Beneath the shade of nodding branches grey, And rude romantic woods, and glens forlorn, The merry hunters wear the hours away; Rings the deep forest to the joyous horn! Joyous to all, but him who with sad look Hangs idly musing by the brawling brook. But mark the merry elves of fairy land! To the high moon’s gleamy glance, They with shadowy morris dance; Soft music dies along the desert sand; Soon at peep of cold-eyed day Soon the numerous lights decay; Merrily, now merrily, After the dewy moon they fly. Let rosy laughter now advance, And wit with sparkling eye, Where quaint powers lurking lie Bright fancy, the queen of the revels, shall dance, And point to the frolicsome train And antic forms that flit unnumbered o’er the plain. O sovereign master! at whose sole command We start with terror, or with pity weep; O! where is now thy all-creating wand? Buried ten thousand fathoms in the deep. The staff is broke, the powerful spell is fled, And never earthly guest shall in thy circle tread. _Sonnets, with other Poems._ 3rd edition. 1794, pp. 67-70. This poem appears in later editions of Bowle’s sonnets in a different form. Stanza 9 is omitted, and the remaining stanzas are arranged thus: 1, 2, 6, 7, 8, 3, 4, 5, 10: “Come to these yellow sands.” Ferdinand. See _The Tempest_. “The weird sisters.” See _Macbeth_. “A beauteous maniac.” Ophelia. See _Hamlet_. “Blow, bitter wind.” See _King Lear_. “Him, who with sad look.” Jacques. See _As You Like It_. “Elves of fairy land.” See _Midsummer Night’s Dream_. THE THIRD PERIOD NINETEENTH CENTURY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1802 (1770-1850) It is not to be thought of that the flood Of British freedom, which, to the open sea Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity Hath flowed “with pomp of waters unwithstood,” Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, That this most famous stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold. “Sonnets dedicated to Liberty.” _Poems._ 1807. FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS, 1804 (1793-1835) “_Shakespeare._”