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And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,

Subdued and cherish'd long!
She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love and virgin shame;
And, like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heaved-she stepp'd aside,
As conscious of my look she stepp'd-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,

She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And, bending back her head, look'd up,

And gazed upon my face.
'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel than see

The swelling of her heart.
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride ;
And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous bride.


OH! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, To make the shifting clouds be what you please,

Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould

Of a friend's fancy ; or, with head bent low And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold

'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go

From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous

Or, list'ning to the tide with closed sight, [land! Be that blind bard who, on the Chian strand, By those deep sounds possess'd, with inward light Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.

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Oh! never rudely will I blame his faith
In the might of stars and angels! 'Tis not merely
The human being's pride that peoples space
With life and mystical predominance :
Since likewise for the stricken heart of love,
This visible nature and this common world
Are all too narrow: yea a deeper import
Lurks in the legend told my infant years
Than lies upon

that truth we live to learn.
For fable is Love's world, his home, his birthplace;
Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays, and talismans,
And spirits; and delightedly believes
Divinities, being himself divine.
The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,
The power, the beauty, and the majesty,
That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain,
Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanish'd.
They live no longer in the faith of reason!
But still the heart doth need a language ; still
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names ;
And to yon starry world they now are gone,
Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth
With man as with their friend; and to the lover
Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky
Shoot influence down: and even at this day

"Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, And Venus who brings everything that's fair!


And if this be the science of the stars,
I too, with glad and zealous industry,
Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith.
It is a gentle and affectionate thought,
That in immeasurable heights above us,
At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven,
With sparkling stars for flowers.


Oh, my mother isle! Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy To me, a son, a brother, and a friend, A husband, and a father! who revere All bonds of natural love, and find them all Within the limits of thy rocky shores. Oh, native Britain! Oh, my mother isle! How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy To me, who, from thy lakes and mountain-hills, Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, Haye drunk in all my intellectual life, All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts, All adoration of the God in nature, All lovely and all honourable things, Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel The joy and greatness of its future being ? There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul Unborrow'd from my country. Oh divine And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole And most magnificent temple, in the which I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs, Loving the God that made me!

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man,

Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :

And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Infolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast, thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift, half intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And mid these dancing rocks, at once and ever,
It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion, Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reach'd the caverns measureless to mang

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices phrophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she play'd,

Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That, with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drank the milk of Paradise.

FELICIA HEMANS. 1793-1835.

Son of the ocean isle !

Where sleep your mighty dead ?
Show me what high and stately pile

Is reared o'er Glory's bed.
Go, stranger! track the deep,

Free, free the white sail spread!
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep,

Where rest not England's dead.
On Egypt's burning plains,

By the Pyramid o'erswayed,
With fearful power the noonday reigns,

And the palmi-trees yield no shade.

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