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Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart.

'Stay-stay with us!-rest!-thou art weary and worn!'-
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;-
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

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TO THE EVENING STAR

STAR that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou

That send'st it from above.
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,

Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in Heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.

ODE TO WINTER

Germany, December, 1800

WHEN first the fiery-mantled Sun
His heavenly race began to run,
Round the earth and ocean blue
His children four the Seasons flew :-

First, in green apparel dancing,
The young Spring smiled with angel-grace;
Rosy Summer next advancing,
Rush'd into her sire's embrace-

Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep
For ever nearest to his smiles,
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep

Or India's citron-cover'd isles.
More remote, and buxom-brown,

The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne;
A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown,
A ripe sheaf bound her zone.

But howling Winter fled afar
To hills that prop the polar star;
And loves on deer-borne car to ride
With barren darkness at his side,
Round the shore where loud Lofoden

Whirls to death the roaring whale,
Round the hall where Runic Odin

Howls his war-song to the galeSave when adown the ravaged globe He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe And trampling on her faded form; Till light's returning Lord assume

The shaft that drives him to his northern field, Of power to pierce his raven plume And crystal-cover'd shield.

O, sire of storms! whose savage ear
The Lapland drum delights to hear,
When Frenzy with her bloodshot eye
Implores thy dreadful deity—
Archangel! Power of desolation!
Fast descending as thou art,

Say, hath mortal invocation

Spells to touch thy stony heart: Then, sullen Winter! hear my prayer, And gently rule the ruin'd year;

Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear:
To shuddering Want's unmantled bed

Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend,
And gently on the orphan head

Of Innocence descend.

But chiefly spare, O king of clouds!
The sailor on his airy shrouds,

When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,

And spectres walk along the deep.
Milder yet thy snowy breezes

Pour on yonder tented shores,

Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes
Or the dark-brown Danube roars.

O, winds of Winter! list ye there

To many a deep and dying groan?

Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own?
Alas! e'en your unhallow'd breath

May spare the victim fallen low;
But Man will ask no truce to death,
No bounds to human woe.

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LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound
Cries Boatman, do not tarry!

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And I'll give thee a silver pound

To row us o'er the ferry!'

'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?'

'O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

6 And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

'His horsemen hard behind us ride-
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?'

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:—

'And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white I'll row you o'er the ferry.'

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode arméd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.'

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-

When, O! too strong for human hand
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,His wrath was changed to wailing.

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For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade
His child he did discover:-

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.

Come back! come back!' he cried in grief,
Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!-O, my daughter!'

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

THE RIVER OF LIFE

THE more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages:
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.

The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,

Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.

But as the care-worn cheeks grow wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye Stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?

When joys have lost their bloom and breath

And life itself is vapid,

Why, as we reach the Falls of Death,
Feel we its tide more rapid?

It may be strange-yet who would change
Time's course to slower speeding,
When one by one our friends have gone
And left our bosoms bleeding?

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