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near Pisa, July 7th 1822; his remains were burnt and the ashes preserved in an urn. In Italy he wrote 'Prometheus Unbound,' a play in which many of his religious and political opinions are fully expounded; its style is grand but sometimes too elaborate. Then followed The Cenci, a most horrible tragedy: it is, however, held in great estimation, as being one of the finest modern specimens in this department. 'Hellas' and 'Rosalind and Helen' were the next in order: in

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Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of heaven,

In the broad day-light

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the latter the poet endeavours to prove that marriage is an evil, and ought not to be allowed in the present state of society. Adonais' is a beautiful lament for the death of Keats, whose early decease was sincerely deplored by Shelley. Of his remaining works the following may still be mentioned: 'Queen Mab,' written when the author was eighteen years old, 'The Witch of Atlas,' 'Epipsychidion, The Masque of Anarchy,' 'Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude,' 'Julian and Maddalo,' &c.

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Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth

Keen are the arrows

delight.

Of that silver sphere,

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear.

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surpass:

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine;

I have never heard,

Praise of love or wine

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Until we hardly see, we feel that it is That panted forth a flood of rapture so

All the earth and air

there.

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divine.

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With thy voice is loud,

As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud

But an empty vaunt,

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven A thing wherein we feel there is some

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As from thy presence showers a rain of What love of thine own kind? what ignor

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To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad

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satiety.

not.

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Better than all measures

Of delight and sound,

Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

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NATURAL APPEARANCES OF RETURNING SPRING.

Ah,

woe is me! Winter is come and gone,

But grief returns with the revolving year; The airs and streams renew their joyous tone;

The ants, the bees, the swallows, reappear;

Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead

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season's bier. The loving birds now pair in every brake, And build their mossy homes in field and

brere;

And the green lizard, and the golden

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the Like unimprisoned

ground!

Teach me half the gladness That the brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow,

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The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

TIME.

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snake, flames, out of their

trance awake.

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THOMAS MOORE, the author of 'Irish Melodies,' was born in Dublin, in 1780, of Roman Catholic parents. He studied at Dublin University, where he translated into English verse the Odes of Anacreon. In 1803 he obtained a post at Bermuda, where he remained twelve months. He afterwards travelled over large part of America, but got into difficulties in money concerns by the conduct of the person who acted as his deputy at Bermuda. His 'Odes and Epistles' were published in 1806, and severely criticised by the Edinburgh Review. It was in 1811 that he became personally acquainted with Lord Byron, with whom he lived some time at Newstead Abbey. Two years later he wrote his political satires, in which he excelled by the elegance of his style, and the severity with which he treated his opponents. Amongst his humorous writings the Fudge Family and the Twopenny Post Bag' are considered the best; the latter consists of a selection of letters from eminent persons, pretended to have been intercepted. In 1813 Moore began his 'Irish Melodies," by which his name has been rendered illustrious, and which of all his productions will probably longest survive him, and establish for him the widest repu

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MOORE.

tation. In 1817 he published 'Lalla Rookh,' an oriental romance, consisting of four poems, united by a story in prose. In all these poems he has taken oriental life for his subject, and has worked them up in a highly coloured manner. Moore wrote also another oriental poem entitled, "The Loves of the Angels,' which he composed in Paris. He also appeared as a prose writer, and published the lives of Byron and Sheridan and the Memoirs of Lord Edward Fitzgerald. His last publication was a work in prose, entitled The Epicurean. It is a story of the early Christians, the scene of which is in Egypt; this production is written in the style of Lalla Rookh. All his compositions are distinguished throughout by a delicacy of feeling, elegance and humour, and a delightful command of the language which the author seems to be able, in almost any manner, to turn to his advantage. Moore resided in a small cottage in Wiltshire during the last years of his life, preferring quiet country comfort to the gay society in which he might always have shone. He published his poetical works in ten volumes, which were hailed with a warm welcome by the public. He died in 1852.

'Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall: Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years, One minute of Heaven is worth them all!'

The glorious Angel, who was keeping
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd'
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd
Within his eyelids, like the spray

From Eden's fountain, when it lies On the blue flow'r, which-Bramins sayBlooms nowhere but in Paradise! 'Nymph of a fair but erring line!' Gently he said-'One hope is thine. 'Tis written in the Book of Fate,

The l'eri yet may be forgiven Who brings to this Eternal gate

The Gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go seek it, and redeem thy sin"Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in!'

