« ÎnapoiContinuați »
OT Aladdin magian
Ever such a work began;
Not the wizard of the Dee Ever such a dream could see; Not St. John, in Patmos' isle, In the passion of his toil, When he saw the churches seven, Golden aisled, built up in heaven, Gazed at such a rugged wonder!As I stood its roofing under, Lo! I saw one sleeping there, On the marble cold and bare; While the surges washed his feet, And his garments white did beat, Drenched about the sombre rocks ; On his neck his well-grown locks, Lifted dry above the main, Were upon the curl again. 56 What is this? and what art thou ?” Whispered I, and touch'd his brow; " What art thou ? and what is this?" Whispered I, and strove to kiss The spirit's hand, to wake his eyes ; Up he started in a trice : "I am Lycidas,” said he, 66 Fam'd in fun'ral minstrelsy ! This was architectur'd thus By the great Oceanus ! Here his mighty waters play Hollow organs all the day;
Here, by turns, his dolphins all,
HAT can I do to drive away
And ever ready was to take her course
How shall I do
wine is only sweet to happy men ;
blind, Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbaged
meads Make lean and lank the stary'd ox while he feeds ; There bad flowers have no scent, birds no sweet
song, And great unerring Nature once seems wrong.
O, for some sunny spell
Say they are gone,
with the new dawning light Steps forth my lady bright ! 0, let me once more rest My soul upon that dazzling breast ! Let once again these aching arms be placed, The tender gaolers of thy waist ! And let me feel that warm breath here and there To spread a rapture in my very hair, O, the sweetness of the pain ! Give me those lips again! Enough! Enough! it is enough for me To dream of thee !
HYMN TO APOLLO.
OD of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
Of the patient year,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story, Or was I a worm — too low crawling, for death ?
O Delphic Apollo !
The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp’d,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound. () why didst thou pity, and for a worm
Vihy touch thy soft lute