Its aërial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it

from the view:

XI.

Like a rose embowered

In its own green leaves,

By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy winged thieves.

XII.

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,

All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth sur

pass.

XIII.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine :

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine

That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

XIV.

Chorus bymeneal,

Or triumphal chaunt,

Matched with thine would be all

But an empty vaunt

A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden

want.

XV.

What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strain?

What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?

What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

XVI.

With thy clear keen joyance

Languor cannot be:

Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee:

Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

XVII.

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem

Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

Di how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

XVIII.

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not:

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught; [thought.

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest

XIX.

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;

If we were things boru

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near

XX.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground

XXI.

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow,

The world should listen then, as I am listening

now.

ΤΟ

I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden,
Thou needest not fear mine;

My spirit is too deeply laden

Ever to burthen thine

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion:

Thou needest not fear mine:
Innocent is the heart's devotion
With which I worship thine.

ODE TO LIBERTY.

Yet freedom, yet, thy banner torn but flying,
Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.

I.

A GLORIOUS people vibrated again

The lightning of the nations: Liberty,

BYRON.

From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain,

Scattering contagious fire into the sky,

Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dis

may,

And, in the rapid plumes of song,

Clothed itself sublime and strong;

As a young eagle soars the morning clouds among,
Hovering inverse o'er its accustomed prey;
Till from its station in the heaven of fame
The Spirit's whirlwind rapt it, and the ray
Of the remotest sphere of living flame
Which paves the void, was from behind it flung,
As foam from a ship's swiftness; when there

came

A voice out of the deep; I will record the same.

1

II.

The Sun and the serenest Moon sprang forth;

The burning stars of the abyss were hurled Into the depths of heaven. The dædal earth,

That island in the ocean of the world,

Hung in its cloud of all-sustaining air;
But this divinest universe

Was yet a chaos and a curse,

For thou wert not; but power from worst producing worse,

The spirit of the beasts was kindled there,

And of the birds, and of the watery forms, And there was war among them and despair

Within them, raging without truce or terms. The bosom of their violated nurse

Groaned, for beasts warred on beasts, and

worms on worms,

And men on men; each heart was as a hell of

storms.

III.

Man, the imperial shape, then multiplied
His generations under the pavilion
Of the Sun's throne: palace and pyramid,

Temple and prison, to many a swarming mil

lion

Were as to mountain wolves their ragged caves. This human living multitude

Was savage, cunning, blind, and rude, For thou wert not; but o'er the populous solitude Like one fierce cloud over a waste of waves,