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ws murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one In the universal Sun. P.B. SHELLEY. 260. THE RECOLLECTION. Now the last day of many days All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise! Up, do thy wonted work! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled, For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. We wander'd to the Pine Forest That skirts the Ocean's foam; The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay; It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies Which scatter'd from above the sun A light of Paradise! We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced,-- And soothed by every azure breath That under heaven is blown To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own: Now all the tree-tops lay asleep Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep The ocean-woods may be. How calm it was!--the silence there By such a chain was bound, That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. There seem'd from the remotest seat Of the wide mountain waste To the soft flower beneath our feet A magic circle traced A spirit interfused around, A thrilling silent life; To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife;-- And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there Was one fair Form that fill'd with love The lifeless atmosphere. We paused beside the pools that lie Under the forest bough; Each seemed as 'twere a little sky Gulf'd in a world below; A firmament of purple light Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night And purer than the day-- In which the lovely forests grew As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and
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