Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . in his tree. Than he that warbles long and loudAnd drops at Glorys whom the carrion vulture waits To tear his heart before the crowd ! TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE. Iivi/YRIAN woodlands, echoing fallsOf water, slieets of summer glass,The long divine Peneian pass, The vast Akrokeraunian walls, Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair,With such a pencil, such a pen,You shadow forth to distant men, I read and felt that I was there : And trust me while I turnd the page,And trackd you still on classic ground,I grew in gladness till I found My sp
Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . in his tree. Than he that warbles long and loudAnd drops at Glorys whom the carrion vulture waits To tear his heart before the crowd ! TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE. Iivi/YRIAN woodlands, echoing fallsOf water, slieets of summer glass,The long divine Peneian pass, The vast Akrokeraunian walls, Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair,With such a pencil, such a pen,You shadow forth to distant men, I read and felt that I was there : And trust me while I turnd the page,And trackd you still on classic ground,I grew in gladness till I found My spirits in the golden age. For me the torrent ever pourd And glistend — here and there aloneThe broad-limbd Gods at random thrown By fountain-urns; — and Naiads oard A glimmering shoulder under gloom Of cavern pillars ; on the swell The silver lily heaved and fell ;And many a slope was rich in bloom From him that on the mountain leaBy dancing ri\ailets fed his flocksTo him who sat upon the rocks, And fluted to the morning sea. (225). ^^[^^^igsr BRBAK, BRBAK, BRBAK.** BrKAK, break, break, On tby cold gray stones, O Sea !And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fishermans boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O well for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay ! (226) ^Break, Break, Breaks 227 And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill;But O for the touch of a vanishd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break At the foot of thy crags, O Sea !But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. THE POETvS SONG. The; rain liad fallen, the Poet arose, He passd by the town and out of the street,A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat,And he sat him down in a lonely place. And chanted a melod} loud and made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet. The swallow stopt as he hunted th
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