It would fall to the ground if you came in Ever brightening With a low melodious thunder; All day and all night it is ever drawn From the brain of the purple mountain Which stands in the distance yonder: It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, And it sings a song of undying love; And yet, though its voice be so clear and full, You never would hear it-your ears are so dull; So keep where you are: you are foul with sin; It would shrink to the earth if you came in. THE DYING SWAN. THE plain was grassy, wild and bare, An under-roof of doleful gray. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, Some blue peaks in the distance rose, One willow over the river wept, And far through the marish green and still The tangled watercourses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. A DIRGE. I. Now is done thy long day's work; Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Light and shadow ever wander III. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave. IV. • Crocodiles wept tears for thee; Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. V. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. VI. The gold-eyed kingcups fine, Rare broidry of the purple clover Kings have no such couch as thine, VII. Wild words wander here and there; The balm-cricket carols clear LOVE AND DEATH. WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light, Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight; Life eminent creates the shade of death; THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, When the long dun wolds are ribbed with snow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Ere the light on dark was growing, At midnight the cock was crowing, Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, In the yew-wood, black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, While blissful tears blinded my sight, I to thee my troth did plight, She watched my crest among them all. She saw me fight, she heard me call, Oriana, |