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Ye who have yearn'd With too much passion, will here stay and pity, For the mere sake of truth; as 't is a ditty Not of these days, but long ago 'twas told By a cavern wind unto a forest old; And then the forest told it in a dream To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam A poet caught as he was journeying To Phæbus' shrine; and in it he did fling His weary limbs, bathing an hour's space, And after, straight in that inspired place He sang the story up into the air, Giving it universal freedom. There Has it been ever sounding for those ears Whose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheers Yon sentinel stars; and he who listens to it Must surely be self-doom'd or he will rue it! For quenchless burnings come upon the heart, Made fiercer by a fear lest any part Should be ingulfed in the eddying wind. As much as here is penn'd doth always find A resting-place, thus much comes clear and plain ; Anon the strange voice is upon the waneAnd 't is but echoed from departing sound, That the fair visitant at last unwound Her gentle limbs, and left the youth asleep.Thus the tradition of the gusty deep.

And all the revels he had lorded there :
Each tender maiden whom he once thought fair,
With every friend and fellow-woodlander-
Pass'd like a dream before him. Then the spur
of the old bards to mighty deeds : his plans

To nurse the golden age 'mong shepherd clans :
That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival:
His sister's sorrow; and his wanderings all,
Until into the earth's deep maw he rush'd:
Then all its buried magic, till it flush'd
High with excessive love." And now," thought be
" How long must I remain in jeopardy
of blank amazements that amaze no more!
Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core,
All other depths are shallow: essences,
Once spiritual, are like muddy lees,
Meant but to fertilize my earthly root,
And make my branches lift a golden fruit
Into the bloom of heaven: other light,
Though it be quick and sharp enough to blight
The Olympian eagle's vision, is dark,
Dark as the parentage of chaos. Hark!
My silent thoughts are echoing from these shells;
Or are they but the ghosts, the dying swells
Of noises far away !-- list !-Hereupon
He kept an anxious ear. The humming tone
Came louder, and behold, there as he lay,
On either side out-gush'd, with misty spray,
A copious spring; and both together dash'd
Swift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash'd
Among the conchs and shells of the lofty grut,
Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shot
Down from the ceiling's height, pouring a noise
As of some breathless racers whose hopes poise

Upon the last few steps, and with spent force
Along the ground they took a winding course.
Endymion follow'd--for it seem'd that one
Ever pursued, the other strove to shun-
Follow'd their languid mazes, till well-nigh
He had left thinking of the mystery -
And was now rapt in tender hoveringe
Over the vanish'd bliss. Ah! what is it sings
His dream away? What melodies are these?
They sound as through the whispering of trees,
Not native in such barren vaults. Give ear!

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Now turn we to our former chroniclers. Endymion awoke, that grief of hers Sweet plaining on his ear: he sickly guess'd How lone he was once more, and sadly press'd His empty arms together, hung his head, And most forlorn upon that widow'd bed Sat silently. Love's madness he had known: Often with more than tortured lion's groan Moanings had burst from him ; but now that rage Had pass'd away: no longer did he wage A rough-voiced war against the dooming stars. No, he had felt too much for such harsh jars : The lyre of his soul Eolian-tuned Forgot all violence, and but communed With melancholy thought: O he had swoon'd Drunken from pleasure's nipple! and his love Henceforth was dove-like.-Loth was he to move From the imprinted couch, and when he did, 'Twas with slow, languid paces, and face hid In muffling hands. So temper'd, out he stray'd Half seeing visions that might have dismay'd Alecto's serpents; ravishments more keen Than Hermes' pipe, when anxious he did lean Over eclipsing eyes : and at the last It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast, O'er-studded with a thousand, thousand pearls, And crimson-mouthed shells with stubborn curls, Of every shape and size, even to the bulk In which whales arbor close, to brood and sulk Against an endless storm. Moreover too, Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue, Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonder Endymion sat down, and 'gan to ponder On all his lite : his youth, up to the day When ʼmid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay, He slept upon his shepherd throne : the look Of his white palace in wild forest nook,

"O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear Such tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why, Why didst thou hear her prayer! O that I Were rippling round her dainty fairness now,

Circling about her waist, and striving how To entice her to a dive! then stealing in Between her luscious lips and eyelids thin. O that her shining hair was in the sun, And I distilling from it thence to run In amorous rillets down her shrinking form! To linger on her lily shoulders, warm Between her kissing breasts, and every charm Touch raptured See how painfully I flow: Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe. Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead, A happy wooer, to the flowery mead Where all that beauty snared'me.”—“Cruel God. Desist! or my offended mistress' nod Will stagnate all thy fountains : -tease me not

With syren words—Ah, have I really got

Towards it by a sandy path, and lo! Such power to madden thee? And is it true- More suddenly than doth a moment go, Away, away, or I shall dearly rue

The visions of the earth were gone and fledMy very thoughts: in mercy then away,

He saw the giant sea above his head.
Kindest Alpheus, for should I obey
My own dear will, 't would be a deadly bane."-
“0, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a pain
Like this of mine, then would I fearless turn
And be a criminal."-" Alas, I burn,

BOOK III.
I shudder-gentle river, get thee hence.
Alpheus! thou enchanter! every sense
Of mine was once made perfect in these woods.
Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods, THERE are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave; With most prevailing tinsel : who unpen
But ever since I heedlessly did lave

Their baaing vanities, to browse away
In thy deceitful stream, a panting glow

The comfortable green and juicy hay Grew strong within me : wherefore serve me so, From human pastures; or, O torturing fact! And call it love ? Alas! 't was cruelty.

Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd Not once more did I close my happy eyes

Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe Amid the thrush's song. Away! Avaunt! Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge O'twas a cruel thing."- -"Now thou dost taunt Of sanctuary splendor, nor a sight So softly, Arethusa, that I think

Able to face an owl's, they still are dight If thou wast playing on my shady brink,

By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests, Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid ! And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts, Stifle thine heart no more ;-nor be afraid

Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount Of angry powers: there are deities

To their spirit's perch, their being's high account, Will shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs Their tip-top nothings, their dull skies, their thrones"T is almost death to hear: O let me pour

Amid the fierce intoxicating tones A dewy balm upon them fear no more,

Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabor'd drums, Sweet Arethusa! Dian's self must feel,

And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums, Sometimes, these very pangs. Dear maiden, steal In wakeful ears, like uproar past and goneBlushing into my soul, and let us fly

Like thunder-clouds that spake to Babylon, These dreary caverns for the open sky.

And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.I will delight thee all my winding course,

Are then regalities all gilded masks? From the green sea up to my hidden source

No, there are throned seats unscalable About Arcadian forests ; and will show

But by a patient wing, a constant spell, The channels where my coolest waters flow Or by ethereal things that, unconfined, Through mossy rocks; where, 'mid exuberant green, Can make a ladder of the eternal wind, I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseen

And poise about in cloudy thunder-lents Than Saturn in his exile; where I brim

To watch the abysm-birth of elements. Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate Of mealy sweets, which myriads of bees

A thousand powers keep religious state, Buzz from their honey'd wings: and thou shouldst In water, fiery realm, and airy bourn ; please

And, silent as a consecrated urn, Thyself to choose the richest, where we might Hold sphery sessions for a season due. Be incense-pillow'd every summer night.

Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few! Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness,

Have bared their operations to this globeAnd let us be thus comforted ; unless

Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe Thou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless stream Our piece of heaven-whose benevolence Hurry distracted from Sol's temperate beam, Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense And pour to death along some hungry sands.". Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, “ What can I do, Alpheus? Dian stands

As bees gorge full their cells. And by the feud Severe before me: persecuting fate!

"Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late

Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
A huntress free in"-At this, sudden fell

Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.
Those two sad streams adown a fearful dell. When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
The Latmian listen'd, but he heard no more, She unobserved steals unto her throne,
Save echo, faint repeating o'er and o'er

And there she sits most meek and most alone;
The name of Arethusa. On the verge

As if she had not pomp subservient;
Of that dark gulf he wept, and said: “I urge As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Thee, gentle Goddess of my pilgrimage,

Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
By our eternal hopes, 10 soothe, to assuage,

As if the ministering stars kept not apart,
If thou art powerful, these lovers' pains ;

Waiting for silver-footed messages.
And make them happy in some happy plains." O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees

Feel palpitations when thou lookest in:

O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din He turn'd-there was a whelming sound-he stept, The while they feel thine airy fellowship. There was a cooler light; and so he kept

Thou dost bless everywhere, with silver lip

move

Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Along his fated way.
Couch'd in thy brightness, dream of fields divine :
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,

Far had he roam'd, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes ; With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd And yet thy benediction passeth not

A bove, around, and at his feet; save things One obscure hiding-place, one little spot

More dead than Morpheus' imaginings : Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren Old rusted anchors, helmets, breastplates large Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,

Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe; And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf

Rudders that for a hundred years had lost Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief

The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps

With long-forgotten story, and wherein Within its pearly house :- The mighty deeps, No reveller had ever dipp'd a chin The monstrous sea is thine—the myriad sea! But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls, O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee, Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls And Tellus feels her forehead's cumbrous load. Who first were on the earth ; and sculptures rude

In ponderous stone, developing the mood

of ancient Nox;-then skeletons of man, Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan, Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine

And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw Such utmost beauty ? Alas, thou dost pine

Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale

These secrets struck into him; and unless For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail Dian had chased away that heaviness, His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? He might have died : but now, with cheered feel, Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye, He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal Or what a thing is love! "Tis She, but lo!

About the labyrinth in his soul of love. How changed, how full of ache, how gone in woe! She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress “What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, Dancing upon the waves, as if to please

My heart so potently? When yet a child, The curly foam with amorous influence.

I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smiled. 0, not so idle! for down-glancing thence,

Thou seem’dst my sister : hand in hand we went She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about

From eve to morn across the firmament. O'erwhelming water-courses ; scaring out

No apples would I gather from the tree, The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ning Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: Their savage eyes with unaccustom'd lightning. No tumbling water ever spake romance, Where will the splendor be content to reach ? But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance : O love! how potent hast thou been to teach No woods were green enough, no bower divide, Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, Until thou lifted'st up thine eyelids fine: In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,

In sowing-time ne'er would I dibble take, In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,

Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won. And, in the summer-ride of blossoming, Amid his toil thou gavest Leander breath ;

No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death ; And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element:

No melody was like a passing spright
And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent If it went not to solemnize thy reign.
A moonbeam to the deep, deep water-world, Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain
To find Endymion.

By thee were fashiond to the self-same end;
And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend

With all my ardors : thou wast the deep glen;
On gold sand impearld

Thou wast the mountain-top- the sage's pen-
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,

The poet's harp—the voice of friends the sun ; Poor Cynthia greeted him, and soothed her light Thou wast the river-thou wast glory won; Against his pallid face: he felt the charm

Thou wast my clarion's blast-thou wast my steedTo breathlessness, and suddenly a warm

My goblet full of wine--my topmost deed Of his heart's blood : 'twas very sweet; he stay'd

Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon !
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid O what a wild and harmonized tune
His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,

My spirit struck from all the beautiful!
To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads, On some bright essence could I lean, and lull
Lash'd from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.

Myself to immortality: I prest
And so he kept, until the rosy veils

Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest.
Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer blisk-
Were litted from the water's breast, and fann'd My strange love came-Felicity's abyss!
Into sweet air ; and sober'd morning came

She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away-
Meekly through billows :--when like ta per-flame Yet not entirely ; no, thy starry sway
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,

Has been an under-passion to this hour. He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare Now I begin to feel thine orby power

Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind!

To northern seas I'll in a twinkling sail, Keep back thine influence, and do not blind And mount upon the snortings of a whale My sovereign vision.--Dearest love, forgive To some black cloud ; thence down I'll madly sweep That I can think away from thee and live! On forked lightning, to the deepest deep, Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize

Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl'd One thought beyond thine argent luxuries !

With rapture to the other side of the world!
How far beyond !” At this a surprised start O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three,
Frosted the springing verdure of his heart; I bow full-hearted to your old decree!
For as he lifted up his eyes to swear

Yes, every God be thank'd, and power benign, How his own goddess was past all things fair, For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine. He saw far in the concave green of the sea Thou art the man!” Endymion started back An old man sitting calm and peacefully.

Dismay'd ; and, like a wretch from whom the rack Upon a wecded rock this old man sat,

Tortures hot breath, and speech of agony, And his white hair was awful, and a mat

Mutter'd : “What lonely death am I to die of weeds was cold beneath his cold thin feet; In this cold region ? Will he let me freeze, And, ample as the largest winding-sheet,

And float my brittle limbs o'er polar seas? A cloak of blue wrapp'd up his aged bones, Or will he touch me with his searing hand, O'erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans And leave a black memorial on the sand ? Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form

Or tear me piecemeal with a bony saw, Was woven in with black distinctness : storm, And keep me as a chosen food to draw And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar His magian fish through hated fire and flame? Were emblem'd in the woof; with every shape O misery of hell! resistless, tame, That skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape, Am I to be burnt up? No, I will shout, The gulfing whale was like a dot in the spell, Until the Gods through heaven's blue look out!Yet look upon it, and 't would size and swell o Tartarus! but some few days agone To its huge self; and the minutest fish

Iler soft arms were entwining me, and on Would pass the very hardest gazer's wish,

Her voice I hung like fruit among green leaves : And show his little eye's anatomy.

Her lips were all my own, and—ah, ripe sheaves Then there was pictured the regality

Of happiness! ye on the stubble droop, Of Neptune ; and the sea-nymphs round his state, But never may be garner'd. I must stoop In beauteous vassalage, look up and wait.

My head, and kiss death's foot. Love ! love, farewell! Beside this old man lay a pearly wand,

Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell And in his lap a book, the which he conn'd Would melt at thy sweet breath.—By Dian's hind So stedfastly, that the new denizen

Feeding from her white fingers, on the wind Had time to keep him in amazed ken,

I see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan, To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe. I care not for this old mysterious man!”

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The old man raised his hoary head and saw
The wilder'd stranger-seeming not to see,
His features were so liseless. Suddenly
He woke as from a trance ; his snow-white brows
Went arching up, and like two magic plows
Furrow'd deep wrinkles in his forehead large,
Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge,
Till round his wither'd lips had gone a smile.
Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil
Had watch'd for years in forlorn hermitage,
Who had not from mid-life to utmost age
Eased in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul,
Even to the trees. He rose : he grasp'd his stole,
With convulsed clenches waving it abroad,
And in a voice of solemn joy, that awed
Echo into oblivion, he said :-

He spake, and walking to that aged form,
Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan warm
With pity, for the gray-hair'd creature wept.
Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept?
Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought,
Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought,
Convulsion to a mouth of many years ?
He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.
The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt
Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt
About his large dark locks, and faltering spake :

“ Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my head
In peace upon my watery pillow: now
Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow.

Jove! I shall be young again, be young !
O shell-born Neptune, I am pierced and stung
With new-born life! What shall I do? Where go,
When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe?-
I'll swim to the syrens, and one moment listen
Their melodies, and see their long hair glisten;
Anon upon that giant's arm I'll be,
That writhes about the roots of Sicily :

“ Arise, good youth, for sacred Phæbus' sake!
I know thine inmost bosom, and I feel
A very brother's yearning for thee steal
Into mine own: for why? thou openest
The prison-gates that have so long opprest
My weary watching. Though thou know'st it not,
Thou art commission'd to this fated spot
For great enfranchisement. O weep no more ;
I am a friend to love, to loves of yore :
Ay, hadst thou never loved an unknown power,
I had been grieving at this joyous hour.
But even now most miserable old,
I saw thee, and my blood no longer cold
Gave mighty pulses: in this tottering case
Grew a new heart, which at this moment plays
As dancingly as thine. Be not afraid,
For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd,

Now as we speed towards our joyous task.” Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach. So saying, this young soul in age's mask

"Why was I not contented ? Wherefore reach Went forward with the Carian side by side : At things which, but for thee, O Latmian! Resuming quickly thus ; while ocean's tide Had been my dreary death! Fool! I began Hung swollen at their backs, and jewell'd sands To feel distemper'd longings: to desire Took silently their foot-prints.

