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ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER.
COME hither, all sweet maidens soberly,
Down-looking aye, and with a chasten'd light,
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white, And meekly let your fair hands joined be, As if so gentle that ye could not see,
Untouch’d, a victim of your beauty bright,
Sinking away to his young spirit's night, Sinking bewilder'd ʼmid the dreary sea : 'Tis young Leander toiling to his death ;
Nigh swooning, be doth purse his weary lips For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile.
O horrid dream! see how his body dips Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile : He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!
TO AILSA ROCK.
HEARKEN, thou craggy ocean pyramid !
screams! When were thy shoulders mantled in huge
streams! When, from the sun, was thy broad forehead hid ? How long is't since the mighty power bid
Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams?
Sleep in the lap of thunder or sun-beams,
Thy life is but two dead eternities-
skiesDrown'd wast thou till an earthquake made thee
ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES.
My spirit is too weak; mortality
(WITH THE PRECEDING SONNET.)
HAYDON ! forgive me that I cannot speak
thine ; Whose else? In this who touch thy vesture's
hem ? For, when men stared at what was most divine With brainless idiotism and o'erwise phlegm, Thou hadst beheld the full Hesperian shine Of their star in the east, and gone to worship
WRITTEN IN THE COTTAGE WHERE BURNS WAS
This mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room, Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom ! My pulse is warm with thine old Barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul, My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see, Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal ; I stamp my
foot upon thy floor, Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find The meadow thou hast tramped o'er and o'er
Yet can I think of thee till thought is blind, Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name,O smile among the shades, for this is fame!