The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies; It seemed he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes, So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, [mute, He played an ancient ditty, long since In Provence called "La belle dame sans mercy: " Close to her ear touching the melody, Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan; He ceased, she panted quick, and suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone. :0: PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822. THE PINE FOREST. WE wandered to the pine forest The whispering waves were half asleep, The smile of heaven lay; It seemed as if the hour were one We paused amid the pines that stood And soothed by every azure breath To harmonies and hues beneath, Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, As still as in the silent deep How calm it was !-the silence there The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. There seemed, from the remotest seat Of the wide mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced: A spirit interfused around, A thrilling silent life, To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife ;And still, I felt, the centre of The magic circle there Was one fair form, that filled with love We paused beside the pools that lie More perfect both in shape and hue Sweet views, which in our world above An atmosphere without a breath, Like one beloved the scene had lent Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest, Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out. THE RAVINE. I REMEMBER Two miles on this side of the fort, the road Crosses a deep ravine; 'tis rough and narrow, And winds with short turns down the precipice; And in its depth there is a mighty rock, Sustained itself with terror and with toil The melancholy mountain yawns. Below ever. The meeting boughs and implicated leaves He sought in Nature's dearest haunt, some In rainbow and in fire, the parasites, Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around The grey trunks, and as gamesome infants' eyes, With gentle meanings and most innocent wiles, [that love, Fold their beams round the heart of those These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs, Uniting their close union; the woven leaves Make network of the dark blue light of day, And the night's noontide clearness, mutable As shapes in the weird clouds. Soft mossy lawns Beneath these canopies extend their swells, Fragrant with pèrfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms Minute yet beautiful. One darkest glen Sends from its woods of musk-rose, twined with jasmine, A soul-dissolving odour, to invite To some more lovely mystery. Through the dell, Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep Their noonday watch, and sail among the shades [a well, Like vaporous shapes half seen; beyond, Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave, Images all the woven boughs above, noon. A MOUNTAIN SCENE. ON every side now rose Rocks, which in unimaginable forms Lifted their black and barren pinnacles In the light of evening, and its precipice Obscuring the ravine, disclosed above, 'Mid toppling stones, black gulfs, and yawning caves, [tongues Whose windings gave ten thousand various To the loud stream. Lo! where the pass expands Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks, And seems, with its accumulated crags, To overhang the world: for wide expand Beneath the wan stars and descending moon Islanded seas, blue mountains, mighty [gloom streams, Dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous Of leaden-coloured even, and fiery hills Yet the grey precipice, and solemn pine, And torrent, were not all: one silent nook Was there. Even on the edge of that vast mountain, Upheld by knotty roots and fallen rocks, It overlooked in its serenity [stars. The dark earth, and the bending vault of It was a tranquil spot, that seemed to smile Even in the lap of horror. Ivy clasped The fissured stones with its entwining arms, And did embower with leaves for ever green, And berries dark, the smooth and even space Of its inviolate floor; and here The children of the autumnal whirlwind bore, [decay, In wanton sport, those bright leaves, whose Red, yellow, or ethereally pale, Rival the pride of summer. 'Tis the haunt Of every gentle wind, whose breath can teach The wilds to love tranquillity. :0: THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1777-1844. THE FALL OF POLAND. O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, [smile, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to When leagued Oppression poured to Nor[hussars, thern wars Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, [trumpet horn; Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her H The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight, The dullest sailer wearing bravely now, So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. [high: And oh, the little warlike world within! The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,* The hoarse command, the busy humming din, When, at a word, the tops are manned on Hark to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry, [tackle glides; While through the seaman's hand the Or schoolboy midshipman that, standing by, Strains his shrill pipe, as good or ill betides, And well the docile crew that skilful urchin [guides. White is the glassy deck without a stain, Where on the watch the staid lieutenant walks: Look on that part which sacred doth remain For the lone Chieftain, who majestic stalks Silent and feared by all: not oft he talks With aught beneath him, if he would pre[baulks That strict restraint, which, broken, ever Conquest and Fame; but Britons rarely [strength to nerve. From law, however stern, which tends their serve swerve Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail, That lagging barks maymake their lazyway, Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay, To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze! [day, What leagues are lost before the dawn of The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel We have once loved, though love is at an end: The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal, Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. [to bend, Who with the weight of years would wish When Youth itself survives young Love and joy? Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Death hath but little left him to destroy ! Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy? Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, And flies unconscious o'er each backward To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, [fold; With the wild flock that never needs a Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean: This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled. [of men, But, 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; [tress! Minions of splendour shrinking from disNone that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flattered, followed, sought, and sued: This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! MOONLIGHT. THE moon is up, and yet it is not night; Sunset divides the sky with her: a sea |