it　unsuitable　for　the　purposes　of　this　lecture。　In　place　of　it　permit　me
  to　offer　the　universally　appreciated　〃Bridge　of　Sighs〃：
  One　more　Unfortunate；
  Weary　of　breath；
  Rashly　importunate
  Gone　to　her　death！
  Take　her　up　tenderly；
  Lift　her　with　care；
  Fashion'd　so　slenderly；
  Young　and　so　fair！
  Look　at　her　garments
  Clinging　like　cerements；
  Whilst　the　wave　constantly
  Drips　from　her　clothing；
  Take　her　up　instantly；
  Loving　not　loathing。
  Touch　her　not　scornfully；
  Think　of　her　mournfully；
  Gently　and　humanly；
  Not　of　the　stains　of　her；
  All　that　remains　of　her
  Now　is　pure　womanly。
  Make　no　deep　scrutiny
  Into　her　mutiny
  Rash　and　undutiful；
  Past　all　dishonor；
  Death　has　left　on　her
  Only　the　beautiful。
  Where　the　lamps　quiver
  So　far　in　the　river；
  With　many　a　light
  From　window　and　casement
  From　garret　to　basement；
  She　stood；　with　amazement；
  Houseless　by　night。
  The　bleak　wind　of　March
  Made　her　tremble　and　shiver；
  But　not　the　dark　arch；
  Or　the　black　flowing　river：
  Mad　from　life's　history；
  Glad　to　death's　mystery；
  Swift　to　be　hurl'd
  Anywhere；　anywhere
  Out　of　the　world！
  In　she　plunged　boldly；
  No　matter　how　coldly
  The　rough　river　ran；
  Over　the　brink　of　it；
  Picture　it；think　of　it；
  Dissolute　Man！
  Lave　in　it；　drink　of　it
  Then；　if　you　can！
  Still；　for　all　slips　of　hers；
  One　of　Eve's　family
  Wipe　those　poor　lips　of　hers
  Oozing　so　clammily；
  Loop　up　her　tresses
  Escaped　from　the　comb；
  Her　fair　auburn　tresses；
  Whilst　wonderment　guesses
  Where　was　her　home？
  Who　was　her　father？
  Who　was　her　mother？
  Had　she　a　sister？
  Had　she　a　brother？
  Or　was　there　a　dearer　one
  Still；　and　a　nearer　one
  Yet；　than　all　other？
  Alas！　for　the　rarity
  Of　Christian　charity
  Under　the　sun！
  Oh！　it　was　pitiful！
  Near　a　whole　city　full；
  Home　she　had　none。
  Sisterly；　brotherly；
  Fatherly；　motherly；
  Feelings　had　changed：
  Love；　by　harsh　evidence；
  Thrown　from　its　eminence；
  Even　God's　providence
  Seeming　estranged。
  Take　her　up　tenderly；
  Lift　her　with　care；
  Fashion'd　so　slenderly；
  Young；　and　so　fair！
  Ere　her　limbs　frigidly
  Stiffen　too　rigidly；
  Decently；　　kindly；
  Smooth　and　compose　them；
  And　her　eyes；　close　them；
  Staring　so　blindly！
  Dreadfully　staring
  Through　muddy　impurity；
  As　when　with　the　daring
  Last　look　of　despairing
  Fixed　on　futurity。
  Perhishing　gloomily；
  Spurred　by　contumely；
  Cold　inhumanity；
  Burning　insanity；
  Into　her　rest；
  Cross　her　hands　humbly；
  As　if　praying　dumbly；
  Over　her　breast！
  Owning　her　weakness；
  Her　evil　behavior；
  And　leaving；　with　meekness；
  Her　sins　to　her　Saviour！
  The　vigor　of　this　poem　is　no　less　remarkable　than　its　pathos。　The
  versification　although　carrying　the　fanciful　to　the　very　verge　of　the
  fantastic；　is　nevertheless　admirably　adapted　to　the　wild　insanity　which　is
  the　thesis　of　the　poem。
  Among　the　minor　poems　of　Lord　Byron　is　one　which　has　never　received
  from　the　critics　the　praise　which　it　undoubtedly　deserves：
  Though　the　day　of　my　destiny's　over；
  And　the　star　of　my　fate　bath　declined
