Methought I fainted at the charmed touch,

Yet held my recollection, even as one Who dives three fathoms where the waters run

Gargling in beds of coral: for anon,

I felt upmounted in that region Where falling stars dart their artillery forth,

And eagles struggle with the buffeting north

That balances the heavy meteor-stone ;Felt too, I was not fearful, nor alone, But lapp'd and lull'd along the dangerous sky.

Soon, as it seem'd, we left our journeying high,

And straightway into frightful eddies swoop'd;

Such as aye muster where gray time has scoop'd

Huge dens and caverns in a mountain's

side:

Web & milgo wert to Well bed, RB, how

sigh'd

To faint once more by looking on my

bliss

To take in draughts of life from the gold fount

Of kind and passionate looks; to count, and count

The moments, by some greedy help that seem'd [deem'd A second self, that each might be reAnd plunder'd of its load of blessedness. Ah, desperate mortal! I ev'n dar'd to press

Her very cheek against my crowned lip, And, at that moment, felt my body dip Into a warmer air: a moment more, Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store

Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes

A scent of violets, and blossoming limes, Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells, Made delicate from all white-flower bells;

And once, above the edges of our nest, An arch face peep'd,-an Oread as I guess'd.

"Why did I dream that sleep o'erpower'd me

FROM BOOK II

INVOCATION TO THE POWER OF LOVE

O SOVEREIGN power of love! O grief! O balm !

All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm,

And shadowy, through the mist of passed years:

For others, good or bad, hatred and tears Have become indolent; but touching thine,

One sigh doth echo, one poor sob doth pine,

One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days.

The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze,

Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades,

Struggling, and blood, and shrieks-all dimly fades

Into some backward corner of the brain; Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet. Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat!

Swart planet in the universe of deeds! Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds

Along the pebbled shore of memory!
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified
To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd
and dry.

But wherefore this? What care, though owl did fly

About the great Athenian admiral's mast?

What care, though striding Alexander past

The Indus with his Macedonian numbers? Though old Ulysses tortured from his

slumbers

But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;

so constant to me, and so kind:
I would deceive her

And so leave her,

! she is so constant and so kind.

Reneath my palm trees, by the river side,

sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide There was no one to ask me why I wept,And so I kept

Brimming the water-lily cups with tears Cold as my fears.

Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,

I sat a-weeping: what enamor'd bride, Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,

But hides and shrouds

Beneath dark palm trees by a river side?

"And as I sat, over the light blue hills There came a noise of revellers: the rills Into the wide stream came of purple hue

'Twas Bacchus and his crew! The earnest trumpet spake, and silver

From

thrills

kissing cymbals made a merry

din

And cold mushrooms;

For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;

Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth!

Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
To our mad minstrelsy!

"Over wide streams and mountains great
we went,
[tent.

And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy
Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
With Asian elephants:
Onward these myriads-with song and
dance,

With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,

Web-footed alligators, crocodiles, Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files, Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil

Of seamen, and stout galley-rower's toil: With toying oars and silken sails they glide,

Nor care for wind and tide.

I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown Before the vine-wreath crown! I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing To the silver cymbals' ring!

I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
Old Tartary the fierce!
The kings of Inde their jewel-sceptres
vail,

And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;

Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,

And all his priesthood moans, Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.

Into these regions came I following him,

Sick-hearted, weary-so I took a whim To stray away into these forests drear Alone, without a peer:

And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.

ROBIN HOOD

No! those days are gone away,
And their hours are old and gray,
And their minutes buried all
Under the down-trodden pall
Of the leaves of many years:
Many times have winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of the forest's whispering fleeces.
Since men knew nor rent nor leases.

No, the bugle sounds no more,
And the twanging bow no more ;
Silent is the ivory shrill

Past the heath and up the hill;
There is no mid-forest laugh,
Where lone Echo gives the half
To some wight, amaz'd to hear
Jesting, deep in forest drear.

On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you,
Or the polar ray to right you;
But you never may behold
Little John, or Robin bold;
Never one, of all the clan,
Thrumming on an empty can
Some old hunting ditty, while
He doth his green way beguile
To fair hostess Merriment,
Down beside the pasture Trent ;
For he left the merry tale
Messenger for spicy ale.

Gone, the merry morris din ;
Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
Idling in the "grené shawe;'
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his turfed grave,
And if Marian should have
Once again her forest days,
She would weep, and he would craze:
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
Have rotted on the briny seas:
She would weep that her wild bees
Sang not to her-strange! that honey
Can't be got without hard money!

So it is: yet let us sing. Honor to the old bow-string! Honor to the bugle-horn! Honor to the woods unshorn! Honor to the Lincoln green!