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And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven

All ghastly visaged clouds did sweep;
And the Lady ever looked to spy
If the gold sun shone forth on high.

And as towards the east she turned,

She saw aloft in the morning air, Which now with hues of sunrise burned

A great black Anchor rising there ; And wherever the Lady turned her eyes It hung before her in the skies.

The sky was blue as the suinmer sea,

The depths were cloudless over head,
The air was calm as it could be,

There was no sight nor sound of dread,
But that black Anchor floating still
Over the piny eastern hill.

The Lady grew sick with a weight of fear,

To see that Anchor ever hanging,
And veiled her eyes ; she then did hear

The sound as of a dim low clanging,
And looked abroad if she might know
Was it aught else, or but the flow
Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro.

There was a mist in the sunless air,

Which shook as it were with an earthquake's shock, But the very weeds that blossomed there

Were moveless, and each mighty rock
Stood on its basis stedfastly;
The Anchor was seen no more on high.

But piled around, with summits hid

In lines of cloud at intervals, Stood many a mountain pyramid

Among whose everlasting walls Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes whose quiver.

On two dread mountains, from whose crest,

Might seem, the eagle for her brood Would ne'er bave hung her dizzy nest,

Those tower-encircled cities stood. A vision strange such towers to see, Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously, Where human art could never be.

And columns framed of marble white,

And giant fanes, dome over dome
Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright

With workmanship, which could not come
From touch of mortal instrument,
Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent
From its own shapes magnificent.

But still the Lady heard that clang

Filling the wide air far away;
And still the mistiwhose light did hang

Among the mountains shook alway,
So that the Lady's heart beat fast,
As half in joy, and half aghast,
On those high domes her look she cast.

Sudden from out that city sprung

A light that made the earth grow red; Two flames that each with quivering tongue

Licked its biglı domes, and over head

Among those mighty towers and fares
Dropped fire, as a volcano rains
Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.

And hark! a rush, as if the deep

Had burst its bonds; she looked behind,
And saw over the western steep

A raging flood descend, and wind
Through that wide vale: she felt no fear,
But said within herself, 'tis clear
These towers are Nature's own, and sbe
To save them has sent forth the sea.

And now those raging billows came

Where that fair Lady sate, and she
Was borne towards the sho

ing flame
By the wild waves heaped tumultuously,
And, on a little plank, the flow
Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.

The waves were fiercely vomited

From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed

O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stained cope of heaven's light.

The plank whereon that Lady sate

Was driven through the chasms, about and about, Between the peaks so desolate

Of the drowning mountain, in and out,
As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails -
While the food was filling those hollow vales.

At last her plank an eddy crost,

And bore her to the city's wall,
Which now the flood had reached almost;

It might the stoutest heart appal
To hear the fire roar and hiss
Through the domes of those mighty palaces.

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The eddy whirled her round and round

Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound

Its aery arch with light like blood; She looked on that gate of marble clear With wonder that extinguished fear.

For it was filled with sculptures rarest,

Of forms most beautiful and strange, Like nothing human, but the fairest

Of winged shapes, whose legions range Throughout the sleep of those who are, Like this same Lady, good and fair.

And as she looked, still lovelier grew

Those marble forms;ấthe sculptor sure
Was a strong spirit, and the hue

Of his own mind did there endure
After the touch, whose power had braided
Such grace, was in some sad change faded.

Slie looked, the flames were dim, the flood

Grew tranquil as a woodland river Winding through hills in solitude;

Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver, And their fair limbs to float in motion, Like weeds unfolding in the ocean.

And their lips moved; one seemed to speak,

When suddenly the mountain crackt, And through the chasin the flood did break

With an earth-uplifting cataract: The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin dream Lifted the Lady from the stream.

The dizzy flight of that phantom pale

Waked the fair Lady from her sleep,
And she arose, while from the veil

Of her dark eyes the dream did creep,
And she walked about as one who knew
That sleep has sights as clear and true
As any waking eyes can view.
Marlow, 1817.


Lines written in the Vale of Chamouni.

Tue everlasting universe of things
Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
Now dark—now glittering - now reflecting gloom-
Now lending splendour, where from secret springs
The source of human thought its tribute brings
Of waters, with a sound but halfits own,
Such as a feeble brvok will oft assume
In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,
Where waterfalls around it leap for ever,
Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.

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