Her wing shall the eagle flap His warm blood the wolf shall lap By his grave ever; Never, O never! Eleu loro Never, O never! Sir W. Scott CXCIII LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 'O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. 'I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever-dew, 'I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful- —a fairy's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. 'I made a garland for her head, 'I set her on my pacing steed 'She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said "I love thee true." 'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. 'And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd- Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. 'I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried "La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam And I awoke and found me here 'And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake And no birds sing.' 'A CXCIV 7. Keats THE ROVER WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, A doublet of the Lincoln green No more of me you knew No more of me you knew. 'The morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow He turn'd his charger as he spake He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 6 Said Adieu for evermore My Love! Sir W. Scott And adieu for evermore.' CXCV THE FLIGHT OF LOVE 7HEN the lamp is shatter'd WHE The light in the dust lies dead When the cloud is scatter'd, The rainbow's glory is shed. Sweet tones are remember'd not; As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, No song when the spirit is mute Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possesst. O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home When leaves fall and cold winds come. P. B. Shelley CXCVI THE MAID OF NEIDPATH LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And love, in life's extremity Can lend an hour of cheering. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear As on the wing to meet him. |