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 26 HYMN TO APOLLO. GOD of the golden bow, Of the patient year, Where where slept thine ire, 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 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, The seeds and roots in the Earth 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 ! LINES. UNFELT, unheard, unseen, Her languid arms in silver slumber lying Those faery lids how sleek! Those lips how moist !-they speak, In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds : 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. HUSH, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear! 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; |