Go not, happy day, From the shining fields, Till the maiden yields. to bio. Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Falters from her lips, O'er the blowing ships; 14 Over blowing seas, Over seas at rest, Pass the happy news, Blush it thro' the West; Till the red man dance By his red cedar-tree, ode HDM And the red man's babe fod bid I amⱭ Leap beyond the sea. of 1 bison oyol I Blush from West to East, Blush from East to West, Till the West is East, Blush it thro' the West. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. jayo ym of Bojdi s på vignes yin son 19. I Aug 5 stotal and lat mourn I ve T XVIII I have led her home, my love, my There is none like her, none. my only friend. And never yet so warmly ran my blood Calming itself to the long-wish'd-for end, Maud None like her, none. Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk more; But even then I heard her close the door, ba gone. There is none like her, none. Nor will be when our summers have deceased. In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious Sighing for Lebanon, Dark cedar, tho' thy limbs have here increased, Upon a pastoral slope as fair, And looking to the South, and fed mon With honey'd rain and delicate air, Maud And haunted by the starry head Of her whose gentle will has changed my fate, And over whom thy darkness must have spread Shadowing the snow-limb'd Eve from whom Here will I lie, while these long branches sway, Who am no more so all forlorn, As when it seem'd far better to be born To labour and the mattock-harden'd hand, bal Cold fires, yet with power to burn and brand But now shine on, and what care I, Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may give In our low world, where yet 'tis sweet to live. It seems that I am happy, that to me A Maud Not die; but live a life of truest breath, Make answer, Maud made my Maud by that long lover's kiss, 8 Is that enchanted moan only the swell C Maud May nothing there her maiden grace affright! My own heart's heart, my ownest own, farewell; And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell XIX Her brother is coming back to-night, My dream? do I dream of bliss? Darken'd watching a mother decline And that dead man at her heart and mine: Yet so did I let my freshness die. |