The beetle forgot to wind his horn, The crickets were still in the meadow and hill: All rose to do the task He set to each, And many rose Whose woe was such that fear became desire ;- With streams and fields and marshes bare, "What think you, as she lies in her green cove, Our little sleeping boat is dreaming of? If morning dreams are true, why I should guess That she was dreaming of our idleness, And of the miles of watery way We should have led her by this time of day?" "Never mind," said Lionel, "Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About yon poplar tops; and see The white clouds are driving merrily, And the stars we miss this morn will light List, my dear fellow, the breeze blows fair; The chain is loosed, the sails are spread, Which fervid from its mountain source It sweeps into the affrighted sea; The Serchio, twisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove Living in what it sought; as if this spasm July, 1821. THE ZUCCA.* I. SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring, And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold;—when I, desiring 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. II. Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping. Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep ] see The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams, shalt [ No death divide thy immortality. III. I loved-O no, I mean not one of ye, As human heart to human heart may be; I loved, I know not what-but this low sphere * Pumpkin. And all that it contains, contains not thee, Thou, whom seen no where, I feel everywhere, Dim object of my soul's idolatry. Veiled art thou like IV. 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 Blank as the sun after the birth of night. ས. In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common, In music and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voices 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. VI. And thus I went, lamenting when I saw |