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And with poor skill let pass into the breeze

The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand

Just opposite, an island of the sea,

There came enchantment with the shifting wind,

That did both drown and keep alive my

ears.

I threw my shell away upon the sand,
Anda wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd
With that new blissful golden melody.
A living death was in each gush of
sounds,

Each family of rapturous hurried notes,
That fell, one after one, yet all at once,
Like pearl beads dropping sudden from
their string:

And then another, then another strain, Each like a dove leaving its olive perch, With music wing'd instead of silent plumes.

To hover round my head, and make me sick

Of joy and grief at once. Grief over

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The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone
In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced
The rustle of those ample skirts about
These grassy solitudes, and seen the
flowers

[fore,

Lift up their heads, as still the whisper
pass'd.
Goddess! I have beheld those eyes be-
And their eternal calm, and all that face,
Or I have dream'd."-"Yes," said the

supreme shape,

Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up

Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,
Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers,
all the vast

Unwearied ear of the whole universe
Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth
Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not
strange

That thou shouldst weep, so gifted?
Tell me, youth,

What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad

When thou dost shed a tear: explain

thy griefs

To one who in this lonely isle hath been The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life,

From the young day when first thy infant hand

Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till
thine arm

Could bend that bow heroic to all times.
Show thy heart's secret to an ancient
Power

Who hath forsaken old and sacred
thrones

For prophecies of thee, and for the sake
Of loveliness new born."-Apollo then,
With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes,
Thus answer'd, while his white melodi-
ous throat

Throbb'd with the syllables.—“ Mne-
mosyne!

Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how:

Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest?

Why should I strive to show what from thy lips

Would come no mystery? For me, dark,
dark,

And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes:
I strive to search wherefore I am so sad,
Until a melancholy numbs my limbs ;
And then upon the grass I sit, and moan,
Like one who once had wings.-O why
should I

Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the
liegeless air

Yields to my step aspirant? why

should I

Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?

Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing:

Are there not other regions than this isle?

What are the stars? There is the sun,

the sun!

And the most patient brilliance of the moon!

And stars by thousands! Point me out

the way

To any one particular beauteous star,
And I will fit into it with my lyre,
And make its silvery splendor pant with
bliss.

I have heard the cloudy thunder:
Where is power?

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