We paused before the heritage of men,
And thy star trembled-as doth Beauty then!"'
Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away
The night that waned and waned and brought
no day,

They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts

Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.

TO THE RIVER

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow

Of beauty-the unhidden heart-
The playful maziness of art

In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks-
Which glistens then, and trembles-
Why, then, the prettiest of books
Her worshiper resembles;

For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies-

His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.

TAMERLANE.

Kind solace in a dying hour!

Such, father, is not (now) my theme-
I will not madly deem that power

Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
Unearthly pride hath revel'd in-

I have no time to dote or dream:
You call it hope-that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:

If I can hope-Oh, God! I can—

Its fount is holier-more divineI would not call thee fool, old man, But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spirit

Bow'd from its wild pride into shame. O yearning heart! I did inherit

Thy withering portion with the fame, The searing glory which hath shone Amid the jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! and with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear againO craving heart, for the lost flowers And sunshine of my summer hours! The undying voice of that dead time, With its interminable chime, Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness-a knell. I have not always been as now: The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpinglyHath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to Cæsar-this to me?

The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind.

On mountain soil I first drew life:
The mists of the Taglay have shed
Nightly the dews upon my head,

16 Poe's Poems.

And, I believe, the winged strife
And tumult of the headlong air
Have nestled in my very hair.

So late from Heaven-that dew-it fell
('Mid dreams of an unholy night)
Upon me with the touch of Hell,
While the red flashing of the light
From clouds that hung like banners, o'er,
Appeared to my half closing eye
The pageantry of monarchy,
And the deep trumpet thunder's roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling

Of human battle, where my voice,
My own voice, silly child!-was swelling
(O! how my spirit would rejoice,
And leap within me at the cry)
The battle-cry of Victory!

The rain came down upon my head
Unshelter'd-and the heavy wind
Rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
It was but man, I thought, who shed
Laurels upon me: and the rush-
The torrent of the chilly air
Gurgled within my ear the crush

Of empires-with the captive's prayer-
The hum of suitors-and the tone
Of flattery 'round a sovereign's throne.

My passions, from that hapless hour,
Usurped a tyranny which men

Have deem'd, since I have reached to power,
My innate nature-be it so:

But, father, there liv'd one who, then, Then-in my boyhood-when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow (For passion must, with youth, expire) E'en then who knew this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part.

I have no words-alas-to tell
The loveliness of loving well!
Nor would I now attempt to trace
The more than beauty of a face
Whose lineaments, upon my mind,
Are

shadows on th' unstable wind:

Thus I remember having dwelt
Some page of early lore upon,
With loitering eye, till I have felt
The letters-with their meaning-melt
To fantasies-with none.

O, she was worthy of all love!

Love-as in infancy was mine— 'Twas such as angel minds above Might envy; her young heart the shrine On which my every hope and thought Were incense-then a goodly gift,

For they were childish and uprightPure as her young example taught: Why did I leave it, and, adrift,

Trust to the fire within, for light?

We grew an age-and love-together-
Roaming the forest, and the wild;
My breast her shield in wintry weather-
And, when the friendly sunshine smil'd

And she would mark the opening skies,
I saw no Heaven-but in her eyes.
Young Love's first lesson is the heart:
For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles,
When, from our little cares apart,

And laughing at her girlish wiles,
I'd throw me on her throbbing breast,
And pour my spirit out in tears-
There was no need to speak the rest—
No need to quiet any fears

Of her-who asked no reason why,
But turned on me her quiet eye!

Yet more than worthy of the love
My spirit struggled with, and strove,
When, on the mountain peak alone,
Ambition lent it a new tone-

I had no being-but in thee:

The world, and all it did contain In the earth-the air-the seaIts joy-its little lot of pain That was new pleasure--the ideal, Dim, vanities of dreams by nightAnd dimmer nothings which were real(Shadows-and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became

Thine image and—a name-a name! Two separate-yet most intimate things.

I was ambitious-have you known

The passion, father? You have not:

A cottager, I mark'd a throne
Of half the world as all my own,