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227

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,

The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might :
The breath of the moist earth is light
Around its unexpanded buds ;

Like many a voice of one delight-
The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods—
The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.

I see the Deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple seaweeds strown ;

I see the waves upon the shore,

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Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
I sit upon the sands alone;

The lightning of the noontide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion—

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How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content, surpassing wealth,
The sage in meditation found,

And walked with inward glory crowned—
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ;
Others I see whom these surround-

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Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

Yet now despair itself is mild

Even as the winds and waters are;

I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care

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Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me,

And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. P. B. SHELLEY.

228

THE SCHOLAR

My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old :

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
I live in long-past years,

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Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,

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And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on

Through all Futurity;

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

R. SOUTHEY.

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229

THE MERMAID TAVERN
Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his Maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.
I have heard that on a day
Mine host's signboard flew away
Nobody knew whither, till
An astrologer's old quill

To a sheepskin gave the story—
Said he saw you in your glory ·
Underneath a new-old Sign

Sipping beverage divine,

And pledging with contented smack

The Mermaid in the Zodiac.

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Souls of Poets dead and gone

What Elysium have ye known

Happy field or mossy cavern-
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?

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J. KEATS.

230

THE PRIDE OF YOUTH

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early;

Sweet Robin sits on the bush
Singing so rarely.

'Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?'
When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye.'

Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?'

The grey-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.

The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;

The owl from the steeple sing

Welcome, proud lady.'

SIR W. SCOTT.

231

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

One more Unfortunate

Weary of breath, Rashly importunate,

Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements,
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,

Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her-
All that remains of her

Now is pure womanly.

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