I long for scenes where man has never trod-- For scenes where woman never smiled or wept-- There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,-- The grass below; above, the vaulted sky. Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 1793-1835 622. Dirge CALM on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death No more may fear to die. John Keats. 1795-1821 623. Song of the Indian Maid FROM 'ENDYMION' O SORROW! Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? O Sorrow! Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?-- To give the glow-worm light? Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on siren shores, the salt sea-spry? O Sorrow! Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?-- To give at evening pale Unto the nightingale, That thou mayst listen the cold dews among? O Sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?-- A lover would not tread A cowslip on the head, Though he should dance from eve till peep of day-- Nor any drooping flower Held sacred for thy bower, Wherever he may sport himself and play. To Sorrow I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind: I would deceive her And so leave her, But ah! she is so constant and so kind. Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, I sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide There was no one to ask me why I wept,-- And so I kept Brimming the water-lily cups with tears Cold as my fears. Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, I sat a-weeping: what enamour'd bride, Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds, But hides and shrouds Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side? And as I sat, over the light blue hills There came a noise of revellers: the rills Into the wide stream came of purple hue-- 'Twas Bacchus and his crew! The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills From kissing cymbals made a merry din-- 'Twas Bacchus and his kin! Like to a moving vintage down they came, Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame; All madly dancing through the pleasant valley, To scare thee, Melancholy! O then, O then, thou wast a simple name! And I forgot thee, as the berried holly By shepherds is forgotten, when in June Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon:-- I rush'd into the folly!