Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore ; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire, Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters-lone and dead Their still waters—still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By the lakes that thus outspread By the mountains-near the river Where dwell the Ghouls, By each spot the most unholy- There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of the Past Shrouded forms that start and sigh For the heart whose woes are legion But the traveller, travelling through it, And thus the sad Soul that here passes 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. TO ZANTE. 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 scenes of what departed bliss ! How many thoughts of what entombed hopes! How many visions of a maiden that is No more—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! Accursed ground Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante !" EULALIE. I DWELT alone In a world of moan, And my soul was a stagnant tide, Till the fair and gentle Eulalie Became my blushing bride Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie Ah, less-less bright The stars of the night Than the eyes of the radiant girl! And never a flake That the vapour can make With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, |