The Golden Treasury Book Fourth CCVIII TO THE MUSES Whether on Ida's shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceased Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious winds have birth; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove Beneath the bosom of the sea, How have you left the ancient love CCIX ODE ON THE POETS Bards of Passion and of Mirth -Yes, and those of heaven commune Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites ; Of their glory and their shame; What doth strengthen and what maim :Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new! J. Keats CCX ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold Oft of one wide expanse had I been told Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: He stared at the Pacific-and all his men. J. Keats CCXI LOVE All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Oft in my waking dreams do I The moonshine stealing o'er the scene She lean'd against the armed man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, The songs that make her grieve. I play'd a soft and doleful air, She listen'd with a flitting blush, I told her of the Knight that wore I told her how he pined: and ah! She listen'd with a flitting blush, Too fondly on her face! But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came and look'd him in the face And that unknowing what he did, And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees; The scorn that crazed his brain ; And that she nursed him in a cave, His dying words-but when I reach'd All impulses of soul and sense And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, She wept with pity and delight, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved-she stepp'd aside, |