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Of happy changes in emphatic dreams,
Along a path between two little streams,-.
Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow,
From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow
From stumbling over stumps and hillocks small;
Until they came to where these streamlets fall,
With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush,
Into a river, clear, brimful, and flush
With crystal mocking of the trees and sky.
A little shallop, floating there hard by,
Pointed its bcak over the fringed bank;
And soon it lightly dipt, and rose, and sank,
And dipt again, with the young couple's weight,-
Peona guiling, through the water straight,
Towards a bowery island opposite;
Which gaining presently, she steered light
Into a shady, fresli, and ripply cove,
Where nested was an arbour, overwove
By many a summer's silent fingering;
To whose cool bosom she was used to bring
Her playmates, with their needle broidery,
And minstrel memories of times gone by.

My voice upon the mountain-heights; once more Make

my horn parley from their foreheads hoar: Again my trooping hounds their tongues shall loll Around the breathed boar: again I'll poll The fair-grown yew-tree, for a chosen bow: And, when the pleasant sun is getting low, Again I 'll linger in a sloping mead To hear the speckled thrushes, and see feed Our idle sleep. So be thou cheered, sweet! And, if thy lute is here, softly intreat My soul to keep in its resolved course.»

So she was gently glad to see him laid Under her favourite bower's quiet shade, On her own couch, new made of flower leaves, Dried carefully on the cooler side of sheaves When last the sun his autumn tresses shook, And the tann'd harvesters rich armfuls took. Soon was hie quieted to slumbrous rest : But, ere it crept upon him, he had prest Peona's busy land against his lips, And still, a sleeping, held her finger-tips In tender pressure. And as a willow keeps A patient watch over the stream that creeps Windingly by it, so the quiet maid Held her in peace: so that a whispering blade Of grass, a wailful gnat, a bee bustling Down in the blue-bells, or a wren light rustling Among sere leaves and twigs, might all be heard.

Hereat Peona, in their silver source,
Shut her pure sorrow-drops with glad exclaim,
And took a lute, from which there pulsing came
A lively prelude, fashioning the way
In which her voice should wander, 'T was a lay
More subtle cadenced, more forest wild
Than Dryope's lone ling of her child;
And nothing since has tloated in the air
So mournful strange. Surely some influence rare
Went, spiritual, through the damsel's hand;
For still, with Delphic emphasis, she spann'd
The quick invisible strings, even though she saw
Endymion's spirit melt away and thaw
Before the deep intoxication.
But soon

she came, with sudden burst, upon
Her self-possession-swung the lute aside,
And earnestly said : « Brother, 'l is vain to hide
That thou dost know of things mysterious,
Immortal, starry; such alone could thus
Weigh down thy nature. Hast thou sinn'd in aught
Offensive to the heavenly powers? Caught
A Paphia, dove upon a message sent?
| Thy deatiful bow against some deer-herd bent,
Sacred to Dian? Baply, thou hast seen
Her naked limbs among the alders green;
Ånd that, alas! is death. No, I can trace
Something more high perplexing in thy face !»

Endymion look'd at her, and press'd her hand,
And sail, « Art thou so pale, who wast so bland
And merry in our meadows ? How is this?
Tell me thine ailment: tell me all amiss !
Ah! thou hast been unhappy at the change
Wrought suddenly in me. What indeed more strange?
Or more complete to overwhelm surmise ?
Ambition is no sluccard: 't is no prize,
Thai toiling years would put within my grasp,
That I have sigh'd for : with so deadly gasp
No man e'er panted for a mortal love.
So all have set my heavier grief above
These things which happen. Rightly have they done:
I, who still saw the horizontal sun
Heave bis broad shoulder o'er the edge of the world,
Out-facing Lucifer, and then lad liurlid
My spear aloft, as signal for the chace--
I, who, for very sport of heart, would race
With my own steed from Araby; pluck down
A vulture from his towery percbing; frown
A lion into growling, loth retire-
To lose, at once, all my toil-breeding fire,
And sink thus low! but I will ease my breast
Of secret grief, here in this bowery nest.

