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The Blue Poetry Book
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THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
PART I
It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three.’By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?The Bridegroom’s doors are open’d wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May’st hear the merry din.’He holds him with his skinny hand,‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’Eftsoons his hand dropt he.He holds him with his glittering eye —The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years’ child:The Mariner hath his will.The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:‘The ship was cheer’d, the harbour clear’d,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the light-house top.‘The Sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he!And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea.‘Higher and higher every dayTill over the mast at noon – ’The Wedding-Guest here beat his breastFor he heard the loud bassoon.The Bride hath paced into the hall,Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:‘And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o’ertaking wings,And chased us south along.‘With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roar’d the blast,And southward aye we fled.‘And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast high, came floating by,As green as emerald.‘And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken —The ice was all between.‘The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d,Like noises in a swound!‘At length did cross an Albatross,Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soulWe hail’d it in God’s name.‘It ate the food it ne’er had eat,And round and round it flew.The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steer’d us through.‘And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariners’ hollo!‘In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perch’d for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,Glimmer’d the white moon-shine.’‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!From the fiends, that plague thee thus! —Why look’st thou so?’ – ‘With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross!’PART II
‘The Sun now rose upon the right:Out of the sea came he,Still hid in mist, and on the leftWent down into the sea.‘And the good south wind still blew behind,But no sweet bird did follow,Nor any day for food or playCame to the mariners’ hollo!‘And I had done a hellish thing,And it would work ’em woe:For all averr’d, I had kill’d the birdThat made the breeze to blow.Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,That made the breeze to blow!‘Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,The glorious Sun uprist:Then all averr’d, I had kill’d the birdThat brought the fog and mist.‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,That bring the fog and mist.‘The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,The furrow stream’d off free;We were the first that ever burstInto that silent sea.‘Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down‘Twas sad as sad could be;And we did speak only to breakThe silence of the sea!‘All in a hot and copper sky,The bloody Sun, at noon,Right up above the mast did stand,No bigger than the Moon.‘Day after day, day after day,We struck, nor breath nor motion;As idle as a painted shipUpon a painted ocean.‘Water, water, everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water, everywhere,Nor any drop to drink.‘The very deep did rot: O Christ!That ever this should be!Yea, slimy things did crawl with legsUpon the slimy sea.‘About, about, in reel and routThe death-fires danced at night;The water, like a witch’s oils,Burnt green and blue, and white.‘And some in dreams assured wereOf the spirit that plagued us so;Nine fathom deep he had followed usFrom the land of mist and snow.‘And every tongue, through utter drought,Was wither’d at the root;We could not speak, no more than ifWe had been choked with soot.‘Ah! well a-day! what evil looksHad I from old and young!Instead of the Cross, the AlbatrossAbout my neck was hung.’PART III
‘There pass’d a weary time. Each throatWas parch’d, and glazed each eye.A weary time! A weary time!How glazed each weary eye!When looking westward, I beheldA something in the sky.‘At first it seem’d a little speck,And then it seem’d a mist;It moved and moved, and took at lastA certain shape, I wist.‘A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!And still it near’d and near’d:As if it dodged a water-sprite,It plunged and tack’d and veered.‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,We could nor laugh nor wail;Through utter drought all dumb we stood!I bit my arm, I suck’d the blood,And cried, “A sail! a sail!”‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,Agape they heard me call:Gramercy! they for joy did grin,And all at once their breath drew in,As they were drinking all.‘See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!Hither to work us weal;Without a breeze, without a tide,She steadies with upright keel!‘The western wave was all a-flame,The day was well-nigh done!Almost upon the western waveRested the broad bright Sun;When that strange shape drove suddenlyBetwixt us and the Sun.‘And straight the Sun was fleck’d with bars,(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,With broad and burning face.