And years I left behind me in an hour.
What time upon her airy bounds I hung
One half the garden of her globe was flung
Unrolling as a chart unto my view—
Tenantless cities of the desert too!
Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then,
And half I wished to be again of men."
My Angelo! and why of them to be?
A brighter dwelling-place is here for thee— And greener fields than in yon world above, And woman's loveliness-and passionate love.”
"But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft Failed, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft, Perhaps my brain grew dizzy-but the world I left so late was into chaos hurled
Sprang from her station, on the winds apart, And rolled, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart. Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar And fell-not swiftly as I rose before,
But with a downward, tremulous motion through
Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto!
Nor long the measure of my falling hours,
For nearest of all stars was thine to ours--
Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth,
A red Dædalion on the timid Earth."
“We came—and to thy Earth—but not to us
Be given our lady's bidding to discuss :
We came, my love; around, above, below,
Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go,
Nor ask a reason, save the angel-nod
She grants to us, as granted by her God—
But, Angelo, than thine gray Time unfurled
Never his fairy wing o'er fairer world!
Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes
Alone could see the phantom in the skies,
When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be
Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea---
But when its glory swelled upon the sky,
As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye,
We paused before the heritage of men,
And thy star trembled--as doth Beauty's then!"
Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away
The night that waned and waned and brought no day.
They fell for Heaven to them no hope imparts
Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.
FAIR river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty-the unhidden heart-
The playful magazines of art
In old Alberto's daughter;
But when within thy wave she looks-
Which glistens then, and trembles—-
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.
KIND Solace in a dying hour!
Such, father, is not (now) my theme--
I will not madly deem that power
Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
Unearthly pride hath revell'd in-
I have no time to dote or dream :
You call it hope—that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire :
If I can hope-Oh God! I can—
Its fount is holier-more divine--
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.
Know thou the secret of a spirit
Bow'd from its wild pride into shame,
O yearning heart! I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
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