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Light it into the Winter of the tomb,
And, for the harbors are not safe and good, Where it may ripen to a brighter bloom.
This land would have remaind a solitude Thou too, o Comet beautiful and fierce!
But for some pastoral people native there, Who drew the heart of this frail Universe
Who from the Elysian, clear, and golden air Towards thine own; till wreck'd in that convulsion, Draw the last spirit of the age of gold, Alternating attraction an'i repulsion,
Simple and spirited ; innocent and bold. Thine went astray and that was rent in twain; The blue Ægean girds this chosen bome, Oh, float into our azure heaven again!
With ever-changing sound and light and foam, Be there love's folding-star at thy return;
Kissing the sitted sands, and caverns hoar; The living Sun will feed thee from its urn
And all the winds wandering along the shore Of golden fire; the Moon will veil her horn Undulate with the undulating tide: In thy last smiles; adoring Even and Morn There are thick woods where sylvan forms abide; Will worship thee with incense of calm breath And many a fountain, rivulet, and pond, And lights and shadows; as the star of Death As clear as elemental diamond, And Birth is worshipp'd by those sisters wild Or serene morning air; and far beyond, Call’d Hope and Fear-upon the heart are piled The mossy tracks made by the goals and deer Their offerings,—of this sacrifice divine
(Which the rough shepherd treads but once a year, A World shall be the altar.
Pierce into glades, caverns, and bower, and balls
Built round with ivy, which the waterfalls
Mumining, with sound that never fails,
Accompany the noonday nightingales ; Scorn not these flowers of thought, the fading birth And all the place is peopled with sweet ain; Which from its heart of hearts that plant puts forth The light clear element which the isle wears Whose fruit, made perfect by thy sunny eyes,
Is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers,
Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers,
And dart their arrowy odor through the brain The day is come, and thou wilt fly with me. Till you might faint with that delicious pain. To whatsoe'er of dull mortality
And every motion, odor, beam and tone, Is mine, remain a vestal sister still ;
With that deep music is in unison : To the intense, the deep, the imperishable,
Which is a soul within the soul-they seem Not mine but me, henceforth be thou united Like echoes of an antenatal dreamEven as a bride delighting and delighted.
It is an isle 'twixt Heaven, Air, Earth, and Sea, The hour is come the destined Star has risen
Cradled, and hung in clear tranquillity; Which shall descend upon a vacant prison.
Bright as that wandering Eden Lucifer, The walls are high, the gates are strong, thick set Wash'd by the soft blue Oceans of young air. The sentinels but true love never yet
It is a favor'd place. Famine or Blight, Was thus constrain'd: it overleaps all fence : Pestilence, War and Earthquakė, never light Like lightning, with invisible violence
Upon its mountain-peaks; blind vultures, they Piercing its continents ; like Heaven's free breath, Sail onward far upon their fatal way: Which he who grasps can hold not; liker Death, The winged storms, chanting their thunder-psalm Who rides upon a thought, and makes his way To other lands, leave azure chasms of calm Through temple, tower, and palace, and the array Over this isle, or weep themselves in dew, Of arms : more strength has love than he or they ; From which its fields and woods ever renew For it can burst his charnel, and make free Their green and golden immortality. The limbs in chains, the heart in agony,
And from the sea there rise, and from the sky The soul in dust and chaos.
There fall, clear exhalations, soft and brighi,
Which Sun or Moon or Zephyr draw aside,
Till the isle's beauty, like a naked bride A ship is floating in the harbor now,
Glowing at once with love and loveliness, A wind is hovering o'er the mountain's hrow; Blushes and trembles at its own excess : There is a path on the sea's azure floor,
Yet, like a buried lamp, a Soul no less No keel has ever plow'd that path before; Burns in the heart of this delicious isle The halcyons brood around the foamless isles; An atom of th' Eternal, whose own smile The treacherous Ocean has forsworn its wiles; Unfolds itself, and may be felt, not seen, The merry mariners are bold and free :
O'er the gray rocks, blue waves, and forests green, Say, my heart's sister, wilt thou sail with me? Filling their bare and void interstices Our bark is as an albatross, whose nest
But the chief marvel of the wilderness Is a far Eden of the purple East ;
Is a lone dwelling, built by whom or how And we between her wings will sit, while Night None of the rustic island-people know; And Day, and Storm, and Calm, pursue their flight, 'Tis not a tower of strength, though with its height Our ministers, along the boundless Sea,
It overtops the woods ; but, for delight, Treading each other's heels, unheededly.
