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His own funereal destiny;
His wretchedness, and his resistance,
And his sad unallied existence:
To which his spirit may oppose
Itself and equal to all woes,

And a firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry

Its own concentered recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy, And making death a victory!

Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thoughts
shall fly;

A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS.

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS That show'st the darkness thou canst

SUFFERING CLAY.

WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?

It cannot die, it cannot stray,

But leaves its darkened dust behind.

Then, unembodied, doth it trace
By steps each planet's heavenly
way ?

Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?

Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth, or skies displayed, Shall it survey, shall it recall: Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all that was, at once appears.

Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eyes shall roll through chaos back;

And where the furthest heaven had birth,

The spirit trace its rising track, And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quenched or system breaks,

Fixed in its own eternity.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure.

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MAID OF ATHENS.

MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
Σωη μου, σάς ἀγαπῶ.*

By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each gean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheek's blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Σώη μου, σάς ἀγαπῶ.

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Eun μoù, cás àɣaпw.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Σῶη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ.

* Zóe moú, sás ágapo, My life, I love you.

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