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And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
Subdued and cherish'd long!
I heard her breathe my name.
She fled to me and wept.
And gazed upon my face.
The swelling of her heart.
My bright and beauteous bride.
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
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!
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey
FROM “ WALLENSTEIN."
Translated from the German of Schiller.
Oh! never rudely will I blame his faith
'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,
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!
KUBLA KHAN, OR A VISION IN A DREAM.
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Down to a sunless sea.
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion, Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man,
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 ;
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
In a vision once I saw:
Singing of Mount Abora.
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! Ånd 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.
Where sleep your mighty dead ?
Is reared o'er Glory's bed.
Free, free the white sail spread!
Where rest not England's dead.
By the Pyramid o'erswayed,
And the palmi-trees yield no shade.