Break his bands of sleep asunder
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark! the horrid sound
Has raised up his head :
As awaked from the dead
And amazed he stares around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise !
See the snakes that they rear
How they hiss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !
Behold a ghastly band
Each a torch in his hand !
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain
And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew!
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes
And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
-The princes applaud with a furious joy :
And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ;
Thais led the way
To light him to his prey,
And like another Helen, fired another Troy'


-Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus, to his breathing Aute
And sounding lyre
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
-Let old Timotheus yield the prize
Or both divide the crown ;
He raised a mortal to the skies ;
She drew an angel down !


The Passionate Shepherd

to his Love

COME live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and vallies, dales and fields,
And woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair-linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps and amber studs ;
An' if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepar'd each day for thee and me.
The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.


The Flowers o' the Forest I've heard them lilting, at the ewe-milking,

Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day; But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning ;

The Flowers o' the Forest are a’wede awae.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning ;

Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae ;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing ;

Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae.
In har’st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,

Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray ;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching ;

The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae.
At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming

'Bout stacks, wi' the lasses at bogles to play ; But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her dearie

The Flowers o' the Forest are weded awae. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border !

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; The Flowers o' the Forest, that fought aye the foremost

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking ;

Women and bairns are heartless and wae : Sighing and moaning, on ilka green loaningThe Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae.




THE skies they were ashen and sober ;

The leaves they were crisped and sere,

The leaves they were withering and sere ;
It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year ;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

In the misty mid region of Weir, -
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.


Here once, through an alley Titanic

cypress, I roamed with my Soul,-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic

Partly traditional


As the scoriac rivers that roll,

As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek

In the ultimate climes of the pole, That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek

In the realms of the boreal pole.


Our talk had been serious and sober,

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere,

Our memories were treacherous and sere ; For we knew not the month was October,

And we marked not the night of the year

(Ah, night of all nights in the year !) We noted not the dim lake of Auber

(Though once we had journeyed down here), Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.


And now, as the night was senescent,

And star-dials pointed to morn,

As the sun-dials hinted of morn, At the end of our path a liquescent

And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent

Arose with a duplicate horn, Astarte's bediamonded crescent

Distinct with its duplicate horn.


And I said, 'She is warmer than Dian :

She rolls through an ether of sighs,

She revels in a region of sighs :
She has seen that the tears are not dry on

These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion :

To point us the path to the skies

To the Lethean peace of the skies ; Come up in despite of the Lion,

To shine on us with her bright eyes ; Come up through the lair of the Lion,

With love in her luminous eyes.'


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But Psyche, uplifting her finger,

Said—' Sadly, this star I mistrust

Her pallor I strangely mistrustOh, hasten !-oh, let us not linger!

Oh, fly !-let us fly !—for we must.' In terror she spoke, letting sink her

Wings until they trailed in the dustIn agony sobbed, letting sink her

Plumes till they trailed in the dustTill they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.


I replied—This is nothing but dreaming :

Let us on by this tremulous light ;

Let us bathe in this crystalline light : Its sibyllic splendour is beaming

With hope and in beauty to-night

See !-it flickers up the sky through the night ; Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,

And be sure it will lead us aright-
We safely may trust to a gleaming

That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.'


Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,

And tempted her out of her gloom

And conquered her scruples and gloom ; And we passed to the end of a vista,

But were stopped by the door of a tomb,

By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said, “What is written, sweet sister,

On the door of this legended tomb ?'
She replied :

'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume !'





my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere,

As the leaves that were withering and sere ;
And I cried—“It was surely October

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