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“My Angelo ! and why of them to be ?
But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft
Sprang from her station, on the winds apart,
“We came—and to thy Earth—but not to us Be given our lady's bidding to discuss:
We came, my love; around, above, below,
Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away
TO THE RIVER
FAIR river ! in thy bright, clear flow
crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty--the unhidden heart
The playful magazines of art
But when within thy wave she looks—
Which glistens then, and trembles-
Her worshipper resembles ;
Her image deeply lies-
Of her soul-searching eyes.
KIND solace in a dying hour !
Such, father, is not (now) my themeI will not madly deem that power Of Earth
shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd inI have no time to dote or dream : You call it hope that fire of fire ! It is but agony of desire : If I can hope-Oh ! I can
Its fount is holier—more divineI would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.
Know thou the secret of a spirit
Bow'd from its wild pride into shame. O yearning heart ! I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame, The searing glory which hath shone Amid the jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! and with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear againO craving heart, for the lost flowers And sunshine of my summer hours ! The undying voice of that dead time, With its interminable chime, Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness—a knell.
I have not always been as now:
I claimed and won usurpingly,
The heritage of a kingly mind,