Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray
Star-inwrought;

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out :
Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand-
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sigh'd for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

And the weary Day turn'd to his rest

Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sigh'd for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee

Shall I nestle near thy side ?
Wouldst thou me ?-And I replied
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovéd Night-
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

;

5

P. B. Shelley.

XXVI.

TO A DISTANT FRIEND.

Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ?

CCXXXIII.

5

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care-
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak!-though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine-

10

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know !

W. Wordsworth.

XXVII.

CCXXXIV.

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame :
I hear thy name spoken
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee
Who knew thee too well :
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met:
In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

Where, through groves deep and high

Sounds the far billow,

20

20

CCXXXVI.

5

Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war's rattle
With groans of the dying;
Eleu loro

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the falsehearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parted:

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;

Blessing shall hallow it

Never, O never!

Eleu loro
Never, O never!

Sir W. Scott.

CCXXXVII.

ΧΧΧ.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.

'O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Full beautiful-a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

15

'I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

20

'I set her on my pacing steed

And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song.

'She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna-dew,

And sure in language strange she said "I love thee true."

'She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore;
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

'And there she lulléd me asleep,

And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's side.

'I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all:

They cried "La belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"