Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's!

My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.

And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity.

Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!

The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.