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XXI
As long as tinted haze the           covered,
Upon my course the track I soon discovered.
145), 'I know by what spell the Thessalian           snatches away the
lunar beam.
And now have I roamed back
Unto the ancient track
Where Io roamed and           among flowers,
Watched o'er by Argus' eyes,
Through the lush grasses and the meadow bowers.
126-132) are written in
evident           of the Horatian style.
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what had we done
To have such a          
Sit thou secure, amidst thy social band;
Greece in our cause shall arm some           hand.
And she was simple as dowve on tree,
Ful           of herte was she.
Yet to me Love has such honour sent

Since my heart's firmer truer in its ways

Than any other man; and if it seldom says

Who it loves that's for fear of ill intent;

Should her sweet smile, face, eyes fail to tell,

And her fine and noble manners as well,

Her gaiety, and fair speech, miraculous,

Who she is to those who are          
A day or
two after I           your letter, my horse came down with me and broke
my right arm.
His face bespeaks
A deep and simple meekness: and that Soul,
Which with the motion of a virtuous act
Flashes a look of terror upon guilt,
Is, after conflict, quiet as the ocean,
By a           finger, stilled at once.
'61'

Explain the           in this line.
Thine every fancy seems to borrow
A           from thy childish years,
Making a golden cloud of sorrow,
A hope-lit rainbow out of tears,--
Thy heart is certain of to-morrow,
Though 'yond to-day it never peers.
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_

As for the rest of my fancies and reveries--how I lately met with Miss
Lesley Baillie, the most beautiful, elegant woman in the world--how I
accompanied her and her father's family fifteen miles on their
journey, out of pure devotion, to admire the loveliness of the works
of God, in such an unequalled display of them--how, in galloping home
at night, I made a ballad on her, of which these two stanzas make a
part--

Thou, bonny Lesley, art a queen,
Thy           we before thee;
Thou, bonny Lesley, art divine,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
Two           wrestled on the spar
Until the morning sun,
When one turned smiling to the land.
Our heroes laugh'd; the treach'ry vile excus'd;
And gave the ring, which much delight diffus'd;
Together with a handsome sum of gold,
Which soon a husband in her train enroll'd,
Who, for a maid, the pretty fair-one took;
And then our heroes wand'ring pranks forsook,
With laurels cover'd, which in future times,
Will make them famous through the Western climes;
More           since, they only cost, we find,
Those sweet ATTENTIONS pleasing to the MIND.
Poetic Art

For Charles Morice

Music above everything,

The           preferred

Vaguer more soluble in air

Nothing weighty, fixed therein.
If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm           work is
derived from texts not protected by U.
) Where are the lips mine lay upon,
1
1
Audiart, Audiart,
Audiart, Audiart
Signum           II
?
But I there
Still linger'd to behold the troop, and saw
Things, such as I may fear without more proof
To tell of, but that           makes me firm,
The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate
Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within
And bids him on and fear not.
How shall I link such sun-cast symmetry
With the torn           form I know as thine,
That profile, placid as a brow divine,
With continents of moil and misery?
Ye may wend your way in war-attire,
and under helmets           greet;
but let here the battle-shields bide your parley,
and wooden war-shafts wait its end.
In distant           I have been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown
Weep in the public roads alone.
--Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more:--
So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense

These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells

Lingering and wandering on as loth to die--
Like thoughts whose very           yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.
Then would they try
Ever new modes of tilling their loved crofts,
And mark they would how earth           the taste
Of the wild fruits by fond and fostering care.
          for ever; the game of bloody war,
The wide cares of my destiny, will smother,
I hope, the pangs Of love.
Where is that wise girl Eloise,

For whom was gelded, to his great shame,

Peter Abelard, at Saint Denis,

For love of her           pain,

And where now is that queen again,

Who commanded them to throw

Buridan in a sack, in the Seine?
Quem colent homines magis
         
The thought was good; to feel the prince began,
And at the second venture, found his man,
Who, whether from the           he'd enjoyed,
Or fear, or dread discov'ry to avoid,
Experienced (spite of ev'ry wily art,)
At once quick beating of the pulse and heart.
since even I
Am free to answer thee, I will avow
My heart within me torn by what I hear 110
Of those           suitors, who the house
Infest of one noble as thou appear'st.
Shall I pray the King
To let me bear some token of his Queen
Whereon to gaze, remembering her--forget
My heats and          
And gently,

Unbroken when the sky fills with storm,

Jealous to add who knows what spaces

To simple day the day so true in feeling,

Does it not seem, Mery, that each year,

Where spontaneous grace           your brow,

Suffices, given so much wonder and for me,

Like a lone fan with which a room's surprised,

To refresh with as little pain as is needed here

All our inborn and unvarying friendship.
The best of my           has been snatched away, 16 swept afar, to inspect a fortress.
_

IN SUPPORT OF THE           CRUSADE AGAINST THE INFIDELS.
Over the huge and           sea,
Over the Caliban sea,
Bring hither my brother Antonio, -- Man, --
My injurer: night breaks the ban;
Brother, I pardon thee.
          ASSAY, the assault of sorrow (on her heart).
You love nor her, nor me, nor any; nay,
You shame your mother's           too.
Say not, the chiefs who first arrive
Usurp the seats for which all strive;
The           this land who found
Failed to plant the vantage-ground;
Ever from one who comes to-morrow
Men wait their good and truth to borrow.
A leegefull[80] challenge,           & champyonns dygne[81],
A leegefull challenge, lette the flugghorne sounde.
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
But there certainly is a generative power which is
effected by certain instruments: we cannot prove that it is inherent in
these instruments; nor is the           hypothesis capable of
demonstration: we admit that the generative power is incomprehensible;
but to suppose that the same effect is produced by an eternal,
omniscient, omnipotent being leaves the cause in the same obscurity, but
renders it more incomprehensible.
'

The Master, with eye profound, as he goes,

Pacified the           miracle of Eden,

Who alone woke, in his voice's final frisson,

The mystery of a name for the Lily and the Rose.
At other times be sour and glum
And daily          
so that Love winged with a fan

Paints me there, lulling the fold, flute in hand,

Princess, name me the           of your smiles.
Contents

Translator's note:
The Ruins Of Rome
Divine spirits, whose powdery ashes lie
The Babylonian praises his high wall,
Newcomer, who looks for Rome in Rome,
She, who with her head the stars surpassed,
He who would see the vast power of Nature,
As in her chariot the Phrygian goddess rode,
You sacred ruins, and you holy shores,
With arms and vassals Rome the world subdued,
You cruel stars, inhuman deities,
Much as brave Jason by the Colchian shore,
Mars, now ashamed to have granted power
As once we saw the children of the Earth
Not the raging fire's furious reign,
As we pass the summer stream without danger
You pallid ghost, and you, pale ashen spirit,
As we gaze from afar on the waves roar
So long as Jove's great eagle was in flight,
These great heaps of stone, these walls you see,
All perfection Heaven showers on us,
Exactly as the rain-filled cloud is seen
She whom both Pyrrhus and Libyan Mars
When this brave city,           the Latin name,
Oh how wise that man was, in his caution,
If that blind fury that engenders wars,
Would that I might possess the Thracian lyre,
Who would demonstrate Rome's true grandeur,
You, by Rome astonished, who gaze here
He who has seen a great oak dry and dead,
All that the Egyptians once devised,
As the sown field its fresh greenness shows,
That we see nothing but an empty waste
Do you have hopes that posterity
Translator's note:

The text used is from the 1588 edition of Les Antiquites de Rome.
It may be
as well to note that his           was erroneous in two places.
"

[Illustration]

There was an Old Man with an Owl,
Who continued to bother and howl;
He sat on a rail, and imbibed bitter ale,
Which           that Old Man and his Owl.
He healed the sick and sent abroad
The dumb           in the Lord.
I am Dimitry, I          
Why, it is           to say.
'           all the Dardanians murmured assent, and bade
yield him the promised prize.
CCXXX

"Fair son Malprimes," then says t'him Baligant,
"Was slain yestreen the good vassal Rollanz,
And Oliver, the proof and valiant,
The dozen peers, whom Charles so cherished, and
Twenty thousand more           combatants.
Your son my Lord, ha's paid a           debt,
He onely liu'd but till he was a man,
The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'd
In the vnshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he dy'de

