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And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour !
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
URPRISED by joy — impatient as the wind
O with whom But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find ?
Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind
To my most grievous loss ? — That thought's return
AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping,
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in
thine eye ;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions
of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me
there And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky !
Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on
And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison
rolls, I think, O my Love ! 't is thy voice, from the Kingdom
of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.
ELEGY ON THYRZA
ND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth ;
Too soon return'd to Earth !
In carelessness or mirth,
I will not ask where thou liest low
Nor gaze upon the spot ;
So I behold them not :
Like common earth can rot;
Yet did I love thee to the last,
As fervently as thou
And canst not alter now.
Nor falsehood disavow :
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine :
Shall never more be thine.
Nor need I to repine
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey ;
The leaves must drop away.
And yet it were a greater grief
Than see it pluck'd to-day ;
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
Had worn a deeper shade :
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As once I wept if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed
One vigil o'er thy bed :
Uphold thy drooping head;
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
Than thus remember thee !
Returns again to me,
NE word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
For thee to disdain it.
For prudence to smother,
Than that from another.
I can give not what men call love ;
But wilt thou accept not
And the Heavens reject not :
Of the night for the morrow,
P. B. Shelley
GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE
PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu
Pibroch of Donuil
Summon Clan Conuil.
Hark to the summons !
Gentles and commons.