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"Yes, I have been the sport of waves,
I toiled and felt, -nor knew the rest,
"Come, all of ye Sea-Nymphs, admire
Out gushed the voice of one Sea-Nymph,"Give me the form which grows.
"I better please myself to watch
"So, I'll just feast my eyes awhile
How in the ocean's deepest depth
Is human life repeated!
By coral beds, who 've done with change,
EYES not down-dropped nor over-bright, but fed
Of her still spirit,locks not wide dispread,
Sweet lips, whereon perpetually did reign
Reverèd Isabel, the crown and head,
Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead.
Error from crime, -a prudence to withhold, The laws of marriage charactered in gold Upon the blanchèd tablets of her heart,A love still burning upward, giving light To read those laws, - an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, though undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride, A courage to endure and to obey, — A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crowned Isabel, thro' all her placid life, The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife.
The mellowed reflex of a winter moon,
With swifter movement and in purer light
The vexed eddies of its wayward brother, A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite, With clustered flower-bells and ambrosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other, Shadow forth thee: the world hath not
(Though all her fairest forms are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finished, chastened purity.
O DAY most calm, most bright!
The other days and thou
Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Man had straight forward gone
Sundays the pillars are
On which heaven's palace archèd lies:
The other days fill up the spare
Which parts their ranks and orders.
HYMN OF PAN.- Shelley.
FROM the forests and highlands
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings
I sang of the dancing stars,
And then I changed my pipings,-
It breaks in our bosom, and then we bleed :
HENCE, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born! In Stygian cave forlorn,
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights un holy,
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven sings;
There, under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess, fair and free,