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I take with patience, as my master did, All scoffs permitted from above.


My Lord, Pray overlook these papers. Archy's words Had wings, but these have talons.


And the lion That wears them must be tamed. My dearest lord, I see the new-born courage in your eye Arm'd to strike dead the spirit of the time.

And in the lightest and the least, may best
Be seen the current of the coming wind.

Your brain is overwrought with these deep thoughts;
Come, I will sing to you; let us go try
These airs from Italy,--and you shall see
A cradled miniature of yourself asleep,
Stamp'd on the beart by never-erring love;
Liker than any Vandyke ever made,
A pattern to the unborn age of thee,
Over whose sweet beauty I have wept for joy
A thousand times, and now should weep for sorrow,
Did I not think that after we were dead
Our fortunes would spring high in liim, and that
The cares we waste upon our heavy crown
Would make it light and glorious as a wreath
Of heaven's beams for his dear innocent brow.


Dear Henrietta!

Do thou persist: for, faint but in resolve,
And it were better thou had still remain'd
The slave of thine own slaves, who tear like curs
The fugitive, and flee from the pursuer!
And Opportunity, that empty wolf,
Flies at his throat who falls. Subdue thy actions
Even to the disposition of thy purpose,
And be that temper'd as the Ebro's steel :
And banish weak-eyed Mercy to the weak,
Whence she will greet thee with a gift of peace,
And not belray thee with a traitor's kiss,
As when she keeps the company of rebels,
Who think that she is fear. This do, lest we
Should fall as from a glorious pinnacle
In a bright dream, and wake as from a dream
Out of our worshipp'd state.





. And if this suffice not, Unleash the sword and fire, that in their thirst They may lick up that scum of schismatics. I laugh at those weak rebels who, desiring What we possess, still prate of christian peace, As if those dreadful messengers of wrath, Which play the part of God 'twixt right and wrong, Should be let loose against innocent sleep Of templed cities and the smiling fields, For some poor argument of policy Which touches our own profit or our pride, Where indeed it were christian charity To turn the cheek even to the smiter's hand : And when our great Redeemer, when our God Is scorn'd in his immediate ministers, They talk of peace : Such peace as Canaan found, let Scotland now.

HAMPDEN, PYM, CROMWELL, and the younger Vane.

England, farewell I thou, who hast been my cradle,
Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave!
I held what I inherited in thee,
As pawn for that inheritance of freedom
Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler's smile
How can I call thee England, or my country?
Does the wind hold ?


The vanes sit steady
Upon the Abbey towers. The silver lightnings
Of the evening star, spite of the city's smoke,
Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper air. ;
Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged clouds
Sailing athwart St Margaret's.


Hail, fleet herald
Of tempest! that wild pilot who shall guide
Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as thee,
Beyond the shot of tyranny! And thou,
Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide Atlantic,
Athwart ils zones of tempest and of calm,
Bright as the path to a beloved home,
O light us to the isles of th' evening land!
Like floating Edens, cradled in the glimmer
Of sun-set, through the distapt mist of years
Tinged by departing Hope, they gleam. Lone regions,
Where power's poor dupes and victims, yet have never
Propitiated the savage fear of kings
With purest blood of noblest hearts; whose dew
Is yet unstain'd with tears of those who wake
To weep cach day the wrongs on which it dawps;
Whose sacred silent air owns yet no echo
Of formal blasphemies; nor impious rites
Wrest man's free worship from the God who loves,
Towards the worm who envies us his love;
Receive thou young

] of Paradise,
These exiles from the old and sinful world!
This glorious clime, this firmament whose liglits
Dart mitigated influence through the veil
Of pale blue atmosphere; whose tears keep green

QUEEN. My beloved lord, Have you not noted that the fool of late Has lost his careless mirth, and that his words Sound like the echoes of our saddest fears? What can it mean? I should be loth to think Some factious slave had tutor'd him.


