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Paused, and the spirit of that mighty singing
When the bolt has pierced its brain;
As summer clouds dissolve unburthened of their
As a far taper fades with fading night; As a brief insect dies with dying day,My song, its pinions disarrayed of might, Drooped; o'er it closed the echoes far away Of the great voice which did its flight sustain,
As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play.
THE WANING MOON.
AND like a dying lady, lean and pale,
From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains; From cloud and from crag With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
Her steps paved with green
Which slopes to the western gleams;
In murmurs as soft as sleep.
The Earth seemed to love her,
As she lingered towards the deep.
Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks ;-with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It concealed behind
The urns of the silent snow.
And earthquake and thunder
"O save me! O guide me,
And divided at her prayer;
Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Like a gloomy stain
Alpheus rushed behind,
As an eagle pursuing
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearled thrones; Through the coral woods Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones; Through the dim beams Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light;
Where the shadowy waves
Under the ocean foam,
And up through the rifts
They passed to their Dorian home.
And now from their fountains
Down one vale where the morning basks,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
In the cave of the shelving hill;
And the meadows of asphodel;
Beneath the Ortygian shore ;-
When they love but live no more.
SONG OF PROSERPINE,
WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF
SACRED Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom,
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
If with mists of evening dew
Thou dost nourish these young flowers
Fairest children of the hours,