I ^\v^^l!% ^'o V'/>. ^r% S -c ^v>/ki^: xO AV ,0^ X '■K-^-^ :^.., ■%^. '^y- v^^ ^\/ ^ , , '-^^ ^ ^ .>. %,^-^'^' .' <%^% ~ ; . oV -■ .o^.-'->- '"^j U -^ ^c^^,.,, ^' '7' ,0o % ^%^;"^^ ..'^-^ - o 0^ cP v*-' .^^ ^^. xO o 'a^^^'= -^^ ,0o. 4 w- >- vi^' ^. d^' V * ^ .^'■%/MWJ J -i-'^ ^-t- ':''^:2 .^^■^: .^^' \. \ -^^ ""^ ■..o^-•: ^;' ^, ^-^^ J- %■ =0 0^- - -h ■' POEM S, LONGER AND SHORTER; THOMAS BURBIDGE, OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, ALD x/; •?^ LONDON : WILLIAM PICKERING. 1838. CHARLES WHiTTl-NCHAM LONDON DEDICATION. Know iXG well that these Poems, composed between the ag'es of eighteen and twenty-two, will shew me their faults with every succeeding year more plainly, I prevent them from ever becoming dis- tasteful to me by associating- with them the names of my school-fellows and most dear friends : John Philip Gell. Charles Jonisr Vaughan. John Nassau Simpkinson. Arthur Hugh Clougii. Theodore Walrond. April, 18S8. CONTENTS. LONGER POEMS. Page Prefatory Stanzas I The Bridal op Ravenna 5 m nemeion 31 The Madman's Day 67 SHORTER POEMS. Miscellaneous Poems :— Part I. 1 79 II. For a Book of Poetry, Designs, &c 81 III. A Moral for Spring 84 IV. The Green Lane 85 V 89 VI 90 VII. Dirge 93 VIII. Holbrook Firs 95 IX. Address to Beauty 98 X 101 XI. To Imperia 102 XII. Inscription for a Garden Seat 103 xiu. Day's Help 104 XIV 105 XV 106 XVI. The Miser's Dream 108 XVII. Song 110 XVIII. To Three Little Girls at a Pianoforte Ill XIX. Inscription for a Spring-head 112 XX. Song 113 XXI. The Highlander in Italy 115 xxii. Motto for a Book of Sea-weeds IIS xxiii. The Haunted Cottage 119 XXIT 121 Spring Sonnets : 1 127 II 128 III 129 IV 180 V 131 VJ CONTENTS. Spring Sot<^^ts— continued. Page VI 132 VII 133 VIII 134 IX 135 X. 136 XI 137 XII 138 XIII 139 XIV 140 XV 141 Miscellaneous Poems:— Part 11. 1 145 II. The Poets 146 III. Song 154 IV. The Awaking of the Sleeper 155 V. Sleep's Praise 156 VI. To a little Sister 158 VII 160 VIII 162 IX. An old Man to his little Child 165 X. Inscription for an Arbour formed out of a large Clematis 167 XI. Translation, JEneii IV. 168 XII. A Vision for a May Noon 1G<) XIII. Yesterday 170 XIV. Return 173 XV 176 XVI. Armoria's Garden 177 xvj I. An Aria 179 XVIII 180 XIX. Inscription for a Fountain 181 XX. Sir Leonard 182 XXI 183 XXII J84 xxiii. God's Gift 185 XXIV 187 Sonnets Personal and Occasional : I 191 II. To Stephen Langton '. . . 192 III. To The Same 193 IV. Wildersmouth 194 V 195 VI 196 VII 197 VIII. The Temple-caves of Elephanta i98 IX 199 X. On certain Psalmody 200 CONTENTS. VU SoNXKTs Personal and Occasional — continued. Page XI 201 XII 202 XIII 203 XIV. To the Stars 204 XV 205 XVI 206 XVII 207 xvin 208 XIX 209 XX. Boyhood's Bliss 2J0 XXI. Veaus Emergens 211 XXII. The Same continued 212 xxiii 213 XXIV '. 214 XXV. On a Violet floating in a Glass of Water 215 XXVI 216 xxvii 217 xxviii. Written on the 20th June, 1837 218 XXIX. The Same continued 219 XXX 220 XXXI 221 XXXII 222 XXXUT 223 XXXIV. To the Poet Wordsworth 224 XXXV. To The Same . . .• 225 XXXVI. The Portrait of the same Poet in the Combi- nation Room of St. John's College, Cambridge 226 XXXVII. To Amy Robsart 227 xxxviii 228 xxxix 229 XL 230 XLi. 231 XLII 232 XLIII 233 XLiv. Madingley Churchyard 234 XLV 235 XLYI 238 XLVii 237 XLViii 238 XLix. On receiving good News of a Friend in India . 