I have lived and I have loved; I have waked and I have slept; I have sung and I have danced; I have smiled and I have wept; I have won and wasted treasure;

Come, gentle phantasie, Come to my lone retreat, Beside the rolling sea, Where the playful billows beat; Come at still twilight’s time,

Earth heard the loud, the solemn s… And started from her utmost bound, And Darkness, on his ebon car, Spread his black wings, and fled a… The dun clouds opened with affrigh…

A mighty tempest rent the sky, As if a god were passing by. Bending to earth my humbled head, In solemn and religious dread, And kneeling on the sod,

Why, O wind of summer. Why that restless moan? Weepest thou for pleasures That are past and gone? Mournest thou for visions

BALLAD. ’Tis dreamy midnight’s solemn hour… The busy village sleeps, And the pale moonbeam’s silver she… Its nightly vigil keeps;

I’m poor and quite unknown, I have neither fame nor rank; My labour is all I own, I have no gold at the bank; I’m one of the common crowd,

I saw a stain on the last year’s s… Brothers! a stain of blood! But the cold hath past, and the wa… And the trees are in the bud. The snow hath melted from dale and…

In cold misfortune’s cheerless day… When joy and peace and love depart… When friends deceive, and hopes de… And sorrows press the heavy heart, O! Lord, Thou canst relief impart…

Dense on the stream the vapours la… Thick as wool on the cold highway; Spongy and dim, each lonely lamp Shone o’er the streets so dull and… The moonbeam could not pierce the…

Alder tree, O alder tree, Over his grave reclining; I’ve braided a wreath of the faire… That ever were fed by the spring-t… Or nursed by the summer shining.

Cleon hath a million acres, Ne’er a one have I; Cleon dwelleth in a palace, In a cottage I; Cleon hath a dozen fortunes,

Deep in the shade of the wild wood… There standeth alone an old oak tr… And ever at night, 'mong its branc… The cold wind mourneth its glories… And the nightingale singeth her sa…

’Tis sweet, in the shade of the lo… In the dewy morning time, To hear the song of the joyous lar… Or the distant village chime; Or to sit and think,

He carved his name upon the tree, Ere he hied him o’er the billow, A token of love and memory On that lone drooping willow; And bade me come at twilight dim,