CLXIV THE SLEEPING BEAUTY YEAR I. THE MAGIC SLEEP I WEAR after year unto her feet, She lying on her couch alone, Across the purple coverlet, The maiden's jet-black hair has grown, On either side her tranced form Forth streaming from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl. 2 The silk star-broider'd coverlid Unto her limbs itself doth mould, Languidly ever; and, amid Her full black ringlets downward roll'd, Glows forth each softly shadow'd arm With bracelets of the diamond bright: Her constant beauty doth inform Stillness with love, and day with light. 3 She sleeps her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd, That lie upon her charmed heart. She sleeps on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly press'd: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest. II. THE FAIRY PRINCE'S ARRIVAL I A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt, There rose a noise of striking clocks, A breeze through all the garden swept, 2 The hedge broke in, the banner blew, The parrot scream'd, the peacock squall'd, 3 And last with these the king awoke, And yawn'd, and rubb'd his face, and spoke, 'By holy rood, a royal beard! How say you? we have slept, my lords. 4 'Pardy,' return'd the king, 'but still My joints are something stiff or so. My Lord, and shall we pass the bill In courteous words return'd reply: A. Tennyson CLXV CHORAL SONG OF ILLYRIAN PEASANTS UP! up! ye dames, ye lasses gay! To the meadows trip away. 'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. Leave the hearth and leave the house With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. S. T. Coleridge CLXVI THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB THE HE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail, And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, Lord Byron A CLXVII THE WIDOW BIRD WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below. There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No flower upon the ground, And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound. P. B. Shelley CLXVIII DORA ITH farmer Allan at the farm abode WITH William and Dora. William was his son, And she his niece. He often look'd at them, And often thought, 'I'll make them man and wife.' Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, And yearn'd towards William ; but the youth, because He had been always with her in the house, Thought not of Dora. Then there came a day When Allan call'd his son, and said: 'My son, I married late, but I would wish to see |