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Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended With the brackish Dorian stream.
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main Alpheus rushed behind,
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearlèd thrones ;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones ;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams Weave a network of colored light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves Are as green as the forest's night;
Outspeeding the shark,
And the swordfish dark, Under the ocean foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts
And now from their fountains
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
SONG OF PROSERPINE
WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA
SACRED Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
If with mists of evening dew
Thou dost nourish these young flowers
Fairest children of the hours,
Breathe thine influence most divine
HYMN OF APOLLO
Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries
Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes, Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn, Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone.
Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome,
I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam ;
My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the
Are filled with my bright presence, and the air
III The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill Deceit, that loves the night and fears the
Fly me, and from the glory of my ray
Hymn of Apollo. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers
With their ethereal colors ; the moon's globe And the pure stars in their eternal bowers
Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine Are portions of one power, which is mine.
Then with unwilling steps I wander down
For grief that I depart they weep and frown. What look is more delightful than the smile With which I soothe them from the western isle ?
I am the eye with which the Universe
Beholds itself, and knows itself divine;
All prophecy, all medicine are mine,
HYMN OF PAN
We come, we come;
vi. 6 their llits, Rossetti. Hymn of Pan. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
Where loud waves are dumb
Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes,
The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus
was, Listening to my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the dædal Earth,
And Love, and Death, and Birth;
And then I changed my pipings, Singing how down the vale of Mænalus
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed. Gods and men, we are all deluded thus !
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed.