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Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sun.

burnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippo.

crene,

Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the

skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands

dressed? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful cit

adel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious

morn ? And, little town, thy streets for ever

more Will silent be.; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er re

turn.

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the

world unseen, And with thee fade away into the

forest dim :

O Attic shape! Fair attitude ! with

brede Of marble men and maidens over

wrought, With forest branches and the trodden

weed ; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of

thought As doth eternity : Cold Pastoral ! When old age shall this generation

waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other Than qurs, a friend to man, to whom

thou say'st, “ Beauty is truth, truth beauty, ".

that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know,

1819. January, 1820.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast

never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each

other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray

hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre

thin, and dies ; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her

lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond

to-morrow,

woe

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE

My heart aches, and a drowsy numb

ness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had

drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards

had sunk: "Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiThat thou, light winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and

shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated

ease.

Away! away ! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his

pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and

retards : Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her

throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;

But here there is no liglit, Save what from heaven is with the

breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and

winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my

feet, Nor wliat soft incense hangs upon the

boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each

sweet Whe with

seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree

wild ;

ness.

O, for a draught of vintage ! that hath been

[earth, Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved

ODE ON MELANCHOLY

White hawthorn, and the pastoral

eglantine ; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves ;

And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy

wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on

summer eves.

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poi.

sonous wine ; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade, ruby grape of Proser

pine ; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth

be Your mournful Psyche, nor the

downy owl A partner in your sorrow's mysteries ; For shade to shade will come too

drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of

the soul.

Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful

Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused

rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no

pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have

ears in vain

To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal

Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee

down; The voice I hear this passing night was

heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a

path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when,

sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn :

The same that oft-times bathi Charm'd magic casements, opening

on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands for

lorn.

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Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole

self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem

fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

[deep Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried

In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music :--Do I wake or

sleep? May, 1819, July, 1819.

TO AUTUMN

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing

sun;

Sat gray;

Conspiring with him how to load and

HYPERION bless With fruit the vines that round the

A FRAGMENT thatch-eves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage

BOOK I, trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the

DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale

Far sunken from the healthy breath of core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the

moin, hazel shells

Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one With a sweet kernel; to set budding

star,

y-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, more, And still more, later flowers for the

Still as the silence round about his lair ; bees,

Forest on forest hung about his head Until they think warm days will never

Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was

there, cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their

Not so much life as on a summer's day clammy cells.

Robs not one liglit Seed from the

feather'd grass, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy

But where the dead leaf fell, there did

it rest. store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may

A stream went voiceless by, still dead

ened more find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

By reason of his fallen divinity. Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing Spreading a shade : the Naiad 'mid her

reeds wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips, Drows'd with the fume of poppies,

Along the margin-sand large foot. while thy hook

marks went, Spares the next swath and all its

No further than to where his feet had twined flowers :

stray'd, And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost

And slept there since. Upon the sodden keep

ground Steady thy laden head across a brook ;

His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

dead, Thou watchest the last oozings hours Unsceptred ; and his realmless eyes by hours.

were closed ;

While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning Where are the songs of Spring? Ay,

to the Earth, where are they?

His ancient mother, for some comfort Think not of them, thou hast thy mu

yet. sic too,While barred clouds bloom the soft- It seem'd no force could wake him dying day,

from his place; And touch the stubble-plains with But there came one, who with a kindred rosy hue ;

hand Then in a wailful choir the small gnats Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bend. mourn

ing low Among the river sallows, borne aloft With reverence, though to one who knew Or sinking as the light wind lives or

it not. dies ;

She was a Goddess of the infant world ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from By her in stature the tall Amazon hilly bourn ;

Had stood a pigmy's height: she would Hedge-crickets sing; and now with

have ta'en treble soft

[croft ; Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; The red-breast whistles from a garden- Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel. And gathering swallows twitter in Her face was large as that of Memphian the skies.

sphinx,
September, 1819, 1820. Pedestald haply in a palace court,

When sages look'd to Egypt for their

lore. But oh! how unlike marble was that

face: How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's

self. There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun : As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen

rear Was with its stored thunder laboring up. One hand she press'd upon that aching

spot Where beats the human heart, as if just

there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain ; The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words

she spake In solemn tenor and deep organ tone: Some mourning words, which in our

feeble tongue Would come in these like accents; O

how frail To that large utterance of the early

Gods ! “Saturn, look up !—though wherefore,

poor old King ? I have no comfort for thee, no not one : I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'

searth For heaven is parted from thee, and the Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a

