And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night

of time

In which suns perished; others more sublime,

Struck by the envious wrath of man or God,

Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode.

VI.

But now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished,

The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished,

And fed with true love tears, instead of

dew;

Most musical of mourners, weep anew!

Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, The bloom, whose petals nipt before they

blew

Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste;

The broken lily lies the storm is

overpast.

VII.

To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came; and bought, with price of purest

breath,

A grave among the eternal. Come away! Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay ;

Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII.

He will awake no more, oh, never more! —
Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
The shadow of white Death, and at the door
Invisible Corruption waits to trace
His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;
The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe
Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface

So fair a prey, till darkness, and the law

Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

Oh

weep

IX.

for Adonais ! - The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living

streams

Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught

The love which was its music, wander not,

Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain,

But droop there, whence they sprung; and

mourn their lot

Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain,

They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

X.

And one with trembling hands clasps his

cold head,

And fans him with her moonlight wings,

and cries;

"Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead:

See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies

A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain."

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!

She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain

She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its

rain.

XI.

One from a lucid urn of starry dew

Washed his light limbs as if embalming them;

Another clipt her profuse locks, and threw
The wreath upon him, like an anadem,
Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem;
Another in her wilful grief would break
Her bow and wingèd reeds, as if to stem

A greater loss with one which was more

weak;

And dull the barbèd fire against his frozen

cheek.

XII.

Another Splendour on his mouth alit, That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath

Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,

And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp death

Quenched its caress upon his icy lips;

And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath

Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips,

It flushed through his pale limbs, and past to