191 HAPPY INSENSIBILITY In a drear-nighted December, The north cannot undo them In a drear-nighted December, About the frozen time. Ah, would 'twere so with many But were there ever any To know the change and feel it, Was never said in rhyme. 192 J. KEATS. Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, 5 Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Never again to wake, Never, O never! Eleu loro! 10 15 Never, O never ! 20 Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle Eleu loro! There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the falsehearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted: Shame and dishonour sit Blessing shall hallow it By his grave ever ; Never, O never! Eleu loro! Never, O never! 25 30 35 40 SIR W. SCOTT. 193 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI ‘O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the Lake, 'O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 'I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, 'I met a Lady in the Meads, Full beautiful-a fairy's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, 15 'I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, 20 And sure in language strange she said "I love thee true." 'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, 30 'And there she lulléd me asleep, And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide ! The latest dream I ever dreamt On the cold hill side. 'I saw pale Kings and Princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried-" La belle Dame sans Merci Thee hath in thrall !" 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gapéd wide. And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here 35 40 Though the sedge is wither'd from the Lake And no birds sing.' 45 J. KEATS. 194 THE ROVER 'A weary lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A doublet of the Lincoln green— My Love! No more of me you knew. 'This morn is merry June, I trow, 5 10 But she shall bloom in winter snow He turn'd his charger as he spake 15 He gave his bridle-reins a shake, My Love! 20 SIR W. SCOTT. And adieu for evermore.' 195 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE When the lamp is shattered, The light in the dust lies dead— When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour 5 Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render 10 No song when the spirit is mute— No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges 15 That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest; To endure what it once possest. 20 The weak one is singled O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier ? Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee Like the sun from a wintry sky. 25 25 |
