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The magic circle there,
Was one fair form that filled with love

The lifeless atmosphere.



We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough,
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky

Gulfed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light,

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,

purer than the day-
In which the lovely forests grew,

As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark-green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.
And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.
Like one beloved the scene had lent
To the dark water's breast,

leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest, Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought,

Its every

Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in S— 's mind,

T'han calm in waters seen.


The keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them,

Dear * **!
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them

As the moon's soft splendour
O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven

Is thrown,

voice most tender To the strings without soul had then given


Its own.

The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later,

No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter

Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing

A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling

Are one.


WHEN the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead

When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed.

When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;

When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,

The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute :-

No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,

Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.


When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest;

The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possest.

0, Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your Its passions will rock thee, As the storms rock the ravens on high :

bier ?

Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.


Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long; Sad storm, whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches stain, Deep caves and dreary main,

Wail, for the world's wrong.

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SCENE I.— The Pageant to celebrate the arrival of the Queen.


Place for the Marshal of the Masque !


What thinkest thou of this quaint masque, which turns
Like morning from the shadow of the night,
The night to day, and London to a place
Of peace

and joy ?

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And Hell to Heaven.
Eight years are gone,
And they seem hours, since in this populous street
I trod on grass made green by summer's rain,
For the red plague kept state within that palace
Where now reigns vanity-in nine years more
The roots will be refreshed with civil blood;
And thank the mercy of insulted Heaven
That sin and wrongs wound as an orphan's cry,
The patience of the great Avenger's ear.

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