The poets and poetry of England, in the nineteenth century . teed he went his neer repassd that hoary threshold more!A change came oer the spirit of my boy was sprung to manhood : in the wildsOf fiery climes he made himself a home,And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girtWith strange and dusky aspects ; he was notHimself like what he had been: on the seaAnd on the shore he was a wanderer!There was a mass of many imagesCrowded like waves upon me; but he wasA part of all,—and in the last he layReposing from the noontide sultriness,Couchd among fallen columns, in the shadeO
The poets and poetry of England, in the nineteenth century . teed he went his neer repassd that hoary threshold more!A change came oer the spirit of my boy was sprung to manhood : in the wildsOf fiery climes he made himself a home,And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girtWith strange and dusky aspects ; he was notHimself like what he had been: on the seaAnd on the shore he was a wanderer!There was a mass of many imagesCrowded like waves upon me; but he wasA part of all,—and in the last he layReposing from the noontide sultriness,Couchd among fallen columns, in the shadeOr ruind walls, that had survived the namesOf those who reard them: by his sleeping sideStood camels grazing, and some goodly steedsWere fastend near a fountain; and a man,Clad in a flowing garb, did watch the many of his tribe slumberd around ;And they were canopied by the blue sky—So cloudless, clear, and purely God alone was to be seen in heaven. A change came oer the spirit of my lady of his love was wed with one. ^J^^ LORD BYRON. 221 Who did not love her better: in her home,A thousand leagues from his,—her native home,She dwelt begirt with growing and sons of beauty,—but behold !Upon her face there was the tint of grief,The settled shadow of an inward strife,And an unquiet drooping of the if its lid were charged with unshed could her grief be 1—she had all she loved;And he who had so loved her was not thereTo trouble with bad hopes, or evil ill repressd affliction, her pure could her grief be]—she had loved him given him cause to deem himself beloved;Nor could he be a part of that which preydUpon her mind,—a spectre of the past. A change came oer the spirit of my wanderer was returnd. I saw him standBefore an altar, with a gentle bride:Her face was fair,—but was not that which madeThe starlight of his boyhood ! as he stoodEven at the altar, oer hi
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookye
