Was even as bright and calm but transitory,— These tombs,-alone remain. TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. 1. THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die Perchance were death indeed!-Constantia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet, Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet; 2. A breathless awe, like the swift change And on my shoulders wings are woven, Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of Nature's utmost sphere, 3. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings : My heart is quivering like a flame; 4. I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Round western isles with incense-blossoms bright Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. SONNET.-OZYMANDIAS. I MET a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away." TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 2. Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold, Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne. 3. And, whilst that slow sure Angel which aye stands Watching the beck of Mutability Delays to execute her high commands, And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee; 4. Oh let a father's curse be on thy soul, And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb, And both on thy grey head a leaden cowl To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom! 5. I curse thee by a parent's outraged love; By hopes long cherished and too lately lost; 6. By those infantine smiles of happy light Which were within a stranger's hearth, Quenched even when kindled, in untimely night 7. By those unpractised accents of young speech, Thou strike the lyre of mind! Oh grief and shame! 8. By all the happy see in children's growth, That undeveloped flower of budding years, Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears: 9. By all the days, under a hireling's care, Sadder than orphans yet not fatherless !— 12. By thy complicity with lust and hate, Thy thirst for tears, thy hunger after gold, 13. By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile, 15. Yes, the despair which bids a father groan, And cry, "My children are no longer mine; 16. I curse thee, though I hate thee not. O slave! This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well! TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. I. THE billows on the beach are leaping around it; The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it Come with me, thou delightful child, Come with me! Though the wave is wild, 2. They have taken thy brother and sister dear, To a blighting faith and a cause of crime 3. Come thou, beloved as thou art! Near thy sweet mother's anxious heart, With fairest smiles of wonder thrown 4. Fear not the tyrants will rule for ever, Whose waves they have tainted with death. 5. Rest, rest, shriek not, thou gentle child! Me and thy mother. Well we know The storm at which thou tremblest so, Less cruel than the savage slaves Who hunt thee o'er these sheltering waves. 6. This hour will in thy memory Be a dream of days forgotten; We soon shall dwell by the azure sea Or Greece the mother of the free. In their own language, and will mould At the spectres, wailing, pale, and ghast, The stream we gazed on then rolled by; But we yet stand In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory 5 November 1817. ON FANNY GODWIN. HER voice did quiver as we parted; Heeding not the words then spoken. This world is all too wide for thee! LINES TO A CRITIC. 1. HONEY from silkworms who can gather. The grass may grow in winter weather 2. Hate men who cant, and men who pray. And men who rail, like thee; An equal passion to repay They are not coy like me. |