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3.

3.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed;

soul

Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear;
And floating about the under-sky,
Prevailing in weakness, the coronach
stole ;

Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear,
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;
As when a mighty people rejoice

Chanteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny?
Let them rave.

Thou wilt never raise thine head
From the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

4.

Crocodiles wept tears for thec;
The woodbine and eglatere
Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.
Let them rave.

Rain makes music in the tree

With shawms, and with cymbals, and O'er the green that folds thy grave.

harps of gold,

And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd Thro' the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. [ing weeds, And the creeping mosses and clamberAnd the willow-branches hoar and dank,

[reeds, And the wavy swell of the soughing And the wave-worn horns of the echoing band, [throng And the silvery marish-flowers that The desolate creeks and pools among, Were flooded over with eddying song.

A DIRGE.

I.

Now is done thy long day's work;
Fold thy palms across thy breast,
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.
Let them rave.

Shadows of the silver birk
Sweep the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

2.

Thee nor carketh care nor slander;
Nothing but the small cold worm
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.
Let them rave.
Light and shadow ever wander
O'er the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

Let them rave.

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Oh! what a happy life were mine Under the hollow-hung ocean green! Soft are the moss-beds under the sea; We would live merrily, merrily.

THE MERMAID.

I.

WHO would be
A mermaid fair,
Singing alone,
Combing her hair
Under the sea,
In a golden curl
With a comb of pearl,
On a throne?

2.

I would be a mermaid fair; I would sing to myself the whole of the day; [my hair; With a comb of pearl I would comb And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, [me? "Who is it loves me? who loves not I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall,

Low adown, low adown,
From under my starry sea-bud crown
Low adown and around, [gold
And I should look like a fountain of
Springing alone

With a shrill inner sound,

Over the throne

In the midst of the hall:

Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps

Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate [of me. With his large calm eyes for the love And all the mermen under the sea Would feel their immortality

Die in their hearts for the love of me. 3.

But at night I would wander away, away, [flowing locks, I would fling on each side my lowAnd lightly vault from the throne and play [rocks; With the mermen in and out of the

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sea.

We would run to and fro, and hide and seek, [son shells, On the broad sea-wolds in the crimWhose silvery spikes are nighest the [shriek, But if any came near I would call, and And adown the steep like a wave I would leap [from the dells; From the diamond-ledges that jut For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list, [sea; Of the bold merry mermen under the They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me,

In the purple twilights under the sea; But the king of them all would carry

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SONNET TO J. M. K.

My hope and heart is with thee-thou wilt be

A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest To scare church-harpies from the master's feast; [thee;

Our dusted velvets have much need of Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws, Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily;

But spurr'd at heart with fieriest energy To embattail and to wall about thy cause With iron-worded proof, hating to hark The humming of the drowsy pulpitdrone [worn-out clerk Half God's good sabbath, while the Brow-beats his desk below. Thou from a throne [dark Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark.

POEMS.

(PUBLISHED 1832.)

[This division of this volume was published in the winter of 1832. Some of the poems have been considerably altered. Others have been added, which, with one exception, were written in 1833.]

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

PART I.

ON either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by

To many tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs forever
By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Camelot :
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot : And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, ""Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."

PART II.

THERE she weaves by night and day
A magic web of colors gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot : There the river eddy whiris, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot ;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,

And music, went to Camelot :
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

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