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OT Aladdin magian Ever such a work began; Not the wizard of the Dee Ever such a dream could see; Not St. John, in Patmos' isle, In the passion of his toil, When he saw the churches seven, Golden aisled, built up in heaven, Gazed at such a rugged wonder! As I stood its roofing under, Lo! I saw one sleeping there, On the marble cold and bare; While the surges washed his feet, And his garments white did beat, Drenched about the sombre rocks; On his neck his well-grown locks, Lifted dry above the main, Were upon the curl again. "What is this? and what art thou? Whispered I, and touch'd his brow; "What art thou? and what is this? Whispered I, and strove to kiss The spirit's hand, to wake his eyes; Up he started in a trice : "I am Lycidas," said he, "Fam'd in fun'ral minstrelsy! This was architectur'd thus By the great Oceanus! Here his mighty waters play Hollow organs all the day;
Here, by turns, his dolphins all,
Such a taint, and soon unweave
All the magic of the place."
HAT can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have
Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
O say, love, say,
In my old liberty?
When every fair one that I saw was fair,
And ever ready was to take her course
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?
Foisted into the canon law of love;
Seize on me unawares,
Where shall I learn to get my peace again?
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
And great unerring Nature once seems wrong.
O, for some sunny spell
To dissipate the shadows of this hell!
Say they are gone,
My soul upon that dazzling breast!
Let once again these aching arms be placed,
And let me feel that warm breath here and there
with the new dawning light
To spread a rapture in my very hair,
HYMN TO APOLLO.
OD of the golden bow,
GOD And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
Of the patient year,
Where where slept thine ire,
too low crawling, for death? O Delphic Apollo !
Or was I a worm
The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
For wrath became stiffen'd