The beetle forgot to wind his horn, The crickets were still in the meadow and hill: All rose to do the task He set to each, And many rose Whose woe was such that fear became desire ;- With streams and fields and mar-hes bare, "What think you, as she lies in her green cove, Our little sleeping boat is dreaming of? If morning dreams are true, why I should guess That she was dreaming of our idleness, And of the miles of watery way We should have led her by this time of day? " "Never mind," said Lionel, Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About yon poplar tops; and see The white clouds are driving merrily, The chain is loosed, the sails are spread, Comes the laughing morning wind ;- Which fervid from its mountain source Swift as fire, tempestuously It sweeps into the affrighted sea; Its billows sparkle, toss and boil, The Serchio, twisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm The wave that died the death which lovers love, July, 1821. THE ZUCCA.* I. SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring, Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand Of my poor heart, and o'er the grass and flowers Pale for the falsehood of the flattering hours. II. Summer was dead, but 1 yet lived to weep And on the earth lulled in her winter sleep III. I loved-O no, I mean not one of ye, Or any earthly one, though ye are dear As human heart to human heart may be ;— I loved, I know not what-but this low sphere * Pumpkin. And all that it contains, contains not thee, Thou, whom seen no where, I feel every where, Dim object of my soul's idolatry. Veiled art thou like IV. By heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest, Neither to be contained, delayed, or hidden, Making divine the loftiest and the lowest, When for a moment thou art not forbidden V. In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common, In music and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voices which are human, Meant to express some feelings of their own; In the soft motions and rare smile of woman, In flowers and leaves, and in the fresh grass shewn, Or dying in the autumn, I the most Adore thee present or lament thee lost. VI. And thus I went, lamenting when I saw |