Peter Faultless to his brother Simon tales of night, in rhyme, and other poems. By the author of Night [i.e. Ebenezer Elliott] |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. | XII.
THE POET'S SONG. |
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| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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 | Peter Faultless to his brother Simon |  |
XII. THE POET'S SONG.
“Methought, I wander'd long and far, and slept
On purple heath flowers, while the black stream crept
Moaning, beside me, o'er its bed of stone:
But soon before my troubled spirit pass'd
A dream of unclimb'd hills, and forests vast,
And sea-like lakes, and shadowy rivers lone.
On purple heath flowers, while the black stream crept
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But soon before my troubled spirit pass'd
A dream of unclimb'd hills, and forests vast,
And sea-like lakes, and shadowy rivers lone.
“And there, a man, whose youth seem'd palsied eld,
Mov'd, slow and faint, by wildering thought impell'd;
Yet beam'd the sorrow of his gentle eye,
With a sweet calmness, on the mountain's hoar,
And the magnificent Flora, and the shore
Of shipless waves, that swell'd to meet the sky.”
Mov'd, slow and faint, by wildering thought impell'd;
Yet beam'd the sorrow of his gentle eye,
With a sweet calmness, on the mountain's hoar,
And the magnificent Flora, and the shore
Of shipless waves, that swell'd to meet the sky.”
“And, oh,” he said, “falsehood, that truth-like seem'd!
I lov'd, and thought I was belov'd—I dream'd,—
Who hath had joys, and who hath woes, like mine?
The worm that gnaws the soul, hath found me out.
Can th' lightning blast like thee, thou withering doubt?
Suspicion! hath the wolf a fang like thine?”
I lov'd, and thought I was belov'd—I dream'd,—
Who hath had joys, and who hath woes, like mine?
The worm that gnaws the soul, hath found me out.
Can th' lightning blast like thee, thou withering doubt?
Suspicion! hath the wolf a fang like thine?”
“Farewell for ever!—and, oh, thank'd be thou,
Realm of the roaring surge, that part'st us now!
And hail, ye pathless swamps, ye unsail'd floods!—
Thou owest nought, thou glistening snake, to me;
Hiss! if thou wilt! I ask not love of thee.
And then he plung'd into the night of woods.”
Realm of the roaring surge, that part'st us now!
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Thou owest nought, thou glistening snake, to me;
Hiss! if thou wilt! I ask not love of thee.
And then he plung'd into the night of woods.”
| Peter Faultless to his brother Simon | |