Here sate he with his love, his dark eye bent Now turned it upon her, but ever then "Ianthe, dearest, see, how dim that ray! But oh, that light! I slumbered; Death, the while, Stole o'er my senses in that lovely isle So softly that no single silken hair Awoke that slept, or knew that he was there. "The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon "My Angelo! and why of them to be? "But list, Ianthe! when the air so soft Failed as my pennoned spirit leapt aloft, Perhaps my brain grew dizzy-but the world I left so late was into chaos hurled, Sprang from her station, on the winds apart, And rolled, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart. Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar, And fell not swiftly as I rose before, But with a downward, tremulous motion, through Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto; Nor long the measure of my falling hours, For nearest of all stars was thine to ours; Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth, A red Dædalion on the timid Earth." but not to us "We came, and to thy Earth We paused before the heritage of men, Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away The night that waned, and waned, and brought no day. They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts Who hear not for the beating of their hearts. "THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST THE HOUR" HE happiest day, the happiest hour My seared and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown. Of power, said I? yes! such I ween; But they have vanished long, alas! The visions of my youth have been — But let them pass. And, pride, what have I now with thee? The happiest day, the happiest hour - Mine eyes shall see - have ever seen, The brightest glance of pride and power, But were that hope of pride and power Even then I felt, that brightest hour For on its wing was dark alloy, An essence, powerful to destroy STANZAS How often we forget all time, when lone Her woods her wilds her mountains 1 BYRON: The Island. N youth have I known one with whom the Earth, In secret, communing held, as he with it, In daylight, and in beauty from his birth; Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth And yet that spirit knew not, in the hour 2 Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass |