THE PALACE OF POESY.
Once on a blithe, blue morn in sun-lov'd Spring,
I laid me down beneath a whispering tree
Whereon the little birds did sweetly sing;
Hard by, a shade-fleck'd streamlet babbled free,
As its swift course it onward still did wing
To ming-le in the music of the sea.
The snowy cloudlets o'er the smiling deep
Of heaven serenely wandered to and fro,
As o'er the meadows stray a flock of sheep,
As thoughts that thro' the brain their shadows throw;
The young spring winds did thro' the forest creep,
Laden with sweet perfumes, and murmurs low.
These pleasant sounds and odours did combine
To lull my senses, and soft sleep did steal
My soul into her shadowy lands divine.
•••••••
I dream'd I stood upon a headland tall,
Beside the olden, many-voiced ocean:
The sun's glad rays were flashing over all,—
With suave puissance, and with rhythmic motion,
The billows lashed the adamantine wall
Of the rude, rocky shores; and from that Ocean