‘Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)How fast she nears and nears!Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,Like restless gossameres?‘Are those her ribs through which the SunDid peer, as through a grate?And is that Woman all her crew?Is that a Death? and are there two?Is Death that woman’s mate?‘Her lips were red, her looks were free,Her locks were yellow as gold:Her skin was as white as leprosy,The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she,Who thicks man’s blood with cold.‘The naked hulk alongside came,And the twain were casting dice;“The game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!”Quoth she, and whistles thrice.‘The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out;At one stride comes the dark;With far-heard whisper, o’er the seaOff shot the spectre-bark.‘We listen’d and look’d sideways up!Fear at my heart, as at a cup,My life-blood seem’d to sip!The stars were dim, and thick the night,The steersman’s face by his lamp gleam’d white;From the sails the dew did drip —Till clomb above the eastern barThe horned Moon, with one bright starWithin the nether tip.‘One after one, by the star-dogg’d Moon,Too quick for groan or sigh,Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang,And cursed me with his eye.‘Four times fifty living men,(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropped down one by one.‘The souls did from their bodies fly, —They fled to bliss or woe!And every soul, it pass’d me by,Like the whizz of my cross-bow!’PART IV
‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!I fear thy skinny hand!And thou art long, and lank, and brownAs is the ribbed sea-sand.‘I fear thee and thy glittering eye,And thy skinny hand, so brown.’ —‘Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!This body dropt not down.‘Alone, alone, all all alone,Alone on a wide, wide sea!And never a saint took pity onMy soul in agony.‘The many men, so beautiful!And they all dead did lie:And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on; and so did I.‘I look’d upon the rotting sea,And drew my eyes away;I look’d upon the rotting deck,And there the dead men lay.‘I look’d to Heaven, and tried to pray;But or ever a prayer had gusht,A wicked whisper came, and madeMy heart as dry as dust.‘I closed my lids, and kept them close,And the balls like pulses beat;For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the skyLay like a load on my weary eye,And the dead were at my feet.‘The cold sweat melted from their limbs,Nor rot nor reek did they:The look with which they look’d on meHad never pass’d away.‘An orphan’s curse would drag to HellA spirit from on high;But oh! more horrible than thatIs the curse in a dead man’s eye!Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,And yet I could not die.‘The moving Moon went up the sky,And nowhere did abide:Softly she was going up,And a star or two beside —Her beams bemock’d the sultry main,Like April hoar-frost spread;But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,The charmèd water burnt alwayA still and awful red.‘Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes:They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they rear’d, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes.‘Within the shadow of the shipI watched their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coil’d and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.‘O happy living things! no tongueTheir beauty might declare:A spring of love gush’d from my heart,And I bless’d them unaware!Sure my kind saint took pity on me,And I bless’d them unaware!‘The self-same moment I could pray;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike lead into the sea.’PART V
‘Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,Beloved from pole to pole!To Mary Queen the praise be given!She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,That slid into my soul.‘The silly buckets on the deck,That had so long remain’d,I dreamt that they were fill’d with dew;And when I awoke, it rained.‘My lips were wet, my throat was cold,My garments all were dank;Sure I had drunken in my dreams,And still my body drank.‘I moved, and could not feel my limbs:I was so light – almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blessed ghost.‘And soon I heard a roaring wind:It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sails,That were so thin and sere.‘The upper air burst into life!And a hundred fire-flags sheen,To and fro they were hurried about!And to and fro, and in and out,The wan stars danced between.‘And the coming wind did roar more loud,And the sails did sigh like sedge;And the rain pour’d down from one black cloud,The Moon was at its edge.‘The thick black cloud was cleft and still,The Moon was at its side:Like waters shot from some high crag,The lightning fell with never a jag,A river steep and wide.‘The loud wind never reached the ship,Yet now the ship moved on!Beneath the lightning and the moonThe dead men gave a groan.‘They groan’d, they stirred, they all uprose,Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;It had been strange, even in a dream,To have seen those dead men rise.‘The helmsman steered, the ship moved on,Yet never a breeze up blew;The mariners all ’gan work the ropes,Where they were wont to do;They raised their limbs like lifeless tools —We were a ghastly crew.‘The body of my brother’s sonStood by me, knee to knee:The body and I pull’d at one rope,But he said nought to me.’‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’‘Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!’Twas not those souls that fled in pain,Which to their corses came again,But a troop of spirits blest:For when it dawn’d – they dropp’d their arms,And cluster’d round the mast;Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,And from their bodies passed.‘Around, around, flew each sweet sound,Then darted to the Sun;Slowly the sounds came back again,Now mixed, now one by one.‘Sometimes a-dropping from the skyI heard the sky-lark sing;Sometimes all little birds that are,How they seem’d to fill the sea and airWith their sweet jargoning!‘And now ’twas like all instruments,Now like a lonely flute;And now it is an angel’s song,That makes the heavens be mute.‘It ceased; yet still the sails made onA pleasant noise till noon,A noise like of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune.‘Till noon we quietly sailed on,Yet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship,Moved onward from beneath.Under the keel nine fathom deep,From the land of mist and snow,The spirit slid: and it was heThat made the ship to go.The sails at noon left off their tuneAnd the ship stood still also.‘The Sun, right up above the mast,Had fixed her to the ocean;But in a minute she ’gan stir,With a short uneasy motion —Backwards and forwards half her lengthWith a short uneasy motion.‘Then like a pawing horse let go,She made a sudden bound:It flung the blood into my head,And I fell down in a swound.‘How long in that same fit I lay,I have not to declare;But ere my living life returned,I heard, and in my soul discernedTwo voices in the air.‘“Is it he?” quoth one, “Is this the man?By Him who died on cross,With his cruel bow he laid full lowThe harmless Albatross.’“The spirit who bideth by himselfIn the land of mist and snow,He loved the bird that loved the manWho shot him with his bow.”‘The other was a softer voice,As soft as honey-dew;Quoth he, “The man hath penance done,And penance more will do.”PART VI
First Voice‘“But tell me, tell me! speak again,Thy soft response renewing —What makes that ship drive on so fast?What is the Ocean doing?”Second Voice‘“Still as a slave before his lord,The Ocean hath no blast;His great bright eye most silentlyUp to the Moon is cast —‘“If he may know which way to go;For she guides him smooth or grim.See, brother, see! how graciouslyShe looketh down on him.”First Voice‘“But why drives on that ship so fast,Without or wave or wind?”Second Voice‘“The air is cut away before,And closes from behind.‘“Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!Or we shall be belatedFor slow and slow that ship will go,When the Mariner’s trance is abated.”‘I woke, and we were sailing onAs in a gentle weather:‘Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;The dead men stood together.‘All stood together on the deck,For a charnel-dungeon fitter:All fixed on me their stony eyes,That in the Moon did glitter.‘The pang, the curse, with which they died,Had never passed away:I could not draw my eyes from theirs,Nor turn them up to pray.‘And now this spell was snapt: once moreI view’d the ocean green,And look’d far forth, yet little sawOf what had else been seen —‘Like one that on a lonesome roadDoth walk in fear and dread,And having once turned round walks on,And turns no more his head;Because he knows, a frightful fiendDoth close behind him tread.‘But soon there breathed a wind on meNor sound nor motion made:Its path was not upon the sea,In ripple or in shade.‘It raised my hair, it fann’d my cheekLike a meadow-gale of spring —It mingled strangely with my fears,Yet it felt like a welcoming.‘Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,Yet she sail’d softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze —On me alone it blew.‘Oh! dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house top I see?Is this the hill? is this the kirk?Is this mine own countree?‘We drifted o’er the harbour-bar,And I with sobs did pray —“O let me be awake, my God!Or let me sleep alway.”‘The harbour bay was clear as glass,So smoothly it was strewn!And on the bay the moonlight lay,And the shadow of the moon.‘The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,That stands above the rock:The moonlight steeped in silentness,The steady weathercock.‘And the bay was white with silent lightTill, rising from the same,Full many shapes, that shadows were,In crimson colours came.‘A little distance from the prowThose crimson shadows were:I turned my eyes upon the deck —Oh, Christ! what saw I there!‘Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,And by the holy rood!A man all light, a seraph-man,On every corse there stood.‘This seraph-band, each waved his hand,It was a heavenly sight!They stood as signals to the land,Each one a lovely light;‘This seraph-band, each waved his hand,No voice did they impart —No voice; but oh! the silence sankLike music on my heart.‘But soon I heard the dash of oars,I heard the Pilot’s cheer;My head was turn’d perforce away,And I saw a boat appear.‘The Pilot, and the Pilot’s boy,I heard them coming fast:Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joyThe dead men could not blast.‘I saw a third – I heard his voice:It is the Hermit good!He singeth loud his godly hymnsThat he makes in the wood.He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash awayThe Albatross’s blood.’PART VII
