No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is — it is the cannon's opening roar! XXIII Within a windowed niche of that high hall And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. XXIV Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! XXV And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; Or whispering, with white lips - "The foe! They come they come!" George Gordon Byron RING OUT, WILD BELLS FROM In Memoriam CVI Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring out the grief that saps the mind, Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring out the want, the care, the sin, Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, Ring out false pride in place and blood, Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring in the valiant man and free, I come from haunts of coot and hern, By thirty hills I hurry down, Till last by Philip's farm I flow For men may come and men may go, I chatter over stony ways, With many a curve my banks I fret, By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow I wind about, and in and out, And here and there a foamy flake With many a silvery water-break And draw them all along, and flow For men may come and men may go, I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, I murmur under moon and stars And out again I curve and flow For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. Alfred Tennyson THE LADY OF SHALOTT PART I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. |