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Mountains toppling evermore
By the lakes that thus outspread
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
There the traveller meets aghast
For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing regionFor the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis-oh, 'tis an Eldorado ! But the traveller, travelling through it, May not—dare not openly view it! Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed ; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule.
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take ! How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes !
-no more upon thy verdant slopes ! No more! alas, that magical sad sound
Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more-Thy memory no more! Accursèd ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante !
“ Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante !"
I DWELT alone
In a world of moan,
my soul was a stagnant tide, Till the fair and gentle Eulalie
Became my blushing bride-
Became my smiling bride.
Ah, less-less bright
The stars of the night
And never a flake
That the vapour can make