The dust and awful treasures of the Dead,
Hath Learning scattered wide, but vainly thee,
Homer, she meteth with her tool of lead,
And strives to rend thy songs; too blind to see
The crown that burns on thine immortal head
Of indivisible supremacy!
IN TINTAGEL.
LUI.
Ah lady, lady, leave the creeping mist,
And leave the iron castle by the sea!
ELLE.
Nay, from the sea there came a ghost that kissed
My lips, and so I cannot come to thee!
LUI.
Ah lady, leave the cruel landward wind
That crusts the blighted flowers with bitter foam!
ELLE.
Nay, for his arms are cold and strong to bind,
And I must dwell with him and make my home!