Of fragrant-curtain'd love begins to weave

The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight; But, as I've read love's missal through to-day, He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

LINES TO FANNY.

WHAT

HAT can I do to drive away

Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen,

Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my old liberty?

When every fair one that I saw was fair,
Enough to catch me in but half a snare,

Not keep me there :

When, howe'er poor or particolour'd things,
My muse had wings,

And ever ready was to take her course

5

10

Whither I bent her force,

Unintellectual, yet divine to me;

Divine, I say!-What sea-bird o'er the sea.

15

Is a philosopher the while he goes

Winging along where the great water throes?

How shall I do

To get anew

Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more
Above, above

The reach of fluttering Love,

And make him cower lowly while I soar?
Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism,

20

A heresy and schism,

Foisted into the canon law of love ;No, wine is only sweet to happy men; More dismal cares

Seize on me unawares,—

Where shall I learn to get my peace again?

25

30

To banish thoughts of that most hateful land,
Dungeoner of my friends, that wicked strand
Where they were wreck'd and live a wrecked life;
That monstrous region, whose dull rivers pour,
Ever from their sordid urns unto the shore,
Unown'd of any weedy-haired gods;

35

Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods,
Ic'd in the great lakes, to afflict mankind;

Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and blind,
Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbag'd meads 40
Make lean and lank the starv'd ox while he feeds;

There bad flowers have no scent, birds no sweet song,

And great unerring Nature once seems wrong.

O, for some sunny spell

To dissipate the shadows of this hell!

Say they are gone,-with the new dawning light
Steps forth my lady bright!

O, let me once more rest

45

My soul upon that dazzling breast!

Let once again these aching arms be plac'd,

50

The tender gaolers of thy waist!

And let me feel that warm breath here and there

To spread a rapture in my very hair,—

O, the sweetness of the pain!

Give me those lips again!

Enough! Enough! it is enough for me
To dream of thee!

55

SONNET TO FANNY.

I CRY your mercy-pity-love!—aye, love!

Merciful love that tantalizes not,

One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmask'd, and being seen-without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,-all-all-be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,-those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,-
Yourself your soul-in pity give me all,

Withhold no atom's atom or I die,

Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life's purposes,-the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!

SONNET TO GEORGE KEATS:

WRITTEN IN SICKNESS.

BROTHER belov'd if health shall smile again,
Upon this wasted form and fever'd cheek:
If e'er returning vigour bid these weak
And languid limbs their gladsome strength regain,
Well may thy brow the placid glow retain

Of sweet content and thy pleas'd eye may speak
The conscious self applause, but should I seek
To utter what this heart can feel, Ah! vain

E E

Were the attempt! Yet kindest friends while o'er My couch ye bend, and watch with tenderness The being whom your cares could e'en restore, From the cold grasp of Death, say can you guess The feelings which these lips can ne'er express; Feelings, deep fix'd in grateful memory's store.

La Belle Dame sans Merci.

I.

AH, what can ail thee, wretched wight,

Alone and palely loitering;

The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

2.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,

So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

3.

I see a lilly on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

4.

I met a lady in the meads

Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

5.

I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery's song.

6.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

7.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.

8.

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she gaz'd and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes— So kiss'd to sleep.

9.

And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,

The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill side.

IO.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cry'd-"La belle Dame sans merci Hath thee in thrall!"