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On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro,
Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears.
But 0, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers,
Makes the cock shrilly on the rain storm crow,
To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wrecked sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice re-measures 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.
ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.
sparrow, the dove,
weather, And singing, and loving—all come back together. But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he“I love my Love, and my Love loves me!”
Ah! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams
In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; Nor while half-listening, ʼmid delicious dreams,
To harp and song from lady's band and voice;
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell ;
Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,
And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark ! Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings,
Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark ! Cling to the shrouds !" In vain! The breakers roar
Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,
No classic roamer, but a ship-wrecked man !
Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame ? The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name
Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,
Or absent or no more! shades of the Past, Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,
O dear as long as life and memory last !
I send with deep regards of heart and head,
Sweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to thee: And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.
TO A YOUNG LADY.
ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.
Why need I say, Louisa dear!
A lovely convalescent;
And feverish heat incessant.
The sunny showers, the dappled sky,
Their vernal loves commencing,
With their sweet influencing.
while in bed you lay,
and seemed to say, How can we do without her?
Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew,
In the place where you were going :
And Heaven is overflowing!
INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK
O LEAVE the lily on its stem ;
And listen to my lay.
A cypress and a myrtle bough
Its murmurs in the wind.
And now a tale of love and woe,
And trembles on the string.
But most, my own dear Genevieve,
Befell the Dark Ladie !*
And now, once more a tale of woe,
And trembles on the string.
* Here followed the Stanzas, afterwards published separately under the title “Love” (see p. 198), and after them came the other three stanzas printed above; the whole forming the introduction to the intended Dark Ladie, of which all that exists is subjoined.
When last I
the cruel scorn, That crazed this bold and lovely knight, And how he roamed the mountain woods,
Nor rested day nor night;
I promised thee a sister tale,
Befell the Dark Ladie.
THE BALLAD OF THE DARK LADIE.
BENEATH yon birch with silver bark,
the moss she sits, The Dark Ladie in silent pain; The heavy tear is in her eye,
And drops and swells again.
Three times she sends her little page
that wears The Griffin for his crest.