No More Learning

TO ZANTE

FAIR isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take
How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many scenes of what departed bliss!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is
No more--no more upon thy verdant slopes!
No _more! _ alas, that magical sad sound
Transfomring all! Thy charms shall please _no more_--
Thy memory _no more! _Accursed ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,
O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
"Isoa d'oro! Fior di Levante! "

1837.




SCENES FROM "POLITIAN"

AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA.

I.

ROME.
--A Hall in a Palace Alessandra and Castiglione.

Alessandra. Thou art sad, Castiglione.

Castiglione. Sad! --not I.
Oh, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!

Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing
Thy happiness! --what ails thee, cousin of mine?
Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

Cas. Did I sign?
I was not conscious of it.