Some wise and tender Ocean-King, ere crime It is an isle under Ionian skies,
Had been invented, in the world's young prine, Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise,
Rear'd it, a wonder of that simple time,
An envy of the isles, a pleasure-house
Possessing and possest by all that is Made sacred to his sister and his spouse.
Within that calm circumference of bliss, It scarce seems now a Wreck of human art, And by each other, till to love and live But, as it were, Titanic; in the heart
Be one :-or, at the noontide hour, arrive Of Earth having assumed its form, then grown Where some old cavern hoar seems yet to keep Out of the mountains, from the living stone, The moonlight of the expired night asleep, Lifting itself in caverns light and high :
Through which the awaken'd day can never peep; For all the antique and learned imagery
A veil for our seclusion, close as Night's, Has been erased, and in the place of it
Where secure sleep may kill thine innocent lights ; The ivy and the wild-vine interknit
Sleep, the fresh dew of languid love, the rain The volumes of their many twining stems; Whose drops quench kisses till they burn again. Parasite flowers illume with dewy gems
And we will talk, until thought's melody The lampless halls, and when they fade, the sky Become too sweet for utterance, and it die Peeps through their winter-woof of tracery In words, to live again in looks, which dart With moonlight patches, or star atoms keen, With thrilling tone into the voiceless heart, Or fragments of the day's intense serene ; Harmonizing silence without a sound. Working mosaic on their Parian floors.
Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound, And, day and night, aloof, from the high towers And our veins beat together; and our lips, And terraces, the Earth and Ocean seem
With other eloquence than words, eclipse To sleep in one another's arms, and dream The soul that burns between them; and the wells Of waves, Powers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that which boil under our being's inmost cells,
The fountains of our deepest life, shall be Read in their smiles, and call reality.
Confused in passion's golden purity,
As mountain-springs under the morning Sun. This isle and house are mine, and I have vow'd We shall become the same, we shall be one Thee to be lady of the solitude.
Spirit within two frames, oh! wherefore two? And I have fitted up some chambers there,
One passion in twin-hearts, which grows and grew, Looking towards the golden Eastern air,
Till, like two meteors of expanding flame, And level with the living winds, which flow Those spheres instinct with it become the same, Like waves above the living waves below. Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever still I have sent books and music there, and all Burning, yet ever inconsumable: Those instruments with which high spirits call In one another's substance finding food, The future from its cradle, and the past
Like flames too pure and light and unimbued Out of its grave, and make the present last To nourish their bright lives with baser prey, In thoughts and joys, which sleep, but cannot die,
Which point to Heaven and cannot pass away : Folded within their own eternity.
One hope within two wills, one will beneath Our simple life wants little, and true taste
Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death, Hires not the pale drudge Luxury, to waste
One Heaven, one Hell, one immortality, The scene it would adorn; and therefore still, And one annihilation. Woe is me! Nature, with all her children, haunts the hill. The winged words on which my soul would pierce The ringdove, in the embowering ivy, yet
Into the height of love's rare Universe,
Are chains of lead around its flight of fire.
Weak verses, go, kneel at your Sovereign's feet, Their wither'd hours, like leaves, on our decay,
And say :-“We are the masters of thy slave ; Let us become the over-hanging day,
What wouldest thou with us and ours and thine ?" The living soul of this Elysian isle,
Then call your sisters from Oblivion's cave, Conscious, inseparable, one.
All singing loud : “ Love's very pain is sweet, We two will rise, and sit, and walk together, But its reward is in the world divine l’nder the roof of blue Ionian weather,
Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave." And wander in the meadows, or ascend
So shall ye live when I am there. Then haste The mossy mountains, where the blue heavens bend over the hearts of men, until ye meet With lightest winds, to touch their paramour ;
Marina, Vanna, Primus, and the rest, Or linger, where the pebble-paven shore,
And bid them love each other and be blest : Inder the quick, faint kisses of the sea,
And leave the troop which errs, and which reproves, Trembles and sparkles as with ecstasy,
And come and be my guest,-for I am Love’s.
A LYRICAL DRAMA.
ΜΑΝΤΣ ΕΙΜ' ΕΣΘΛΩΝ ΑΓΩΝΩΝ.
