THE TOWER OF FAMINE. AMID the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now the grave Weeps o'er the shipwrecks of oblivion's wave, For bread, and gold, and blood: pain, linked to guilt, Until its vital oil is spent or spilt: There stands the pile, a tower amid the towers Of solitary wealth; the tempest-proof Are by its presence dimmed-they stand aloof, And are withdrawn-so that the world is bare, Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror EVENING. PONTE A MARE, PISA. THE sun is set; the swallows are asleep; There is no dew on the dry grass to-night, And in the inconstant motion of the breeze Within the surface of the fleeting river It trembles, but it never fades away; You, being changed, will find it then as now. The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut Which the keen evening star is shining through. AND, like a dying lady, lean and pale, 1820. WHEN soft winds and sunny skies Up the windless heaven is gone,— Clouds and whirlwinds watch their prey. 1821. Poems of Pure Nature. PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES. LISTEN, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar, Heard in its raging ebb and flow By the captives pent in the cave below. Is a mighty mountain dim and grey, Which between the earth and sky doth lay; And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm. THE CLOUD. I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken And whiten the green plains under, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, Over earth and ocean with gentle motion Lured by the love of the genii that move Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, |