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All is concenter'd in a life intense;
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of being, and a sense
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
A truth, which through our being then doth melt
The soul and source of music, which makes known
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,
Binding all things with beauty;-'t would disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.
Not vainly did the early Persian make
The sky is changed!-and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night:-Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 't is black,-and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,
And glowing into day: we may resume The inarch of our existence: and thus I, Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room And food for meditation, nor pass by Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.
ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth;-there let him lay.
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts;-not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play— Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid cline Dark-heaving;-boundless, endless, and sublimeThe image of Eternity-the throne Of the invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
THE COLISEUM BY MOONLIGHT.
Man. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Hath been to me a more familiar face
I learn'd the language of another world.
While Cesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,
"T was such a night! "Tis strange that I recall it at this time; But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight Even at the moment when they should array Themselves in persive order.
THE IMMORTAL MIND.
WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,
But leaves its darken'd dust behind.
By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,
Before creation peopled earth,
Its eye shall roll through chaos back:
While sun is quench'd or system breaks;
Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,
An age shall fleet like earthly year;
O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly
A nameless and eternal thing,
ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BArt.
THERE is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
For them in Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
All earth becomes their monument!
A tomb is theirs on every page
An epitaph on every tongue;
For them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; While deep Rememberance pours to Worth The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
And gallant Parker! thus enshrined
But there are breasts that bled with thee
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.