It partly is, That our minds piece the vacant intervals Of his wild words with their own fashioning; As in the imagery of summer clouds, Or coals in the winter fire, idlers find The perfect shadows of their teeming thoughts: And partly, that the terrors of the time Are sown by wandering Rumour in all spirits ;





The pavement of this moist all-feeding carth;
This vaporous horizon, whose dim round

Oh! would that I could claim exemption
Is bastion'd by the circumfluous sea,

From all the bitterness of that sweet name. Repelling invasion from the sacred towers,

I loved, I love, and when I love no more, Presses upon me like a dungeon's grate,

Let joys and grief perish, and leave despair A low dark roof, a damp and narrow vault :

To ring the knell of youth. He stood beside me, The mighty universe becomes a cell

The embodied vision of the brightest dream,
Too narrow for the soul that owns no master.

Which like a dawn heralds the day of life;
While the loathliest spot

The shadow of his presence made my world
Of this wide prison, England, is a nest

A paradise. All familiar things he touch'd, Of cradled peace built on the mountain tops,

All common words he spoke, became to me To which the eagle-spirits of the free,

Like forms and sounds of a diviner world. Which range through heaven and earth, and scorn the He was as is the sun in his fierce youth,

As terrible and lovely as a tempest ; Of time, and gaze upon the light of truth,

He came, and went, and left me what I am. Return to brood over the [

) thoughts Alas! Why must I think how oft we two That cannot die, and may not be repelled.

Have sale together near the river springs,
Under the green pavilion which the willow
Spreads on the floor of the unbroken fountain,

Strewn by the nurslings that linger there,
FRAGMENTS FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA. Over that islet paved with flowers and moss,

While the musk-rose leaves, like flakes of crimson spow, He came like a dream in the dawn of life, He fled like a shadow before its noon;

Shower'd on us, and the dove mourn'd in the pine, He is gone, and my peace is turn'd to strife,

Sad prophetess of sorrows not our own.
And I wander and wane like the weary moon.

Your breath is like soft music, your words are
O sweet Echo wake,
And for my sake

The echoes of a voice which on my heart

Sleeps like a melody of early days. Make answer the while my heart shall break!

But as you said, But heart has a music which Echo's lips,

He was so awful, yet
Though tender and true, yet can answer not;

So beautiful in mystery and terror,
And the shadow that moves in the soul's eclipse
Can return not the kiss by his now forgot;

Calming me as the loveliness of heaven

Soothes the unquiet sea :-and yet not so,
Sweet lips! he who hath
desolate path

For he seem'd stormy, and would often seem

A quenchless sun mask'd in portentous clouds;
Cast the darkness of absence worse than death!

For such bis thoughts, and even his actions were ;
But he was not of them, nor they of him,

But as they hid his splendour from the earth.
And if my grief should still be dearer to me

Some said he was a man of blood and peril, Than all the pleasure in the world beside,

And steep'd in bitter infamy to the lips.
Why would you lighten it?—

More need was there I should be innocent,

More need that I should be most true and kind,
I offer only

And much more peed that there should be found one That which I seek, some human sympathy

To share remorse, and scorn and solitude, In this mysterious island.

And all the ills that wait on those who do

The tasks of ruin in the world of life.
Oh! my friend,

He fled, and I have follow'd him.
My sister, my beloved! What do I say?

February, 1822.
My brain is dizzy and I scarce know whether
I speak to thee or her. Peace, perturbed heart!
I am to thce only as thou to mine,

The passing wind which heals the hrow at noon,

And may strike cold into the breast at night,
Yet cannot linger where it soothes the most,
Or long soothe could it linger. But you said

THERE was a youth, who, as with toil and travel,
You also loved.

Had grown quite weak and grey before his time;


could the restless griefs unravel
Loved! Oh, I love. Methinks
This word of love is fit for all the world,

Which buro'd within him, withering up his prime, And that for gentle hearts another name

And goading him, like fiends, from land to land.
Would speak of gentler thoughts than the world owns. Not his the load of any secret crime,
I have loved.

for nought of ill his heart could understand,
And thou lovest not? if so

But pity and wild sorrow for the same ;Young as thou art, thou canst afford to weep.

Not his the thirst for glory or command,






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Thus had his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tost,
Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he fillid

From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,
PRINCE Athanase had one beloved friend,
An old, old man, with hair of silver white,

The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child,
And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore

And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild.
With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light
Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds.

