Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/710

 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

The blythe and liberal shepherd boy, Whose sunny bosom swells with joy When we accept his matted rushes Upheaved with sylvan fruit; away he bounds, and blushes.

I promise to bring back with me

What thou with transport wilt receive,

The only proper gift for thee, Of which no mortal shall bereave

In later times thy mouldering walls,

Until the last old turret falls;

A crown, a crown from Athens won' A crown no god can wear, beside Latona's son.

There may be cities who refuse

To their own child the honours due,

And look ungcntly on the Muse; But ever shall those cities rue

The dry, unyielding, niggard breast,

Offering no nourishment, no rest,

To that young head which soon shall rise Disdainfully, in might and glory, to the skies.

Sweetly where cavern'd Dirce flows

Do white-arm'd maidens chaunt my lay, Flapping the while with laurel-rose The honey-gathering tribes away; And sweetly, sweetly, Attick tongues Lisp your Corinna's early songs; To her with feet more graceful come The verses that have dwelt in kindred breasts at home.

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