Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by And there was purport in her looks for him, Or I have dream'd.'-'Yes,' said the supreme shape, 'Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side, Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth Of such new tuneful wonder. Is 't not strange That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth, What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs To one who in this lonely isle hath been Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, Like one who once had wings.-O why should I And the most patient brilliance of the moon! And I will flit into it with my lyre, And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush |