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The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipinga. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and waves,
And the brink of the dewy caves,
With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the dædal Earth,
And then I changed my pipings,-
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed :
It breaks in our busom, and then we bleed:
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings,
Our boat is asleep in Serchio's stream,
The stars burnt out in the pale blue air,
Day had awakened all things that be,
The beetle forgot to wind his horn,
All rose to do the task He set to each,
And many rose Wbose woe was such that fear became desire; Melchior and Lionel were not among those;
They from the throng of men had stepped aside,
“What think you, as she lies in her green cove,
.“ Never mind," said Lionel, “Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About you poplar tops ; and see The white clouds are driving merrily, And the stars we miss this morn will light More willingly our return to-night.List, my dear fellow, the breeze blows fair; How it scatters Dominic's long black hair, Singing of us, and our lazy motions, If I can guess a boat's emotions."
The chain is loosed, the sails are spread,
And bangs upon the wave ( ].
The Serchio, twisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm The wave that died the death which lovers love, Living in what it sought; as if this spasm Had not yet past, the toppling mountains cling, But the clear stream in full enthusiasm Pours itself on the plain, until wandering, Down one clear path of efluence chrystalline Sends its clear waves, that they may filing At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine: Then, through the pestilential deserts wild Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted fir, It rushes to the Ocean.
Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring,
And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold; --- when I, desiring
In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,
More in this world than any understand, Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring,
Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand Of my poor heart, and o'er the grass and flowers Pale for the falsehood of the flattering hours.
Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep,
The instability of all but weeping;
I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams shalt [ ) see No death divide thy immortality.
I loved - no, I mean not one of ye,
Or any earthly one, though ye are dear As human heart to human heart may be;
I loved, I know not what--but this low sphere,
Thou, whom seen no where, I feel every where,
By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou Howest,
Neither to be contained, delayed, or hidden, Making divi
the loftiest and the lowest, When for a moment thou art not forbidden To live within the life which thou bestowest;
And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden,