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Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
With the brackish Dorian stream.
Alpheus rushed behind,
As an eagle pursuing
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Weave a network of colored light;
And up through the rifts
They passed to their Dorian home.
And now from their fountains
Down one vale where the morning basks,
They ply their watery tasks.
Beneath the Ortygian shore,
When they love but live no more.
SONG OF PROSERPINE
WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA
SACRED Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
If with mists of evening dew
Thou dost nourish these young flowers
Song of Proserpine, Published by Mrs. Shelley, 18391.
Breathe thine influence most divine
HYMN OF APOLLO
THE sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,
Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,
Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome,
My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the
Are filled with my bright presence, and the air
The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill
All men who do or even imagine ill
Fly me, and from the glory of my ray
Hymn of Apollo. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers With their ethereal colors; the moon's globe And the pure stars in their eternal bowers
Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine Are portions of one power, which is mine.
I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven,
Then with unwilling steps I wander down Into the clouds of the Atlantic even;
For grief that I depart they weep and frown. What look is more delightful than the smile With which I soothe them from the western isle?
I am the eye with which the Universe
All prophecy, all medicine are mine,
HYMN OF PAN
FROM the forests and highlands
e come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,
vi. 6 their its, Rossetti.
Hymn of Pan. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
Where loud waves are dumb
The cicale above in the lime,
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed. Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed.