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O'er the smooth enamelled green,

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray,

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,

Oh! to be in England,

O, lady, twine no wreath for me,

O luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen,

O Mary! at thy window be,

O! my love's like the stedfast sun,

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O my luve's like a red, red rose,

On a day (alack the day!)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 194

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray,

O that those lips had language! life has passed,

Orpheus with his lute made trees,

O Time! who knowest a lenient hand to lay,
O were my love yon lilac fair,

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,

Queen of the silver bow! by thy pale beam,

Reach, with your whiter hands, to me,
Roses, their sharp spines being gone,

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
See the chariot at hand here of Love,
See, the day begins to break,
She came, she is gone, we have met,
She doth tell me where to borrow,

Shepherds all, and maidens fair,

She stood breast-high amid the corn,

She was a Phantom of delight,

Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said,

Silent nymph, with curious eye!

Sing his praises that doth keep,

Sith gone is my delight and only pleasure,

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Sleep breathes at last from out thee,
So forth issued the Seasons of the year,
So spake th' eternal Father, and fulfilled,
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou,
Swifter far than summer's flight,

Take, oh, take those lips away,

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Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

That day I oft remember, when from sleep,
The castled crag of Drachenfels,

The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,
The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The day had been a day of wind and storm,
The finished garden to the view,
The frost performs its secret ministry,

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The lark has sung his carol in the sky,

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The lark now leaves his watery nest,

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The Months all riding came,

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The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick,
The night was winter in his roughest mood,
The north-east spends his rage; he now shut up,
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
There is continual Spring, and harvest there,
The rising moon has hid the stars,

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There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away,

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There were twa sisters lived in a bouir,

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These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,

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The spring is here-the delicate-footed May,

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The star that bids the shepherd fold,
The twentieth year is well nigh past,
The wild-winged creature, clad in gore,

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The winds are bitter, the skies are wild,
The wisest of us all, when woe,
The world's great age begins anew,
This common field, this little brook,.
They are all gone into a world of light,
They that never had the use,

Thorough yon same bending plain,

Those lips, that Love's own hands did make,

Thou art to all lost love the best,

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,
Three days ago, Lord Ronald's child,
Thrice happy he who by some shady grove,
Thrice, oh, thrice happy shepherd's life and state,
Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed,
Thus to be lost, and thus to sink and die,

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Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream!

"I is from high life, high characters are drawn,

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"T is long since we were forced to part, at least it seems so to my grief, 436

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb,

To him who in the love of nature holds,

To whom belongs this valley fair,

"I was at the royal feast, for Persia won,

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green,
Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,

Underneath this marble hearse,
Under the greenwood tree,

Up from the shore of the placid lake,

Vale of the cross, the shepherds tell,
Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,

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Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower!
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,

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Wee, sleekit, cowrin', timorous beastie,
Were there one whose fires,

What beckoning Ghost, along the moonlight shade,
What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured bones,
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod,

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When I consider how my light is spent,

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When in disgrace, with fortune and men's eyes,

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When I was a dweller in Cloudland,

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When love with unconfined wings,

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When maidens such as Hester die,

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When May is in his prime,

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When Music, heavenly maid, was young,

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When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free,

When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame, .

When we for age could neither read nor write,

Where the remote Bermudas ride,

With fingers weary and worn,

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climbst the skies,
With thee conversing I forget all time,

Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 't is true,
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,

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