This river does not see the naked sky, Till it begins to progress silverly

O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is bush'd and smooth! O unconfined Restraint! imprisoned liberty! great key To golden palaces, strange minstrelsy, Fountains grotesque, new trees, bespangled caves, Echoing grottos, full of tumbling waves And moonlight; aye, to all the mazy world Of silvery enchantment!- who, upfurl'd Bencath thy drowsy wing a triple bour, But renovates and lives?—Thus, in the bower, Endymion was calm'd to life again. Opening his eyelids with a healthier brain, He said : . I feel this thine endearing love All through my bosom : thou art as a dove Trembling its closed

eyes

and sleeked wings About me; and the pearliest dew not brings Such morning incense from the fields of May, As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray From those kind eyes,--the very home and haunt Of sisterly affection.

Can I want Aught else, aught nearer heaven, than such tears? Yet dry them up, in bidding bence all fears That, any longer, I will pass my days Alone and sad. No, I wili once more raise

Around the western border of the wood,

Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, O where Whence, from a certain spot, its winding flood Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair? Seems at the distance like a crescent moon :

Not oat-sheaves drooping in the western sun; And in that nook, the very pride of June,

Not-thy soft hand, fair sister! let me shun Had I been used to pass my weary eves ;

Such follying before thee-yet she liad, The rather for the sun unwilling leaves

Indeed, locks bright enough to make me mad; So dear a picture of his sovereign power,

And they were simply gordian'd up and braided, And I could witness his most kingly hour,

Leaving, in naked comeliness, unshaded, When he doth lighten up the golden reins,

Her pearl round ears, white neck, and orbed brow; And paces leisurely down amber plains

The which were blended in, I know not how, His snorting four. Now when his chariot last With such a paradise of lips and eyes, Its beams against the zodiac-lion cast,

Blush-tinted cheeks, half smiles, and faintest sighs, There blossom'd suddenly a magic bed

That, when I think thereon, my spirit clings Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red :

And plays about its fancy, till the stings At which I wondered greatly, knowing well

Of human neighl:ourhood envenom all. That but one night had wrought this flowery spell; Unto what awful power shall I call? And, sitting down close by, began to muse

To what bigb fane?— Ah! see her hovering feel, What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus, More bluely vein'd, more soft, more whitely sweet In passing here, bis owlet pinions shook;

Than those of sca-born Venus, when she rose Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook

From out her cradle shell. The wind out-blows Iler ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth,

Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion; lad dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth

'T is blue, and over-spangled with a million Came not by common growth. Thus on I thought, Of little eyes, as though thou wert to shed, Until my head was dizzy and distraught.

Over the darkest, lushest blue-bell bed, Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole

Handfuls of daisies..— « Endymion, how strange! A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul;

Dream within dream!»—. She took an airy range, And shaping visions all about my sight

And then, towards me, like a very maid, Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly light;

Came blushing, waning, willing, and afraid, The which became more strange, and strange, and dim, And press'd me by the hand : Ah! i was too much; And then were gulfd in a tumultuous swim :

Methought I fainted at the charmed touch, And then I fell asleep. Ah, can I tell

Yet held my recollection, even as one The enchantment that afterwards befel ?

Who dives three fathoms where the waters run Yet it was but a dream : yet such a dream

Gurgling in beds of coral : for anon, That never tongue, although it overleem

I felt upmounted in that region With mellow utterance, like a cavern spring,

Where falling stars dart their artillery forth, Could figure out and to conception bring

And eagles struggle with the buffering north All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay

That balances the heavy meteor-stone;Watching the zenith, where the milky way

Feli too, I was not fearful, nor alone, Among the stars in virgin splendour pours;

But lapp'd and lull'd along the dangerous sky. And travelling my eye, until the doors

Soon, as it seem d, we left our journeying higli, Of heaven appear'd to open for

And straightway into frightful eddies swoopd; I became loth and fearful to alight

Such as ay muster where grey time has scoop'd From such high soaring by a downward glance: Iluge dens and caverns in a mountain's side : So kept me stedfast in that airy trance,

There hollow sounds aroused me, and I sigh'd Spreading imaginary pinions wide.

