They sailed for drink to medicine
Such sweet and bitter pain as mine.
And the wind that winged their flight
From the land came fresh and light;
And the scent of wingèd flowers,
And the coolness of the hours

Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day,
Were scattered o'er the twinkling bay;
And the fisher, with his lamp

And spear, about the low rocks damp
Crept, and struck the fish which came
To worship the delusive flame.

Too happy they, whose pleasure sought
Extinguishes all sense and thought
Of the regret that pleasure leaves,-
Destroying life alone, not peace!

EPITAPH.

THESE are two friends whose lives were undivided; So let their memory be, now they have glided Under their grave; let not their bones be parted, For their two hearts in life were single-hearted.

TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.

1. MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed;

Yes, I was firm. Thus wert not thou.

My baffled looks did fear yet dread

To meet thy looks-I could not know
How anxiously they sought to shine
With soothing pity upon mine.

2. To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone;
To curse the life which is the cage
Of fettered grief that dares not groan,
Hiding from many a careless eye
The scorned load of agony :-

3. Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,
The . . . . thou alone shouldst be.
To spend years thus, and be rewarded

As thou, sweet love, requitedst me
When none were near-Oh! I did wake
From torture for that moment's sake!

4. Upon my heart thy accents sweet
Of peace and pity fell, like dew
On flowers half dead; thy lips did meet
Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw
Their soft persuasion on my brain,
Charming away its dream of pain.

5. We are not happy, sweet! our state

Is strange and full of doubt and fear;
More need of words that ills abate;-

Reserve or censure come not near
Our sacred friendship, lest there be
No solace left for thee and me.

6. Gentle and good and mild thou art;
Nor can I live if thou appear
Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart
Away from me, or stoop to wear
The mask of scorn, although it be
To hide the love thou feel'st for me.

June 1814.

II.

PRINCE ATHANASE.

PART 1.

THERE was a youth who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and grey before his time ; Nor any could the restless griefs unravel

Which burned within him, withering up his prime.
And goading him like fiends from land to land.
Not his the load of any secret crime,

For nought of ill his heart could understand,
But pity and wild sorrow for the same;
Not his the thirst for glory or command

Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame;
Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast,
And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame,
Had left within his soul the dark unrest:
Nor what religion fables of the grave
Feared he, Philosophy's accepted guest.

For none than he a purer heart could have,
Or that loved good more for itself alone;

Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave. What sorrow, strange and shadowy and unknown, Sent him a hopeless wanderer through mankind? If with a human sadness he did groan,

He had a gentle yet aspiring mind,
Just, innocent, with varied learning fed ;-
And such a glorious consolation find

In others' joy when all their own is dead.

He loved and laboured for his kind in grief;

And yet, unlike all others, it is said

That from such toil he never found relief. Although a child of fortune and of power, Of an ancestral name the orphan chief.

His soul had wedded Wisdom, and her dower
Is love and justice; clothed in which he sate
Apart from men, as in a lonely tower,

Pitying the tumult of their dark estate.
Yet even in youth did he not e'er abuse

The strength of wealth or thought, to consecrate
Those false opinions which the harsh rich use
To blind the world they famish for their pride;
Nor did he hold from any man his dues,

But, like a steward in honest dealings tried,
With those who toiled and wept, the poor and wise,
His riches and his cares he did divide.

Fearless he was, and scorning all disguise;

What he dared do or think, though men might start, He spoke with mild yet unaverted eyes.

Liberal he was of soul, and frank of heart,
And to his many friends-all loved him well-
Whate'er he knew or felt he would impart,
If words he found those inmost thoughts to tell;
If not, he smiled or wept.-And his weak foes
He neither spurned nor hated: though with fell

And mortal hate their thousand voices rose,
They passed like aimless arrows from his ear.
Nor did his heart or mind its portal close
To those or them, or any whom life's sphere
May comprehend within its wide array.―
What sadness made that vernal spirit sere?

He knew not. Though his life day after day
Was failing like an unreplenished stream;
Though in his eyes a cloud and burthen lay
Through which his soul, like Vesper's serene beam
Piercing the chasms of ever-rising clouds,
Shone, softly burning; though his lips did seem

Like reeds which quiver in impetuous floods,
And through his sleep and o'er each waking hour
Thoughts after thoughts, unresting multitudes,
Were driven within him by some secret power
Which bade them blaze and live and roll afar
(Like lights and sounds from haunted tower to tower
O'er castled mountains borne when tempest's war
Is levied by the night-contending winds,

And the pale dalesmen watch with eager ear);

Though such were in his spirit, as the fiends
Which wake and feed on everliving woe;
What was this grief which ne'er in other minds

SUCH was Zonoras: and, as daylight finds

One amaranth glittering on the path of frost When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds,

Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed, Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled

From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,

The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child,

With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore, And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild. And sweet and subtle talk now evermore The pupil and the master shared; until, Sharing that undiminishable store,

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill

Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran
His teacher, and did teach with native skill

Strange truths and new to that experienced man.
Still they were friends, as few have ever been
Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span.
So in the caverns of the forest green,

Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,
Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen

By summer woodmen. And, when winter's roar
Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war,
The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,

Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star

Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam,

Whilst all the constellations of the sky

Seemed reeling through the storm; they did but seem

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by,

And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, And far o'er southern waves immovably

Belted Orion hangs-warm light is flowing

From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.—
"O summer eve! with power divine, bestowing

66

On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm

Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm

Of fevered brains oppressed with grief and madness Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale !

And these soft waves murmuring a gentle sadness, And the far sighings of yon piny dale

Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here.I bear alone what nothing may avail