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Where early violets die
Eleu loro !
There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving : There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving ; There thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never !
Eleu loro ! Never, O never !
Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Ruin, and leave her ?
Borne down by the flying,
Eleu loro !
Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the falsehearted ;
Ere life be parted :
Eleu loro !
40 SIR W. SCOTT.
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
• O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering ?
And no birds sing.
So haggard and so woebegone ?
And the harvest's done. 'I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.'
Full beautiful- a fairy's child,
And her eyes were wild.
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ;
And made sweet moan. ' I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A fairy's song. "She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said
"I love thee true.'s
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
. And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide ! The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.
'I saw pale Kings and Princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; They cried—“La belle Dame sans Merci Thee hath in thrall ! "
' I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gapéd wide, And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill's 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.'
A weary lot is thine !
And press the rue for wine.
A feather of the blue,
The rose is budding fain;
Ere we two meet again.'
Upon the river shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
My Love !
20 SIR W. SCOTT.
195 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE When the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies deadWhen the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not ;
Loved accents are soon forgot.
10 The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is muteNo song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.
Love first leaves the well-built nest ;
20 O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier ? Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high ; Bright reason will mock thee
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
30 Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.
P. B. SIIELLEY.
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH
O lovers' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' ears in hearing ; And love, in life's extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering.
And slow decay from mourning,
To watch her love's returning.
Her form decay'd by pining,
You saw the taper shining.
Across her cheek was flying ; By fits so ashy pale she grew
Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Seem'd in her frame residing ;
She heard her lover's riding ;
She knew and waved to greet him,
As on the wing to meet him.
As o'er some stranger glancing ;
Lost in his courser's prancing