LXXXVII.

He is an evening reveller, who makes[jz] His life an infancy, and sings his fill;[ka][330] At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy--for the Starlight dews All silently their tears of Love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.[kb]

LXXXVIII.

Ye Stars! which are the poetry of Heaven! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires,--'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you; for ye are A Beauty and a Mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That Fortune,--Fame,--Power,--Life, have named themselves a Star.[331]