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While 'gainst his forehead he devontly press'd Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
A hand Heaven made to succor the distress'd; Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend :
A hand that from the world's bleak promontory
Had lifted Calidore for deeds of Glory.

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.

from yon;

Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated, For, indeed, 't is a sweet and peculiar pleasure
The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted

(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

To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning
Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm

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
Softly the breezes from the forest came,

Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold ?
Softly they blew aside the taper's Name ;
Clear was the song from Philomel's far hower;

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,

martis ?
As that of busy spirits when the portals
Are closing in the West; or that soft humming
We hear around when Hesperus is coming.

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 ?


Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art


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
In the coolness of the morn.
O, if thou hadst breathed then,
Now the Muses had been ten.
Couldst thou wish for lineage higher
Than twin-sister of Thalia ?
At least for ever, evermore
Will I call the Graces four,
Hadst thou lived when chivalry
Lifted up her lance on high,
Tell me what thou wouldst have been?
Ah! I see the silver sheen
Of thy broider'd floating vest
Cov'ring half thine ivory breast :
Which, O Heavens! I should see,
But that cruel Destiny
Has placed a golden cuirass there,
Keeping secret what is fair.
Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested,
Thy locks in knightly casque are rested :
O'er which bend four milky plumes,
Like the gentle lily's blooms
Springing from a costly vase.
See with what a stately pace
Comes thine alabaster steed;
Servant of heroic deed!
O'er his loins, his trappings glow
Like the northern lights on snow.
Mount his back! thy sword unsheath!
Sign of the enchanter's death;
Bane of every wicked spell;
Silencer of dragon's yell.
Alas! thou this wilt never do:
Thou art an enchantress too,
And wilt surely never spill
Blood of those whose eyes can kill.

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,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright

Should sad Despondency my musings fright,

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,
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air !

In strife to throw upon the shore a gem
Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, Outvying all the buds in Flora's diadem.
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.
In the long vista of the years to roll,

Let me not see our country's honor fade!
C let me see our land retain her soul !

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.
From such fine pictures, Heavens! I cannot dare

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
Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
That in that fairest lake had plared been,
I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;

Or rob from aged Lear his-biller teen :
For sure so fair a place was never seen

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.
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
And with thee fade away into the forest dim: To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

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,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pipe at them beyond to-morrow.


1. 4.

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,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
But here there is no light,

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.

2. 5

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,
I have been half in love with easeful Death, For ever piping songs for ever new;
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, More happy love! more happy, happy love!
To take into the air my quiet breath ;

For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

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,

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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 ;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat

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 the wreathed trellis of a working brain,

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,
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung,

A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,

To let the warm Love in!
Even into thine own soft-couched ear:
Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see

The winged Psyche wiih awaken'd eyes !
I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,

Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof

Ever let the Fancy roam,
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran Pleasure never is at home :
A brooklet, scarce espied :

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,
At tender eye-dawn of Aurorean love:

And the enjoying of the Spring
The winged boy I knew;

Fades as does its blossoming :
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?

Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
His Psyche true!

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,
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,

And the caked snow is shuffled
Nor altar heap'd with flowers;

From the plow boy's heavy shoon;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan

When the Night doth meet the Noon
Upon the midnight hours;

In a dark conspiracy
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet

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:
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan

She will mix these pleasures up
Upon the midnigbt lours;

Like three fit wines in a cup,


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