 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Round that death-pit,
Stand princes, sighing, of the Faerie Nation;
Which may not weep for woe, as other wights;
How sore their hearts may rue: but they avert
Their cast-down looks, deformed with mortal grief;
And hating this nights stars'-light, shroud, as doth;
Each sleep-bound fowl, their elbowed arms beneath.
Stand princes, sighing, of the Faerie Nation;
Which may not weep for woe, as other wights;
How sore their hearts may rue: but they avert
Their cast-down looks, deformed with mortal grief;
And hating this nights stars'-light, shroud, as doth;
Each sleep-bound fowl, their elbowed arms beneath.
Bent with old rheums, an Ancient nighs. One crazed
In all his joints. White hang his thin hair-locks,
From his uncovered grizzled pate, as frost.
'T is goblin Hazelwood, with his old chin-cough:
In all his joints. White hang his thin hair-locks,
From his uncovered grizzled pate, as frost.
'T is goblin Hazelwood, with his old chin-cough:
Lead young mens hands the Father, and stay up
Under his elbows; whelked are his old eyes,
That gleam, from great-browed hollow pits, unglad,
In wizened visage, through his hearts distress.
Move trembling under him his agéd knees.
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That gleam, from great-browed hollow pits, unglad,
In wizened visage, through his hearts distress.
Move trembling under him his agéd knees.
He, ere mighty-voiced, approached to the pits brink;
Now, ás from untoned leathern throat, recites;
Last ghostly office, for his royal dead.
And seeing, o'er Oberons corse closed, the last clod:
There from his sorrowful wintered breast brake forth,
Husk groans, that might no longer be repressed.
Now, ás from untoned leathern throat, recites;
Last ghostly office, for his royal dead.
And seeing, o'er Oberons corse closed, the last clod:
There from his sorrowful wintered breast brake forth,
Husk groans, that might no longer be repressed.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |