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Give mi- that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks iiimiorl.il. those complainings
dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not
where to go."
Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far
blows Like love's nlnrum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon
"Tig dark: quick patternh the flaw-blown
sleet: "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" "Tin dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and
pine.— Cruel! whnt traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakrst a deceived thing; A dove forlorn and lost with sick ttnpruned
"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!
Hark! 'tis nn elfin-storm from facry-land, Of haggard seeming, but n boon indeed: Arise—arise! the morning is at hand;— The bloated wRKsnillt-rs will never heed:— Let us nvt iiy, my Loire, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,— Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake! arise! my Love, and fearless he, For o'er the southern moors I have u home for thee."
She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready
spears— Down the wide stairs a darkling way they
found.— In all the house was heard not human sound.
A chain-droop'd lump was nickering by act
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, in
hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar: And the long carpets rose along the gist; floor.
They glide, like phantoms, into tbe wide kali. Like phantoms, to the iron porch, tbey plist Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl. With a huge empty flagon by his aide: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook »
hide. But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:Thechains liesilenton the footworn smart.The key turns, and the door upon its biap>
And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the baron dreamt of many a vsr. And all his warrior-guests, with shade ut
form Of witch, and demon, and large t-offin-vom Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela tbe oU Died palsy - twitch'd , with meagre foe
deform . The beadsman, after thousand aves tout. For aye unsought for slept among his sskn
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE
My heart aches, and a drowsy
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drat* Or emptied some dull opiate to the draia* One minute past, and lethe-wards had sast Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. But being ton happy in thine happiness.— That thou, light-winged dryad of thr lim
In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless Singest of summer in full-throated ease
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath am Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved «-art» Tasting of Flora and the country green. Dance, and Provencal song, and sonksrt:
mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm sooth. Full of the Inn-, the blushful HipporrrsWith beaded bubbles winking at tbe bn»
And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the wsr<
unseen. And with thee fadeaway into the forcslauv
Away! away! for I will fly to thee.
But here there is no light.
blown Through verdurous glooms nnd winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. Nor what soft incense hangs upon the houghs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree
wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves*
And Mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine. The murmurous haunt of flies on summereves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
In such an erstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in
vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was
heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Kuth, when, sick
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the
foam Of perilous seas, in faery-lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like n bell
In the next valley-glades:
Ever let the Fancy roam,
Or the rooks, with busy raw,
Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spoilt by use:
Where's the cheek that doth not fade.
Too much gaz'd at? where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where's the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? where's the face
One would meet in every place?
Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet Pleasure mcltcth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
Let, then, winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind:
Dnlcet-eycd as Ceres' daughter.
Ere the God of Torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe's, when her zone
Slipt its- golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet.
While she held the goblet sweet,
And Jove grew languid.— Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash;
Quickly break her prison-string
And such joys as these she'll bring.—
Let the winge^Fnncy roam,
HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
TO THE HERB ROSEMARY.
SwEET-scE>TKn flower! wont to bloom
Come, thou shalt form my nosegay n»»
Come, funeral flower! who lov'st to darii
A sweet decaying smell!
And we will sleep a pleasant sleep.
And hark! the wind-god, as he. flirt.
Mysterious music dies.
The cold turf-altar of the dead: My grave shall be in yon lone spot. Where, as I lie by all forgot,
A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er m< ashes shed.
The Night's my friend, my mistress, ns
my theme. And she shnll aid me noir to magnify The night of ages;—now when the pale n; Of star-light penetrates the studious giaam And, at my window seated, while m.uili*< Arc lock'd in sleep, I feel the frrsbeaiar
breeze Of stillness blow, while, in her saddest ttalf. Thought, like a wakeful vestnl at herahru*Assumes her wonted sway. Behold! the want Rests, and her tired inhabitants have puses' From trouble nnri turmoil. The widaw as* I Ins ceased to weep, and her twin-arpbaas b Lock'd in each arm, partakers of ber nat The man of sorrow has forgot his woes; The outcast that his head ia shelterless. His griefs unshared.—The mother leads ••
more Her daughter's dying slumbers, but i With heaviness, and sunk upon her ■ 1)reams »f her bridals. Even the hectic lal' On Death's lean arm to rest, in visions wrapt Crowning with hope's bland wreath fc»
shuddering nam Poor victim! smiles. Silence and deep rrpar licign o'er the nations; and the warning T«sp Of Nature utters audibly within The general moral—tells na that repose.
Death-like as this, but of far longer span.
heads Mouldering in holes and corners unobserved, Till the last trump shall break their sullen
Who needs a teacher to admonish him That flesh ia grass?—that earthly thinga
are mist? What are our jnya but drenina? and what
our hopes But goodly shadows in the summer-cloud? There's not a wind that blows, but bears
with it Some rainbow promise,—not a moment flies But puts its sickle in the fields of life. And mows its thousands, with their joys
and carrs. 'Tis but as yesterday since on yon stars Which now I view, the Chaldee shepherd
gazed. In his mid-watch observant, and disposed The twinkling hosts as fancy gave them
shapes: Yet in the interim what mighty shocks Have buffeted mankind! whole nations
razed,— Cities made desolate,—the polish'd sunk To barbarism, and once barbaric states Swaying the wand nf scienre and of arts; Illustrious deeds and memorable names Blotted from record, and upon the tongue Of gray tradition voluble no more.
Where are the heroes of the ages past? Where the brave chieftaina, where the
mighty nnea Who flourish'd in the infancy of daya? All to the grave gone down. On their fall'n
fame Exultant, mocking at the pride nf man. Sits prim Forgetfulness.—The warrior's arm Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame; Hush'd is his atormy voice, and quench'd
the blaze Of his red eye-ball.—Yesterday his name Was mighty on the earth:—To-day, 'tis what? The meteor of the night of distant yeara, That flaah'd unnoticed, aare by wrinkled eld Muaing at midnight upon propheciea, Who at her lonely lattice saw the gleam Point to the mist-poised shroud, then quietly Closed her pale lips, and lock'd the secret up Safe in the eharncl's treasures. - O how weak Is mortal mnn! how trifling—how confined His scope of vision! —I'lifT'd with confidence, Hia phrase growa big with immortality, And he, poor insect of a summer's day. Dreams of eternal honours tn his name. Of endless glory, and perennial baya. He idly reasons of eternity, Aa of the train of ages,—when, alaa!
Ten thousand thousand of hia centuriea
know, That Time must conquer; that the loudest
blast That ever HUM renown's obstreperous trump, Fades in the lapse of ages, and expirea. Who lies inhumed in the terrific gloom Of the gigantic pyramid? or who Rear'd its high walls?—Oblivion laughs and
says: The prey ia mine.—They aleep, and never
more Their names shall strike upon the ear nf man; Their memory burst its fetters Where ia
Home? She lives but in the tale nf other times; Her proud pavilions arc the hermit's home; And her long colonnades, her public walks, Now faintly echo to the pilgrim's feet, Who comes tn muse in solitude, and trace. Thro' the rank moaa reveal'd, her honour'd
Come. pen«ive sage, who lov'st to dwell
I will meet thee on the hill,