Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, 9 Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the agèd men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. William Blake. CLXXXVIII ON AN ANTIQUE GEM BEARING THE HEADS OF PERICLES AND ASPASIA. This was the ruler of the land, When Athens was the land of fame; The centre of earth's noblest ring— Yet not by fetter, nor by spear, His sovereignty was held or won: Loved-but as freemen love alone, Then eloquence first flashed below; And his the sole, the sacred hand A woman sits with eye sublime,— But, if their solemn love were crime, 5 IO 15 20 He perished, but his wreath was won- 25 30 George Croly. CLXXXIX LOVE. All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, Oft in my waking dreams do I Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine stealing o'er the scene, She leaned against the armèd man, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes, and modest grace; I told her of the Knight that wore I told her how he pined and ah! Interpreted my own. She listened with a flitting blush, 25 330 35 With downcast eyes, and modest grace; Too fondly on her face. 40 But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods, And how she wept, and clasped his knees, And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain; And that she nursed him in a cave; A dying man he lay ; His dying words-but when I reached My faltering voice and pausing harp 60 65 80 I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved-she stepped aside, She half enclosed me with her arms, 85 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, I calmed her fears, and she was calm, And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous Bride. CXC 90 95 Samuel Taylor Coleridge. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; One shade the more, one ray the less, Or softly lightens o'er her face; And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! Lord Byron. |