IX

And there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill side.

X

I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

Who cried

"La Belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!"

XI

I saw their starved lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke, and found me here

On the cold hill side.

XII

And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

40

SOLITUDE

O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap

Of murky buildings; climb with me to the steep,Nature's observatory whence the dell, Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep

'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap

Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S

HOMER

MUCH have I traveled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

ΙΟ

That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise -
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

ON THE SEA

It keeps eternal whisperings around

Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,

That scarcely will the very smallest shell

Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell, When last the winds of heaven were unbound. Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;

Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody,

Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired!

10

TWO SONNETS ON FAME

I

FAME, like a wayward girl, will still be coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees,
But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;
She is a Gipsy, will not speak to those

Who have not learnt to be content without her;
A Jilt, whose ear was never whispered close,

Who thinks they scandal her who talk about

her;

A very Gipsy is she, Nilus-born,

Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar;

Ye love-sick Bards, repay her scorn for scorn,
Ye Artists lovelorn, madmen that ye are!
Make your best bow to her and bid adieu,
Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.

10

II

"You cannot eat your cake and have it too."

Proverb.

How fevered is the man, who cannot look
Upon his mortal days with temperate blood,
Who vexes all the leaves of his life's book,

And robs his fair name of its maidenhood;
It is as if the rose should pluck herself,
Or the ripe plum finger its misty bloom,
As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf,

Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom.
But the rose leaves herself upon the brier,
For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed,
And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire,
The undisturbèd lake has crystal space,

20

Why then should man, teasing the world for grace, Spoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed?

SONNET TO SLEEP

O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:

O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;

Then save me, or the passèd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,

Save me from curious conscience, that still lords

ΤΟ