And saw in sleep old palaces and towers1
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them; thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,2
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! if even

I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed !

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

1 Remains of palaces, streets, etc., projected by means of moles into the sea (see Horace, Od. ii. 18), and afterwards washed away, may still be traced at the bottom of the bay.

244 The vegetation at the bottom of the sea, of rivers and of lakes, sympathises with that of the land in the change of seasons, and is consequently influenced by the winds that announce it."--P. B. SHELLEY.

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is :
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,

My Spirit! be thou me, impetuous one !
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unwakened earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

P. B. SHELLEY

179.-A VALEDICTION

GOD be with thee, my belovèd,—God be with thee ! Else alone thou goest forth,

Thy face unto the north,

Moor and pleasance, all around thee and beneath

thee,

Looking equal in one snow;

While I, who try to reach thee,

Vainly follow, vainly follow,

With the farewell and the hollo,

And cannot reach thee so.

Alas! I can but teach thee:

God be with thee, my beloved,-God be with

thee!

Can I teach thee, my belovèd,--can I teach thee? If I said, Go left or right,

The counsel would be light,

The wisdom poor of all that could enrich thee;
My right would show like left;
My raising would depress thee;
My choice of life would blind thee;
Of way, would leave behind thee;
Of end, would leave bereft.

Alas! I can but bless thee:

May God teach thee, my belovèd,—may God teach

thee !

Can I bless thee, my belovèd,—can I bless thee? What blessing word can I

From mine own tears keep dry?

What flowers grow in my field wherewith to dress thee?

My good reverts to ill;

My calmnesses would move thee;

My softnesses would prick thee;
My bindings up would break thee;
My crownings, curse and kill.

Alas! I can but love thee:

God bless thee, my belovèd,—may God bless

thee !

Can I love thee, my belovèd,

-can I love thee?

And is this like love, to stand

With no help in my hand,

When strong as death I fain would watch above thee?

My love-kiss can deny

No tear that falls beneath it;

Mine oath of love can swear thee
From no ill that comes near thee :

And thou diest while I breathe it ;

And I—I can but die!

May God love thee, my beloved,—may God love thee !

E. B. BROWNING

180. THE ONE HOPE

WHEN vain desire at last and vain regret
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
And teach the unforgetful to forget?

Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,—
Or may the soul at once in a green plain
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-
fountain

And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?

Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air
Between the scriptured petals softly blown
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,—
Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er

But only the one Hope's one name be there,—
Not less nor more, but even that word alone.
D. G. ROSSETTI

PART II