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Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false-hearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parted:

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never! Eleu loro

Never, O never!

Sir W. Scott




The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

'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,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.'

'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,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

'I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A fairy's song.

'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 lulléd me asleep,
And there I dream'd
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.

-Ah! woe betide!

'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 With horrid warning gapéd wide, And I awoke and found me here

On the cold hill's side.

'And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake And no birds sing.'

F. Keats



WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!


To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.

A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green
No more of me you knew
My Love!
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
Ere we two meet again.'

He turn'd his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,

He gave
the bridle-reins a shake,
Said Adieu for evermore
My Love!

And adieu for evermore.'

Sir W. Scott



HEN the lamp is shatter'd
The light in the dust lies dead-

When the cloud is scatter'd,
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remember'd not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute-
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruin'd cell,
Or the mournful surges

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
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.
P. B. Shelley



LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing; And love, in life's extremity


Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower

And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower To watch her Love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Her form decay'd by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining.

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
Seem'd in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear

She heard her lover's riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd
She knew and waved to greet him,
And o'er the battlement did bend
As on the wing to meet him.

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