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Strip every impious gawd, rend Error veil by veil :

O'er Ruin desolate,

O'er Falsehood's fallen state, Sit thou sublime, unawed ; be the Destroyer pale!

And equal laws be thine,

And winged words let sail,
Freighted with truth even from the throne of God :

That wealth, surviving fate,
Be thine.-All hail !

Didst thou not start to hear Spain's thrilling pæap

From land to land re-echoed solemnly,
Till silence became music? From the Æean"

To the cold Alps, eternal Italy

Starts to hear thine! The Sea Which paves the desert streets of Venice laughs

In light and music; widow'd Genoa wan,
By moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs,
Murmuring, where is Doria ? fair Milan,

Within whose veins long ran
The viper's a palsying venom, lifts her heel
To bruise his head. The signal and the scal

(If Hope and Truth and Justice can avail)
Art Thou of all these hopes.-0 bail!

EPODE 11. ß.
Great Spirit, deepest Love!

Which rulest and dost move
All things which live and are, within the Italian shore;

Who spreadest heaven around it,

Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it;
Who sittest in thy star, o'er Ocean's western floor,

Spirit of beauty! at whose soft command
The sunbeams and the showers distil its foison

From the Earth's bosom chill;
O bid those beams be each a blinding brand
Of lightning! bid those showers be dews of poison!

Bid the Earth's plenty kill!
Bid thy bright Heaven above,
Whilst light and darkness bound it,
Be their tomb who planu'd

To make it ours and thine!
Or, with thine harmonizing ardours fill
And raise thy sons, as o'er the prone horizon
Thy lamp feeds every twilight wave with fire-
Be man's high hope and unextinct desire
The instrument to work thy will divine!
Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from leopards,

And frowns and fears from Thee,

Would not more swiftly tlee
| Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds.-

Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine
Thou yieldest or withholdest, Oh let be

This city of thy worship ever free!
September, 1820.

Florence! beneath the sun,

Of cities fairest one,
Blusbes within her bower for Freedom's expectation :

From eyes of quenchless hope

Rome tears the priestly cope,
As ruling once by power, so now by adıniration,

An athlete stript to run

From a remoter station
For the high prize lost on Philippi's shore:-

As then Hope, Truth, and Justice did avail,
So now may Fraud and Wrong! O hail !


I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

From the scas and the streams ;
I bear light shades for the leaves when laid

In their noon-day dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,
When rock'd to rest on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder.

EPODE 1. ß.
Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms

Array'd against the ever-living Gods ?
The crash and darkness of a thousand storms
Bursting their inaccessible abodes

Of crags and thunder-clouds ?
See ye the banners blazon'd to the day,

Jowrought with emblems of barbaric pride ?
Dissonant threats kill Silence far away,
The serene Heaven which wraps our Eden wide

With iron light is dyed,
The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legions

Like Chaos o'er creation, uncreating ;
An hundred tribes nourishi’d on strange religions
And lawless slaveries, -down the aerial regions

Of the white Alps, desolating,

Famishi'd wolves that bide no waiting, Blotting the glowing footsteps of old glory, Trampling our column'd cities into dust,

Their dull and savage lust On Beauty's corse to sickness satiatingThey come! The fields they tread look black and hoary With fire--from their red feet the streams run gory!

"Aaa, the Island of Circe.

* The viper was the armorial device of the Visconti, tyrants of Milan.

I sift the snow on the mountains below,

And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 't is my pillow white,

While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the lowers of my skiey bowers,

Lightning my pilot sits,
In a cavern under is fetter'd the thunder,

It struggles and howls at fils;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move

In the depths of the purple sca;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the bills,

Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever be dream, under mountain or stream,

The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,

Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

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The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,

Higher still and higher,
And his burning plumes outspread,

From the earth thou spridgest
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

Like a cloud of fire;
When the morning-star shines dead.

The blue deep thou widgest,
As on the jag of a mountain crag, .

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alii one moment may sit

In the golden lightning
in the light of its golden wings.

Of the sunken sun,
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, O'er which clouds are brightening,
Its ardours of rest and of love,

Thou dost tloat and run ;
And the crimson pall of eve may fall

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
From the depth of heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,

The pale purple even
As still as a brooding doye. .

