Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me,

Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea ; Over the rills and the crags and the hills,

Over the lakes and the plains,

I am the daughter of the earth and water;
And the nursling of the sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain, when, with never a stain,
The pavilion of heaven is bare,

The spirit he loves remains;

And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning star shines dead.

As, on the jag of a mountain crag

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,

An eagle, alit, one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings;

gleams,

Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

I rise and upbuild it again.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

FANCY IN NUBIBUS.

beneath,

Its ardors of rest and of love,

And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above,

With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove.

That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor
By the midnight breezes strewn ;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ;

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea,

Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,

Is the million-colored bow;

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,

While the moist earth was laughing below.

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,

To make the shifting clouds be what you please, Or let the easily persuaded eyes

Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mold
Of a friend's fancy; or, with head bent low,
And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold,
"Twixt crimson banks; and then a traveler go
From mount to mount, through Cloudland, gor-
geous land!

Or, listening to the tide with closed sight,
Be that blind Bard, who on the Chian strand,
By those deep sounds possessed with inward light,
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey,
Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

ODE ON A GRECIAN URN.

THOU still unravished bride of quietness!
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both,

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?

What mad pursuit? What struggles to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on ; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare.

Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal, — yet do not grieve:

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss;

Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot ched
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And happy melodist, unwearied,

Forever piping songs forever new ;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
Forever warm and still to be enjoyed,

Forever panting and forever young;
All breathing human passion far above,

That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea-shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets forevermore
Will silent be, and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral !

And, that which all faire workes doth most aggrace,*

The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place.

One would have thought (so cunningly the rude And scornèd partes were mingled with the fine) That Nature had for wantonesse ensudet Art, and that Art at Nature did repine; So striving each th' other to undermine, Each did the others worke more beautify; So diff'ring both in willes agreed in fine: So all agreed, through sweete diversity, This gardin to adorne with all variety.

And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Through every channell running one might see; Most goodly it with curious ymageree Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemed with lively iollitee To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whylest others did themselves embay‡ in liquid ioyes.

And over all, of purest gold, was spred A trayle of yvie in his native hew; For the rich metall was so coloured, That wight, who did not well avised § it vew, Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew: Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe, That, themselves dipping in the silver dew, Their fleecy flowres they fearefully did steepe, Which drops of christall seemed for wantones to

Was there consorted in one harmonee; Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters, all agree:

The ioyous birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade, Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet; Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made To th' instruments divine respondence meet; The silver-sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall; The waters fall, with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call; The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.

EDMUND SPENSER.

THE CAVE OF SLEEP.

FROM THE "FAERIE QUEENE."

HE, making speedy way through spersèd* ayre, And through the world of waters wide and deepe, To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire, Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, And low, where dawning day doth never peepe, His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.

And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,

And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sownet

Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne.‡ No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t' annoy the walled towne, Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes Wrapt in eternall silence, farre from enimyes.

EDMUND SPENSER.

UNA AND THE LION.

FROM THE "FAERIE QUEENE."

ONE day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way, From her unhastie beast she did alight; And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight; From her fayre head her fillet she undight, And layd her stole aside. Her angels face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place; Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace. • Dispersed. † Noise. Deep sleep.