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Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
Like many a voice of one delight,
I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple seaweeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore,
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found,
And walked with inward glory crownedNor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surroundSmiling 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;
Some might lament that I were cold,
As I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Unlike this day, which, when the sun.
THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year
On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Come, months, come away,
Of the dead cold year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.
The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling,
For the year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling;
Come, months, come away;
Put on white, black, and grey;
Let your light sisters play
Ye, follow the bier
Of the dead cold year,
And make her grave green with tear on tear.
THE MASK OF ANARCHY
WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE MASSACRE AT MANCHESTER.
As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
I met Murder on the way—
All were fat; and well they might
For one by one, and two by two,
Next came Fraud, and he had on,
And the little children, who
Had their brains knocked out by them.
Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
And many more Destructions played
Last came Anarchy: he rode
And he wore a kingly crown;
With a pace stately and fast,
And a mighty troop around,
And with glorious triumph, they
Of the wine of desolation.
O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
And each dweller, panic-stricken,
For with pomp to meet him came,
"We have waited, weak and lone "For thy coming, Mighty One! "Our purses are empty, our swords are cold. "Give us glory, and blood, and gold."
Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
Then all cried with one accord,
'Be thy name made holy now!"
And Anarchy, the Skeleton,
Had cost ten millions to the nation,
For he knew the Palaces
Of our Kings were nightly his;
So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
When one fled past, a maniac maid,