To faint once more by looking on my bliss When, presently, the stars began to glide,

I was distracted; madly did I kiss And faint away, before my eager view:

The wooing arms which held me, and did give At which I sigh'd that I could not pursue,

My eyes at once to death : but 'I was to live, And dropt my vision to the horizon's verge;

To take in draughts of life from the gold fount And lo! from opening clouds, I saw einerge

Of kind and passionate looks; 10 count, and count The loveliest moon, that ever silver'd o'er

The moments, by some greedy help that seem'd A shell for Neptune's goblet; she did soar

A second self, that each miglit be redeem'd So passionately bright, my dazzled soul

And plunder'd of its load of blessedness.
Commingling with her argent spheres did roll

Alı, desperate mortal! I ev'n dared to press
Through clear and cloudly, even when she went ller very check against my crowned lip,
At last into a dark and vapoury tent-

And, at that moment, felt my body dip
Whereat, methought, the lidless-eyed train

Into a warmer air: a moment more, Of planets all were in the blue again.

Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store To commune with those orhs, once more I raised Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes My sight right upward: but it was quite dazed

A scent of violets, and blossoming limes, By a bright something, sailing down apace,

Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells, Making me quickly veil my eyes and face:

Made delicate from all white-llower bells; Again I look'd, and, O ye dcities,

And once, above the edges of our nest, Who from Olympus watch our destinies !

An arch face peep'd,

-an Orcad as I guess d. Whence that completed form of all completeness ! Whence came that high perfection of all sweetness ?

• Why did I dream that sleep o'er-power'd me In midst of all this heaven? Why not see,

my flight,

Far off, the shadows of his pinions dark,
And stare them from me? But no, like a spark
That reeds must die, although its little beam
Reflects upon a diamond, my sweet dream
Fell into nothing-into stupid sleep.
And so it was, until a gentle creep,
A careful moving caught my waking ears,
And up I started : Ah! my sighs, my tears,
My clenched hands ;--for lo! the poppies hung
Dew-dabbled on their stalks, the ouzel sung
A heavy dirty, and the sullen day
Had chidden herald Hesperus away,
With leaden looks : the solitary brecze
Bluster'd, and slept, and its wild self did teaze
With wayward melancholy; and I thought,
Mark me, Peona! that sometimes it brought
Faint fare-thee-wells, and sigh-shrilled adieus ! -
Away I wander'd-all the pleasant hues
Of heaven and earth had faded : deepest shades
Were deepest dungeons; heaths and sunny glades
Were full of pestilent light; our taintless rills
Secm'd sooty, and o'er-spread with upturn'd gills
Of dying fish; the vermeil rose had blown
Ja frightful scarlet, and its thorns out-grown
Like spiked aloe. If an innocent bird
Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd, and stirr'd
In little journeys, I beheld in it
A disguised demon, missioned to knit
My soul with under darkness; to entice
My stumblings down some monstrous precipice:
Therefore I eager follow'd, and did curse
The dis

intment. Time, that aged nurse, Rock'd me to patience. Now, thank gentle heaven! These things, with all their comfortings, are given To my down-suvken hours, and with thee, Sweet sister, help to stem the ebbing sea Of weary

life.

Among the winds at large-that all may hearken!
Although, before the crystal heavens darken,
I watch and dote upon the silver lakes
Pictured in western cloudiness, that takes
The semblance of gold rocks and bright gold sands,
Islands, and creeks, and amber-frelted strands
With horses prancing o'er them, palaces
And towers of amethyst,-would I so tease
My pleasant days, because I could not mount
Into those regions? The Morphean fount
Of that fine element that visions, dreams,
And fitful whims of sleep are made of, streams
Into its airy channels with so subtle,
So thin a breathing, not the spider's shuttle,
Circled a million times within the space
Of a swallow's nest-door, could delay a trace,
A tinting of its quality: how light
Must dreams themselves be; seeing they're more slight
Than the mere nothing that engenders them!
Then wherefore sully the entrusted gem
Of high and noble life with thoughts so sick ?
Why pierce high-fronted honour to the quick
For nothing but a dream?, Hereat the youth
Look'd up: a conflicting of shame and ruth
Was in his plaited brow: yet, bis eyelids
Widen'd a little, as when Zephyr bids
A little breeze to creep between the fans
Of careless butterflies : amid his pains
He seem'd to taste a drop of manna-dew,
Full palatable; and a colour grew
Upon his check, while thus he lifeful spake.

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Thus ended he, and both
Sat silent: for the maid was very

loth
To answer; feeling well that breathed words
Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords
Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps
Of grasshoppers against the sun. She weeps,
And wonders; struggles to devise some blame;
To put on such a look as would say, Shame
On this poor weakness! but, for all her strife,
She could as soon have crush'd away the life
I'rom a sick dove. At length, to break the

pause,
She said with trembling chance : « Is this the cause?
This all? Yet it is strange, and sad, alas!
That one who through this middle earth should pass
Most like a sojourning demi-god, and leave
His name upon the harp-string, should achieve
No higher bard than simple maidenlood,
Singing alone, and fearfully,-how the blood
Left his young cheek; and how he used to stray
He knew not where; and how he would say, nay,
If any said 't was love: and yet 't was love;
What could it be but love? How a ring-dove
Let fall a sprig of yew-iree in his path;
And how he died : and then, that love doth scathe,
The gentle heart, as northern blasts do roses;
And then the ballad of his sad life closes
With sighs, and an alas ! -Endymion !
Be rather in the trumpet's mouth,-anon

« Peona! ever have I longd to slake My thirst for the world's praises : nothing base, No merely slumberous phantasm, could unlace The stubborn canvas for my voyage prepared Though now 't is tatter'd; leaving my bark bared And sullenly drifting : yet my higher hope Is of too wide, too rainbow-large a scope, To fret at myriads of earthly wrecks. Wherein lies bappiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemized, and free of The clear religion of heaven! Fold A rose leaf round thy finger's ta perness, And soothe thy lips : hist! when the airy stress Of music's kiss impregnates the free winds, And with a sympathetic touch unbinds Eolian magic from their lucid wombs: Then old songs waken from enclouded tombs; Old ditties sigh above their father's grave; Ghosts of melodious prophecyings rave Round every spot where trod Apollo's foot; Bronze clarions awake, and faintly bruit, Where long ago a giant battle was; And, from the turf, a lullaby doth pass In every place where infant Orpheus slept. Feel we these things !--that moment have we stepe Into a sort of oneness, and our state Is like a floating spirii's. But there are Richer entanglements, enthralments far More self-destroying, leading, by degrees, To the chief intensity: the crown of these is made of love and friendslıip, and sits high Upon the forehead of humanity.

That men,

my sleep,

All its more ponderous and bulky worth

And spreaded tail, a vulture could not glide Is friendship, whence there ever issues forth

Past them, but he must brush on every side. A steady splendour; but at the tip-top,

Some moulder'd steps lead into this cool cell, There hangs by unseen íilm, an orbed drop

Far as the slabbed margin of a well, Of light, and that is love : its influence

Whose patient level peeps its crystal eye Thrown in our eyes, genders a novel sense,

Right upward, through the bushes, to the sky. At which we start and fret; till in the end,

Oft have I brought thee flowers, on their stalks set Melting into its radiance, we blend,

Like vestal primroses, but dark velvet Mingle, and so become a part of it,

Edges them round, and they have golden pits : Nor with aught else can our souls interknit

’T was there I got them, from the gaps and slits So wingedly: when we combine therewith,

In a mossy stone, that sometimes was my seal, Life's self is nourislı'd by ils proper pith,

When all above was faint with mid-day beat. And we are nurtured like a pelican brood.

And there in strife no burning thoughits to hecd, Aye, so delicious is the unsating food,

I'd bubble up the water through a reed; who might have tower'd in the van

So reaching back to boyliood: make me ships Of all the congregated world, to fan

Of moulted feathers, touchwood, alder chips, And winnow from the coming step of time

With leaves stuck in them; and the Neptune be All chaff of custom, wipe away all slime

Of their petty ocean. Oftener, heavily, Left by men-slugs and human serpentry,

When love-lorn hours had left me less a child, Hlave been content to let occasion die,

I sat contemplating the figures wild Whilst they did sleep in love's elysium.

Of o'er-head clouds melting the mirror through. And, truly, I would rather be struck dumb,

Upon a day, while thus I watch'd, by few Than speak against this ardent listlessness :

A cloudy Cupid, with his bow and quiver; For I bave ever thought that it might bless

So plainly character'd, no breeze would shiver The world with benefits unknowingly;

The happy chance: so happy, I was fain As does the nightingale, up-perched high,

To follow it

upon

the

open plain, And cloister'd among cool and bunched leaves

And, therefore, was just going; when, behold! She sings but to her love, nor c'er conceives

A wonder, fuir as any I have toldHow tiptoe Night holds back her dark-grey hood.

The same bright face I tasted in Just so may love, although 't is understood

Smiling in the clear well. My heart did leap The mere commingling of passionate breath,

Through the cool depth.-It moved as if 10 fleeProduce more than our searching witnesseth:

I started

up,

when lo! refreshfully, What I know not: but who, of men, can tell

There came upon my face, in plenteous showers, That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell Dew-drops, and dewy buds, and leaves, and flowers, To melting pulp, that fishi would have bright mail, Wrapping all objects from my smother'd sight, The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale,

Bathing my spirit in a new delight. The meadows runnels, runoels pebble-stones,

Aye, such a breathless honey-feel of bliss The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones,

Alone preserved me from the drear abyss Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet,

Of death, for the fair form had gone again.
If human souls did never kiss and greet?

Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain
Clings cruelly to us, like the gnawing sloth

On the deer's tender haunches : late, and loth, • Now, if this carthly love has power to make

'Tis scared away by slow-returning pleasure. Men's being mortal, immortal; to shake

How sickening, how dark the dreadful leisure Ambition from their memories, and briin

Of weary days, made deeper exquisite, Their measure of content; what merest whim,

By a fore-knowledge of unslumbrous night! Seems all this poor endeavour after fame,

Like sorrow came upon me, leavier still, To one, who keeps within his stedfast aim

Than when I wander'd from the poppy lill: A love immortal, an immortal 100.

And a wliole age of lingering moments crept Look not so wilderd; for these things are truc,

Sluggishly hy, ere more contentment swept And never can be born of atomies

Away at once the deadly yellow spleen. That buzz about our slumbers, like brain-flies,

Yes, thrice have I this fair enchantment seen; Leaving us fancy-sick. No, no, I'm sure,

Once more been tortured with renewed life. My restless spirit never could endure

When last the wintry gusts gave over strife To brood so long upon one luxury,

With the conquering sun of spring, and left the skies Unless it did, though fearfully, espy

Warm and serene,
but yet with moisten'd

eyes A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.

In pity of the shatter'd infant buds.My sayings will the less obscured seem

That time thou didst adorn, with amber studs, When I have told thee how my waking sight

My hunting-cap, because I laughi'd and smiled, His made me scruple whether that same night

Chatted with thee, and many days exiled Was pass'd in dreaming. Hearken, sweet Peona! All torment from my breast;-'t was even then, Beyond the matrop-temple of Latona,

Straying about, yet, coop'd up in the den Which we should see but for these darkening boughs, Of helpless discontent,--hurling my lance Lies a deep hollow, from whose ragged brows

From place to place, and following at chance, Bushes and trees do lean all round athwart,

At last, hy hap, through some young trees it suruck, And meet so nearly, that with wings outraught, And, plashing among bedded pebbles, stuck

a

BOOK II.

:

In the middle of a brook,-whose silver ramble
Down twenty little falls, through reeds and bramble,
Tracing along, it brought me to a cave,
Whence it ran brightly forth, and white did lave
The nether sides of mossy stones and rock,
'Mong which it gurgled blithe adieus, to mock
Its own sweet grief at parting. Overhead,
Hung a lush screen of drooping weeds, and spread
Thick, as to curtain up some wood-nymph's home.

Ah! impious mortal, whither do I roam ?
Said I, low voiced : 'Ah, whither! 'Tis the grot
Of Proserpine, when Hell, obscure and hot,
Doth her resign : and where her tender hands
She dabbles, on the cool and sluicy sands:
Or 't is the cell of Echo, where she sits,
And babbles thorough silence, till her wits
Are gone in tender madness, and anon,
Faints into sleep, with many a dying tone
Of sadness. O that she would take my vows,
And breathe them sighingly among the boughs,
To sue her gentle ears for whose fair head,
Daily, I pluck sweet flowerets from their bed,
And weave them dyingly-send honey-whispers
Round every leaf, that all those gentle lispers
May sigh my love unto her pitying!
O charitable echo! hear, and sing
This ditty to her!— tell her'--so I stay'd
My foolish tongue, and listening, half afraid,
Stood stupefied with my own empty folly,
And blushing for the freaks of melancholy.
Salt tears were coming, when I heard my name
Most fondly lipp'd, and then these accents came:
‘Endymion! the cave is secreter
Than the isle of Delos. Echo hence shall stir
No sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise
Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys
And trembles through my labyrinthine hair.'
At that oppress'd, I hurried in.--Ah! where
Are those swift moments? Whither are they fled ?
I'll smile no more, Peona; nor will wed
Sorrow, the way to death; but patiently
Bear up against it: so farewell, sad sigh;
And come instead demurest meditation,
To occupy me wholly, and to fashion
My pilgrimage for the world's dusky brink.
No more will I count over, link by link,
My chain of grief: no longer strive to find
A half-forgetfulness in mountain wind
Blustering about my ears : ay, thou shalt see,
Dearest of sisters, what my life shall be;
What a calm round of hours sball make my days.
There is a paly flame of hope that plays
Where'er I look : but yet, I'll say 't is naught-
And here I bid it die. Have not I caught,
Already, a more healthy countenance ?
By this the sun is setting; we may chance
Meet some of our near-dwellers with

my car.»

O SOVEREIGN power of love! O grief! O balın!
All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm,
And shadowy, through the mist of passed years :
For others, good or bad, hatred and tears
Have become indolent; but touching thine,
One sigh doth echo, ope poor sob doth pine,
One kiss brings honcy-dew from buried days.
The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze,
Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades,
Struggling, and blood, and shrieks—all dimly fades
Into some backward corner of the brain;
Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain
The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet.
Hence, pageant history! bence, gilded cheat !
Swart planet in the universe of deeds!
Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds
Along the pebbled shore of memory!
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified
To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
And golden-keeld, is left unlaunch'd and dry.
But wberefore this? What care, though owl did fly
About the great Athenian admiral's mast?
What care, though striding Alexander past
The Indus with his Macedonian numbers ?
Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers
The glutted Cyclops, what care?--Juliet leaning
Amid her window-flowers,-sighing, -weaning
Tenderly her fancy from its maiden snow,
Doth more avail than these: the silver flow
Of Hero's tears, the swoon of Imogen,
Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den,
Are things to brood on with more ardency
Than the death-day of empires. Fearfully
Must such conviction come upon bis head,
Who, thus far, discontent, has dared to tread,
Without one muse's smile, or kind behest,
The path of love and poesy. But rest,
In chafing restlessness, is yet more drear
Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear
Love's standard on the battlements of song.
So once more days and nights aid me along,
Like legion'd soldiers.

Brain-sick shepherd-prince! What promise hast thou faithful guarded since The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows Come with the constant dawn upon thy morrows ? Alas! 't is his old grief. For many days, Has he been wandering in uncertain ways: Through wilderness, and woods of mossed oaks; Counting his woe-worn minutes, by the strokes Of the lone wood-cutter; and listening still, Hour after hour, to each lush-leaved rill. Now he is sitting by a shady spring, And elbow-deep with feverous fingering Stems the upbursting cold: a wild rose-tree Pavilions him in bloom, and he doth see A bud which snares his fancy: lo! but now He plucks it, dips its stalk in the water : how! It swells, it buds, it flowers beneath his sight; And, in the middle, there is softly pight

This said, he rose, faint-smiling like a star Through autumn mists, and took Peona's hand : They stept into the boat, and launch'd from land.

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