The utmost privilege that ocean's sire

Could grant in benediction: to be free

“My soul stands Of all his kingdom. Long in misery Now past the midway from mortality,

I wasted, ere in one extremest fit And so I can prepare without a sigh

I plunged for life or death. To interknit To tell thee briefly all my joy and pain.

One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff I was a fisher once, upon this main,

Might seem a work of pain; so not enough And my boat danced in every creek and bay; Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt, Rough billows were my home by night and day,— And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt The sea-gulls not more constant; for I had Whole days and days in sheer astonishment; No housing from the storm and tempests mad, Forgetful utterly of self-intent; But hollow rocks--and they were palaces Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease :

Then, like a new-fledged bird that first doth show Long years of misery have told me so.

His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill, Ay, thus it was one thousand years ago.

I tried in fear the pinions of my will.
One thousand years !-Is it then possible

'Twas freedom! and at once I visited
To look so plainly through them? to dispel The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.
A thousand years with backward glance sublime ? No need to tell thee of them, for I see
To breathe away as 't were all scummy slime That thou hast been a witness-it must be
From off a crystal pool, to see its deep,

For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth,
And one's own image from the bottom peep? By the melancholy corners of that mouth.
Yes : now I am no longer wretched thrall, So I will in my story straightway pass
My long captivity and moanings all

To more immediate matter. Woe, alas ! Are but a slime, a thin-pervading scum,

That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair! The which I breathe away, and thronging come Why did poor Glaucus ever-ever dare Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures. To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth!

I loved her to the very white of truth, “ I touch'd no lute, I sang not, trod no measures : And she would not conceive it. Timid thing! I was a lonely youth on desert shores.

She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, My sports were lonely, 'mid continuous roars, Round every isle, and point, and promontory, And craggy isles, and sea-mews' plaintive cry From where large Hercules wound up his story Plaining discrepant between sea and sky.

Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew Dolphins were still my playmates ; shapes unseen The more, the more I saw her dainty hue Would let me feel their scales of gold and green, Gleam delicately through the azure clear: Nor be my desolation ; and, full oft,

Until 't was too fierce agony to bear; When a dread water-spout had rear'd aloft And in that agony, across my grief Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe

It flash'd, that Circe might find some relief To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe Cruel enchantress! So above the water My life away like a vast sponge of fate,

I reard my head, and look'd for Phæbus' daughter. Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state, Æva's isle was wondering at the moon: Has dived to its foundations, gulf'd it down, It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon And left me tossing safely. But the crown Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power. Of all my life was utmost quietude : More did I love to lie in cavern rude,

“When I awoke, 't was in a twilight bower ; Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune's voice, Just when the light of morn, with hum of bees, And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice!

Stole through its verdurous matting of fresh trees. There blush'd no summer eve but I would steer How sweet, and sweeter! for I heard a lyre, My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear And over it a sighing voice expire. The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep, It ceased-I caught light footsteps; and anon Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep: The fairest face that mom e'er look'd upon And never was a day of summer shine,

Push'd through a screen of roses. Starry Jove! But I beheld its birth upon the brine ;

With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she wore For I would watch all night to see unfold

A net whose thraldom was more bliss than all Heaven's gates, and Æthon snort his morning gold The range of flower'd Elysium. Thus did fall Wide o'er the swelling streams : and constantly The dew of her rich speech : "Ah! art awake! At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea,

O let me hear thee speak, for Cupid's sake! My nets would be spread out, and I at rest. I am so oppress'd with joy! Why, I have shed The poor folk of the sea-country I blest

An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead; With daily boon of fish most delicate :

And now I find thee living, I will pour They knew not whence this bounty, and elate From these devoted eyes their silver store,

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