FAERY SONG.

SHED no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! O dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies-

Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!

'Mong the blossoms white and red

Look up, look up.

I flutter now

On this fresh pomegranate bough.

See me! 'tis this silvery bill

Ever cures the good man's ill.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, Adieu-I fly, adieu,

I vanish in the heaven's blue

Adieu, Adieu !

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.

A BALLAD.

I.

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,

· Full beautiful-a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery song.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,

And sure in language strange she said— "I love thee true."

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's side.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried-" La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!"

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

THE EVE OF ST. MARK.

(UNFINISHED.)

UPON a Sabbath-day it fell;
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell,
That call'd the folk to evening prayer;
The city streets were clean and fair
From wholesome drench of April rains,
And, on the western window panes,
The chilly sunset faintly told
Of unmatured green, valleys cold,
Of the green thorny bloomless hedge,
Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge,
Of primroses by shelter'd rills,
And daisies on the aguish hills.

Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell:
The silent streets were crowded well
With staid and pious companies,
Warm from their fireside orat❜ries;
And moving, with demurest air,
To even-song, and

vesper prayer.