The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 197 SIR W. SCOTT. THE MAID OF NEIDPATH Earl March look'd on his dying child, She's at the window many an hour And he look'd up to Ellen's bower But ah! so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling— It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes T. CAMPBELL. 198 Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art- The moving waters at their priestlike task Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— 5 No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 9 J. KEATS. 199 THE TERROR OF DEATH When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piléd books, in charact❜ry 5 Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain ; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the fairy power Of unreflecting love-then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. J. KEATS. 10 200 DESIDERIA Surprised by joy-impatient as the wind— 5 Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mindBut how could I forget thee? Through what power Even for the least division of an hour Have I been so beguiled as to be blind 10 To my most grievous loss ?—That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. W. WORDSWORTH. 201 At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky! 5 Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear, When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my Love! 'tis thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. 10 202 T. MOORE, ELEGY ON THYRZA And thou art dead, as young and fair And form so soft and charms so rare Though Earth received them in her bed, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, It is enough for me to prove That what I loved and long must love To me there needs no stone to tell Yet did I love thee to the last, Who didst not change through all the past The love where Death has set his seal Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 5 10 15 20 Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: 25 The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, 30 Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away I might have watch'd through long decay. The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, And yet it were a greater grief 35 40 To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, And show that love, however vain, And more thy buried love endears 45 50 55 680 65 70 LORD BYRON. 133 203 One word is too often profaned One feeling too falsely disdain'd на |