through the sorten plam We shall walk wo more through With the faved bents c'erspread, We shall stand no home by the Seething main Which the dark brace driver verhead; We shall park no more in the bound & the Rain to here thy lasts farewell was said But perhaps I shall mus the & know there afam When the sea groes of her dead 〆 ара Jean And why the lazy drones to them do prove dis- | And fully upon one his desire hath founded, I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 't is my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers Lightning, my pilot, sits: Fain I'd have it proved, by one whom love hath In a cavern under is fettered the thunder; wounded, It struggles and howls by fits. Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move Over the lakes and the plains, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning star shines dead. As, on the jag of a mountain crag Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle, alit, one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings; And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea O, IT is pleasant, with a heart at ease, beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mold Or, listening to the tide with closed sight, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. When the powers of the air are chained to my Is the million-colored bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. THOU still unravished bride of quietness! A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What mad pursuit? What struggles to escape? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare. Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal, — yet do not grieve: She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss ; Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Forever piping songs forever new; Forever panting and forever young; That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets forevermore Will silent be, and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. DRIFTING. My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, JOHN KEATS. Swims round the purple peaks remote: Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim The mountains swim; While, on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands, The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not, if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; - Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild, Is Heaven's own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled ;The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail; A joy intense, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where Summer sings and never dies, O'erveiled with vines, She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gamboling with the gamboling kid; Or down the walls, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, |