But in my sleep to you I fly: I'm always with you in my sleep! The world is all one's own. But then one wakes, and where am I? All, all alone. Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: So I love to wake ere break of day: For though my sleep be gone, Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, And still dreams on. _April 23, 1799_. LINES ON A CHILD Encinctured with a twine of leaves, That leafy twine his only dress! A lovely Boy was plucking fruits, By moonlight, in a wilderness. The moon was bright, the air was free, And fruits and flowers together grew, On many a shrub and many a tree: And all put on a gentle hue, Hanging in the shadowy air Like a picture rich and rare. It was a climate where, they say, The night is more belov'd than day. But who that beauteous Boy beguil'd, That beauteous Boy to linger here? Alone, by night, a little child, In place so silent and so wild- Has he no friend, no loving mother near? 1798. THE KNIGHT'S TOMB Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? Where may the grave of that good man be?-- By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, Under the twigs of a young birch tree! The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, And whistled and roar'd in the winter alone, Is gone,--and the birch in its stead is grown.-- The Knight's bones are dust, And his good sword rust;-- His soul is with the saints, I trust. ? 1817. FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER A WAR ECLOGUE _The Scene a desolated Tract in La Vendée. _FAMINE_ _is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter_ FIRE _and_ SLAUGHTER. _Fam._ Sisters! sisters! who sent you here? _Slau._ [to Fire]. I will whisper it in her ear. _Fire._ No! no! no! Spirits hear what spirits tell: 'Twill make an holiday in Hell. No! no! no! Myself, I named him once below, And all the souls, that damned be, Leaped up at once in anarchy, Clapped their hands and danced for glee. They no longer heeded me; But laughed to hear Hell's burning rafters Unwillingly re-echo laughters! No! no! no! Spirits hear what spirits tell: 'Twill make an holiday in Hell! _Fam._ Whisper it, sister! so and so! In the dark hint, soft and slow. _Slau._ Letters four do form his name- And who sent you? _Both._ The same! the same! _Slau._ He came by stealth, and unlocked my den, And I have drunk the blood since then Of thrice three hundred thousand men. _Both._ Who bade you do't? _Slau._ The same! the same! Letters four do form his name. He let me loose, and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due.