in a branch of willow hid
Sings the evening Caty-did:
From the lofty-locust bough
Feeding on a drop of dew,
In her suit of green arrayed
Hear her singing in the shade—
Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!
While upon a leaf you tread,
Or repose your little head
On your sheet of shadows laid,
All the day you nothing...
Thou, born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come, on vagrant wing?
Does Bacchus tempting seem,—
Did he for you this glass prepare?
Will I admit you to a share?
Did storms harass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay,—
Did wars distress, or labors vex,...
The grandeur of this earthly round,
Where Theon would forever be,
Is but a name, is but a sound—
Mere emptiness and vanity.
Give me the stars, give me the skies,
Give me the heaven’s remotest sphere,
Above these gloomy scenes to rise
Of desolation and despair.
These native fires that warmed the mind.
Now...
Where now these mingled ruins lie
A temple once to Bacchus rose,
Beneath whose roof, aspiring high,
Full many a guest forgot his woes.
No more this dome, by tempests torn,
Affords a social safe retreat;
But ravens here, with eye forlorn,
And clustering bats henceforth will meet.
The Priestess of this ruined shrine,...
