10 Nor vain had been my hope that I had found E'en now to haunt my sense-that thou wert She 11 Tis o'er-but there are words, which thou hast spoken, The slumber of my soul at length is broken, 12 Have I not sworn that from this alter'd lyre The strains thou lov'st not shall be heard no more? Have I not sworn my spirit shall aspire (If yet its weaken'd wing hath power to soar) To nobler darings with a pure desire? That when this tale is told-these wanderings o'er, My song shall be attuned, with high endeavour, To loftier music-or be mute for ever? 13 Haply, asleep in Reason's secret cells A power is hid, which yet may make me strong; Haply, the desart of my soul hath wells Which yet may pour a deeper stream of song; Haply-but oh! awaken'd conscience tells That I have trifled with my heart too longDeaden'd each nobler impulse, and profaned The strength which Nature for high toils ordain'd. 14 Yet, from this hour will I, with earnest thought, Heap knowledge from neglected mines of lore*; If, haply, by long process, may be wrought To steadfast ends my mind's unfashion'd ore: Nor vain shall be the lessons thou hast taught, Nor vain that purpose which, for thee, I swore I would pursue in silence.-But 'tis time To end this idle and presumptuous rhyme. 15 The task, which I began in happier hours, Lies yet a shapeless fragment-and 'twill be Hard to renew, with worn and drooping powers, That toil whose fruits will yield no joy to thee. Yet-for the feelings that so late were oursThou wilt forgive my foolish phantasy, Dallying with bitter jests, as if to ease The aching of unheal'd remembrances. 16 Perhaps amidst my laughter, thou wilt hear, Things which are yet reveal'd to thee alone; And thou, I think, wilt hold those accents dear, And greet them with a pleasure all thine own; Nor shall these gifts, which I so coldly bring, Seem in thy sight a worthless offering. * "And from that hour did I, with earnest thought, Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore." SHELLEY. LA BELLE TRYAMOUR. CANTO II. "Then I made a circuit to a place in which nothing was completed." BOOK OF ENOCH, chap. xxi. v. i. I. FOUR months are past, since I've put pen to paper; II. We left King Arthur and his lovely bride Safe at Carlisle-the honey-moon was over, The happy pair had now grown sober-eyed, And he was less a husband than a lover; Soon, from this Virgo, Gemini were born, III. I don't know how it happen'd-and, indeed, For their own selfish ends, the British nation ; And then decide; 'tis true my information IV. All the world knows Anne Boleyn was a martyr- In her defence to bluster and look big, V. . Well! stories will be told, and fools believe them, And awkward facts will come perversely out, Perplexing loyal subjects who receive them. With most unpleasant mystery and doubt, VI. I'm really vastly sorry to detract From any Sovereign's character-but now, I must request you, gentles, to allow That the fair fame of Guenever was crack'd, VII. But here, at starting, I must just premise (Lest any readers should look grave and cold) A tale immoral in decorous mould. That Epicurus is Man's best physician, And chastity a "monkish superstition." VIII. You think you've found, in me, a new recruit- And tell you, in plain terms, I can't endure you; And thought a canto's horse-whipping would cure you,Though, I confess, t'would grieve me to affront That cleverest coxcomb in the world, Leigh Hunt. IX. I'll spare thy weaker brethren for thy sake→→ A friend's advice, and soon recross the sea. The heartless bard, the hoary debauchee, X. With all thy follies, thou wast still sincere, ་ And very often silly, and, I fear, Hast done some harm among the Cockney kind; But what in that same misanthropic peer, What, in the name of wonder, could'st thou find, Which could induce thee to suppose that he XI. Thou wast a faithful and a fit Achates, |