August, 1842 with a remembrance of August, 1807 I gaze, where August’s sunbeam fa… Along these grey and lonely walls, Till in its light absorbed appears

O’er bush and briar Childe Launce… With ardent hopes elate, And loudly blew the horn that hung Before Sir Hornbook’s gate. The inner portals opened wide,

O freedom! power of life and light… Sole nurse of truth and glory! Bright dweller on the rocky cliff! Lone wanderer on the sea! Where’er the sunbeam slumbers brig…

THE LADY. O cavalier! what dost thou here, Thy tuneful vigils keeping; While the northern star looks cold… And half the world is sleeping?

Long night succeeds thy little day… Oh blighted blossom! can it be, That this grey stone, and grassy c… Have clos’d our anxious care of th… The half-form’d speech of artless…

My thoughts by night are often fil… With visions false as fair: For in the past alone I build My castles in the air. I dwell not now on what may be:

—anankta ton pantôn huperbal– lonta chronon makarôn. Pindar. Hymn. frag. 33 As the mountain-torrent rages, Loud, impetuous, swift, and strong…

I DUG, beneath the cypress shade…    What well might seem an elfin’s… And every pledge in earth I laid,    That erst thy false affection g… I press’d them down the sod beneat…

In life three ghostly friars were… And now three friarly ghosts we be… Around our shadowy table placed, The spectral bowl before us floats… With wine that none but ghosts can…

Quickly pass the social glass, Hence with idle sorrow! No delay—enjoy today, Think not of tomorrow! Life at best is but a span,

—anankta ton pantôn huperbal– lonta chronon makarôn. Pindar. Hymn. frag. 33 Spirit of the days of yore! Thou! who, in thy haunted cave,

By the mossy weed-flowered column, Where the setting moonbeam’s glanc… Streams a radiance cold and solemn On the haunts of old romance: Know’st thou what those shafts bet…

Saint Laura, in her sleep of deat… Preserves beneath the tomb —'Tis willed where what is willed… In incorruptibility Her beauty and her bloom.

SEAMEN three! What men be ye? Gotham’s three wise men we be. Whither in your bowl so free? To rake the moon from out the sea. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth…

I play’d with you 'mid cowslips bl… When I was six and you were four; When garlands weaving, flower-ball… Were pleasures soon to please no m… Through groves and meads, o’er gra…