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II

Ah, dream, too bright to last !

Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast !

A voice from out the Future cries, • On ! on !'-- but o'er the Past

(Dim gulf !) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast !

III

6

For, alas ! alas ! with me

The light of Life is o'er !

'No more--no more- no more'-
(Such language holds the solemn sea

To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar !

IV

And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams ;
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

PoE.

Hymn to Diana
QUEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair,

Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep :

Hesperus entreats thy light,

Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose ;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heav'n to clear, when day did close :

Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart

And thy crystal shining quiver ;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever :

Thou that mak’st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

JONSON.
County Guy
AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who trill'd all day,

Sits hush'd his partner nigh;
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour

But where is County Guy ?
The village maid steals through the shade,

Her shepherd's suit to hear ;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,

Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o’er earth and sky ;
And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy?

SIR W. SCOTT.

Gathering Song of Donald Dhu

PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons !
Come in your war-array,

Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe and pennon

Are at Inverlochy.

Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and

Strong hand that bears one.
Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter ;
Leave the corpse uninterr’d,

The bride at the altar ;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges :
Come with your fighting gear,

Broadswords and targes.
Come as the winds come, when

Forests are rended ;
Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded :
Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster,
Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Tenant and master.
Fast they come, fast they come ;

See how they gather !
Wide waves the eagle plume

Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set !
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Knell for the onset !

SIR W. Scott.

The Destruction of Sennacherib

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown.
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spreal his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still ?
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolld not the breath of his pride ;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail :
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword.
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !

BYRON.

The Cavalier WHILE the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, My true love has mounted his steed, and away Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o’er down,Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown! He has doff'd the silk doublet the breastplate to bear, He has placed the steel cap o'er his long-flowing hair, From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down,Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown: For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws ; Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause; His watchword is honour, his pay is renown, God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown! They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall; But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town, That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose !

Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and

Brown With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown? Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! Be his banner unconquerd, resistless his spear, Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown, In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown.

SIR W. SCOTT.

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer

Much have I travelld in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ;
Round many western islands have I been.
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne :
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and boid :
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken ;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific-and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

J. KEATS.

Song

FOR MUSIC

A LAKE and a fairy boat

To sail in the moonlight clear,-
And merrily we would float

From the dragons that watch us here !
Thy gown should be snow-white silk,

And strings of orient pearls,
Like gossamers dipped in milk,

Should twine with thy raven curls.

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