*

Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise,
Where I did lay me down within the shade

Of waving trees, and dreamed uncounted hours,
Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said
Of such materials wretched men were made,
And such a truant boy would end in woe,
And that the only lesson was a blow;
And then they smote me, and I did not weep,
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt
Returned and wept alone, and dreamed again
The visions which arise without a sleep.
And with my years my soul began to pant
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain:
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want,
But undefined and wandering, till the day
I found the thing I sought, and that was thee;
And then I lost my being all to be
Absorbed in thine - the world was passed away
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

I loved all solitude - but little thought To spend I know not what of life, remote From all communion with existence, save The maniac and his tyrant; had I been Their fellow, many years ere this had seen My mind, like theirs, corrupted to its grave; But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ?

Perchance in such a cell we suffer more

Than the wrecked sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before him- mine is here,

Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.

What though he perish, he may lift his eye,
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky –
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay: - I see Unwonted lights along my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to One, who long hath suffered so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought mine enemies had been but man, But spirits may be leagued with them all Earth Abandons - Heaven forgets me; in the dearth Of such defence the Powers of Evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved? Because I loved what not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

that is o'er;

I once was quick in feeling My scars are callous, or I should have dashed My brains against these bars as the sun flashed In mockery through them; - if I bear and bore. The much I have recounted, and the more Which hath no words, 'tis that I would not die And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie

Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame

Stamp Madness deep into my memory,

And woo Compassion to a blighted name,

Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.

No- it shall be immortal! — and I make

A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
Wilt thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy heartless halls,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wander o'er thy unpeopled walls!
And thou, Leonora! thou - who wert ashamed
That such as I could love - who blushed to hear
To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness - and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me -

From long infections of a den like this,

Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss,

Adores thee still;- and add that when the towers

And battlements which guard his joyous hours

Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,

Or left untended in a dull repose,

This this shall be a consecrated spot!

But Thou- when all that Birth and Beauty throws
Of magic round thee is extinct — shalt have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
No power in death can tear our names apart,
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora! it shall be our fate
To be entwined for ever- but too late!

CHILDE HAROLD'S ADIEU TO ENGLAND.

"ADIEU, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild seamew.

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land

Good Night!

"A few short hours and He will rise
To give the Morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother Earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.

"Come hither, hither, my little page!
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;

Our ship is swift and strong;

Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly

More merrily along."

'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind;

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind;

For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom 1 love,

And have no friend, save these alone,
and one above.

But thee

'My father blessed me fervently, Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh

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Till I come back again.' — Enough, enough, my little lad! Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom had, Mine own would not be dry.

"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, Why dost thou look so pale?

Or dost thou dread a French foeman ?
Or shiver at the gale?"

'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?

Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek.

'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake,

And when they on their father call,

What answer shall she make?'