1819. VIII. My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone, For thine own sake I cannot follow thee. IX. WHEN a lover clasps his fairest, When a mother clasps her child, X. ONE sung of thee who left the tale untold, Like the false dawns which perish in the bursting: Like empty cups of wrought and dædal gold, Which mock the lips with air, when they are thirsting. XI. AND where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee XII. IN the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine ethereal lover; For the pallid moon is waning, It was once a Roman's chamber, TT XIII. THERE is a warm and gentle atmosphere Wrapt in the of that which is to us The health of life's own life. XIV. How sweet it is to sit and read the talea Of mighty poets, and to hear the while XV. WHAT men gain fairly-that they should possESS From him who earns it-This is understood; XVI. WAKE the serpent not-lest he Through the deep grass of the meadow ! Not a bee shall hear him creeping, Not a May-fly shall awaken, From its cradling blue-bell shaken, Not the starlight as he's sliding Through the grass with silent gliding. XVII. ROME has fallen, ye see it lying XVIII THE fitful alternations of the rain, When the chill wind, languid as with pain Drives through the grey and beamless atmosphere. ΧΙΧ. I WOULD not be a king-enough Of woe it is to love! The path to power is steep and rough, I would not climb the imperial throne; XX. O THOU immortal deity Whose throue is in the depth of human thought, By all that man may be, by all that he is not, XXI. HE wanders, like a day-appearing dream, XXII. ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED "Here lieth One whose name was writ on water!" But ere the breath that could erase it blew, Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter, Death, the immortalising winter flew, Athwart the stream, and time's monthless torrent grew A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name Of Adonais ! XXIII. THE rude wind is singing XXIV. WHAT art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest In sacred dedication ever grew,— One of the crowd thou art without a name. XXV. WHEN soft winds and sunny skies Up the windless heaven is gone- XXVI. THE babe is at peace within the womb, XXVII. 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. TRANSLATIONS. HYMNS OF HOMER. HYMN TO MERCURY. I. SING, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove, The Herald-child, king of Arcadia And all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet love II. Now, when the joy of Jove had its fulfilling, A shepherd of thin dreams, a cow-stealing, III. The babe was born at the first peep of day; And the same evening did he steal away On which him bore the venerable May, From her immortal limbs he leaped full soon, Nor long could in the sacred cradle keep, IV. Out of the lofty cavern wandering He found a tortoise, and cried out-"A treasure " (For Mercury first made the tortoise sing) The beast before the portal at his leisure |