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of heaven,
That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,

In the broad day-light
Whom mortals call the moon,

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,

Keen as are the arrows
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,

Of that silver sphere,
Which only the angels hear,

Whose intense lamp narrows
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,

In the while dawn clear,
The stars peep behind her and peer;

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

All the earth and air
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,

With thy voice is loud,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,

As, when night is bare,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,

From one lonely cloud
Are ench paved with the moon and these.

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd.

What thou art we know not;
I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,

What is most like thee?
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl;

From rainbow clouds there flow not
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,

Drops so bright to see,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Over a torrent sea,

Like a poet hidden
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

In the light of thought,
The mountains its columns be.

Singing hymns unbidden,
The triumphal arch through which I march

Till the world is wrought
With hurricane, fire, and snow,

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
When the powers of the air are chain'd to my chair,
Is the million-colour'd bow;

Like a high-boro maiden
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,

In a palace tower,
While the moist earth was laughing below.

Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour I am the daughter of earth and water,

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower :
And the nursling of the sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

Like a glow-worm golden
I change, but I cannot die.

In a dell of dew,
For after the rain, when with never a stain,

Scattering unbeholden
The pavilion of heaven is bare,

Its aërial hue
And the winds and sunbeams with their convexgleams, Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the
Build up the blue dome of air,

view : I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a rose embower'd
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

In its own green leaves,
I arise and unbuild it again.

By warm winds deflower'd,

Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged TO A SKYLARK.

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

Sound of vernal showers
Bird thou never wert,

On the twinkling grass,
That from heaven, or near it,

Rain-awaken'd flowers,
Pourest thy full beart

All that ever was
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

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Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures

That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground !

Spirit of BEAUTY! that dost consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine

Of human thought or form, where art thou gone?
Why dost thou pass away and leave our state,
This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?

Ask why the sunlight not for ever

Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown;

Why fear and dream and death and birth
Cast on the daylight of this earth

Such gloom, why man has such a scope
For love and hate, despondency and hope?

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow,
The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

No voice from some sublimer world hath ever

To sage or poet these responses given :

Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven, Remain the records of their vain endeavour : Frail spells, whose utter'd charm might not avail to sever,

From all we hear and all we see,

Doubt, chance, and mutability.
Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven,

Or music by the night-wind sent
Through strings of some still instrument,

Or moonlight on a midnight stream,

and truth to life's unquiet dream.

AN EXHORTATION. CAMELEONS feed on light and air;

Poets' food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care

Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they,

Would they ever change their hue

As the light cameleons do, Suiting it to every ray 'Twenty times a-day?

Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds, depart

And come, for some uncertain moments lent.

Man were immortal, and omnipotent,
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art,

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The waves were fiercely vomited
From every tower and every dome,

And dreary light did widely shed

O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night

I. On the stain'd cope of heaven's light.

The everlasting universe of things

Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, The plank whereon that Lady sate

Now dark-now glittering---now reflecting gloomWas driven through the chasms, about and about, Now lending splendour, where from secret springs Between the peaks so desolate

The source of humau thought its tribute brinus Of the drowning mountain, in and out,

Of waters, with a sound but half its own, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails

Such as a feeble brook will oft assume While the flood was filling those hollow vales.

In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, At last her plank an eddy crost,

Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river And bore her to the city's wall,

Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
Which now the flood had reach'd almost:
It might the stoutest heart appal

To hear the fire roar and hiss

Thus thou, Ravine of Arve-dark, deep RavineThrough the domes of those mighty palaces.

Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale,

Over whose pines and crags and caverns sail The eddy whirl'd her round and round

Fast clouds, shadows, and sunbeams : awful scene,

Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound

From the ice gulfs that gird his secret throne, Its aery arch with light like blood;

Bursting through these dark mountains, like the flame She look'd on that gate of marble clear,

Of lightning through the tempest; thou dost lie, With wonder that extinguish'd fear.

Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,

Children of elder time, in whose devotion For it was filld with sculptures rarest,

The chainless winds still come and ever came Or forms most beautiful and strange,

To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging Like nothing human, but the fairest

To hear-an old and solemn harmony: Of winged shapes, whose legions range

Thine earthly rainbows stretcli'd across the sweep Throughout the sleep of those that are,

Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil Like this same Lady, good and fair.

Robes some unsculptured imaye; the strange sleep

Which, when the voices of the desert fail,
And as she look'd, still lovelier grew

Wraps all in its own deep eternity ;-
Those marble forms;- the sculptor sure Thy caverns, echoing to the Arve's commotion
Was a strong spirit, and the hue

A loud lone sound, no other sound can tame:

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