Ballads and lyrics . the leaves when laid In their noon-day my win^rs are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one,When rocke<l to rest on their mothers breast, As she dances about the wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under,And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. II. I sift the snow on the mountains btjow. And their great pines groan aghast;And all the night t is my pillow white, While 1 sleep in the arms of the on the towers of my skiey bowers, Lightning my pilot sirs;In a cavern under
Ballads and lyrics . the leaves when laid In their noon-day my win^rs are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one,When rocke<l to rest on their mothers breast, As she dances about the wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under,And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. II. I sift the snow on the mountains btjow. And their great pines groan aghast;And all the night t is my pillow white, While 1 sleep in the arms of the on the towers of my skiey bowers, Lightning my pilot sirs;In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits ;Over earth and ocean with gentle motion This pilot is guiding by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea ;Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, writer? who made the beginning of the nineteenth century themost brilliant period of English literature, with the exception ofthmt of Elizabeth. I. I I THE CLOUD, 179 f Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The sphit he loves remains;And I all the while bask in heavens blue smile,Whilst he is dissolving in rains. III. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, \ Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, ^ When the morning star shines dead. j As on the jag of a mountain crag, J Which an earthquake rocks and swings, ^ An eagle alit one moment may sit 5 In the lioht of its grolden wino;s. • And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love,And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above,With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,• As still as a brooding dove. IV. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,Whom mortals call the glimmering oer my fleece-like floor. By the midnight breezes strewn ;And wherever the beat of her unseen feet. Which only the angels hear,May have broken the woof of my tents thin ro
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