spirit of the western wind"
Oh, beautiful!--most beautiful!--how like
To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!
O happy land! (_pauses_) She died!--the maiden died!
O still more happy maiden who couldst die!
(_Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes_.)
Again!--a similar tale
Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!
Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play--
"She died full young"--one Bossola answers him--
"I think not so--her infelicity
Seemed to have years too many"--Ah, luckless lady!
Jacinta! (_still no answer_.)
Here's a far sterner story--
But like--oh, very like in its despair--
Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily
A thousand hearts--losing at length her own.
contributing to its columns much of his best work; ultimately, however, he came to loggerheads with its proprietor, Burton, who disposed of the magazine to a Mr.Page 35
That you fancy me dead-- And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed, (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead-- That you shudder to look at me.Page 36
Ah, less--less bright The stars of the night Than the eyes of the radiant girl! And never a flake That the vapor can make With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl-- Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.Page 39
But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave--there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide-- As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven.Page 48
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven-- From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven-- From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven.Page 55
* * * * * SCENES FROM "POLITIAN.Page 60
The singer is undoubtedly beneath The roof of his Excellency--and perhaps Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke As the betrothed of Castiglione, His son and heir.Page 84
I know what thou wouldst say--not send the message-- Well!--I will think of it--I will not send it.Page 94
Nor have I hesitated to insert from the 'Minor Poems,' now omitted, whole lines, and even passages, to the end that being placed in a fairer light, and the trash shaken from them in which they were imbedded, they may have some chance of being seen by posterity.Page 108
"  He was a goodly spirit--he who fell: A wanderer by mossy-mantled well-- A gazer on the lights that shine above-- A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love: What wonder? for each star is eye-like there, And looks so sweetly down on Beauty's hair-- And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy To his love-haunted heart and melancholy.Page 115
fears Of her--who asked no reason why, But turned on me her quiet eye! Yet _more_ than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone-- I had no being--but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth--the air--the sea-- Its joy--its little lot of pain That was new pleasure--the ideal, Dim, vanities of dreams by night-- And dimmer nothings which were real-- (Shadows--and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image and--a name--a name! Two separate--yet most intimate things.Page 131
* * * * * 31.Page 152
Thus the pressure of your sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at first only recognized through vision, at length, long after their removal, filled my whole being with a sensual delight immeasurable.Page 174
I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist; A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.Page 175
The idea of the last quatrain is also very effective.Page 185
It is by Motherwell, and is called "The Song of the Cavalier.Page 191
Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning, at the.Page 195
It is the _excess_ of the suggested meaning--it is the rendering this the upper instead of the under current of theme--which turns into prose (and that of the very flattest kind) the so-called poetry of the so-called transcendentalists.