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Oblivion ! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o’er my dying bed. No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep, or wish, the coming blow : No maiden, with dishevell’d hair,
To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to Earth,
With no officious mourners near : I would not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle friendship with a tear. Yet Love! if Love in such an hour
Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power
In her who lives and him who dies. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last
Thy features still serene to see : Forgetful of its struggles past; .
Even Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish for Beauty still
Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath, And woman's tears, produced at will,
Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret-without a groan! For thousands Death hath ceased to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown. 66 Ay, but to die, and go,” alas !
Where all have gone, and all must go !
Ere born to life and living woe !
Count o'er thy days from anguish free,
And know, whatever thou hast been,
'Tis something better not to be.
MARINO FALIERO'S IMPRECATION AGAINST
VENICE. I speak to Time and to Eternity, Of which I grow a portion, not to man. Ye elements ! in which to be resolved I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit Upon you! Ye blue waves ! which bore my banner, Ye winds ! which fluttered o'er as if you loved it, And filled my swelling sails as they were wafted To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth, Which I have bled for, and thou foreign earth, Which drank this willing blood from many a wound ! Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but Reek up to heaven! Ye skies, which will receive it! Thou sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou ! Who kindlest and who quenchest suns ! -Attest! I am not innocent_but are these guiltless ? I perish, but not unavenged; far ages Float up from the abyss of time to be, And show these eyes, before they close, the doom Of this proud city, and I leave my curse On her and hers for ever !_Yes, the hours Are silently engendering of the day, When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark, Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield Unto a bastard Attila, without Shedding so much blood in her last defence As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her, Shall pour in sacrifice. She shall be bought And sold, and be an appanage to those Who shall despise her! She shall stoop to be
A province for an empire, petty town
Depraving Nature's frailty to an art;
Slave, do thine office ! Strike as I struck the foe! Stike as I would Have struck those tyrants ! Strike deep as my curse ! Strike and but once ! [The Doge throws himself upon his knees, and as the
executioner raises his sword the scene closes.
Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer
For others' weal avail'd on high, Mine will not be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky. "Twere vain to speak to weep—to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word_Farewell !_Farewell !
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ;
But in my breast, and in my brain,
• Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel : I only know we loved in vain
I only feelFarewell ! Farewell !
BEAUTIFUL FEMALES SLEEPING. There was deep silence in the chamber : dim
And distant from each other burned the lights, And slumber hover'd o'er each lovely limb
Of the fair occupants : if there be sprites, They would have walked there in their spriteliest trim, .
By way of change from their sepulchral sites, And show themselves as ghosts of better taste Than haunting some old ruin or wild waste. Many and beautiful lay those around,
Like flowers of different hue and clime and root,, In some exotic garden sometimes found,
With cost, and care, and warmth induced to shoot. One with her auburn tresses lightly bound,
And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit
And raven ringlets gathered in dark crowd
And smiling through her dream, as through a cloud The moon breaks, half-unveil'd each further charm,
As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud,