From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home When leaves fall and cold winds come. CXCVI P. B. Shelley THE MAID OF NEIDPATH LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing; And love, in life's extremity Can lend an hour of cheering. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear As on the wing to meet him. He came ·he pass'd- an heedless gaze Could scarcely catch the feeble moan CXCVII Sir W. Scott THE MAID OF NEIDPATH E ARL March look'd on his dying child, The youth, he cried, whom I exiled She's at the window many an hour And he look'd up to Ellen's bower But ah! so pale, he knew her not, It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her cheek is cold as ashes; Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes To lift their silken lashes. T. Campbell B CXCVIII RIGHT Star! would I were steadfast as thou art - And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be WHEN Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piléd books, in charact❜ry Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour! Of the wide world I stand alone, and think J. Keats CC DESIDERIA Sund to share the transport with whom URPRISED by joy-impatient as the wind But Thee-deep buried in the silent tomb, Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind - To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return W. Wordsworth CCI T the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, AT To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky! Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my Love! 't is thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. T. Moore CCII A ELEGY ON THYRZA ND thou art dead, as young and fair And forms so soft and charms so rare Though Earth received them in her bed, There is an eye which could not brook |