Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a man Let us explain. V. Neither the Pennsylvania State University nor Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, nor anyone... .................................................. 219 Note 11.—ROBERT DONN’S POEMS......................................................................... ...ly made; nor was there any concert betwixt my learned and respected friend Lord Meadowbank and myself upon that occasion. Looking afar if yet her lover's steed The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock Even as a brother--but no more; 'twas much, A stone shifts in the scree and starts to slide. it’s more like you than some loose composite, Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, The tablet of unutterable thoughts /* 728x90, created 7/15/08 */ The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds And dreams in their development have breath,. The Wanderer was return'd. They seem to like me now that I am dead And his soul drank their sunbeams: he was girt And made him friends of mountains: with the stars Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. EDITOR OF ... ...RD EDITION. - she had all she loved, For blight and desolation, compass'd round As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, Which strips the distance of its fantasies, We walk ahead, your children follow us. Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem -she had loved him not,Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved,Nor could he be a part of that which preyedUpon her mind -a spectre of the past.VIA change came o'er the spirit of my dream.The Wanderer was returned. Have a far deeper madness, and the glance III. as if it were not ten years since you died. The boy had fewer summers, but his heart -The mind can makeSubstances, and people planets of its ownWith beings brighter than have been, and giveA breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.I would recall a vision which I dreamedPerchance in sleep -for in itself a thought,A slumbering thought, is capable of years,And curdles a long life into one hour.III saw two beings in the hues of youthStanding upon a hill, a gentle hill,Green and of mild declivity, the lastAs 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,Save that there was no sea to lave its base,But a most living landscape, and the waveOf woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of menScattered at intervals, and wreathing smokeArising from such rustic roofs: the hillWas crowned with a peculiar diademOf trees, in circular array, so fixed,Not by the sport of nature, but of man:These two, a maiden and a youth, were thereGazing -the one on all that was beneathFair as herself -but the boy gazed on her;And both were young, and one was beautiful:And both were young -yet not alike in youth.As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,The maid was on the eve of womanhood;The boy had fewer summers, but his heartHad far outgrown his years, and to his eyeThere was but one beloved face on earth,And that was shining on him; he had lookedUpon it till it could not pass away;He had no breath, no being, but in hers:She was his voice; he did not speak to her,But trembled on her words; she was his sight,For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers,Which coloured all his objects; -he had ceasedTo live within himself: she was his life,The ocean to the river of his thoughts,Which terminated all; upon a tone,A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,And his cheek change tempestuously -his heartUnknowing of its cause of agony.But she in these fond feelings had no share:Her sighs were not for him; to her he wasEven as a brother -but no more; 'twas much,For brotherless she was, save in the nameHer infant friendship had bestowed on him;Herself the solitary scion leftOf a time-honoured race. Reproduction Date: The Dream is a poem written by Lord Byron in 1816. This poem has not been translated into any other language yet. Words which I could not guess of; then he lean'd 5. Of course I know I lacked the common touch. The most flamboyant and notorious of the major English Romantic poets, George Gordon, Lord Byron, was likewise the most fashionable poet of the early 1800s. They do divide our being; they become Save that there was no sea to lave its base, Her sighs were not for him; to her he was And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd Neither the Pennsylvania State University nor Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, nor anyone... ...least taught me what difficulties and what labor genius must bury in those poems which pro- cure us transcendental pleasures. See Introduc- tion to Byron’s Vision of Judgme... Full Text Search Details...y Honoré de Balzac, trans. What he had written, but he shed no tears, Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, so that every guest could take his part in the cry, ... ...—Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders—The Highlanders, and other Poems, etc.]