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Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres

I find a magic bark;
I leap on board: no helmsman steers :

I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!

Three angels bear the holy Grail :
With folded feet, in stoles of white,

On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!

My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,

And star-light mingles with the stars.


When on my goodly charger borne

Through dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,

The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,

And, ringing, spins from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads,

And gilds the driving hail.
I leave the plain, I climb the height;

No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms

Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

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A maiden knight - to me is given

Such hope, I know not fear;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven

That often meet me here.
I muse on joy that will not cease,

Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,
Whose odors haunt


dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand,

This mortal armor that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes,

Are touched, are turned to finest air.


The clouds are broken in the sky,

And through the mountain-walls
A rolling organ-harmony


and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod,

Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
“O just and faithful knight of God!

Ride on the prize is near.”
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;

By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-armed I ride, whate'er betide,

Until I find the holy Grail.


SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town

Met me walking on yonder way, “ And have


heart ?" she said;
“And are you married yet, Edward Gray ?”

Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me:

Bitterly weeping I turned away: “Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more

Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.

« Ellen Adair she loved me well,

Against her father's and mother's will : To-day I sat for an hour and wept,

By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.

“Shy she was, and I thought her cold;

Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Filled I was with folly and spite,

When Ellen Adair was dying for me.

“ Cruel, cruel were the words I said !

Cruelly came they back to-day: You're too slight and fickle,' I said,

To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.'

“ There I put my face in the grass

Whispered, Listen to my despair : I repent me of all I did :

Speak a little, Ellen Adair!'

“ Then I took a pencil, and wrote

On a mossy stone, as I lay, • Here lies the body of Ellen Adair ;

And here the heart of Edward Gray!'

“ Love may come, and love may go,

And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree : But I will love no more, no more,

Till Ellen Adair come back to me.

Bitterly wept I over the stone :

Bitterly weeping I turned away: There lies the body of Ellen Adair !

And there the heart of Edward Gray!



O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock,

To which I most resort,

the time? 'Tis five o'clock.
Go fetch a pint of port:
But let it not be such as that

You set before chance-comers,
But such whose father-grape grew fat

On Lusitanian summers.

No vain libation to the Muse,

But may she still be kind,
And whisper lovely words, and use

Her influence on the mind.
To make me write my random rhymes,

Ere they be half-forgotten;
Nor add and alter, many times,
Till all be ripe and rotten.



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