Poems

Excerpt

August 9th, 1825.

Oh, thou surpassing beauty! that dost live
Shrined in yon silent stream of glorious light!
Spirit of harmony! that through the vast
And cloud-embroidered canopy art spreading
Thy wings, that o’er our shadowy earth hang brooding,
Like a pale silver haze, betwixt the moon
And the world’s darker orb: beautiful, hail!
Hail to thee! from her midnight throne of ether,
Night looks upon the slumbering universe.
There is no breeze on silver-crownëd tree,
There is no breath on dew-bespangled flower,
There is no wind sighs on the sleepy wave,
There is no sound hangs in the solemn air.
All, all are silent, all are dreaming, all,
Save those eternal eyes, that now shine forth
Winking the slumberer’s destinies.  The moon
Sails on the horizon’s verge, a moving glory,
Pure, and unrivalled; for no paler orb
Approaches, to invade the sea of light
That lives around her; save yon little star,
That sparkles on her robe of fleecy clouds,
Like a bright gem, fallen from her radiant brow.

VENICE.

Night in her dark array
   Steals o’er the ocean,
And with departed day
   Hushed seems its motion.
Slowly o’er yon blue coast
   Onward she’s treading,
’Till its dark line is lost,
   ’Neath her veil spreading.
The bark on the rippling deep
   Hath found a pillow,
And the pale moonbeams sleep
   On the green billow.
Bound by her emerald zone
   Venice is lying,
And round her marble crown
   Night winds are sighing.
From the high lattice now
   Bright eyes are gleaming,
That seem on night’s dark brow
   Brighter stars beaming.
Now o’er the bright lagune
   Light barks are dancing,
And ’neath the silver moon
   Swift oars are glancing.
Strains from the mandolin
   Steal o’er the water,
Echo replies between
   To mirth and laughter.
O’er the wave seen afar
   Brilliantly shining,
Gleams like a fallen star
   Venice reclining.

Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year
   Already feels old Winter’s icy breath;
As with cold hands, he scatters on her bier
   The faded glories of her Autumn wreath.
As fleetly as the Summer’s sunshine past,
   The Winter’s snow must melt; and the young Spring,
Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last,
   And in her train the hour of parting bring.
But, though I leave the harbour, where my heart
   Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place,
Where it lay calmly moored; though I depart,
   Yet, let not time my memory quite efface.
’Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home
   To which you welcomed me, will be as gay,
As bright, as cheerful, when I’ve turned to roam,
   Once more, upon life’s weary onward way.
But oh! if ever by the warm hearth’s blaze,
   Where beaming eyes and kindred souls are met,
Your fancy wanders back to former days,
   Let my remembrance hover round you yet.
Then, while before you glides time’s shadowy train,
   Of forms long vanished, days and hours long gone,
Perchance my name will be pronounced again,
   In that dear circle where I once was one....