POSTHUMOUS POEMS. FINGAL'S CAVE. OT Aladdin magian N% Ever such a work began; upon 99 "What is this? and what art thou?" Whispered I, and touch'd his brow; "What art thou? and what is this? Whispered I, and strove to kiss The spirit's hand, to wake his eyes; Up he started in a trice: “I am Lycidas,” said he, "Fam'd in fun'ral minstrelsy! This was architectur'd thus By the great Oceanus ! Here his mighty waters play Hollow organs all the day; Here, by turns, his dolphins all, Such a taint, and soon unweave So saying, with a Spirit's glance W ΤΟ HAT can I do to drive away Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen, Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen! Touch has a memory. O say, love, say, What can I do to kill it and be free In my old liberty? When every fair one that I saw was fair, When, howe'er poor or particolour'd things, And ever ready was to take her course Unintellectual, yet divine to me; Divine, I say!-What sea-bird o'er the sea Winging along where the great water throes? How shall I do To get anew Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more Above, above The reach of fluttering Love, And make him cower lowly while I soar? Foisted into the canon law of love; -- No, wine is only sweet to happy men; Seize on me unawares, Where shall I learn to get my peace again? Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods, Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and blind, Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbaged meads Make lean and lank the starv'd ox while he feeds; There bad flowers have no scent, birds no sweet song, And great unerring Nature once seems wrong. O, for some sunny spell To dissipate the shadows of this hell! - with the new dawning light Say they are gone, O, let me once more rest My soul upon that dazzling breast! Let once again these aching arms be placed, The tender gaolers of thy waist! And let me feel that warm breath here and there To spread a rapture in my very hair, Give me those lips again! Enough! Enough! it is enough for me G HYMN TO APOLLO. OD of the golden bow, Of the patient year, Where where slept thine ire, When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath, 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 eagle's feathery mane For wrath became stiffen'd Went drowsily under, Muttering to be unbound. the sound O why didst thou pity, and for a worm Till the thunder was mute, Why was not I crush'd such a pitiful garm? The Pleiades were up, The seeds and roots in the Earth To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow, And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now? U LINES. NFELT, unheard, unseen, Her languid arms in silver slumber ly- Ah! through their nestling touch, Who who could tell how much There is for madness - cruel, or complying? 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! I bend unto your laws: |