As of old, walks on, and I hear

Her palpitating foot on the shudd’ring main, While, under my feet, the green sea-snake creeps near

Hissing with scales that gleam,

To stand upon this crag beside the sea,

And dream, and dream, of thee

With clench'd white hands, set teeth, and robes

that stream

Behind me in the wind, while audibly

The waves moan Phaon,

Shriek Phaon, Phaon, Phaon,

Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, with deep intoning,

Tumultuously, tumultuously groaning!

O rest, rest, rest!—

4.

While the Moon with her virgin light

Thro' eternities of night

Dumbly paces on to the east from the west,

To mingle with the waves that under the height

Murmur along the shore,

To mix my virgin love, my agony,

Into the restless sea

That Dian strives to comfort evermore,

To cling to those white skirts and moan of thee,

O Phaon, Phaon,

Restless for love of Phaon,

Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, with ceaseless motion,

Yet soothed by the soother of Ocean!

XII.

A VOICE FROM ACADEME.

OVER this azure poplar glade

The sunshine, fainting high above,

Ebbs back from woolly clouds that move
Like browsing lambs and cast no shade;
And straight before me, faintly seen
Thro' emerald boughs that intervene,
The visible sun turns white and weaves
Long webs of silver thro' the leaves.
The grassy sward beneath my foot
Is soft as lips of lambs and beeves.
How cool those lilies at the root
Of yonder tree, that dimly dance
Thro' dews of their own radiance!

Yonder I see the river run,

Half in the shade, half in the sun ;

And as I near its rushy brink

The sparkling minnows, where they lie With silver bellies to the sky,

Flash from me in a shower and sink.

I stand in shadows cool and sweet,

But in the mirror at my feet
The heated azure heavens wink.

All round about this shaded spot,
Whither the sunshine cometh not,
Where all is beautiful repose—

I know the kindled landskip glows;
And further, flutter golden showers
On proud Athenai white with towers,
And catching from the murmurous sea,
[Stain'd with deep shadows as of flowers
And dark'ning down to purple bowers
Thro' which the sword-fish darts in glee,]
A strife that cometh not to me.

For in this place of shade and sound,
Hid from the garish heat around,

I feel like one removed from strain

And fever of the happy brain-
Where thoughts thrill fiery into pain:
Like one who, in the pleasant shade
The peaceful pulseless dead have made,
Walking in silence, just perceives

The gaudy world from which he went
Subdue itself to his content,

Like that white globe beyond the leaves !