My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mineDash down yon cup of Samian wine! 1821. Lord Byron. } 90 96 A SMALL, SWEET IDYL COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, 10 20 Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, 1847. Lord Tennyson 30 KUBLA KHAN IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, But Oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 10 20 A mighty fountain momently was forced: The shadow of the dome of pleasure 30 Where was heard the mingled measure A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! In a vision once I saw; It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 't would win me Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 40 50 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR COME, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 't is at a white heat now: ¦ The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves below, And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe; It rises, roars, rends all outright-O Vulcan, what a glow! T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright, the high sun shines not so! 10 The high sun sees not, on the earth, such a fiery, fearful show, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe; . As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster, slow Sinks on the anvil-all about the faces fiery grow "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out, leap out; " bang, bang, the sledges go; Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squash ing blow; |