DON JUAN (1821) CANTO III. XC. And glory long has made the sages smile; 715 Than on the name a person leaves behind: 720 XCI. Milton's the prince of poets-so we say; An independent being in his day Learn'd, pious, temperate in love and wine; But his life falling into Johnson's way, 725 We're told this great high-priest of all the Nine Was whipt at college-a harsh sire-odd spouse, XCII. All these are, certes, entertaining facts, Like Shakespeare's stealing deer, Lord Bacon's bribes; Like Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts; As most essential to their hero's story, 730 735 XCIII. All are not moralists, like Southey, when Let to the Morning Post its aristocracy; XCIV. 740 Such names at present cut a convict figure, 745 Are good manure for their more bare biography. XCV. 750 He there builds up a formidable dyke But Wordsworth's poem, and his followers, like 755 And the new births of both their stale virginities CI. T' our tale. The feast was over, the slaves gone, The Arab lore and poet's song were done, And every sound of revelry expir'd; 760 The lady and her lover, left alone, 805 The rosy flood of twilight sky admir'd; Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea, That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee! CII. Ave Maria! blessed be the hour! The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft 810 Have felt that moment in its fullest power 815 OV. Sweet hour of twilight!—in the solitude Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, CVI. The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, And vesper-bell's that rose the boughs along; The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, 835 840 845 His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng Which learn'd from this example not to fly From a true lover, shadow'd my mind's eye, CVII. Oh, Hesperus! thou bringest all good things- Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast. CVIII. 850 855 Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 860 When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; Seeming to weep the dying day's decay; Is this a fancy which our reason scorns? Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822 ODE TO THE WEST WIND (1819) O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 5 Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 10 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving every where; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear! II. 15 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread 20 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim verge Of the dying year, to which this closing night 25 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere III. Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 30 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, |