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ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE Thy friends are exultations, agonies, VENETIAN REPUBLIC
And love, and man's unconquerable mind. (1802) Once did she hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the
WRITTEN IN LONDON worth
SEPTEMBER, 1802 Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
O Friend! I know not which way I must Venice, the eldest child of Liberty.
look She was a maiden city, bright and free; 5
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, No guile seduced, no force could violate;
To think that now our life is only drest And when she took unto herself a mate,
For show; mean handy-work of craftsShe must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories
Or groom!—We must run glittering like fade,
a brook Those titles vanish, and that strength
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: decay;
The wealthiest man among us is the best: Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
No grandeur now in nature or in book When her long life hath reached its final
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, day:
This is idolatry; and these we adore: Men are we, and must grieve when even
Plain living and high thinking are the shade Of that which once was great, is passed | The homely beauty of the good old cause away.
our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household
laws. TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE
(1802) Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
LONDON, 1802 (T. Milton) Whether the whistling rustic tend his
(1802) plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Milton! thou shouldst be living at this Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless hour: den;
England hath need of thee; she is a fen O miserable chieftain! where and when 5 Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; pen, do thou
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful bower, brow:
Have forfeited their ancient English Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, dower Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left Of inward happiness. We are selfish behind
men; Powers that will work for thee: air, Oh! raise us up, return to us again; earth, and skies;
And give us
manners, virtue, freedom, There's not a breathing of the common power. wind
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: That will forget thee; thou hast great Thou hadst a voice whose sound was allies :
like the sea:
Pure the naked heavens, majestic, And many a fond and idle name free,
I give to thee, for praise or blame, So didst thou travel on life's common
As is the humor of the game,
While I am gazing.
A nun demure of lowly port;
In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations; (1802)
A queen in crown of rubies drest;
A starveling in a scanty vest; It is not to be thought of that the flood
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Thy appellations, Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
A little Cyclops, with one eye Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, un Staring to threaten and defy, withstood,”
That thought comes next and instantly Roused though it be full often to a mood 5
The freak is over,
That spreads itself, some faery bold
In fight to cover!
In our halls is hung
And then thou art a pretty star;
Not quite so fair as many are That Shakespeare spake; the faith and
In heaven above thee! morals hold
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Which Milton held. - In everything we Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;are sprung
May peace come never to his nest, Of Earth's first blood, have titles mani Who shall reprove thee! fold.
Bright Flower! for by that name at last,
When all my reveries are past,
I call thee, and to that cleave fast,
Sweet silent creature! With little here to do or see
That breath'st with me in sun and air, 45 Of things that in the great world be,
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
My heart with gladness, and a share
Of thy meek nature!
TO THE DAISY
(1802) Oft on the dappled turf at ease
Bright Flower! whose home is everyI sit, and play with similes,
where, Loose types of things through all de Bold in maternal Nature's care, grees,
And, all the long year through, the heir Thoughts of thy raising:
Of joy or sorrow;
Is it that Man is soon deprest?
Or on his reason,
And every season?
A life, a presence like the air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair;
Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees, That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perched in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover; There! where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body Aings Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives, A brother of the dancing leaves; Then Aits, and from the cottage-eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes; As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless form he chose to feign,
While Auttering in the bushes.
TO A HIGHLAND GIRL
THE GREEN LINNET
AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND
One have I marked, the happiest guest
In joy of voice and pinion!
And this is thy dominion.
Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
While birds, and butterflies, and flowers,
Art sole in thy employment:
To give new pleasure like the past,
With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away: For never saw I mien, or face, In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here scattered, like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, 30 And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer: A face with gladness overspread! Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sway's Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind Thus beating up against the wind.
THE SOLITARY REAPER
Behold her, single in the field,
What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful? O happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways, and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality: Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea; and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighborhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father-anything to thee! Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place. Joy have I had; and going hence I bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then, why should I be loth to stir? I feel this place was made for her;
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
TO THE CUCKOO
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
O blithe new-comer! I have heard,
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF
Continuous as the stars that shine
She was a phantom of delight