  Thy　soft　heart　refused　to　discover
  The　faults　which　so　many　could　find；
  Though　thy　soul　with　my　grief　was　acquainted；
  It　shrunk　not　to　share　it　with　me；
  And　the　love　which　my　spirit　bath　painted
  It　never　bath　found　but　in　_thee。_
  Then　when　nature　around　me　is　smiling；
  The　last　smile　which　answers　to　mine；
  I　do　not　believe　it　beguiling；
  Because　it　reminds　me　of　shine；
  And　when　winds　are　at　war　with　the　ocean；
  As　the　breasts　I　believed　in　with　me；
  If　their　billows　excite　an　emotion；
  It　is　that　they　bear　me　from　_thee。_
  Though　the　rock　of　my　last　hope　is　shivered；
  And　its　fragments　are　sunk　in　the　wave；
  Though　I　feel　that　my　soul　is　delivered
  To　painit　shall　not　be　its　slave。
  There　is　many　a　pang　to　pursue　me：
  They　may　crush；　but　they　shall　not　contemn
  They　may　torture；　but　shall　not　subdue　me
  'Tis　of　_thee　_that　I　thinknot　of　them。
  Though　human；　thou　didst　not　deceive　me；
  Though　woman；　thou　didst　not　forsake；
  Though　loved；　thou　forborest　to　grieve　me；
  Though　slandered；　thou　never　couldst　shake；
  Though　trusted；　thou　didst　not　disclaim　me；
  Though　parted；　it　was　not　to　fly；
  Though　watchful；　'twas　not　to　defame　me；
  Nor　mute；　that　the　world　might　belie。
  Yet　I　blame　not　the　world；　nor　despise　it；
  Nor　the　war　of　the　many　with　one
  If　my　soul　was　not　fitted　to　prize　it；
  'Twas　folly　not　sooner　to　shun：
  And　if　dearly　that　error　bath　cost　me；
  And　more　than　I　once　could　foresee；
  I　have　found　that　whatever　it　lost　me；
  It　could　not　deprive　me　of　_thee。_
  From　the　wreck　of　the　past；　which　bath　perished；
  Thus　much　I　at　least　may　recall；
  It　bath　taught　me　that　which　I　most　cherished
  Deserved　to　be　dearest　of　all：
  In　the　desert　a　fountain　is　springing；
  In　the　wide　waste　there　still　is　a　tree；
  And　a　bird　in　the　solitude　singing；
  Which　speaks　to　my　spirit　of　_thee。_
  Although　the　rhythm　here　is　one　of　the　most　difficult；　the
  versification　could　scarcely　be　improved。　No　nobler　_theme　_ever　engaged
  the　pen　of　poet。　It　is　the　soul…elevating　idea　that　no　man　can　consider
  himself　entitled　to　complain　of　Fate　while　in　his　adversity　he　still
  retains　the　unwavering　love　of　woman。
  From　Alfred　Tennyson；　although　in　perfect　sincerity　I　regard　him　as
  the　noblest　poet　that　ever　lived；　I　have　left　myself　time　to　cite　only　a
  very　brief　specimen。　I　call　him；　and　_think　_him　the　noblest　of　poets；
  _not　_because　the　impressions　he　produces　are　at　_all　_times　the　most
  profound　_not　_because　the　poetical　excitement　which　he　induces　is　at
  _all　_times　the　most　intensebut　because　it　is　at　all　times　the　most
  etherealin　other　words；　the　most　elevating　and　most　pure。　No　poet　is　so
  little　of　the　earth；　earthy。　What　I　am　about　to　read　is　from　his　last　long
  poem；　〃The　Princess〃：
  Tears；　idle　tears；　I　know　not　what　they　mean；
  Tears　from　the　depth　of　some　divine　despair
  Rise　in　the　heart；　and　gather　to　the　eyes；
  In　looking　on　the　happy　Autumn　fields；
  And　thinking　of　the　days　that　are　no　more。
  Fresh　as　the　first　beam　glittering　on　a　sail；
  That　brings　our　friends　up　from　the　underworld；
