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So I kissed her and brought her, my Dane, my Dane,
And they said: 'He is young, the lad we love,
how we deem of his mother, and one gone above,
He brings us a pledge-he will do his part
with the best of his race and name:' and I will, for I look to live, sweetheart, as may suit with my mother's fame.
IKE to Diana in her summer weed,
as fair Aurora in her morning grey,
like lovely Thetis on a calméd day,
her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
of fair Samela;
her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams,
thus fair Samela;
passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
for she's Samela;
Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,
yield to Samela.
WOW each Creature joys the other,
passing happy days and hours:
one bird reports unto another,
in the fall of silver showers;
(babbling guest of rocks and hills,)
whilst that she her lover kills:
and well he ends, for love who dies.
of Fortune or Disdain,
and to my ashes lend a tear;
melt the hard marble with your groans,
whose cold embraces the sad subject hide,
no profane numbers must flow near
upon my dismal grave
such offerings as you have,
for kinder flowers can take no birth,
THE RUINS OF BABYLON
UCH are the visions green and sweet
in Asia's sea-like plain,
where slowly, round his isles of sand,
winds towards the pearly main.
Slumber is there, but not of rest;
What shapeless form half lost on high,
and watch, from Babel's crumbling heap,
With half closed eye a lion there
But where are now his eagle wings,
from half the nations, till they own
TO THE NIGHTINGALE
`OND lonely bird, the friend of darkling night,
at thy soft plaint, enchanted with delight,
the moon's pale car halts in her midnight way; the winds their blustering cease; the bird's glad train crouched in deep silence cease their melody;
while I, attendant on that sweet sad strain,
in fancy hear each Muse, each Grace, in thee.
ON THE DEATH OF LORD BYRON IN GREECE
OT length of life,-not an illustrious birth
rich with the noblest blood of all the earth; nought can avail, save deeds of high emprize, our mortal being to immortalize.— Sweet child of song, thou sleepest; ne'er again shall swell the notes of thy melodious strain: yet, with thy country wailing o'er thy urn,
Pallas, the Muse, Mars, Greece and Freedom mourn.
and harnessed victory, struggling, to my car, Napoleon,-proof of Fortune's fickle turn, lie on this rock, without a friend or urn. Shout, despots, at your triumphs-'Tis but vain: high towers my Eagle yet and scents the slain. What needs a monument?-Pile on my tomb the Pyramids, Vienna, Moscow, Rome.
ON THE STATUE OF APOLLO
TO THE SCULPTOR
F that Prometheus stole the fire divine,
He did but warm to life the senseless clod,
a present God! as on that form I gaze,
a present God! I cry, in wild amaze:
fresh from the triumph, glorying in his might, the all-conquering Archer, lord of heat and light, Apollo's self, confest before our eyes,
bounds on the base, new-lighted from the skies.
4. To the dark and silent tomb
scarce the dawn of life began
only born to weep and die.