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HYMN TO APOLLO.
God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre, And of the golden hair, And of the golden fire,
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,
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
O Delphic Apollo !
The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air ;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at its old labour,
When, who—who did dare To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow,
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly, And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo !
UNFELT, unheard, unseen,
Ah! through their nestling touch,
Who—who could tell how much
Those faery lids how sleek !
Those lips how moist they speak, In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds :
Into my fancy's ear
Melting a burden dear, How “ Love doth know no fulness, and no bounds."
True !-tender monitors !
So, without more ado,
heaven anew, For all the blushing of the hasty morn.
Hush, hush ! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear! All the house is asleep, but we know
well That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may
hear, Tho' you've padded his night-cap–O sweet Isabel !
feet are more light than a Faery's feet, Who dances on bubbles where brooklets
meet,Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear! For less than a nothing the jealous can hear.
No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there
eye Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care, Charm'd to death by the drone of the humming
And the moon, whether prudish or com
Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom, But my Isabel's eyes, and her lips pulp'd with
Lift the latch ! ah gently! ah tenderly-sweet! We are dead if that latchet gives one little
clink! Well done—now those lips, and a flowery seatThe old man may sleep, and the planets may
wink; The shut rose shall dream of our loves and
awake Full-blown, and such warmth for the morn
ing take, The stock-dove shall hatch his soft twin-eggs and
COO, While I kiss to the melody, aching all through!