THE SWAN AND THE SKY-LARK.

Adieu, adieu! my plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades.

Higher still and higher

KEATS.

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

SHELLEY.

MIDST the long reeds that o'er a Grecian stream

Unto the faint wind sigh'd melodiously,

And where the sculpture of a broken shrine

Sent out, thro' shadowy grass and thick wild flowers,

Dim alabaster gleams-a lonely Swan
Warbled his death-chaunt; and a poet stood
Listening to that strange music, as it shook
The lilies on the wave; and made the pines
And all the laurels of the haunted shore

Thrill to its passion. Oh! the tones were sweet,
Ev'n painfully—as with the sweetness rung
From parting love; and to the Poet's thought
This was their language.

"Summer, I depart!

O light and laughing summer, fare thee well!
No song the less thro' thy rich woods will swell,
For one, one broken heart.

Ye will not mourn! ye will shed odour still,

And wave in glory, colouring every rill,

Known to my youth's fresh hours.

THE SWAN AND THE SKY-LARK.

85

And ye, bright founts, that lie

Far in the whispering forests, lone and deep,

My wing no more shall stir your shadowy sleep

Will ye not send one tone

Of sorrow thro' the pines ?-one murmur low?

Shall not the green leaves from your voices know That I, your child, am gone?

No, ever glad and free !

Ye have no sounds a tale of death to tell,

Waves, joyous waves, flow on, and fare

Ye will not mourn for me.

ye well!

But thou, sweet boon, too late

Pour'd on my parting breath, vain gift of song!

Why com'st thou thus, o'ermastering, rich and strong,

In the dark hour of fate?

Only to wake the sighs

Of echo-voices from their sparry cell;

Only to say-O sunshine and blue skies!

O life and love, farewell!"

Thus flow'd the death-chaunt on; while mournfully
Low winds and waves made answer, and the tones
Buried in rocks along the Grecian stream,
Rocks and dim caverns of old Prophecy,

Woke to respond: and all the air was fill'd

With that one sighing sound-"Farewell, Farewell!"
-Fill'd with that sound? high in the calm blue heaven
Ev'n then a Sky-lark hung; soft summer clouds
Were floating round him, all transpierced with light,
And midst that pearly radiance his dark wings
Quiver'd with song:-such free triumphant song,
As if tears were not,—as if breaking hearts
Had not a place below-and thus that strain
Spoke to the Poet's ear exultingly.

THE SWAN AND THE SKY-LARK.

87

"The summer is come; she hath said, 'Rejoice!' The wild woods thrill to her merry voice;

Her sweet breath is wandering around, on high;
--Sing, sing thro' the echoing sky!

"There is joy in the mountains; the bright waves leap,

Like the bounding stag when he breaks from sleep; Mirthfully, wildly, they flash along

-Let the heavens ring with song!

"There is joy in the forests; the bird of night Hath made the leaves tremble with deep delight; But mine is the glory to sunshine given

Sing, sing thro' the echoing heav'n!

"Mine are the wings of the soaring morn, Mine are the fresh gales with day-spring born: Only young rapture can mount so high

-Sing, sing thro' the echoing sky!"