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Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be;
Until she smiled on me.
To mine they ne'er reply,
The love-light in her eye :
Her very frowns are fairer far
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ;
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion;
P. B. Shelley
THE LOST LOVE
Beside the springs of Dove;
And very few to love.
Half-hidden from the eye !
Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and O! The difference to me!
I travelld among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea ;
What love I bore to thee.
'Tis past, that melancholy dream !
Nor will I quit thy shore
To love thee more and more.
The joy of my desire ;
Beside an English fire.
The bowers where Lucy play'd ; And thine too is the last
field That Lucy's eyes survey’d.
THE EDUCATION OF NATURE
grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower On earth was never sown : This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl, in rock and plain In earth and heaven, in glade and bower Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. 'She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs ; And her's shall be the breathing balm, And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. * The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
A slumber did my spirit seal ;
I had no human fears :
The touch of earthly years.
She neither hears nor sees ;
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER
A Chieftain to the Highlands bound
Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle This dark and stormy water ?'
O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. " And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. • His horsemen hard behind us ride Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover ?' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight ' I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady :• And by my word ! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So though the waves are raging white I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arméd men, Their trampling sounded nearer.