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Of the wreck of the vessel peers out of the sea. With her left hand she grasps it impetuously, With her right she sustains her fair infant.

Death, Fear, Love, Beauty, are mixed in the atmosphere; Which trembles and burns with the fervour of

dread Around her wild eyes, her bright hand, and her

head, Like a meteor of light o'er the waters ! her child Is yet smiling, and playing, and murmuring: so

smiled The false deep ere the storm. Like a sister and

brother The child and the ocean still smile on each other, Whilst


THE fountains mingle with the river,

And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion ;
Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle:

Why not I with thine ?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother ;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea :
What are all these kissings worth,

If thou kiss not me ?



BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shades for the leaves when laid

In their noon-day dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder.


I sift the snow on the mountains below,

And their great pines groan aghast :

And all the night 'tis my pillow white,

While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,

Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,

It struggles and howls by fits.
Over earth and ocean with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move

In the depths of the purple sea ;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,

Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,

The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,

Whilst he is dissolving in rains.


The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,

And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning-star shines dead ; As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea


Its ardours of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall

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From the depth of heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,

As still as a brooding dove.



That orbèd maiden, with white fire laden,

Whom mortals call the moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,

By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,

Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of tent's thin roof,

The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden boes,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,

Are each paved with the moon and these.

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I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone,

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; The volcanoes are diin, and the stars reel and


When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,

Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be.

The triumphal arch through which I march,

With hurricane, fire, and snow, [chair, When the powers of the air are chained to my

Is the million-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,

While the moist earth was laughing below.

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I am the daughter of earth and water,

And the nursling of the sky:
I pass through the pores of the ocean and sñores ;

I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain, when with never a stain,

The pavilion of heaven is bare, [gleams, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex

Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain, [the tomb, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from

I arise and unbuild it again.




Hail to thee, blithe spirit !

Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

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