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By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow

To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret

By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak

Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers ;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That

grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,

Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance

Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wildernesses ;
linger by my shingly bars ;
I loiter round my cresses ;

And out again I curve and flow

To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

TENNYSON.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY.

A. wight,

Alone and palely loitering ? The sedge is wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,

So haggard and so woe-begone ?

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I see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever-dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

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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 set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing

A fairy's song.
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.

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 gazed and sighèd deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes

So kiss'd to sleep.

And there we slumber'd on the moss,

And there I dream'd, ah woe betide, The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill-side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; Who cried “ La belle Dame sans mercy

Hath thee in thrall !”

I saw their starved lips in the gloom

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

On the cold hill-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

KEATS.

SONNET.

(THE SENSE OF LOSS.]

URPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind
I turn’d to share the transport-oh! with

whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find ?
Love, faithful love, recall’d thee to my mind
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss ?—That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

WORDSWORTH.

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

CW

YHILD, amidst the flowers at play,

While the red light fades away ;
Mother, with thine earnest eye
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve
Call'd thy harvest work to leave;
Pray! ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee !

a

Traveller, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world

gone ;
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor, on the darkening sea ;
Lift the heart and bend the knee !

Warrior, that from battle won
Breathest now at set of sun ;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain
Weeping on the burial plain ;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,
Heaven's first star alike ye see, -
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

FELICIA HEMANS.

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