I cannot hope to live again,

And lose this load of quiet pain,
Until the years that speed so fast
Shall bring delightful calm at last!
The grand fulfilment of desire
Shall tip their angel-wings with fire,
Or else the lapse of time shall bless
My spirit with forgetfulness;
God in his mercy grant me peace,
And bid this demon-sorrow cease,

Or bear me in his arms of love
To amaranthine bowers above!

EUTHANASIA.

I.

THE dim hours come; I see adown the street

The few from toil releas'd,

Pass joyous onward, glad, elate, and fleet,

Unto their evening feast.

II.

Upon the soft sill of this casement high
My burning cheek is laid,

The while I strive within the golden sky
To hold the hues that fade.

III.

Yet duskier now, and, every moment still,
Gloomier and more dull,

The narrow way beneath with night doth fill,
With Night the beautiful!

IV.

O Night! that leavest on mine eyelids weak

The heav'nly sacred balm,

Bring now no more the dreams of what I seek, Nor yet bright Victory's palm;

V.

Bind thou sweet Hope; and bid Ambition sink Under dark Lethe's stream;

And Self-Reproach drug thou with poppy-drink

Till even it shall dream.

VI.

Alas! e'en thus, O Night! one eve just fled,

I supplicated thee.—

Ah, woe is me! that now the lost and dead

Should nigh forgotten be!

VII.

As now, so hurried forward here below,

Along the dusty way,

Sweet maids and many a youth towards the flow

Of Arno to the Bay;

VIII.

And shadows up the tall house gleam'd and died

Before the sinking sun,

And fire-flies sparkled on the near hill-side

The hour when work was done;

IX.

The while that star which wakes the sleeping moon,

And leads her o'er each hill,

Upon the topmost tuft of cypress soon

Unshifting shone and still.

X.

And on this terrace from afar I caught

The soft faint mountain line,

Which dared the crowding mists that vainly sought

To enwrap the Apennine.

XI.

O kingly Hills! with snow-lit brows divine

And forest-circled throne!

That eve your glory unto me did shine
Oppressive, white, and lone.

XII.

Oblivion came not with the night, and I

In wild delirium pray'd

That Love might bind me, or that I might die As moon-wrapt cloudlets fade.

XIII.

Oh! many a prayer, or mute, or half-express'd,

I stammer'd wearily,

Wistfully watching those who pass'd with zest

To midnight revelry.

XIV.

When lo! unto me came that blessed joy,

Long pray'd for in my dreams,

Came like that music which can never cloy,
The murmur of far streams.