily crimeStill in thy patient energy,

Shall they by Faith for guilt atone,
In the endurance, and repulse

And live beyond the bounds of Time ?
Of thine impenetrable Spirit,
Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse Father! no prophet's laws I seek,--
A mighty lesson we inherit:

Thy laws in Nature's works appear ;-
Thou art a symbol and a sign

I own myself corrupt and weak,
To mortals of their fate and force;

Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear!
Like thee, Man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source;

Thou, who canst guide the wandering star And Man in portions can foresee

Through trackless realms of ether's space His own funereal destiny ;

Who calmost the elemental war, His wretchedness, and his resistance,

Whose hand from pole to pole I trace:And his sad unallied existence: To which his Spirit may oppose

Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Itself—an equal to all woes,

Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, And a firm will, and a deep sense,

Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere,
Which even in torture can descry
Its own concenter'd recompense,

Extend to me thy wide defence.
Triumphant where it dares defy,
And making Death a Victory.

To Thee, my God, to Thee I call !

Whatever weal or wo betide,
By thy command I rise or fall,

In thy protection I confide.

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Sonne3.o composto in nome di un genitoro, a cui era morta poco innana ana Sonnet compowed in the name of a father whose daughter had recently died figlia. a zpena maritata ; e diretto al genitore della sacra sposa.

shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had

lately taken the veil. Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte OF two fair virgins, modest, though admired, Lieti miseri padri il ciel ne feo,

Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires, Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte

Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
L'una e l'altra veggendo, ambo chiedeo, And gazing upon either, both required.
La mia fu tolta da veloce morte

Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired
A le fumanti tede d'imeneo;

Becomes extinguish'd, soon-too soon-expires :
La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte

But thine, within the closing grate retired,
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.

Eternal captive, to her God aspires.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa

But thou at least from out the jealous door,
Irremeabil soglia, ove s'asconde,

Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes,
La sua tenera udir voce pietosa.

May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more: Io verso un fiume d'amarissim'onda,

I to the marble where my daughter lies,
Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figlia or posa, Rush,—the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, [p:ies.
Batto, e ribatto, ma nessun risponde. | And knock, and knock, and knock--but nine re-

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