EXTRACTS FROM AN OPERA.

1818.

O! WERE I one of the Olympian twelve,
Their godships should pass this into a law,—
That when a man doth set himself in toil
After some beauty veiled far away,

Each step he took should make his lady's hand
More soft, more white, and her fair cheek more fair;
And for each briar-berry he might eat,
A kiss should bud upon the tree of love,
And pulp and ripen richer every hour,
To melt away upon the traveller's lips.

When wedding fiddles are a-playing,

Huzza for folly O!

And when maidens go a-Maying,

O, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts!
Perhaps her voice is not a nightingale's,
Perhaps her teeth are not the fairest pearl ;
Her eye-lashes may be, for aught I know,
Not longer than the May-fly's small fan-horns;
There may not be one dimple on her hand;
And freckles many; ah! a careless nurse,
In haste to teach the little thing to walk,
May have crumpt up a pair of Dian's legs,
And warpt the ivory of a Juno's neck.

The stranger lighted from his steed,

And ere he spake a word,
He seized my lady's lily hand,

And kiss'd it all unheard.

II.

The stranger walk'd into the hall,

And ere he spake a word,

He kiss'd my lady's cherry lips,

And kiss'd 'em all unheard.

III.

The stranger walk'd into the bower,—
But my lady first did go,—

Aye hand in hand into the bower,

My lady's maid had a silken scarf,
And a golden ring had she,

And a kiss from the stranger, as off he went

Again on his fair palfrey.

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven's blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,

My sudden adoration, my great love!

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.

A BALLAD.

I.

1819.

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

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.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

IV.

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.