This will do well enough--I have copied it and enclosed it to Hunt. You will call it a little politic--seeing I keep clear of all parties. I say something for and against both parties--and suit it to the tune of the Examiner--I meant to say I do not unsuit it--and I believe I think what I say, nay I am sure I do--I and my conscience are in luck to-day--which is an excellent thing. The other night I went to the Play with Rice, Reynolds, and Martin--we saw a new dull and half-damn'd opera call'd the 'Heart of Midlothian,' that was on Saturday--I stopt at Taylor's on Sunday with Woodhouse--and passed a quiet sort of pleasant day. I have been very much pleased with the Panorama of the Ship at the North Pole--with the icebergs, the Mountains, the Bears, the Wolves--the seals, the Penguins--and a large whale floating back above water--it is impossible to describe the place-- Wednesday Evening [April 28]. LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI O what can ail thee Knight at arms Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the Lake And no birds sing! O what can ail thee Knight at arms So haggard, and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast Withereth too-- I met a Lady in the Meads Full beautiful, a faery's child-- Her hair was long, her foot was light And her eyes were wild-- I made a Garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant Zone She look'd at me as she did love And made sweet moan-- I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend and sing A faery's song-- She found me roots of relish sweet And honey wild and manna dew And sure in language strange she said I love thee true-- She took me to her elfin grot And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four-- And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd Ah Woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamt On the cold hill side. I saw pale Kings and Princes too Pale warriors death-pale were they all They cried--La belle dame sans merci Thee hath in thrall. I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering; Though the sedge is withered from the Lake And no birds sing.[100]...