Rapidly as comets run

To th'embraces of the Sun :-
Fleeter than the starry brands,
Flung at night from angel hands
At those dark and daring sprites,
Who would climb th'empyrial heights,

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And, lighted earthward by a glance That just then broke from morning's eyes, Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. But whither shall the Spirit go To find this gift for heav'n-I know The wealth,' she cries, 'of every urn, In which unnumber'd rubies burn, Beneath the pillars of Chilminar;

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I know where the Isles of Perfume are
Many a fathom down in the sea,
To the south of sun-bright Araby;
I know too where the Genii hid
The jewell'd cup of their King Jamshid,
With Life's elixir sparkling high-
But gifts like these are not for the sky. 65
Where was there ever a gem that shone
Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne?
And the Drops of Life-oh! what would
they be

In the boundless Deep of Eternity?'
While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd 70
The air of that sweet Indian land,
Whose air is balm; whose ocean spreads
O'er coral rocks and amber beds,
Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem; 75
Whose rivulets are like rich brides,
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides;
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice
Might be a Peri's Paradise!
But crimson now her rivers ran

With human blood-the smell of death Came reeking from those spicy bowers, And man, the sacrifice of man,

Mingled his taint with every breath Upwafted from the innocent flowers!

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Of morning light, she caught the lastLast glorious drop his heart had shed, Before its free-born spirit fled!

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Of Eden moves not-holier far Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 85 That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee!'

Land of the Sun! what foot invades
Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades-
Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones,
Thy monarchs and their thousand Thrones?
'Tis He of Gazna (1)-fierce in wrath
He comes, and India's diadems
Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path.-

His blood-hounds he adorns with gems, Torn from the violated necks

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Of many a young and lov'd Sultana;— 95
Maidens, within their pure Zenana,
Priests in the very fane he slaughters,
And choaks up with the glittering wrecks
Of golden shrines the sacred waters!
Downward the Peri turns her gaze,
And, through the war-field's bloody haze
Beholds a youthful warrior stand,
Alone, beside his native river,—

The red blade broken in his hand
And the last arrow in his quiver.
'Live,' said the Conqueror, 'live to share
The trophies and the crowns I bear!'

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To watch the moonlight on the wings 155 Of the white pelicans that break The azure calm of Moeri's Lake. 'Twas a fair scene,-a Land more bright Never did mortal eye behold! Who could have thought, that saw this night

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(1) Mahmoud, who conquered India in the 11th century.

Those valleys and their fruits of gold

Basking in heav'n's serenest light;-
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending
Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads,
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending
Warns them to their silken beds;-
Those virgin lilies, all the night

Bathing their beauties in the lake,
That they may rise more fresh and bright,
When their beloved Sun's awake;- 170
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream;

Amid whose fairy loneliness Nought but the lap-wing's cry is heard, Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting Fast from the moon, unsheathe its gleam) Some purple-wing'd Sultana sitting Upon a column, motionless And glittering, like an Idol bird!

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One who in life, where'er he mov'd,
Drew after him the hearts of many;
Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd
Dies here, unseen, unwept by any!
None to watch near him-none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake,
Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice, well-known through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,

Is still like distant music heard.
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world, when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown Dark.
Deserted youth! one thought alone
Shed joy around his soul in death-

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Who could have thought, that there, ev'n That she, whom he for years had known,

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And lov'd, and might have call'd his own, Was safe from this foul midnight's breath;

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Safe in her father's princely halls,
Where the cool air from fountain falls,
Freshly perfum'd by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.
But see,-who yonder comes by stealth,

This melancholy bower to seek,
Like a young envoy, sent by Health,
"Tis she-far off, through moonlight dim,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,
Her arms are round her lover now,
Than live to gain the world beside!-

His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,

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In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses.
Ah! once, how little did he think
An hour would come, when he should shrink
With horror from that dear embrace,
Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place

Of Eden's infant cherubim!
And now he yields-now turns away,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone-
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came
Near his unask'd or without shame.
'Oh! let me only breathe the air,

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The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee, And, whether on its wings it bear Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! There,- drink my tears, while yet they fall,

Would that my bosom's blood were balm,

And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,
To give thy brow one minute's calm.

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