CIII. Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer! Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love! Ave Maria! may our spirits dare Look up to thine and to thy Son's above! Ave Maria! oh that face so fair! Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty doveWhat though 'tis but a pictured image?—strike— That painting is no idol-'tis too like. CIV. Some kinder casuists are pleased to say In nameless print-that I have no devotion; But set those persons down with me to pray, And you shall see who has the properest notion Of getting into heaven the shortest way : My altars are the mountains and the ocean, Earth, air, stars-all that springs from the great Whole, Who hath produced, and will receive the soul. CV. Sweet hour of twilight !—in the solitude CVI. The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, And vesper bells that rose the boughs along: The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, His hell-dogs and their chase, and the fair throng, Which learn'd from this example not to fly From a true lover--shadow'd my mind's eye. CVII. O Hesperus! thou bringest all good things— CVIII. Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; As the far bell of vesper makes him start, CIX. When Nero perish'd by the justest doom Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd, Of feeling for some kindness done, when power CX. But I'm digressing; what on earth has Nero, To do with the transactions of my hero, More than such madmen's fellow-man-the moon's? Sure my invention must be down at zero, And I grown one of many "wooden spoons" Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs please CXI. I feel this tediousness will never do- And then as an improvement 'twill be shown: THE DEATH OF HAIDÉE FROM CANTO IV LVI. Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth Her human clay is kindled: full of power For good or evil, burning from its birth. The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And like the soil beneath, it will bring forth : Beauty and love were Haidée's mother's dower; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. LVII. Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray, Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, But, overwrought with passion and despair, LVIII. The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore, Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own; LIX. A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore Their lady to her couch, with gushing eyes; Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, But she defied all means they could employ, LX. Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill— She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still; Corruption came not, in each mind to kill All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul—– She had so much, earth could not claim the whole. LXI. The ruling passion, such as marble shows Their energy, like life, forms all their fame, LXII. She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake, LXIII. She look'd on many a face with vacant eye, |