From haunted spring and dale, Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn: In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol, all of blackest hue; In vain, with cymbals' ring, They call the grizzly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worship'd ark. He feels, from Juda's land, The dreaded Infant's hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn: Nor all the gods beside. Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show His Godhead true, Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fixt her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. LUCY BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Three years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower On earth was never sown: This child I to myself will take: "Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse; and with me In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the fawn, That wild with glee across the lawn, Or up the mountain springs; And hers shall be the breathing balm, Of mute insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see, E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mold the maiden's form, By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place, Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound, Shall pass into her face. "And vital feelings of delight, Shall rear her form to stately height, Such thoughts to Lucy I will give, Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake. The work was done― This heath, this calm and quiet scene; And never more will be. FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON BY ROBERT BURNS Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through the glen, How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, As gathering sweet flow 'rets she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, THE INCHCAPE ROCK BY ROBERT SOUTHEY No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, Without either sign or sound of their shock The worthy Abbot of Aberbrothock When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, |