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Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness;
“O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles 'assion their voices cooingly among myrtles, What time thou wanderest at eventide Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side Df thine enmossed realms: O thou, to whom 3road leaved fig trees even now foredoom Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow-girted bees Their golden honeycombs; our village-leas Their fairest blossom'd beans and poppied corn; The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries Their summer coolness; pent up butterflies Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding year \ll its completions—be quickly near, 3y every wind that nods the mountain-pine, ..) forester divine !
“O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shears, While ever and anon to his shorn peers A ram goes bleating: Winder of the horn, When snouted wild boars routing tender corn Anger our huntsmen: Breather round our farms, To keep off mildews, and all weather harms: Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds, That come a swooning over hollow grounds, And wither drearily on barren moors: Dread opener of the mysterious doors Leading to universal knowledge—see, Great son of Dryope, The many that are come to pay their vows With leaves about their brows:
Be still the unimaginable lodge For solitary thinkings; such as dodge Conception to the very bourne of heaven, Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven, That spreading in this dull and clodded earth Gives it a touch ethereal—a new birth: Be still a symbol of immensity; A firmament reflected in a sea; An element filling the space between ; An unknown—but no more: we humbly screen With uplift hands our foreheads lowly bending, And giving out a shout most heaven-rending, Conjure thee to receive our humble Paean, Upon thy Mount Lycean 1"
Ever while they brought the burden to a close, A shout from the whole multitude arose, That lingered in the air like dying rolls Of abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine. Meantime, on shady levels, mossy fine, Young companies nimbly began dancing To the swift treble pipe, and humming string. Aye, those fair living forms swam heavenly To tunes forgotten—out of memory: [bred Fair creatures! whose young children's children Thermopylae its heroes—not yet dead, But in old marbles ever beautiful.
By the feud "Twixt nothing and Creation, I here swear, Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair Is of all these the gentlier mightiest. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, And there she sits most meek and most alone; As if she had not pomp subservient; As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent Towards her with the Muses in thine heart; As if the ministring stars kept not apart, Waiting for silver-footed messages. O Moon: the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees Feel palpitations when thou lookest in: O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din The while they feel thine airy fellowship. Thou dost bless every where with silver lip, Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; And yet thy benediction passeth not One obscure hiding place, one little spot Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, And from beneath a sheltering ivy-leaf Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house.—The mighty deeps, The monstrous sea is thine-the myriad sea!
O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee, And Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load.
Cynthia! where art thou now What far abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost beauty Alas! thou dost pine For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye, Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo! How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone in woes She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness is wan on Neptune's blue : yet there's a stress Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, Dancing upon the waves, as if to please The curly foam with amorous influence. O, not so idle : for down-glancing thence She fathomseddies, and runs wild about O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out The thorny sharks from hiding-holes,andfright'ning Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning. where will the splendor be content to reach O love! how potent hast thou been to teach Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells, In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun, Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won. Amid his toil thou gav'st Leander breath ; Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death; Thou madest Pluto bear thin element; And now, Owinged Chieftain, thou hast sent A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world, To find Endymion.
On gold sand impearl’d with lily shells, and pebbles milky white, . Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her light Against his pallid face; he felt the charm To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm of his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'd His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds, To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads, Lash'd from the crystal roof by fishes' tails. And so he kept until the rosy veils Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd Into sweet air; and sober'd morning came Meekly through billows:—when like taper-flame Left sudden by a dallying breath of air, He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare Along his fated way.
Far had he roam’d, with nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd Above, around, and at his feet; save things More dead than Morpheus' imaginings: Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe; Rudders that for a hundred years had lost The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd
With long-forgotten story, and wherein
“What is there in thee, Moon! that thoushould's My heart so potently When yet a child (not I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd, Thou seem'dst my sister; handin hand we went From eve to morn across the firmament. No apples would I gather from the tree, Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: No tumbling water ever spake romance, But when my eyes with thine thereon could law. No woods were green enough, no bower divine, Until thou listedst up thine eyelids fine: In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take, Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; And, in the summer-tide of blossoming, No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. No melody was like a passing spright If it went not to solemnize thy reign, Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end; And as I grew in years, still didst thoubo With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen; Thou wast the mountain-top—the sage's penThe poet's harp–the voice of friends—the sun; Thou wast the river—thou wast glory won; Thou wastmy clarion's blast—thou wast") sleedMy goblet full of wine—my topmost deedThou wast the charm of women, lovely M* O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful! On some bright essence could Ilean, and lull Myself to immortality.
To give the glow-worm light? Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry
“O Sorrow, - Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue o: To give at evening pale - Unto the nightingale, That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
“O Sorrow, Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May ?— - A lover would not tread A cowslip on the head, Though he should dance from eve till peep of day— Nor any drooping flower, Held sacred for thy bower, Wherever he may sport himself and play.
I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly,
I would deceive her,
And so leave her,
“Beneath my palm-trees, by the river-side,
I sat a weeping: in the whole world wide
There was not one to ask me why I wept-
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
“Beneath my palm-trees by the river-side,
“And as I sat, over the light blue hills
within his car aloft young Bacchus stood, Trifling his ivy-dart in dancing mood, With sidelong laughing;
And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white For Venus' pearly bite:
And near him rode Silenus on his ass,
Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
“Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came
“Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs' whence came ye!
“Over wide streams and mountains great we went,
“Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,
“I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown
Alone, without a peer: And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.
I've been a ranger In search of pleasure throughout every clime:
Alas, 'tis not for me!
Bewitch'd I sure must be,
“Come then, Sorrow : Sweetest Sorrow ! Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast: I thought to leave thee And deceive thee, But now of all the world I love thee best.
“There is not one,
No, no, not one
Thou art her mother,
And her brother, Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade.”
THE EVE OF ST. AGNES.
St. Agnes’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
Past the sweet virgin's picture while his prayer he
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: The sculptur'd dead, on each side,seem to freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails Knights, ladies, praying in dumb oratories, He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no—already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve. Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,
Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
- in soul. Save one old beldame, weak in body and in"