And sweet and subtle talk they evermore,
He was the last whom superstition's blight

The pupil and master shared; until,

Sharing the undiminishable store, Had spared in Greece—the blight that cramps and blinds,

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill And in his olive bower at OEnoe

Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds

His teacher, and did teach with native skill
A fertile island in the barren sea,
One mariner who has survived his mates

Strange truths and new to that experienced man; Many a drear month in a great ship-so he,

Still they were friends, as few have ever been

Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span. With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being :

And in the caverns of the forest green,
The mind becomes that which it contemplates, » Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,

Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen
And thus Zonoras, by forever seeing
Their bright creations, grew like wisest men;

By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar And when he heard the crash of nations fleeing Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war,

The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,
A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then,
O sacred Hellas! many weary years

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,
He wander'd till the path of Laian's glen

Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam,

Piercing the stormy darkness like a star,
Was grass-grown-and the unremember'd tears
Were dry in Laian for their honour'd chief,

Which pours beyond the sea one sted fast beam, Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears:

Whilst all the constellations of the sky

Seem'd wrecked. And as the lady look'd with faithful grief

They did but seemFrom her high lattice o'er the rugged path,

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief

And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing,

And far o'er southern waves, immoveably
And blighting hope, who with the news of death
Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight,

Belted Orion hangs—warm light is flowing
She saw beneath the chesnuts, far beneath,

From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.| The Author was pursuing a fuller development of the ideal • 0, summer night! with power divine, bestowing character of Athanase, when it struck him that in an attempt at extreme refinement and analysis, bis conceptions might be be

« On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm trayed into the assuming a morbid cbaractor. The reader will judge wheiber he is a luser or gaider by this difference. --Author's Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Nole.

Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm

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Of dark emotion, a swift shadow ran,

Like wind upon some forest-bosom'd lake,
Glassy and dark.- And that divine old man

Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all

We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,
Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake,

Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall,
Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest-
And with a calm and measured voice he spake,

Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls

Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew;-
And with a soft and equal pressure, prest

Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls
That cold lean haud :-: Dost thou remember yet
When the curved moon, then lingering in the west,

Invests it; and when heavens are blue

Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair, « Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet,

The shadow of thy moving wings imbue How in those beams we walk d, half resting on the sea?

Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear 'T is just one year-sure thou dost not forget

Beauty like some bright robe ;-thou ever soarest « Then Plato's words of light in thee and me

Among the towers of men, and as soft air
Linger'd like moonlight in the moonless east,
For we had just then read-thy memory

In spring, which moves the unawaken'd forest,
Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak,

Thou floatest among men ; and aye implorest
• Is faithful now, the story of the feast;
And Agathon and Diotima seem'd

That which from thee they should implore:- the weak From death and [

) released.

Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts

The strong have broken-yet where shall any seek FRAGMENT III.

A garment whom thou clothest not? 'T was at the season when the Earth upsprings

Marlow, 1817.
From slumber, as a sphered angel's child,
Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings,

Stands before its mother bright and mild,

On! foster-nurse of man's abandon'd glory, up Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems

Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendour; So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled

Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in story,

As ocean its wreck'd fanes, severe yet tender : To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams,

The light-invested angel Poesy The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove

Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee. Wax'd green-and flowers burst forth like starry beams;-- And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught

By loftiest meditations; marble knew The grass in the warm sun did start and move,

The sculptor's fearless soul—and as he wrought, And sea-buds burst under the waves serene :

The grace of his own power and freedom grew. How many a one, though none be near to love,

And more than all, heroic, just, sublime

Thou wert among the false-was this thy crime?
Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen
In any mirror–or the spring's young minions, Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twine
The winged leaves amid the copses green;-

Of direst weeds hangs garlanded-the snake

Inhabits its wreck'd palaces;- in thine How many a spirit then puts on the pinions

A beast of subtler venom now doth make Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast,

Its lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown, And his own steps_and over wide dominions

And thus thy victim's fate is as thine own.

This fragment refers to an event, told in Sismondi's Histoire Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast,

des Républiques Italiennes, which occurred during the war when More fleet than storms-the wide world shrinks below Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to a province. Tho When winter and despondency are past.

opening stanzas are addressed to the conquering city.

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