All hail! ye breezes wild and drear, Methinks, as round your murmurs sail, Ye bards, that in these sacred shades, Say, do your spirits yet delight Or mid the woodland scenery. And strike, to notes of tender fire, With viewless hands the shadowy lyre, Till all the wandering winds respire A more than mortal symphony? Come, Fancy, come, romantic maid! By thee inspir'd I seem to hold Roused from oblivion's mouldering urn, And rings the sounding panoply! And while the war-storm rages loud, And wake the hymns of victory. Far hence all earthly thoughts be hurl'd! I lose the sad reality. Led by thy magic pow'r sublime, Thy pow'r can all the past restore, A REMEMBER ME. [Written after 1808.] E tu, chi sa se mai Te sovverrai di me ?-METASTASIO. ND what are life's enchanting dreams, That melt, like morning mists, away? With thee, my first, my only love! When twilight shades the world o'erhung, The dirge of the departing day. 53 But when our cherished meads and bowers Oh! then recall those blissful hours; When Spring shall bid the forest live, For wintry storms have overcast And blighted all my hopes of joy : Vain hope that clouds so soon destroy! And when, thy natal shades among, While noontide rays their fervours shower, The poet's sadly-pleasing song Shall charm thy melancholy hour; When Zephyr, rustling in the grove, Sighs feebly through the spreading tree, Think 'tis the whispering voice of love, Remember me, when morning's call Shall bid thee leave thy lonely bed: Remember me, when evening fall Shall tinge the skies with blushing red : Remember me, when midnight sleep Shall set excursive fancy free; And should'st thou wake, and wake to weep, Still, in thy tears, remember me. Farewell, my love! the paths of truth, The paths of happiness pursue: But ever mindful of the youth, Who loved thee with a flame so true. And though to thy transcendent form D ROMANCE. [Published in 1806.] EATH! the mourner's surest aid! Mourn with wild emotion. I my griefs unpitied pour To the winds that round me roar, Where the sea's extremest line False one! still I mark thy sail By the mighty tempests tost, On a bleak and desert coast, Vainly, deeply, mourning. Unattended shalt thou rove, O'er the mountain dreary, Unassuaged thy tears shall flow; None shall sooth or share thy woe, When thy blood runs cold and slow, And thy limbs are weary! Far from haunts of human kind, None shall weep, where tempests rave THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES. [Second edition, published in 1812.] PART I. [The variations between this, the second edition, and the first edition, published in 1810, are recorded in foot-notes.] ΚΑΛΛΙΣΤΟΣ ΠΟΤΑΜΩΝ ΕΠΙ ΓΑΙΑΝ ΙΠΣΙ.— ΌΜ. Non è questo 'l terren, ch' i' toccai pria? Non è questo 'l mio nido, Ove nudrito fui si dolcemente? Non è questa la patria in ch' io mi fido Madre benigna e pia, Che copre l'uno e l'altro mio parente?-PETRARCA.* * PREMIUM. Sweet was the choral song, When in Arcadian vales, Primeval shepherds twined the Aonian wreath. While in the dying gales, That sighed the shades among, Rapt fancy heard responsive spirits breathe. Dryads and Genii wandered then Amid the haunts of guileless men, As yet unknown to strife: Ethereal beings poured the floods, Dwelt in the ever waving woods, And filled the varied world with intellectual life. Ah! whither are they flown, Those days of peace and love So sweetly sung by bards of elder time? When in the startling grove The battle-blast was blown, And misery came, and cruelty and crime, Polluted meads, and blood-stained rills, |