SONG.

My silks and fine array,

My smiles and languished air, By love are driven away;

And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heaven
When springing buds unfold;
Oh, why to him was 't given

Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is love's all-worshipped tomb
Where all love's pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,

Bring me a winding sheet; When I my grave have made,

Let winds and tempest beat; Then down I'll lie as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!

SONG.

Memory, hither come

And tune your merry notes;

And while upon the wind

Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream

Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song,
And there I'll lie and dream

The day along;

And when night comes I'll go
To places fit for woe,
Walking along the darkened valley,
With silent Melancholy.

MAD SONG.

The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold,
Come hither, Sleep,

And my griefs enfold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling beds of dawn
The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault

Of paved heaven With sorrow fraught

My notes are driven;

They strike the ear of night,

Make weak the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds
And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud
With howling woe
After night I do crowd

And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east

From whence comforts have increased;

For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.

TO THE MUSES.

Whether on Ida's shady brow,

Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the Sun that now From ancient melody have ceased; Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,

Or the green corners of the Earth, Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove
Beneath the bosom of the sea,
Wandering in many a coral grove;
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry:

How have you left your ancient love

That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move, The sound is forced, the notes are few.

[From Songs of Innocence.]

INTRODUCTION.

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me :-

'Pipe a song about a lamb:'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again :'
So I piped; he wept to hear.

'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,
Sing thy songs of happy cheer:
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

'Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book that all may read '-
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.

THE LAMB.

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life and bade thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb I'll tell thee;
Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls himself a Lamb;
He is meek and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.

Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!

NIGHT.

The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,

With silent delight

Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have ta'en delight;
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright:
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
On each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest,
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm.
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey.
They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful
The angels most heedful
Receive each mild spirit
New worlds to inherit.