Till, sickening with the elements, the heart Naples, April, 1844. THE ZIZA OR EMIR'S PALACE. HOME hither, day-dreamer, COMER And wander alone In the courts of the Emir: His glory is gone: Of the rich stuccoed hall, The dropping mosaic Peels down from the wall; You may seek the spiced garden, But its bowers are no more; Its girdle is barren As the barren sea-shore. You may mount the high terrace, But the breezes are laid That erst floated the signal Of golden brocade Of the dark girl impatient Her true love to greet; Her true love that came not Though his horses were fleet. The spider has wrought O'er the lattice so fine A dusky gray tissue With line upon line: The fresco is mouldered; The shudder of ruin The perishing marbles With slime is bedewing; And the fountain that tinkled To the listening air, Is choking with dust, And the green maiden-hair. Palermo, April, 1844. SEGESTUM. T was an April morning of the South. IT In the carubba and the cork-tree strove And slipped beneath the cactus, then with buds, Its tough green leaves; strange leaves, that from no stems, But each from the other grow; themselves half wood, Put forth not yet her lofty thyrse of flowers. But O, the wildness and the majesty When, the last rugged slope surpassed, you stand And clear of all obstruction. 'Tis a joy Athwart the parallel bands of sun and shade; In an abrupt ravine; the torrent's roar The cornice cuts the azure sky, relieved The blocks were from the quarry raised, and slung Of Grecian workmanship :-I cannot tell How these things may have been. The Temple now |