heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: felt I like some watcher of the skies a new planet swings into his ken; ike stout Cortez when with eagle eyes red at the Pacific-and all his men xed at each other with a wild surmise.— upon a peak in Darien.

FANCY

VER let the fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home;

a touch sweet pleasure melteth, - to bubbles when rain pelteth: let wingèd Fancy wander

ough the thought still spread beyond her: n wide the mind's cage door,

1 dart forth, and cloudward soar,

veet Fancy! let her loose;

ammer's joys are spoilt by use,
the enjoying of the Spring
es as does its blossoming;
amn's red-tippel fruitage too,
hing through the mist and dew,
s with tasting: what do then?
thee by the ingle when

sear fagot blazes bright, it of a winter's night;

n the soundless earth is muffled,
the caked snow is shuffled
In the plowboy's heavy shoon;

en the Night doth meet the Noon
dark conspiracy

banish Even from her sky.

thee there, and send abroad,

has vassals to attend her: will bring in spite of frost uties that the earth had lost; will bring thee, altogether, delights of summer weather; the buds and bells of May, m dewy sward or thorny spray; the heaped Autumn's wealth, h a still, mysterious stealth; will mix these pleasures up e three fit wines in a cup,

thou shalt quaff it: thou shalt hear ant harvest carols clear;

tle of the reapèd corn;
et birds antheming the morn:

in the same moment-hark!
the early April lark,

he rooks, with busy caw, aging for sticks and straw.

1 shalt at one glance behold daisy and the marigold; te-plumed lilies, and the first ge-grown primrose that hath burst; led hyacinth, alway

hire queen of the mid-May; every leaf and every flower lèd with the self-same shower I shalt see the field-mouse peep ger from its celled sleep; the snake all winter-thin on sunny bank its skin; kled nest-eggs thou shalt see thing in the hawthorn-tree, n the hen-bird's wing doth rest t on her mossy nest; the hurry and alarm

weet Fancy! let her loose;
rything is spoilt by use:
ckly break her prison-string

1 such joys as these she'll bring,-
the winged Fancy roam,
asure never is at home.

ABELLE DAME SANS MERCI

AF

H what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?

he sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

h, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
'he squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

see a lily on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew;

And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

met a lady in the meads

Full beautiful, a faëry's child;

Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
or sideways would she lean, and sing
A faëry's song.

he looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan.

e found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
nd sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true."

he took he to her elfin grot,

And there she gazed and sighed deep,
nd there I shut her wild sad eyes-
So kissed to sleep.

nd there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed-ah! woe betide—
he latest dream I ever dreamed

On the cold hillside.

saw pale kings, and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd-“La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall !"

saw their starved lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
nd I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hillside.

nd this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering,

hough the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

TTEN ON A BLANK PAGE IN AKESPEARE'S POEMS, FACING “A LOVER'S COMPLAINT”

GHT star, would I were steadfast as thou art:

ot in lone splendor hung aloft the night,
I watching, with eternal lids apart,
ike nature's patient, sleepless eremite,
oving aters at their priestless task

f pure ablution round earth's human shores, gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

f snow upon the mountains and the moors; o-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, illowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, el for ever its soft fall and swell

ake for ever in a sweet unrest;
still to hear her tender-taken breath,
o live ever-or else swoon to death.

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES

7. AGNES' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; hare limp'd trembling through the frozen

rass,

1 silent was the flock in woolly fold:

nb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told rosary, and while his frosted breath,

e pious incense from a censer old,

n'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he ith.