Rock-stream-hath done the work of death-
Yon deep ravine-the grave!—
That which hath been again may be!—
Ah! by yon fleeting sun,
Who stirs, no morning ray shall see--
His sand of life has run !"
6. Defiance shone in her flashing eye,
But her heart beat wild with fear-
She starts-the bandit's last faint sigh
Breathes on her sharpened ear—
She gazes on each stiffening limb,
And the death-damp chills her brow:---
"For him I lived-I die with him!
Slaves, do your office now!"
CLXXVIII.-SOLILOQUY FROM MANFRED.
1. THE spirits I have raised abandon me--
The spells which I have studied baffle me--
The remedy I recked of tortured me;
I lean no more on superhuman aid,
It hath no power upon the past, and for
The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness,
It is not of my search. My mother earth!
And thou, fresh breaking day; and you, ye mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I can not love ye.
2. And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight-thou shinest not on my heart:
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath
Behold the tall pines dwindle as to shrubs
In dizziness of distance; when a leap,
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed
To rest forever-wherefore do I pause?
3. I feel the impulse-yet I do not plunge;
I see the peril—yet do not recede;
And my brain reels-and yet my foot is firm:
There is a power upon me which withholds
And makes it my fatality to live:
If it be life to wear within myself
This barrenness of spirit, and to be
My own soul's sepulcher, for I have ceased
To justify my deeds unto myself—
The last infirmity of evil.
4. Ay, thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister,
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well mayest thou swoop so near me--I should be
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone
Where the eye can not follow thee; but thine
Yet pierces downward, onward or above
With a pervading vision.
How beautiful is all this visible world!
How glorious in its action and itself!
But wc, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we,
Half-dust, half-deity, alike unfit
To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make
A conflict of its elements, and breathe
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low wants and lofty will
Till our mortality predominates,
And men are—what they name not to themselves,
And trust not to each other.
[The shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard.
The natural music of the mountain reed
For here the patriarchal days are not
A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air,
Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;
My soul would drink those echoes. Oh, that I were
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,
A living voice, a breathing harmony,
A bodiless enjoyment-born and dying
With the blest tone which made me!
1. SHE was an only child, her name Ginevra, The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francisco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
2. She was all gentleness, all gayety,
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour,
Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth time,
The nurse, the ancient lady, preached decorum;
And in the luster of her youth she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francisco.
3. Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast, When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting, Nor was she to be found! Her father cried, "T is but to make a trial of our love!"
And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
4. 'T was but that instant she had left Francisco, Laughing, and looking back, and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger;
But, now, alas she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could any thing be guessed,
But that she was not!
Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
The father lived, and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something;
Something he could not find, he knew not what.
When he was gone the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.
6. Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, When on an idle day, a day of search, 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That moldering chest was noticed, and 't was said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra ; "Why not remove it from its lurking place?”
7. 'T was done as soon as said, but on the way
It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton,
With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished-save a wedding-ring
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both, ‘Ginevra ”
8. There then she had found a grave! Within that chest had she concealed herself, Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy, When a spring-lock that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down forever!
1. THE shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
2. His brow was sad; his eye, beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath:
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
66 Excelsior!"
3. In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright:
Above, the spectral glaciers shone;
And from his lips escaped a groan,
"Excelsior!"
4. "Try not the pass!" the old man said,
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead;
The roaring torrent 's deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
"Excelsior!"
5. "Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast !”—
A tear stood in his bright blue eye;
But still he answered, with a sigh,
66 "Excelsior!"
6. "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche !"
This was the peasant's last good-night;—
A voice replied, far up the hight,
"6 Excelsior!"
7. At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
"Excelsior!"
8. A traveler, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
"6 'Excelsior!"
9. There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star-
"Excelsior!"
CLXXXI.-SOLILOQUY OF KING RICHARD III.
1. GIVE me another horse-bind up my woundsHave mercy, Jesu-soft: I did but dream!
O, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No: yes; I am.
Then fly. What! From myself? Great reason, why?
Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?
I love myself? Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no; alas! I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
2. I am a villain: yet I lie; I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter-
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues;
And every tongue brings in a several tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree,
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