  Sad　as　the　last　which　reddens　over　one
  That　sinks　with　all　we　love　below　the　verge；
  So　sad；　so　fresh；　the　days　that　are　no　more。
  Ah；　sad　and　strange　as　in　dark　summer　dawns
  The　earliest　pipe　of　half…awaken'd　birds
  To　dying　ears；　when　unto　dying　eyes
  The　casement　slowly　grows　a　glimmering　square；
  So　sad；　so　strange；　the　days　that　are　no　more。
  Dear　as　remember'd　kisses　after　death；
  And　sweet　as　those　by　hopeless　fancy　feign'd
  On　lips　that　are　for　others；　deep　as　love；
  Deep　as　first　love；　and　wild　with　all　regret；
  O　Death　in　Life；　the　days　that　are　no　more。
  Thus；　although　in　a　very　cursory　and　imperfect　manner；　I　have
  endeavored　to　convey　to　you　my　conception　of　the　Poetic　Principle。　It　has
  been　my　purpose　to　suggest　that；　while　this　principle　itself　is　strictly
  and　simply　the　Human　Aspiration　for　Supernal　Beauty；　the　manifestation　of
  the　Principle　is　always　found　in　_an　elevating　excitement　of　the　soul；
  _quite　independent　of　that　passion　which　is　the　intoxication　of　the　Heart；
  or　of　that　truth　which　is　the　satisfaction　of　the　Reason。　For　in　regard　to
  passion；　alas！　its　tendency　is　to　degrade　rather　than　to　elevate　the　Soul。
  Love；　on　the　contraryLovethe　true；　the　divine　Erosthe　Uranian　as
  distinguished　from　the　Diona~an　Venusis　unquestionably　the　purest　and
  truest　of　all　poetical　themes。　And　in　regard　to　Truth；　if；　to　be　sure；
  through　the　attainment　of　a　truth　we　are　led　to　perceive　a　harmony　where
  none　was　apparent　before；　we　experience　at　once　the　true　poetical　effect；
  but　this　effect　is　referable　to　the　harmony　alone；　and　not　in　the　least
  degree　to　the　truth　which　merely　served　to　render　the　harmony　manifest。
  We　shall　reach；　however；　more　immediately　a　distinct　conception　of
  what　the　true　Poetry　is；　by　mere　reference　to　a　few　of　the　simple　elements
  which　induce　in　the　Poet　himself　the　poetical　effect　He　recognizes　the
  ambrosia　which　nourishes　his　soul　in　the　bright　orbs　that　shine　in
  Heavenin　the　volutes　of　the　flowerin　the　clustering　of　low
  shrubberiesin　the　waving　of　the　grain…fieldsin　the　slanting　of　tall
  eastern　trees　　in　the　blue　distance　of　mountains　　in　the　grouping　of
  clouds　in　the　twinkling　of　half…hidden　brooksin　the　gleaming　of　silver
  rivers　in　the　repose　of　sequestered　lakesin　the　star…mirroring　depths
  of　lonely　wells。　He　perceives　it　in　the　songs　of　birdsin　the　harp　of
  Bolos　in　the　sighing　of　the　night…windin　the　repining　voice　of　the
  forest　in　the　surf　that　complains　to　the　shorein　the　fresh　breath　of
  the　woods　in　the　scent　of　the　violetin　the　voluptuous　perfume　of　the
  hyacinthin　the　suggestive　odour　that　comes　to　him　at　eventide　from　far
  distant　undiscovered　islands；　over　dim　oceans；　illimitable　and　unexplored。
  He　owns　it　in　all　noble　thoughtsin　all　unworldly　motivesin　all　holy
  impulsesin　all　chivalrous；　generous；　and　self…sacrificing　deeds。　He
  feels　it　in　the　beauty　of　womanin　the　grace　of　her　stepin　the　lustre
  of　her　eyein　the　melody　of　her　voicein　her　soft　laughter；　in　her
  sighin　the　harmony　of　the　rustling　of　her　robes。　He　deeply　feels　it　in
  her　w