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ckle must the maiden dare, Would reign my Queen of May! "Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I! And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now. _Chorus._ Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather flowers there Would grace a summer-queen. SIR W. SCOTT. 171. There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like Thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep: So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. LORD BYRON. 172. LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I arise from dreams of Thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me--who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream-- The champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must on thine, Oh, beloved as thou art! Oh lift me from the grass! I die! I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast; O! press it to thine own again Where it will break at last. P.B. SHELLEY. 173. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every ra
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