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With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe's, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet,

While she held the goblet sweet,

And Jove grew languid.—Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash;

Quickly break her prison-string,
And such joys as these she'll bring.
-Let the wingéd Fancy roam!
Pleasure never is at home.

J. KEATS.

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HYMN TO THE SPIRIT OF NATURE

Life of Life! thy lips enkindle

With their love the breath between them; And thy smiles before they dwindle

Make the cold air fire; then screen them In those looks, where whoso gazes

Faints, entangled in their mazes.

Child of Light! thy limbs are burning

Through the vest which seems to hide them,

As the radiant lines of morning

Through the clouds, ere they divide them ;

And this atmosphere divinest

Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest.

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Fair are others: none beholds thee

But thy voice sounds low and tender

Like the fairest, for it folds thee

From the sight, that liquid splendour ;
And all feel, yet see thee never,—
As I feel now, lost for ever!

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Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest

Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,

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And the souls of whom thou lovest
Walk upon the winds with lightness
Till they fail, as I am failing,

Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

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P. B. SHELLEY.

WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;

And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure-
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

W. WORDSWORTH.

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273.

RUTH OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATURE

When Ruth was left half desolate
Her father took another mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods ;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seem'd to live; her thoughts her own ;
Herself her own delight :

Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay.

And, passing thus the live-long day,
She grew to woman's height.

There came a youth from Georgia's shore

A military casque he wore

With splendid feathers drest;

He brought them from the Cherokees;
The feathers nodded in the breeze

And made a gallant crest.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung:

But no! he spake the English tongue

And bore a soldier's name;

And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came.

With hues of genius on his cheek,

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In finest tones the youth could speak:

-While he was yet a boy

The moon, the glory of the sun,

And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.

He was a lovely youth! I guess

The panther in the wilderness

Was not so fair as he ;

And when he chose to sport and play,

No dolphin ever was so gay

Upon the tropic sea.

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Among the Indians he had fought;
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

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Such tales as, told to any maid

By such a youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.

He told of girls, a happy rout!

Who quit their fold with dance and shout,
Their pleasant Indian town,

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To gather strawberries all day long ;
Returning with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.

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From morn to evening dews.

He told of the magnolia, spread
High as a cloud, high over head!
The cypress and her spire ;

-Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem

To set the hills on fire.

The youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake

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With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie As quietly as spots of sky

Among the evening clouds.

'How pleasant,' then he said, 'it were A fisher or a hunter there,

In sunshine or in shade

To wander with an easy mind,

And build a household fire, and find
A home in every glade !

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'What days and what bright years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee

So pass'd in quiet bliss ;

And all the while,' said he, 'to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!'

And then he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a father's love,
'For there,' said he,' are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun.

'Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me
My helpmate in the woods to be,
Our shed at night to rear;
Or run, my own adopted bride,
A sylvan huntress at my side,
And drive the flying deer!

'Beloved Ruth !'-No more he said.
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed
A solitary tear :

She thought again-and did agree
With him to sail across the sea,

And drive the flying deer.

'And now, as fitting is and right,

We in the church our faith will plight,

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