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While 'gainst his forehead he devontly press'd Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
Yetover the steep, whence the mountain-stream rushes,
With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; Amid the pages, and the torches' glare,
Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes, There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair Its spray that the wild-flower kindly bedews. Of his proud horse's manę : he was withal A man of elegance, and stature tall :'
Why linger ye so, the wild labyrinth strolling? So that the waving of his plures would be
Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare ? High as the berries of a wild-ash tree,
Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling, Or as the winged cap of Mercury.
Responsive to sylphs, in the moonbeamy air. His armor was so dexterously wrought In shape, that sure no living man had thought It hard, and heavy steel : but that indeed
"T is morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping,
I see you are treading the verge of the sea : It was some glorious form, some splendid weed,
And now! ah, I see it—you just now are stooping In which a spirit new come from the skies Might live, and show itself to human eyes.
To pick up the keepsake intended for me. "Tis the far-famed, the brave Sir Gondibert, Said the good man to Calidore alert ;
If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending, While the young warrior with a step of
Had brought me a gem from the fretwork of Heaven;
grace Came up --a courtly smile upon his face,
And smiles with his star-cheering voice sweetly blendAnd mailed hand held out, ready to greet
ing, The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat
The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given; . Of the aspiring boy; who, as he led Those smiling ladies, often turn'd his head
It had not created a warmer emotion To admire the visor arch'd so gracefully
Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with Over a knightly brow; while they went by The lamps that from the high-roof'd walls were Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the pendent,
ocean, And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent. Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw.
Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated, For, indeed, 't is a sweet and peculiar pleasure
(And blissful is he who such happiness finds), All the green leaves that round the window clamber, To possess but a span of the hour of leisure To show their purple stars, and bells of amber. In elegant, pure, and aerial minds. Sir Gondibert has dofi^d his shining steel, Gladdening in the free and airy seel Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond "Is looking round about him with a fond
ON RECEIVING A COPY OF VERSES FROM THE And placid eye. young Calidore is burning
Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm
Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountains ? From lovely woman: while brimful of this, Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem, He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss,
When it fluiters in sunbeams that shine through a And had such manly ardor in his eye,
fountain ? That each at other look'd half-staringly : And then their features started into smiles,
Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine? Sweet as blue heavens o’er enchanted isles.
That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold ?
And splendidly mark'd with the story divine
Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold ?
Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing ? Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower;
Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is ? Mysterious, wild, the far-heard trumpet's tone;
Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing? Lovely the moon in ether, all alone :
And wear'st thou the shield of the famed Brito Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals,
What is it that hangs from thy shoulder so brave, Sweet be their sleep.
Embroider'd with many a spring-peering flower ? Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?
And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower ?
TO SOME LADIES
Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art
crown'd; ON RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth! What though, while the wonders of nature exploring, I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound I cannot your light mazy footsteps attend;
In magical powers to bless and to soothe.
On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair
A sunbeaming tale of a wreath, and a chain : And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare
Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.
This canopy mark : 'tis the work of a fay;
Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, When lovely Titania was far, far away,
And cruelty left him to sorrow and anguish.
There, oft would he bring from his soft-sighing lute Wild strains, to which, spell-bound, the nightin
gales listen'd! The wondering spirits of Heaven were mute, And tears 'mong the dew-drops of morning oft
In this little dome, all those melodies strange,
Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh; Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change,
Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.
Like twin water-lilies, born
So when I am in a voluptuous vein,
I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,
Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.
Adieu! valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown'd,
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth, I too have my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless and to soothe.
TO HOPE. When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom When no fair drearns before my mind's eye" fit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me sbed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.
TO HADST thou lived in days of old, O what wonders had been told Of thy lively countenance, And thy humid eyes that dance, In the midst of their own brightness, In the very fane of lightness; Over which thine eyebrows, leaning, Picture out each lovely meaning ! In a dainty bend they lie, Like to streaks across the sky, Or the feathers from a crow, Fallen on a bed of snow. Of thy dark hair, that extends Into many graceful bends : As the leaves of hellebore Turn to whence they sprung before. And behind each ample curl Peeps the richness of a pearl. Downward too flows many a tress With a glossy waviness, Full, and round like globes that rise From the censer to the skies Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness of thy honey'd voice; the neatness Of thine ankle lightly turn'd: With those beauties scarce discern'd, Kept with such sweet privacy, That they seldom meet the eye of the liule Loves that fly Round about with eager pry. Saving when with freshening lave, 'Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;
Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy mof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him, as the morning frightens night!
Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my painful breast a tale of sorrow, O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow: Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head !
Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
As if to glean the ruddy tears it tried, From cruel parents, or relentless fair,
Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem! O let me think it is not quite in vain
Haply it was the workings of its pride,
In strife to throw upon the shore a gem
Let me not see our country's honor fade!
