No more;-yet Silence stalketh round This vault so dim and deep, And Death keeps watch without a sound, How fair he was-how very fair What dreams we pondered o'er, His fortune's flowing o'er! All was a dream!-it came and fled, Pray! From the happy, prayer is due; While we-('tis all we now can do!) Will check our tears, and pray with you. Blowing her cloudy hair to dust With kisses, like a madman's lust! What Ghost now, like an Até, walketh Earth-ocean-air? and aye with Time, Mingled, as with a lover talketh? Methinks their colloquy sublime Draws anger from the sky, which raves Over the self-abandoned waves ! Behold! like millions massed in battle, The trembling billows headlong go, Lashing the barren deeps, which rattle In mighty transport till they grow All fruitful in their rocky home, And burst from frenzy into foam. And look! where on the faithless billows Lie women, and men, and children fair; Some hanging, like sleep, to their swollen pillows, With helpless sinews and streaming hair, And some who plunge in the yawning graves! Ah! lives there no strength beyond the waves? 'Tis said the Moon can rock the Sea From frenzy strange, to silence mildTo sleep-to death: But where is She, While now her storm-born giant child Upheaves his shoulder to the skies? Arise, sweet planet pale-arise! She cometh-lovelier than the dawn In summer, when the leaves are greenMore graceful than the alarmèd fawn, Over his grassy supper seen: Bright quiet from her beauty falls, Until-again the tempest calls! The supernatural storm he waketh Again, and lo! from sheets all white, Stand up unto the stars, and shaketh Scorn on the jewelled locks of Night. He carries a ship on his foaming crown, And a cry, like Hell, as he rushes down! And so still soars from calm to storm, Until at ast we sleep, And never wake nor weep, (Hushed to death by some faint tune), In our grave beneath the Moon! INSCRIPTIONS. I. FOR A FOUNTAIN. REST! This little Fountain runs Thus for aye:-It never stays For the look of summer suns, Nor the cold of winter days. Whosoe'er shall wander near, When the Syrian heat is worst, Let him hither come, nor fear Lest he may not slake his thirst: He will find this little river Running still as bright as ever. Let him drink, and onward hie, Bearing but in thought that I, Erotas, bade the Naiad fall, And thank the great god Pan for all! II. FOR A TEMPLE OF ESCULAPIUS. In this high nook, built all by mortal hand, III.-FOR A STREAMLET. TRAVELLER, note! Although I seem I come from regions where the sun IV. FOR AN ANTIQUE DRINKING-CUP. DRINK! If thou find'st my round all filled with wine, Which lifts men's creeping thoughts to dreams divine, Drink, and become a God! Anacreon old Once quenched his mighty thirst from out my gold: Rich was I, red, and brimming;-but he laughed, And (tasting sparely) drained me at a draught. Bacchanal! If thou lov'st the Teian's fame, Take courage-grasp me fast-and straight do thou the same! |