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His Scottish tunes and warlike marches play, By moonshine, on the balmy summer-night,
The while I dance amid the tedded hay
Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees,
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, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed
Makes the cock shrilly on the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd 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, when the stiff grass 'mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.
[FROM A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM."] Fairy. VER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
In those freckles live their savours :
"WO children in two neighbour villages
Playing mad pranks along the heathy leas;
THE SANDS O' DEE.
And call the cattle home,
The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam,
And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land
And never home came she.
Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair ?
A tress o' golden hair,
O’ drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea.
Among the stakes on Dee.
They row'd her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel crawling foam,
The cruel hungry foam,
beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee.
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.
Y heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had
drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
In some melodious plot
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song and sun-burnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stainèd mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,
Where youth grows pale and spectre-thin, and
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen ; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death, Calld him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstacy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird !
No hungry generations tread thee down ;