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies ; From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed
Without that modest softening that enhances Beneath thy pinions canopy my head !
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates to heal again; Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps and prancos, Great Liberty! how.great in plain attire!
E'en then my soul with exultation dances With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain : Bowing her head, and ready to expire : But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender But let me see thee stoop froni Heaven on wings Heavens! how desperately do I adore That fill the skies with silver glitterings !
Thy winning graces ;—to be thy defender
I hoțly burn-to be a CalidoreAnd as, in sparkling majesty, a star
A very Red-Cross Knight-a stout LeanderGilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore. Brightening the half-veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair ; Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed,
Soft dimpled hands, while neck, and creamy breast Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest Febrsiary, 1815.
Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare.
To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd
They be of what is worthy,—though not drest IMITATION OF SPENSER.
In lovely modesty, and virtues rare.
Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark; Now Morning from her orient chamber came,
These lures I straight forget,-. e'en ere I dine,
Or thrice my palate moisten : bur when I mark And her first Tootstep touch'd a verdant hill:
Such charms with mild intelligences shine, Crowning its lavny crest with amber flame, Silvering the untainted gushes of its rill;
My ear is open like a greedy shark. Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil,
To catch the tunings of a voice divine. And, after parting beds of simple flowers,
Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being? By many streams a little lake did fill,
Who can forget her half-retiring sweets ? Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,
God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.
For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing, There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,
Who joys to see us with his gists agreeing,
Will never give him pinions, who entreats Vying with fish of brilliant dye below;
Such innocence to ruin — who vilely cheats Whose silken fins' and golden scales' light
A dove-like bosom. In truth, there is no freeing Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow: There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,
One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear And oar'd himself along with majesty ;
A lay that once I saw her hand awake,
Her form seems floating palpable, and near : Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show
Had I e'er seen her from an arbor take Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,
A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously
And o'er iny eyes the trembling moisture shako
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.
1. Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Of the bright waters; or as when on high,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cerulean
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk sky.
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thy happiness,And all around it dipp'd luxuriously
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,
In some melodious plot Which, as it were in gentle amity,
Of beechen green, and shadow's numberless Rippled delighted up the flowery side;
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
home, Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn; Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth!
The same that oft-times hath O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
Of perilous seas, in fairy-lands forlorn.
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades What thou among the leaves hast never known,
Past the near meadows, over the still stream, The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Up the hill-side; and now 't is buried deep Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
In the next valley-glades : Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Fled is that music :-Do I wake or sleep? Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness ! Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express Though the dull brain perplexes and retards :
A Howery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : Already with thee! tender is the night,
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth: Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
What mad pursuit ? What struggle to escape ? Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy! ways.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeier; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Wherewith the seasonable month endows
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ;
Bold Lover, never; never canst thou kiss, White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Though winning near the goal-yet, do not griere Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, And mid-May's eldest child,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of Mies on summer eves.
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed 6.
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu ; Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time
And, happy relodist, unwearied,
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting and for ever young; To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
All breathing human passion far above, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, In such an ecstasy!
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vainTo thy high requiem become a sod.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 7.
To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, No hungry generations tread thee down;
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? The voice I hear this passing night was heard What litle town by river or sea-shore, In ancient days by emperor and clown : Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, tan e'er return.
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming ;
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
In some untrodden region of my mind, Of marble men and maidens overwrought, Where branched thoughts, new-grown with pleasant With forest branches and the trodden weed;
pain, Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind As doth eternity : Cold Pastoral !
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees When old age shall this generation waste,
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep; Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; “ Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all And in the midst of this wide quietness Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same O GODDESS! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!
The winged Psyche wiih awaken'd eyes !
Ever let the Fancy roam,
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Mid hushid, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
Then let winged Fancy wander They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass ;
Through the thoughts still spread beyond her Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Open wide the mind's cage-door, Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
O sweet Fancy' let her loose; And ready still past kisses to outnumber
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming :
Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting : What do then? O latest-horn and loveliest vision far
Sit thee by the ingle, when Oi all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
The sear fagot blazes bright, Fairer than Phæbe's sapphire-region'd star,
Spirit of a winter's night; Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the plow boy's heavy shoon;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky. From chain-swung censer teeming ;
Sit thee there, and send abroad, No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
With a mind sell-overaw'd, Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.
Fancy, high commission'd: send her!
She has vassals to attend her: O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
She will bring, in spite of frost, Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
Beauties that the earth hath lost; When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
She will bring thee, all together, Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
All delights of summer weather; Yet even in these days so far retired
All the buds and bells of May, From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
From dewy sward or thorny spray; Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
All the heaped Autumn's wealth, I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired.
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,