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Taus to be lost and thus to sink and die,
Perchance were death indeed -Constantia, turn ! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie,
Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep ;
Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap.
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet,
A breathless awe, like the swist change
Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange,
Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven
By the inchantment of thy strain, And on my shoulders wings are woven,
To follow its sublime career, Beyond the mighty moons that wane
Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, 'Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear.
Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers
O’ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, The blood of life within those snowy fingers
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.
My brain is wild, my breath comes quick
The blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick,
Fall on my overflowing eyes ;
As mo ing dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee,
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song: Flows on and fills all things with melody:
Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in trance upborne,
Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.
Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which when the starry waters sleep,
Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingeriog, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. CHARLES THE FIRST.
ACT I. SCENE I
The Pageant to ( celebrate] the arrival of the Queen.
A PURSUIVANT. Place, for the Marshal of the Masque!.
FIRST SPEAKER. 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 :
And Hell to Heaven,
THIRD SPEAKER (а youth). Yet, father, tis a happy sight to see, Beautiful, innocent, and unforbidden By God or man ;-'tis like the bright procession Of skiey visions in a solemn dream From which men wake as from a paradise, And draw new strength to tread the thorns of life. If God be good, wherefore should this he evil? And if this be not evil, dost thou not draw Unseasonable poisons from the flowers Which bloom so rarely in this harren world? 0, kill these bitter thoughts which make the present Dark as the future
When, avarice and tyranny, vigilant fear,
Rather say the Pope.
ANOTHER CITIZEN (liftiug up his eyes).
FOURTH SPEAKER (a pursuivant)