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That sometimes from the savage den,
In green and sunny glade,
This miserable Knight!
The Lady of the Land ! And how she wept, and claspt his knees; And how she tended him in vain And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain.
MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill berped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray, Soil'd beneath the common tread,
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Whirr'd along the yellow vale, Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Love the dalliance of the gale.
MAIDEN, that with sullen brow
Sitst behind those virgins gay, Like a scorch'd and mildew'd bough,
Leafless 'mid the blooms of May!
Him who lured thee and forsook,
Oft I watch'd with angry gaze, Fearful saw his pleading look,
Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
O give me, from this heartless scene releas'd, To hear our old musician, blind and gray, (Whom stretching from my nurse's arms I
kist) His Scottish tunes and warlikc marches play, By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night, The while I dance amid the tedded hay With merry maids, whose ringlets toss in
light. Or lies the parple evening on the bay Of the calm glossy lake, oh let me hide Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees Around whose roots the fisher's boat is tied, On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at
ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, Breathes in bis flute sad airs, 60 wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
Soft the glances of the youth,
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; But no sound like simple truth,
But no true love in his eye. Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence!
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast felt that vice is woe:
Inly arm’d, go, Maiden! go. Mother sage of Self-dominion,
Firm thy steps, oh Melancholy! The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion
Is the memory of past folly. Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn,
Or the bean-field's odorous blooms:
But oh, dear Anne! when midnight-wind
careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly in the rain-storm
crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The Things of Nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass, mid the heath-plant
waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze,
Soon with renovated wing
Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-star spring And embathe in hcavenly light.
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT
Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
Through city-crowds must push his way, Heaves the prond Harlot her distended breast, To stroll alone throngh fields and woode, In intricacies of laborions song.
And hallow thus the Sabbath-Day.
If I had but two little wings,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.
The world is all one's own. Nor while half - listning, 'mid delicious But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone. To harp and song from lady's hand and
Sleep stays not, though a inonarch bids :
So I love to wake ere break of day: Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood
For though my sleep be gone, On cliff, or cataract, in alpine dell;
Yet, while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed And still dreams on.
strew'd, Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;
THE HAPPY HUSBAND. Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he
Ort, oft methinks, the while with Thee And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
Pity, hark !
And dedicated name, I hear Now mounts, now totters on the Tempest's A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life,
A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
With happiness beyond desert,
Nor bless I not the keener sense
Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying; Say then, what muse inspir'd these genial But born beneath Love's brooding wing,
And into tenderness soon dying,
chief, the name A more precipitated vein
Of notes, tbat eddy in the flow Of Gratitude! Remembrances of Friend, of smoothest song, they come, they go,
Or absent or no more! Shades of the Past. And leave their sweeter understrain Which Love makes Substance! Hence to Its own sweet self-a love of Thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be! O dear as long as life and memory last!
thee I send,
Η Υ Μ Ν
From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CRAMOUNY. For ever shattered and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life, Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which have Your strength, your speed, your fury, and their sources on the foot of Mount-Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and
your joy, within a few paces of the Glaciers the Gentiana Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? Major grows in immense numbers, with its And who commanded (and the silence came), flowers of loveliest blue.
Here let the billows stiffen and have rest? Hast thou a charm to stay the MorningStar
Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the Mountain's In his steep course ? So long he seems to
Adown enormous ravines slope amainOn thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ! Torrents, methinks, that heard a unighty The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Voice, Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! And stopp'd at once amid their maddest Risest from forth thy silent Sea of Pince,
plunge! How silently! Around thee and above Motionless Torrents! silent Cataracts! Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, Who made you glorious as the Gates of An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it,
Heaven As with a wedge! But when I look again, Beneath the keen full Moon? Who bade the It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Sun Thy habitation from eternity!
Cloath you with rainbows? Who, with O dread and silent Mount! I gaz'd upon thee,
living flowers Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your Didst vanish from my thought: entranc'd
feet? in prayer
GoD! let the Torrents, like a shout of Nations I worshipped the Invisible alone. Answer! and let the Ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing ye meadow - streams with glad
some voice! Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soulSo sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
like sounds! Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with And they too have a voice, yon piles of my thought,
snow, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy : And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfus'd, Into the mighty vision passing-there As in her natural form, swellid vast to Ye living flowers that skirt th' eternal heaven!
frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's
nest! Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountainThou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
storm! Mute thanks and secret extacy! Awake, Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the Voice of sweet song! Awake, my Heart,
clouds ! awake!
Ye signs and wonders of the element! Green Vales and icy Cliffs, all join my Hymn. Utter forth God, and fill the hills with
praise! Thou first and chief, sole Sovran of the Vale!
Thou too, hoar mount! with thy skyO struggling with the Darkness all the night,
po'nting peaks, And visited all night by troops of stars, Oft from whose feet the Avalanche, unheard, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : Shoots downward, glittering thro' the pure Companion of the Morning-Star at dawn,
serene, Thyself Earth's ROSY STAR, and of the dawn Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breastCo-herald! wake, O wake, and utter praise! Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth? That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low Who fill'd thy Countenance with rosy light? In adoration, upward from thy base Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams ? Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffus'd with
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! To rise before me-Rise, o ever rise, Who call'd you forth from night and utter Rise like a cloud of Incense, from the Earth!
Thou hingly Spirit throned among the hillo,
Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to! ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM
Heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent Sky, ON THE 1st op FEBBUARY, 1796. And tell the Stars, and tell yon rising Sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises Sweet Flower! that peeping from thy Gop.
russet stem Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort TH dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd L 1 N E S
With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower! WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGBRODE, IN These are but fatteries of the faithless year. HARTZ-FOREST.
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
Ev'n now the keen North-East is on its way. I stood on Brocken's sovran height, and Flower that must perish ! shall I liken thee
To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills, Nipp’d byConsumption’mid untimely charms? A surging scene, and only limited
Or to Bristowa's Bard, the wonderous boy! By the blue distance. Heavi my way An Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to Downward I dragg’d through fic- groves
Blooming 'mid poverty's drear wintry waste, Where bright green mods heaves in sepul- Till Disappointment came and pelting Wrong
Beat it to Earth ? or with indignant grief Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope,
Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening The sweet bird's song became an hollow
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly,
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes Preserved its solemn murnur most distinct Weaving in inoral strains, I've stolen one From many a note of many a waterfall,
hour And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose islet From anxious SELF, Life's cruel Task-Master!
And the warm wooings of this sunny day The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell
Tremble along my frame and harmonize Leapt frolicsome, or old romantic goat
Th’ attemper'd organ, that even saddest Sat, bis white beard slow waving. I moved on
thoughts In low and languid mood : for I had found Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive
tunes Their finer influence from the life within:
Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined o dear, dear England ! how my longing eye Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is Turned westward, shaping in the steady To sit beside our cot, our cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broadThy sands and high white cliffs ! My native
leav'd Myrtle, Land!
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) Filled with the thought of thee this heart And watch the clouds, that late were rich was proud,
with light, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all Slow sad’ning round, and mark the star of eve
Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be) From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents Floated away, like a departing dream,
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses
so hush'd! Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, The stilly murmur of the distant Sea With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, Tells us of Silence. And that simplest Late. That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement. That God is every where! the God who
hark ! framed
How by the desultory breeze caress'd, Mankind to be one mighty Family,
Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, Himself our Father, and the world our Home. It pour's such sweet upbraidings, as must