‘This Hermit good lives in that woodWhich slopes down to the sea.How loudly his sweet voice he rears!He loves to talk with marineresThat come from a far countree.‘He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve —He hath a cushion plump:It is the moss that wholly hidesThe rotted old oak stump.‘The skiff-boat near’d: I heard them talk,“Why, this is strange, I trow!Where are those lights so many and fair,That signal made but now?”‘“Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said —“And they answer’d not our cheer!The planks look warp’d! and see those sails,How thin they are and sere!I never saw aught like to them,Unless perchance it were‘“Brown skeletons of leaves that lagMy forest-brook along;When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,That eats the she-wolf’s young.”‘“Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look” —(The Pilot made reply)“I am a-fear’d” – “Push on, push on!”Said the Hermit cheerily.‘The boat came closer to the ship,But I nor spake nor stirred;The boat came close beneath the ship,And straight a sound was heard.‘Under the water it rumbled on,Still louder and more dread:It reach’d the ship, it split the bay:The ship went down like lead.‘Stunn’d by that loud and dreadful sound,Which sky and ocean smote,Like one that hath been seven days drownedMy body lay afloat;But swift as dreams, myself I foundWithin the Pilot’s boat.‘Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,The boat spun round and round;And all was still, save that the hillWas telling of the sound.‘I moved my lips – the Pilot shriek’dAnd fell down in a fit;The holy Hermit raised his eyes,And prayed where he did sit.‘I took the oars: the Pilot’s boy,Who now doth crazy go,Laugh’d loud and long, and all the whileHis eyes went to and fro.“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I seeThe Devil knows how to row.’‘And now, all in my own countree,I stood on the firm land!The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,And scarcely he could stand.‘“O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!”The Hermit crossed his brow.“Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say —What manner of man art thou?”‘Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenchedWith a woful agony,Which forced me to begin my tale;And then it left me free.‘Since then, at an uncertain hour,That agony returns;And till my ghastly tale is told,This heart within me burns.‘I pass, like night, from land to land;I have strange power of speech;The moment that his face I see,I know the man that must hear me:To him my tale I teach.‘What loud uproar bursts from that door!The wedding-guests are there:But in the garden-bower the brideAnd bride-maids singing are:And hark the little vesper bell,Which biddeth me to prayer!‘O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath beenAlone on a wide, wide sea:So lonely ’twas, that God himselfScarce seemèd there to be.‘O sweeter than the marriage-feast,’Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith a goodly company! —‘To walk together to the kirk,And all together pray,While each to his great Father bends,Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And youths and maidens gay!‘Farewell, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest!He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast.‘He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all.’The Mariner, whose eye is bright,Whose beard with age is hoar,Is gone: and now the Wedding-GuestTurned from the bridegroom’s door.He went like one that hath been stunned,And is of sense forlorn:A sadder and a wiser manHe rose the morrow morn.S. T. Coleridge.THE HAUNTED PALACE
IIn the greenest of our valleys,By good angels tenanted,Once a fair and stately palace,Radiant palace, reared its head.In the monarch Thought’s dominion,It stood there;Never seraph spread a pinionOver fabric half so fair!IIBanners – yellow, glorious, golden —On its roof did float and flow(This, all this, was in the oldenTime, long ago);And every gentle air that dallied,In that sweet day,Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,A wingèd odour went away.IIIWanderers in that happy valley,Through two luminous windows sawSpirits moving musically,To a lute’s well-tunèd law,Round about a throne where, sitting(Porphyrogene!)In state his glory well befitting,The ruler of the realm was seen.IVAnd all with pearl and ruby glowingWas the fair palace-door,Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,And sparkling evermore,A troop of Echoes, whose sweet dutyWas but to sing,In voices of surpassing beauty,The wit and wisdom of their king.VBut evil things, in robes of sorrow,Assailed the monarch’s high estate.(Ah, let us mourn! – for never morrowShall dawn upon him desolate;)And round about his home the gloryThat blushed and bloomed,Is but a dim-remembered storyOf the old time entombed.VIAnd travellers now within that valley,Through the red-litten windows seeVast forms, that move fantasticallyTo a discordant melody,While, like a ghastly rapid river,Through the pale doorA hideous throng rush out for everAnd laugh – but smile no more.E. A. Poe.THE BARD