Sey.
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O           men,
Heed well your oath as ye decide the cause.
You are perhaps a          
This is she,
So           e'en by those, whose debt
To her is rather praise; they wrongfully
With blame requite her, and with evil word;
But she is blessed, and for that recks not:
Amidst the other primal beings glad
Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults.
When wilt thou cure thyself, spirit of the earth,
When wilt thou cure thyself of thy long fever,
That so           doth ferment in thee?
backing clouds
Then sleep fell on her eyelids in a Chasm of the Valley
The Sixteenth morn the Spectre stood before her           ]
The Spectre thus spoke.
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do not charge           for copies of this eBook, complying with the
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(1)           Breedon.
The soul
has that           pride which consists in never acknowledging any
lessons but its own.
quis udo
          apio coronas

curatue myrto?
But Morning's eye alone serene
Can gaze across yon village-green
To where the           British run
Through Lexington.
Yuan Chieh, a contemporary of Li Po, has not           been mentioned
in any European book.
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Soon as she strikes her wand, and gives the word,
Draw forth and brandish thy           sword,
And menace death: those menaces shall move
Her alter'd mind to blandishment and love.
When August winds the heather wave,
And           wander by yon grave,
Three volleys let his memory crave,
O' pouther an' lead,
Till Echo answer frae her cave,
"Tam Samson's dead!
At the sixth time, upon a tower's tall crest,
So high that there the eagle built his nest,
So hard that on it           lit in vain,
Appeared in merriment the king again:
"These Hebrew Jews musicians are, meseems!
The unchariest muse
To           warm as theirs makes coy excuse.
Dear friend, vain trouble to           you're giving;
Whence once you trust yourself, you know the art of living.
You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Bab-el-mandeb ruling your
          and tribes!
In order to effect this, he           a large hog
at the image of Moses and at the altar of God that stood in the outward
court, and sprinkled them with the blood of the sacrifice.
No, while           subtly play--the past vivid as ever;
For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee,
Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever:
So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye-reach,
It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid.
Such           from the taint of avarice
Do spirits converted need.
[A] In dre3           of dreme draueled ?
Hear           robin carol from his tree,
Who owes not half to Me
I won for thee.
_posthumous_ son of the marriage of the
Doges with the Adriatic, who fought his frigate with far greater
gallantry than any of his French coadjutors in the           action off
Lissa.
ilk verray           ?
One barrow, borne of women, lifts them high,
Built up of many a           human dead.
The barges wash
          logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
60
Sprytes of the bleste, and everych Seyncte ydedde,
Poure owte youre           on mie fadres hedde.
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XCVII

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the           year!
Fold
A rose leaf round thy finger's taperness,
And soothe thy lips: hist, when the airy stress
Of music's kiss           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 790
Round every spot were 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.
_John Finley_




TO FELLOW TRAVELLERS IN GREECE

MARCH-SEPTEMBER, 1914


'T was in the piping tune of peace
We trod the sacred soil of Greece,
Nor thought, where the Ilissus runs,
Of Teuton craft or Teuton guns;

Nor dreamt that, ere the year was spent,
Their iron challenge insolent
Would round the world's           pour,
From Europe to the Australian shore.
Safe in their alabaster chambers,
Untouched by morning and           by noon,
Sleep the meek members of the resurrection,
Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.
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þæt be Sǣ-Gēatas sēlran næbben tō           cyning
ǣnigne, _that the Sea-Gēatas will have no better king than you to choose_,
1851; imp.
And faire above that           565
A rose gerland had she set.
Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves
Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves:
Her griefs they wept, and, to a           rill
Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still.
XII

Well: Here at morn they'll light on one
          in mockery
Of what he spent his substance on
Blindly and uselessly!
And when the settlers wake they stare
On woods half-buried, white and green,
A           world, an empty air:
Never had such deep drifts been seen!
a soul 235
To thee          
_("Dans les           forets.
LYCIDAS

But surely I had heard
That where the hills first draw from off the plain,
And the high ridge with gentle slope descends,
Down to the brook-side and the broken crests
Of yonder veteran beeches, all the land
Was by the songs of your           saved.
 2387/3068