A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains: Before its blue and moveless depth were flying Grey mists poured forth from the unresting fountains Of darkness in the North :-the day was dying :Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lying Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see, And on the shattered vapours, which defying The power of light in vain, tossed restlessly In the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea.

It was a stream of living beams, whose bank
On either side by the cloud's cleft was made;
And where its chasms that flood of glory drank,
Its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayed
By some mute tempest, rolled on her; the shade
Of her bright image floated on the river

Of liquid light, which then did end and fade-
Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver;
Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver.

I stood beside her, but she saw me not—
She looked upon the sea, and skies, and earth;
Rapture, and love, and admiration wrought
A passion deeper far than tears, or mirth,
Or speech, or gesture, or whate'er has birth
From common joy; which, with the speechless
feeling

That led her there, united and shot forth

From her far eyes, a light of deep revealing,

All but her dearest self from my regard concealing.

Her lips were parted, and the measured breath
Was now heard there ;—her dark and intricate eyes
Orb within orb, deeper than sleep or death,
Absorbed the glories of the burning skies,
Which, mingling with her heart's deep ecstasies,
Burst from her looks and gestures ;—and a light
Of liquid tenderness like love, did rise

From her whole frame, an atmosphere which quite Arrayed her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright.

She would have clasped me to her glowing frame; Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shed On mine the fragrance and the invisible flame Which now the cold winds stole ;-she would have laid

Upon my languid heart her dearest head;

I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet; Her eyes mingling with mine, might soon have fed My soul with their own joy.-One moment yet I gazed-we parted then, never again to meet ! Revolt of Islam, Canto xi.

TO F. G.

HER voice did quiver as we parted,

Yet knew I not that heart was broken
From which it came, and I departed

Heeding not the words then spoken.

Misery O Misery,

This world is all too wide for thee.

FIORDISPINA.

THE season was the childhood of sweet June,
Whose sunny hours from morning until noon
Went creeping through the day with silent feet,
Each with its load of pleasure, slow yet sweet;
Like the long years of blest Eternity

Never to be developed. Joy to thee,
Fiordispina, and thy Cosimo,

For thou the wonders of the depth canst know
Of this unfathomable flood of hours,

Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers

They were two cousins, almost like to twins,
Except that from the catalogue of sins

Nature had rased their love-which could not be
But by dissevering their nativity.

And so they grew together like two flowers

Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers
Lull or awaken in their purple prime,

Which the same hand will gather—the same clime
Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see
All those who love-and who e'er loved like thee,
Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo,

Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow
The ardours of a vision which obscure
The very idol of its portraiture.

He faints, dissolved into a sea of love;
But thou art as a planet sphered above;

But thou art Love itself-ruling the motion
Of his subjected spirit: such emotion
Must end in sin or sorrow, if sweet May

Had not brought forth this morn-your wedding-day.

TO NIGHT.

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
Come, long sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,

Murmured like a noon-tide bee,

Shall I nestle near thy side?

Wouldst thou me ?—And I replied,
No, not thee?

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

1821.

A BRIDAL SONG.

THE golden gates of Sleep unbar

Where Strength and Beauty met together, Kindle their image like a star

In a sea of glassy weather.

Night, with all thy stars look down,

Darkness, weep thy holiest dew,-
Never smiled the inconstant moon
On a pair so true.

Let eyes not see their own delight ;-
Haste, swift Hour, and thy flight
Oft renew.