Not on the sea, not on the sea! Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc, And long ere now, with foaming shock, Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now And since I now remember thee Do thou, amid the fair white walls, At times from out her latticed halls Then think upon Calypso's isles, To others give a thousand smiles, And when the admiring circle mark A half-form'd tear, a transient spark Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun Some coxcomb's raillery ; Nor own for once thou thought'st of one Who ever thinks on thee. Though smile and sigh alike are vain, "MAID OF ATHENS." Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ. MAID of Athens, ere we part, By those tresses unconfined, By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; Maid of Athens! I am gone; Think of me, sweet! when alone. Athens holds my heart and soul : Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ. TO INEZ. NAY, smile not at my sullen brow; Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain. And dost thou ask, what secret woe It is not love, it is not hate, Nor low Ambition's honours lost, It is that weariness which springs It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before. What Exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be, The blight of life-the demon thought. Yet others wrapt in pleasure seem, Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. What is that worst? Nay do not ask— In pity from the search forbear; Smile on-nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. "ONE STRUGGLE MORE." "ONE struggle more," and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain; One last long sigh to love and thee, Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before : Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; Man was not form'd to live alone : I'll be that light, unmeaning thing That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here; Thou'rt nothing,-all are nothing now. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, On many a lone and lovely night When sailing o'er the Ægean wave, "Now Thyrza gazes on that moon— Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave! When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said, "That Thyrza cannot know my pains :" My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! с |