TO HIS EXCELLENCY PRINCE ALEXANDER MAVROCORDATO,
LATE SECRETARY FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS TO THE HOSPODAR OF WALLACHIA,
THE DRAMA OF HELLAS
IS INSCRIBED AS AN IMPERFECT TOKEN OF THE ADMIRATION, SYMPATHY, AND FRIENDSHIP OF Pisa, November 1, 1821.
age have been performed by the Greeks-that they
have gained more than one naval victory, and the The poem of Hellas, written at the suggestion of their defeat in Wallachia was signalized by circunthe events of the moment, is a mere improvise, and stances of heroism more glorious even than vxtry. derives its interest (should it be found to possess any)
The apathy of the rulers of the civilized worid, to solely from the intense syropathy which the Author the astonishing circumstances of the descendants of feels with the cause he would celebrate.
that nation to which they owe their civiliza The subject in its present state is insusceptible of rising as it were from the ashes of their ruin, is soinebeing treated otherwise than lyrically, and if I have thing perfectly inexplicable to a mere spectator of called this poem a drama from the circumstance of the shows of this mortal scene. We are all Grebe its being composed in dialogue, the license is not Our laws, our literature, our religion, our aris, bare greater than that which has been assumed by other their root in Greece. But for Greece Rome the poets, who have called their productions epics, only instructor, the conqueror, or the metropolis of our 3 i because they have been divided into twelve or twenty- cestors, would have spread no illuminatm with her four books.
arms, and we might still have been savages and if The Persæ of Æschylus afforded me the first model aters; or, what is worse, might have arrived at sued of my conception, although the decision of the glori- a stagnant and miserable state of social instituba s ous contest now waging in Greece being yet suspend- China and Japan possess. ed, forbids a catastrophe parallel to the return of The human form and the human mind attained » Xerxes and the desolation of the Persians. I have, a perfection in Greece which has impressed 15 mar therefore, contented myself with exhibiting a series on those faultless productions whose very fragt*** of lyric pictures, and with having wrought upon the are the despair of modern art, and has propre curtain of futurity, which falls upon the unfinished impulses which cannot cease, through a scene, such figures of indistinct and visionary delinea- channels of manifest or impercepuble operatur à tion as suggest the final triumph of the Greek cause ennoble and delight mankind until the entiacta * as a portion of the cause of civilization and social the race. improvement.
The modern Greek is the descendant of The drama (if drama it must be called) is, however, glorious beings whom the imagination alm si ret*** so inartificial that I doubt whether, if recited on the to figure to itself as belonging to our kind; ai Thespian wagon to an Athenian village at the Diony- inherits much of their sensibility, their rapoday! siaca, it would have obtained the prize of the goat. conception, their enthusiasm, and their courust. 1 I shall bear with equanimity any punishment greater in many instances he is degraded by moral and pole than the loss of such a reward which the Aristarchical slavery to the practice of the basest vides & of the hour may think fit to inflict.
genders, and that below the level of ordinary data The only goat-song which I have yet attempted dation ; let us reflect that the corruption of the has, I confoss, in spite of the unfavorable nature of produces the worst, and that habiis which se** the subject, received a greater and a more valuable only in relation to a peculiar state of social in portion of applause than I expected, or than it de- tion may be expected to cease, as soon as the re served.
tion is dissolved. In fact, the Greeks, since the store Common fame is the only authority which I can mirable novel of “ Anastatius" could have been allege for the details which form the basis of the poem, faithful picture of their manners, have undergnons and I must trespass upon the forgiveness of my read- important changes. The flower of their you ers for the display of newspaper erudition to which turning to their country from the universities of 12, I have been reduced. Undoubtedly, until the con- Germany and France, have communicaied si clusion of the war, it will be impossible to obtain fellow-citizens the latest results of thai social per an account of it sufficiently authentic for historical fection of which their ancestors were the onura. materials ; but poets have their privilege, and it is source. The university of Chios contained beton unquestionable that actions of the most exalted cour-the breaking out of the revolution eight hundrei
Away, unlovely dreams!
Away, false shapes of sleep:
Clear, bright and deep!
Sleep, sleep! our song is laden
With the soul of slumber;
Who now keep
That calm sleep Whence none may wake, where none shall weep.
dents, and among them several Germans and Americans. The munificence and energy of many of the Greek princes and merchants, directed to the renovation of their country with a spirit and a wisdom which has few examples, is above all praise.
The English permit their own oppressors to act according to their natural sympathy with the Turkish tyrant, and to brand upon their name the indelible blot of an alliance with the enemies of domestic happiness, of Christianity and civilization.
Russia desires to possess, not to liberate Greece; and is contented to see the Turks, its natural enemies, and the Greeks, its intended slaves, enfeeble each other, until one or both fall into its net. The wise and generous policy of England would have consisted in establishing the independence of Greece and in maintaining it both against Russia and the Turk ;- but when was the oppressor generous or just?
