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Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
Stanzas Written In Dejection Near Napi.ks.
'HE sun is warm, the sky is clear,
Around its unexpanded buds;
The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods,
I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple sea-weeds strown;
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean
Arises from its measured motion—
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor that content, surpassing wealth,
And walked with inward glory crowned—
Others I see whom these surround—
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
And weep away the life of care
Till death like sleep might steal on me,
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
Some might lament that I were cold,
As I when this sweet day is gone,
Insults with this untimely moan;
Whom men love not,—and yet regret;
Shall on its stainless glory set,
MUSIC, when soft voices die,
Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead,
A Ballad Of Roncesvalles.
"THHOU hast not been with the festal throng
.*. At the pouring of the wine, Men bear not from the hall of song So dark a mien as thine! There 's blood upon thy shield, There 's dust upon thy plume, Thou hast brought from some disastrous field That brow of wrath and gloom.'
'And is there blood upon my shield?
Maiden, it well may be!
We have given the founts a stain
'The ground is wet—but not with rain;
We have been in war array,
Hath bathed her soil to-day.
I have seen the strong man die,
'In the"gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait
There are helms and lances cleft;
'Alas for love, for woman's breast,
If woe like this must be! Hast thou seen a youth with an eagle crest And a white plume waving free? With his proud quick-flashing eye, And his mien of kingly state, Doth he come from where the swords flashed high In the Roncesvalles' Strait?'
• In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait
I saw, and marked him well;
'Thou canst not say that he lies low,
The lovely and the brave?
And think upon his grave l Dark, dark perchance the day Hath been with valour's fate; But he is on his homeward way From the Roncesvalles' Strait.
'There is dust upon his joyous brow,
And o'er his graceful head,
The Homes Of England.
THE stately homes of England,
O'er all the pleasant land!
Through shade and sunny gleam,
The merry homes of England—
Around their hearths by night,
Meet in the ruddy light!
Or childhood's tale is told;
Some glorious page of old.
The blessed homes of England,
How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath hours!