No More Learning

Yon tuft conceals your home, your cottage bow'r.
Fresh water rushes strew the verdant floor; 1793.

Yon isle conceals . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 74:

1836.

Thence issuing oft, unwieldly as ye stalk,
Ye crush with broad black feet your flow'ry walk; 1793.

Thence issuing often with unwieldly stalk,
With broad black feet ye crush your flow'ry walk; 1820. ]


[Variant 75:

1820.

Safe from your door ye hear at breezy morn, 1793. ]


[Variant 76:

1836.

. . .
and mellow horn;
At peace inverted your lithe necks ye lave,
With the green bottom strewing o'er the wave;
No ruder sound your desart haunts invades,
Than waters dashing wild, or rocking shades.
Ye ne'er, like hapless human wanderers, throw
Your young on winter's winding sheet of snow. 1793.

. . . and mellow horn;
Involve your serpent necks in changeful rings,
Rolled wantonly between your slippery wings,
Or, starting up with noise and rude delight,
Force half upon the wave your cumbrous flight. 1820. ]


[Variant 77:

1836.

Fair Swan! by all a mother's joys caress'd,
Haply some wretch has ey'd, and call'd thee bless'd;
Who faint, and beat by summer's breathless ray,
Hath dragg'd her babes along this weary way;
While arrowy fire extorting feverish groans
Shot stinging through her stark o'er labour'd bones.
--With backward gaze, lock'd joints, and step of pain,
Her seat scarce left, she strives, alas! in vain,
To teach their limbs along the burning road
A few short steps to totter with their load,
Shakes her numb arm that slumbers with its weight,
And eyes through tears the mountain's shadeless height;
And bids her soldier come her woes to share,
Asleep on Bunker's [iv] charnel hill afar;
For hope's deserted well why wistful look?
Chok'd is the pathway, and the pitcher broke. 1793.

In 1793 this passage occupied the place of the six lines of the final
text (250-255).