God; And ocean too, with all its solemn noise, Has from thy sceptre pass'd ; and all

the air Is emptied of thine hoary majesty. Thy thunder, conscious of the new com

mand, Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house: And thy sharp lightning in unpractised

liands Scorches and burns our once

domain. Oaching time! O moments big as years ! All as ye pass swell out the monstrous

truth, And press it so upon our weary griefs That unbelief has not a space to breathe. Saturn, sleep on :-0 thoughtless, why

did I Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude ? Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes ? Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I

weep.

As when, upon a tranced summer

night, Those green-rob’d senators of mighty

woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the

earrest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without

a stir, Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies

off, As if the ebbing air had but one wave; So came these words and went; the

while in tears She touch'd her fair large forehead to

the ground, Just where her falling hair might be

outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet. One moon, with alteration slow, had

shed Her silver seasons four upon the night, And still these two were postured mo

tionless, Like natural sculpture in cathedral care

ern; The frozen God still couchant on the

earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet : Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom

gone, And all the gloom and sorrow of the

place, And that fair kneeling Goddess; and

then spake, As with a palsied tongue, and while his

beard Shook horrid with such aspen-malady:

O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face ; Look up, and let me see our doom in it; Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the

voice Of Saturn ; tell me, if this wrinkling

brow, Naked and bare of its great diadem, Peers like the front of Saturn. Who

had power To make me desolate ? whence came the

strength ? How was it nurtur'd to such bursting

forth, While Fate seem'd strangled in my

nervous grasp?
But it is so ; and I am smother'd up,
And buried from all godlike exercise
Of influence benign on planets pale,

serene

• Tliis cheers our fallen house: come

to our friends, O Saturn ! come away, and give them

heart; I know the covert, for thence came I

hither." Thus brief ; then with beseeching eyes

she went With backward footing through the

shade a space : He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the

way Through aged bouglıs, that yielded like

the mist Which eagles cleave upmounting from

their nest.

Of admonitions to the winds and seas, Of peaceful sway above man's harvest

ing, And all those acts which Deity supreme Doth ease its heart of love in.--I am gone Away from my own bosom : I have left My strong identity, my real self, Somewhere between the throne, and

where I sit Here on this spot of earth. Search,

Thea, search ! Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them

round Upon all space : space starr'd, and lorn

of light; Space region'd with life-air ; and barren

void ; Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.Search, Thea, search ! and tell me, if

thou seest A certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile: it must-it

must Be of ripe progress-Saturn must be

King. Yes, there must be a golden victory; There must be Gods thrown down, and

trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells; and there

shall be Beautiful things made new, for the sur

prise Of the sky-children ; I will give com

mand: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?"

nian unsecure :

Meanwhile in other realms big tears

were shed, More sorrow like to this, and such like

woe, Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of

scribe : The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison

bound, Groan'd for the old allegiance once more, And listen'l in sharp pain for Saturn's

voice. But one of the whole mammoth-brood

still kept His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty ;Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire Still sat, still snuff’d the incense, teeming

up From

to the sun's God; yet For as among us mortals omens drear Fright and perplex, so also shuddered

heNot at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated

screech, Or the familiar visiting of one Upon the first toll of his passing-bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve, Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace

bright Bastion d with pyramids of glowing gold, And touch'd with shade of bronzed

obelisks, Glar'd a blood-red through all its thou

sand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries ; And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds Flush'd angerly : while sometinies eagle's

wings, Unseen before by Gods or wondering

(were heard, Darkend the place; and neighing steeds

This passion lifted him upon his feet, And made his hands to struggle in the air, His Druid locks to shake and ooze with

sweat, His eyes to fever ont, bis voice to cease. He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing

deep; A little time, and then again he snatch'd Utterance thus.--" But cannot I create ? Camot I form ? Cannot I fashion forth Another world, another universe. To overbear and crumble this to nought? Where is another chaos ? Where?"That word

[quake Found way unto Olympus, and made The rebel three.-Thea was startled up, And in her bearing was a sort of hope, As thus she quick-voio'd spake, yet full

of awe.

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