Here, by turns, his dolphins all,
Finny palmers, great and small,
Come to pay devotion due, -
Each a mouth of pearls must strew!
Many a mortal of these days
Dares to pass our sacred ways;
Dares to touch, audaciously,
This cathedral of the sea!
I have been the pontiff-priest,
Where the waters never rest,
Where a fledgy sea-bird choir
Soars for ever! Holy fire
I have hid from mortal man;
Proteus is my Sacristan!
But the dulled eye of mortal
Hath passed beyond the rocky portal;
So for ever will I leave

Such a taint, and soon unweave
All the magic of the place."

So saying, with a Spirit's glance
He dived!

W

ΤΟ

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
Whither I bent her force,

Unintellectual, yet divine to me;
Divine, I say!

What sea-bird o'er the sea

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,
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?
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;

Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods,
Iced in the great lakes, to afflict mankind;
Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and

blind,

Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbaged meads

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

My soul upon that dazzling breast!

Let once again these aching arms be placed,

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!

HYMN TO APOLLO.

OD of the golden bow,

G And of the golden lyre,

And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer

Of the patient year,
where slept thine ire,

Where

When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,

Thy laurel, thy glory,

The light of thy story,

Or was I a worm — too low crawling, for death?
O Delphic Apollo !

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp❜d,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;

The eagle's feathery mane

For wrath became stiffen'd—the sound
Of breeding thunder

Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.

O why didst thou pity, and for a worm
Why touch thy soft lute

Till the thunder was mute,

Why was not I crush'd — such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo !

The Pleiades were up,

Watching the silent air;

The seeds and roots in the Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at its old labour,

When, who who did dare

To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow,
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly,

And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo !

UN

LINES.

NFELT, unheard, unseen,
I've left my little queen,

Her languid arms in silver slumber ly

ing:

Ah! through their nestling touch,

Who who could tell how much

There is for madness — cruel, or complying?

Into my fancy's ear

Melting a burden dear,

How "Love doth know no fulness, and no bounds."

True! tender monitors!

I bend unto your laws:

This sweetest day for dalliance was born!
So, without more ado,

I'll feel my heaven anew,

For all the blushing of the hasty morn.

1817.

SONG.

I.

but we know very well All the house is asleep, but we know very well That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may

hear,

Tho' you've padded his night-cap O sweet

Isabel!

Tho' your feet are more light than a Faery's feet,

Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet,Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear! For less than a nothing the jealous can hear.

II.

No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there

On the river, all's still, and the night's sleepy eye Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care,

Charm'd to death by the drone of the humming May-fly;

And the moon, whether prudish or complaisant Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom,

But my

Isabel's eyes, and her lips pulp'd with bloom

III.

Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly -- sweet! We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink