The Waning Moon

Death (Death is here, and Death is there)

The World's Wanderers.

Prologue to Hellas

"I would not be a king-enough'

"O thou Immortal Deity"

"He wanders, like a day-appearing dream

Sonnet to Byron

"I faint, I perish with my love! I grow

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"Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought'

"Faint with love, the Lady of the South"

The Zucca (1822)

The Isle

Translations.

Scenes from the Faust of Goethe (1822):—

Prologue in Heaven

May-day Night

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EARLY POEMS.

TO COLERIDGE.

ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜΟΝ 'ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ.

I.

OH! there are spirits in the air,

And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts with eyes as fair

As starbeams among twilight trees :—

Such lovely ministers to meet

Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

2.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,

And moonlight seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things,

Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee. But they Cast like a worthless boon thy love away.

3.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth;-tame sacrifice

To a fond faith! Still dost thou pine? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

4.

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy?
Did thine own mind afford no scope

Of love or moving thoughts to thee-
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their
wiles?

5.

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled

Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; The glory of the moon is dead;

Night's ghosts and dreams have now
departed:

Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.

6.

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,

Dream not to chase ;-the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.

Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

STANZAS-APRIL, 1814.

AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the

moon,

Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam

of even :

Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon,

And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.

Pause not the time is past! Every voice cries "Away!"

Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's ungentle mood:

Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay:

Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.

Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;

Pour bitter tears on its desolated

hearth;