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Which fervid from its mountain source

Shallow, smooth, and strong, doth come, -
Swift as fire, tempestuously

It sweeps into the affrighted sea;
In morning's smile its eddies coil,
Its billows sparkle, toss, and boil,
Torturing all its quiet light
Into columns fierce and bright.

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 effluence chrystalline
Sends its clear waves, that they may fling
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.

July, 1821.

THE ZUCCA.*

SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring, And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold;-when I, desiring

* Pumpkin.

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;

And on the earth lulled in her winter sleep

I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping. Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep

The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams shalt [

No death divide thy immortality.

I loved-O no, I mean not one of ye,
Or any earthly one, though ye are dear
As human heart to human heart may be;-

] see

I loved, I know not what-but this low sphere, And all that it contains, contains not thee,

Thou, whom seen no where, I feel every where, Dim object of my soul's idolatry.

Veiled art thou like

By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest, Neither to be contained, delayed, or hidden,

Making divine 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,
Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight,
Blank as the sun after the birth of night.

In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,

In music and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voi es which are human,

Meant to express some feelings of their own; In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,

In flowers and leaves, and in the fresh grass shewn, Or dying in the autumn, I the most

Adore thee present or lament thee lost.

And thus I went, lamenting when I saw
A plant upon the river's margin lie,
Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law,
And in despair had cast him down to die;
Its leaves which had outlived the frost, the thaw
Had blighted as a heart which hatred's eye
Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew
Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.

The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth
Had crushed it on her unmaternal breast

*

I bore it to my chamber, and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould;
The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted
Fell through the window panes, disrobed of cold,
Upon its leaves and flowers; the star which panted
In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled
Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light
Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

The mitigated influences of air

And light revived the plant, and from it grew Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,

Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew,

O'erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere

Of vital warmth infolded it anew,

And every impulse sent to every part
The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.

Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the sun and air had smiled not on it;
For one wept o'er it all the winter long

Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it
Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song

Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it
To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,
Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.

Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers On which he wept, the while the savage storm Waked by the darkest of December's hours

Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm; The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers, The fish were frozen in the pools, the form Of every summer plant was dead [

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THE TWO SPIRITS.

AN ALLEGORY.

1st. Spi. O Thou, who plumed with strong desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware!

A shadow tracks thy flight of fire

Night is coming!

Bright are the regions of the air,

And among the winds and beams It were delight to wander thereNight is coming!

2nd. Spi. The deathless stars are bright above;
If I would cross the shade of night,
Within my heart is the lamp of love,
And that is day!

And the moon will smile with gentle light
On my golden plumes where'er they move;
The meteors will linger round my flight,

1st. Spi.

And make night day.

But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken

Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain; See the bounds of the air are shaken

Night is coming!

The red swift clouds of the hurricane

Yon declining sun have overtaken,
The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain-
Night is coming!

2nd. Spi. I see the light, and I hear the sound;
I'll sail on the flood of the tempest dark
With the calm within and the light around
Which makes night day:

And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark,
Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound,
My moon-like flight thou then may'st mark
On high, far away.

Some say, there is a precipice

Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin O'er piles of snow and chasins of ice

Mid Alpine mountains;

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