The Spanish Peninsula is already free. France is tranquil in the enjoyment of a partial exemption from the abuses which its unnatural and feeble government is vainly attempting to revive. The seed of blood and misery has been sown in Italy, and a more vigorous race is arising to go forth to the harVest. The world waits only the news of a revolution of Germany, to see the tyrants who have pinnacled themselves on its supineness precipitated into the ruin from which they shall never arise. Well do these destroyers of mankind know their enemy, when they impute the insurrection in Greece to the same spirit before which they tremble throughout the rest of Europe ; and that enemy well knows the power and cunning of its opponents, and watches the moment of their approaching weakness and inevitable division, to wrest the bloody sceptres from their grasp
INDIAN. I touch thy temples pale!
I breathe my soul on thee! And could my prayers avail,
All my joy should be Dead, and I would live to weep, So thou mightst win one hour of quiet sleep.
Breathe low, low,
SEMICHORUS I. Life may change, but it may fly not ; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veil'd, but still it burneth; Love repulsed,—but it returneth!
SEMICHORUS II. Yet were life a charnel, where Hope lay coffin'd with despair; Yet were truth a sacred lie, Love were lust
If Liberty Lent not life its soul of light, Hope its iris of delight, Truth its prophet's robe to wear, Love its power to give and bear.
SCENE, a Terrace on the Seraglio. MAHMUD (sleeping), an Indian Slave sitting beside his
On thy restless pillow,-
Be thy sleep
Calm and deep,
And all its banded anarchs fled,
Before an earthquake's treadSo from Time's tempestuous dawn Freedom's splendor burst and shone :Thermopylæ and Marathon Caught, like mountains beacon-lighted,
The springing fire. — The winged glory On Philippi half-alighted, Like an eagle on a promontory.
Its unwearied wings could fan
SEMICHORUS II. The quenchless ashes of Milan.*
Dust let her glories be;
And a name, and a nation
Be forgotten, Freedom, with thee!
His brow grows darker-breathe not-move me From the West swift Freedom came,
He starts-he shudders ;-ye that love not, Against the course of Heaven and doom
With your panting loud and fast
Have awaken'd him at last.
MAHMUD (starting from his sleep).
Man the Seraglio-guard ! make fast the gate! France, with all her sanguine steams,
What! from a cannonade of three short hours ! Hid, but quench'd it not; again
"Tis false! that breach towards the Bosphorus Through clouds its shafts of glory rain
Cannot be practicable yet-Who stirs ?
Stand to the match; that when the foe prevail.
One spark may mix in reconciling ruin
The conqueror and the conquer'd! Heave the desc
Into the gap-wrench off the roof.
Ha! what Sick with famine-Freedom so
The truth of day lightens upon my dream,
And I am Mahmud still.
Your Sublime Ilighnes Her renovated nurslings play,
Is strangely moved.
The times do cast strange show A desert, or a Paradise ;
On those who watch and who must rule their cu
Lest they, being first in peril as in glory,
Be whelm'd in the fierce ebb:—and these are oft
As thus from sleep into the troubled day;
It shakes me as the tempest shakes the sea,
Leaving no figure upon memory's glass.
Would thai—no matter. Thou didst say thou knewed
A Jew, whose spirit is a chronicle
Of strange and secret and forgotten things
I bade thee summon him :-'t is said his tribe
Dream, and are wise interpreters of dreams.
He seems to have outlived a world's decay;
The hoary mountains and the wrinkled ocean
Seem younger still than he ;-his hair and beard
Are whiter than the tempest-sified show;
His cold pale limbs and pulseless arteries
Are like the fibres of a cloud instinct
With light, and to the soul that quickens thern
Are as the atoms of the mountain-drin
To the winter wind :-but from his
A life of unconsumed thought, wh
The present, and the past, and the
Some say that this is he whom !!
Jesus, the son of Joseph, for his
Mock'd with the curse of imm
Some feign that he is Enoch ; * Milan was the centre of the resistance of the Lombard
He was pre-adamite, and has League against the Austrian tyrant. Frederic Barbarossa Cycles of generation and of ruin. burnt the city to the ground, but liberty lived in its ashes,
sage, in truth, by dreadful abstinence and it rose like an exhalation from its ruin. See sis. And conquering penance of the mutnous flesh. MONDI'S “ Histoires des Républiques Italiennes," a book Deep contemplation, and unwearied study. which has done much towards awakening the Italians to In years outstretch'd beyond the date of mara an imitation of their great ancestors.
May have obtain'd to sovereignty and science
oks for es