PINDARIC ODE‘Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!Confusion on thy banners wait,Tho’ fann’d by Conquest’s crimson wingThey mock the air with idle state.Helm, nor Hauberk’s twisted mail,Nor e’en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall availTo save thy secret soul from nightly fears,From Cambria’s curse, from Cambria’s tears!’– Such were the sounds, that o’er the crested prideOf the first Edward scatter’d wild dismay,As down the steep of Snowdon’s shaggy sideHe wound with toilsome march his long array.Stout Glo’ster stood aghast in speechless trance:‘To arms!’ cried Mortimer, and couch’d his quivering lance.On a rock, whose haughty browFrowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood,Robed in the sable garb of woe,With haggard eyes the Poet stood;(Loose his beard and hoary hairStream’d like a meteor to the troubled air)And with a Master’s hand and Prophet’s fireStruck the deep sorrows of his lyre.‘Hark, how each giant-oak and desert caveSigh’s to the torrent’s aweful voice beneath!O’er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;Vocal no more, since Cambria’s fatal day,To high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellyn’s lay,‘Cold is Cadwallo’s tongue,That hush’d the stormy main:Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:Mountains, ye mourn in vainModred, whose magic songMade huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp’d head.On dreary Arvon’s shore they lie,Smear’d with gore, and ghastly pale:Far, far aloof th’ affrighted ravens sail;The famish’d Eagle screams, and passes by.Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes,Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,Ye died amidst your dying country’s cries —No more I weep. They do not sleep.On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,I see them sit, they linger yet,Avengers of their native land:With me in dreadful harmony they join,And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.‘Weave the warp, and weave the woofThe winding-sheet of Edward’s race.Give ample room, and verge enoughThe characters of hell to trace.Mark the year, and mark the night,When Severn shall re-echo with affrightThe shrieks of death, thro’ Berkley’s roofs that ring,Shrieks of an agonising king!She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,That tear’st the bowels of thy mangled Mate,From thee be born, who o’er thy country hangsThe scourge of Heaven! What terrors round him wait!Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,And Sorrow’s faded form, and Solitude behind.‘Mighty victor, mighty Lord!Low on his funeral couch he liesNo pitying heart, no eye, affordA tear to grace his obsequies.Is the sable warriour fled?Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead.The Swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born?Gone to salute the rising Morn.Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,While proudly riding o’er the azure realmIn gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes;Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind’s sway,That hush’d in grim repose expects his evening-prey.‘Fill high the sparkling bowl,The rich repast prepare,Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:Close by the regal chairFell Thirst and Famine scowlA baleful smile upon their baffled Guest.Heard ye the din of battle bray,Lance to lance, and horse to horse?Long years of havock urge their destined course,And thro’ the kindred squadrons mow their way.Ye towers of Julius, London’s lasting shame,With many a foul and midnight murther fed,Revere his Consort’s faith, his Father’s fame,And spare the meek Usurper’s holy head.Above, below, the rose of snow,Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:The bristled Boar in infant-goreWallows beneath the thorny shade.Now, Brothers, bending o’er the accursèd loom,Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.‘Edward, lo! to sudden fate(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.)Half of thy heart we consecrate.(The web is wove. The work is done.)Stay, O stay! nor thus forlornLeave me unbless’d, unpitied, here to mourn:In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,They melt, they vanish from my eyes.But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon’s heightDescending slow their glitt’ring skirts unroll?Visions of glory, spare my aching sight,Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul!No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia’s issue, hail!‘Girt with many a baron boldSublime their starry fronts they rear;And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen oldIn bearded majesty, appear.In the midst a form divine!Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line:Her lyon-port, her awe-commanding faceAttemper’d sweet to virgin-grace.What strings symphonious tremble in the air,What strains of vocal transport round her play.Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings,Waves in the eye of Heav’n her many-colour’d wings.‘The verse adorn againFierce War, and faithful Love,And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.In buskin’d measures movePale Grief, and pleasing Pain,With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breast.A voice as of the Cherub-ChoirGales from blooming Eden bear;And distant warblings lessen on my ear,That lost in long futurity expire.Fond impious Man, think’st thou, yon sanguine cloudRaised by thy breath, has quench’d the orb of day?To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,And warms the nations with redoubled ray.Enough for me: with joy I seeThe different doom our fates assign:Be thine Despair and sceptred Care,To triumph, and to die, are mine.’– He spoke, and headlong from the mountain’s heightDeep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.T. Gray.
