Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod. 60 Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn;5 The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn, 70 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal-yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands dressed? What little town by river or sea shore, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? 1 historian of sylvan scenes "There is some reason for thinking that the particular urn which inspired this beautiful poem is a somewhat weather-beaten work in marble still preserved in the garden of Holland House, and figured in Piranesi's Vasi e Candelabri." -H. B. Forman. Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET† The poetry of earth is never dead: That is the Grasshopper's-he takes the lead With his delights; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES‡ That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, ON THE SEA It keeps eternal whisperings around Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, When last the winds of heaven were unbound. Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea; Or fed too much with cloying melody— WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE When I have fears that I may cease to be Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain; BRIGHT STAR! WOULD I WERE STED- | And then the old man shook his head, Bright star! would I were stedfast as thou art Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, LATE GEORGIAN BALLADS AND LYRICS ROBERT SOUTHEY (1774-1843) THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM‡ It was a summer evening; Was sitting in the sun; She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found. He came to ask what he had found, Old Kaspar took it from the boy, And with a natural sigh, "Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. 18 12 But things like that, you know, must be This sonnet was composed on the Dorsetshire "Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won, 66 Said little Wilhelmine. 54 'Nay, nay, my little girl, quoth he; 60 real value as shown by their continued popuIt was a famous victory. larity, and partly to illustrate the character and range of the minor verse of the period. At Blenheim, in Bavaria, in 1704, the British and their German allies, under the Duke of Marlborough and the Austrian Prince Eugene, defeated the French and Bavarians with great loss. |