III.
PPACTOLUS singeth over golden sand;Scamander, old and blood-empurpled river,Rolls yet her stream divine; and CastalyFlows lucid in the light of ancient song;Whilst thou, sweet Luggie! fairest of this land,And fair as any of that famous throng,In pastoral, still loveliness, must beBald as a marshy brooklet nameless ever!Nay, by the spirit of beauty and dear pleasure,Sure I shall sing thee as my first delight,Nurse of my soul, companion of my leisure!And if in aftertime thy waters rollMore worthily, more spiritually bright,It will be sunshine to my perfect soul.
PPACTOLUS singeth over golden sand;Scamander, old and blood-empurpled river,Rolls yet her stream divine; and CastalyFlows lucid in the light of ancient song;Whilst thou, sweet Luggie! fairest of this land,And fair as any of that famous throng,In pastoral, still loveliness, must beBald as a marshy brooklet nameless ever!Nay, by the spirit of beauty and dear pleasure,Sure I shall sing thee as my first delight,Nurse of my soul, companion of my leisure!And if in aftertime thy waters rollMore worthily, more spiritually bright,It will be sunshine to my perfect soul.
PPACTOLUS singeth over golden sand;Scamander, old and blood-empurpled river,Rolls yet her stream divine; and CastalyFlows lucid in the light of ancient song;Whilst thou, sweet Luggie! fairest of this land,And fair as any of that famous throng,In pastoral, still loveliness, must beBald as a marshy brooklet nameless ever!Nay, by the spirit of beauty and dear pleasure,Sure I shall sing thee as my first delight,Nurse of my soul, companion of my leisure!And if in aftertime thy waters rollMore worthily, more spiritually bright,It will be sunshine to my perfect soul.
P