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Poems about Mythology
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Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting,
Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining;
SCENE, *a Valley near Bagdat TIME, the Morning*
`Ye Persian maids, attend your poet's lays,
You carry, even now doth Pallas show
Her wrath, preparing buckler, car, and helm.
Immortal Imogen, crown'd queen above The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear
ME thus often the evil monsters
thronging threatened. With thrust of my sword,
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest men
SCENE, a forest TIME, the Evening
In Georgia's land, where Tefflis' towers are seen,
Through Goshen Hollow, where hemlocks grow, Where rushing rills, with flash and flow,
UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,
who sat at the feet of the Scyldings' lord,
SCENE, a Mountain in Circassia TIME, Midnight
In fair Circassia, where, to love inclined,
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
STONE-BRIGHT the street: it showed the way
to the crowd of clansmen. Corselets glistened
Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
MANY at morning, as men have told me,
warriors gathered the gift-hall round,
Beren meets Lúthien
'A! Lúthien, Tinúviel,
When stars come gleaming one by one, And fold and farm are still,
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, Your head like the golden-rod,
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
HROTHGAR spake, -- to the hall he went,
stood by the steps, the steep roof saw,
Imaginez Diane en galant équipage, Parcourant les forêts ou battant les halliers,
O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water!
O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter!
THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train,
defence-of-Scyldings, forth from hall;
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
THEN from the moorland, by misty crags,
with God's wrath laden, Grendel came.
NOT in any wise would the earls'-defence
suffer that slaughterous stranger to live,
A breath on my forehead,
A laugh in my ear,
See Clinchie to the hen approach, A scoundrel screen'd in gilded coach.
Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god
Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright
Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Winter comes to Nargothrond
The summer slowly in the sad forest
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