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Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore
On either side. These, gentle Calidore
The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn, Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn Its long-lost grandeur: fir-trees grow around, Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground. The little chapel, with the cross above, Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove, That on the windows spreads his feathers light, And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight.
Green tufted islands casting their soft shades Across the lake; sequester'd leafy glades, That through the dimness of their twilight show Large dock-leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow Of the wild cat's-eyes, or the silvery stems Of delicate birch-trees, or long grass which hems A little brook. The youth had long been viewing These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught With many joys for him: the warder's ken Had found white coursers prancing in the glen, Friends very dear to him he soon will see; So pushes off his boat most eagerly.
And soon upon the lake he skims along,
Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song;
His spirit flies before him so completely.
Of halls and corridors.
Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things
Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang
Made him delay to let their tender feet
That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand,
Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers
As if for joy he would no further seek :
His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new,
Amid the pages, and the torches' glare, There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair Of his proud horse's mane: he was withal A man of elegance, and stature tall : So that the waving of his plumes would be High as the berries of a wild ash-tree, Or as the winged cap of Mercury. His armour was so dexterously wrought In shape, that sure no living man had thought It hard and heavy steel: but that indeed It was some glorious form, some splendid weed, In which a spirit new come from the skies Might live, and show itself to human eyes. 'Tis the far-famed, the brave Sir Gondibert, Said the good man to Calidore alert; While the young warrior with a step of grace Came up, a courtly smile upon his face, And mailed hand held out, ready to greet The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat Of the aspiring boy; who as he led Those smiling ladies, often turn'd his head To admire the visor arch'd so gracefully Over a knightly brow; while they went by The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were pendent,
And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.
Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated,
Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals,
TO SOME LADIES,
ON RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL.
HAT though, while the wonders of nature exploring,
I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend :
Yet over the steep, whence the mountain-stream rushes,
With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove :
Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,
Its spray, that a wild flower kindly bedews.
Why linger ye so, the wild labyrinth strolling? Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling, Responsive to sylphs, in the moon-beamy air.
'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping,
I see you are treading the verge of the sea : And now! ah, I see it you just now are stooping To pick up the keepsake intended for me.
If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending,
And smiles with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending,
The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given;