Their clay creator the vain title take These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts :—not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime DULCIA. "TIS sweet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; Id. "Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; "Tis sweet to listen, as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark, Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; "Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words. Don Juan THE SHIPWRECK. THEN rose from sea to sky the wild farewell— As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell; And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die. And first one universal shriek there rush'd, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry DEATH OF HAIDEE. AFRIC is all the Sun's, and as her earth Her human clay is kindled; full of power For good or evil, burning from its birth, The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And, like the soil beneath it, will bring forth : Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray, Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till, slowly charged with thunder, they display Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way; But, overwrought with passion and despair, The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore, Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own; A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; Of herbs and cordials they produced their store: But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy. Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill- All hope: to look upon her sweet face bred The ruling passion, such as marble shows When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there, And ever-dying Gladiator's air: Their energy, like life, forms all their fame, She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake, Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true, Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,For, for a while, the Furies made a pause. She look'd on many a face with vacant eye, Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh Relieved her thoughts; dull silence, and quick chat Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not: They changed from room to room, but all forgot; At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning. And then a slave bethought her of a harp; At the first notes, irregular and sharp, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent; Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re sent; And he began a long low island song Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall, In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of Love; the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call To be so, being: in a gushing stream The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain, Like mountain-mists, at length dissolved in rain. |