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Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore
Went off in gentle windings to the hoar
And light blue mountains: but no breathing man
With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan
Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by
Objects that look'd out so invitingly

On either side. These, gentle Calidore
Greeted, as he had known them long before.

The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
Which the glad setting sun in gold doth dress,
Whence, ever and anon, the joy outsprings,
And scales upon the beauty of its wings.

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;
Nor minds he the white swans that dream so

His spirit flies before him so completely.
And now he turns a jutting point of land,
Whence may be seen the castle gloomy and grand :
Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches,
Before the point of his light shallop reaches
Those marble steps that through the water dip:
Now over them he goes with hasty trip,
And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors:
Anon he leaps along the oaken floors

Of halls and corridors.

Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things
That float about the air on azure wings,

Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang
Of clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang,
Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain,
Were slanting out their necks with loosen'd rein
While from beneath the threatening portcullis
They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss,
What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's hand!
How tremblingly their delicate ankles spann'd!
Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone,
While whisperings of affection

Made him delay to let their tender feet
Come to the earth; with an incline so sweet
From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent:
And whether there were tears of languishment,
Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses,
He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses
With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye,
All the soft luxury

That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand,
Fair as some wonder out of fairy land,

Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers
Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers :
And this he fondled with his happy cheek,

As if for joy he would no further seek :
When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond
Came to his ear, like something from beyond
His present being so he gently drew

His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new,
From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending,
Thank'd Heaven that his joy was never-ending;
While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd
A hand Heaven made to succour the distress'd ;
A hand that from the world's bleak promontory
Had lifted Calidore for deeds of Glory.

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,
The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted
All the green leaves that round the window clamber,
To show their purple stars, and bells of amber.
Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel,
Gladdening in the free and airy feel
Of a light mantle; and while Člerimond
Is looking round about him with a fond
And placid eye, young Calidore is burning
To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning
Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm
Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm
From lovely woman: while brimful of this,
He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss,
And had such manly ardour in his eye,
That each at other look'd half-staringly :
And then their features started into smiles,
Sweet as blue heavens o'er enchanted isles.
Softly the breezes from the forest came,
Softly they blew aside the taper's flame;
Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower;
Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower;
Mysterious, wild, the far-heard trumpet's tone;
Lovely the moon in ether, all alone:

Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals,
As that of busy spirits when the portals
Are closing in the West: or that soft humming
We hear around when Hesperus is coming.
Sweet be their sleep.




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,
Had brought me a gem from the fretwork of


And smiles with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending,

The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given;

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