and heard thee murmur tales of iron wars

But there is no wind throughout the heaven. And overhead, with a rustling and loud noise, the grey clouds rush westwardly forever, until they roll, a cataract, over the fiery wall of the horizon. And at the roots strange poisonous flowers lie writhing in perturbed slumber. And from their high summits, one by one, drop everlasting dews. And the tall primeval trees rock eternally hither and thither with a crashing and mighty sound. There, like the waves about the Hebrides, the low underwood is agitated continually. 'But there is a boundary to their realm -the boundary of the dark, horrible, lofty forest. And there is an indistinct murmur which cometh out from among them like the rushing of subterrene water. They sigh one unto the other in that solitude, and stretch towards the heaven their long ghastly necks, and nod to and fro their everlasting heads. For many miles on either side of the river's oozy bed is a pale desert of gigantic water-lilies.

'The waters of the river have a saffron and sickly hue -and they flow not onwards to the sea, but palpitate forever and forever beneath the red eye of the sun with a tumultuous and convulsive motion. And there is no quiet there, nor silence. The region of which I speak is a dreary region in Libya, by the borders of the river Zaire. 'There is a spot upon this accursed earth which thou hast never yet beheld And if by any chance thou hast beheld it, it must have been in one of those vigorous dreams which come like the Simoon upon the brain of the sleeper who hath lain down to sleep among the forbidden sunbeams -among the sunbeams, I say, which slide from off the solemn columns of the melancholy temples in the wilderness. 'Listen to me,' said the Demon, as he placed his hand upon my head. I will not sing.Silence - which is the merest word of all' Lie still, you thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. Then should you be nothing but musical, for you are altogether governed by humors.

Do you not love me? Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. with me? Do you not love me? Do you not indeed? Well, do not then, for since you love me not, I will not love myself. In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Directly unto this question that I ask. I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir About his title, and hath sent for you To line his enterprise but if you go. In faith, I’ll know your business, Harry, that I will. Out, you mad-headed ape! A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen As you are tossed with. thou, my lady? What is it carries you away? O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream, And in thy face strange motions have appeared, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden hest. O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offense have I this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry’s bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is ’t that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth And start so often when thou sit’st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks And given my treasures and my rights of thee To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed, Cry “Courage! To the field!” And thou hast talked Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain, And all the currents of a heady fight.