239 L , 240 LI 241 Lii 242 Liil 243 LIV 244 Lv. Written after reading a Book of Eastern Travels 245 Vlll CONTENTS. Miscellaneous Poems : — Pai't III. Page 1. The Gipsy Beggar 249 II. Inscription for an Arbour 252 III 253 IV 256 •. V. Colin Clout in Warwickshire 259 VI. 261 VII. Grace Carewe 262 VIII 267 IX. The Clearing of the Rain 269 X 270 XI. Mother's Love 272 XII. Verses for a common Case 274 XIII. The Fourth Bell 278 XIV 282 XV 284 XVI 286 XVII 288 xviii 290 XIX. To a Butterfly 291 XX. Inscription for a Vase overgrown with Vine . . 292 XXI. To a Brown Loaf 293 XXII 294 xxiii. Inscription for a Pyramid planted with Flowers, the Tomb of a Dog 295 XXIV 296 XXV. Song 299 XXVI 300 XXVII 302 xxviii. 303 XXIX. To one Weeping at the Fall of a Tree 304 XXX 306 XXXI 310 XXXII 311 xxxiii. A Request and the Answer 313 XXXIV. On a Melancholy Birthday Song 316 XXXV. On Visiting a Wild Beast Show after an Evening Walk 318 XXXVI. The Moon whom Captives Love 321 xxxvii. Translation, ^neid XI. 342 — 377 323 Darkness Departed: Stanzas Introductory 327 1 329 II 330 III 331 IV 334 V 335 VI 336 vu. A Farewell to an old set of College Rooms. , . . 339 Observations 343 Notes 349 PREFATORY STANZAS. As one that doth a little space delight To lose himself in dread sepulchral g-looms, Deep caverns, haunts of chilly-finger'd Night ; Or in the steamy blackness of old tombs To watch the grave-flowers' melancholy blooms, Spiting the free blue air and sunny sky ; So the soul hangs some special-stately rooms With sombre livery of old griefs gone by, Prank'd with dead hopes, like flowers, garlanded painfully ; Yet ever from these rooms of sternest pleasure, And lips locked up, and eye bent down in awe, 'Twill hurry back to its unguarded treasure Safe in the keeping of earth's primal law ; Diapered field, and lynch, and grassy shaw, And mountain, and smooth hill, and ancient wood. And all those things which shape and substance draw From that free breath of happiness and good, Which overflows, like air, green Nature's solitude. 2 PREFATORY STANZAS. So have I dared, a careless voyager, leaving" My boat, upon the sunny bank to play ; Although meanwhile the silly skiff is cleaving Towards life's hoarse whirlpools its ungoverned way. Well ! let me loiter while the blooms of May Spot the blue wave, and laugh along the shore ; Take ease, tired Arm, until a darker day ! Lie by and rest, my true and limber Oar, Till sun and bank and flower tempt me to play no more. Then haply with a nerved and new endeavour I may resume my labour, fit and free With hardier stroke the sullen waves to sever, And cut my passage to the final sea : Yet not so burdensome the toil may be But that at times the unbidden song may flow From my wide lips, when leaning eagerly, The bent oar springs and flashes as I go, Flinging the sparkling foam in flakes like winter — So spake I when my heart was hot with youth Untempered ; and my new Imagination Deemed Beauty lovelier was than Right or Truth ; And Duty, a dim moonish exhalation, Lay idle on the sky of Contemplation, A rayless mid-day crescent ; and First Love, PREFATORY STANZAS. 3 A pure boy's love, hung in supremest station Her luminous Star, a tender Tight which clove Young passion's rosy clouds, not of them but above. And so I wandered for six feverish years : And boldly spread my boyhood's careless sail Along the coasts of Smiles and Sighs and Tears In turn ; — yea, deep in many a hidden vale Of each, have tarried. But a cheek too pale. And limbs too weak, and blood too quick or slow, Give warning thence ere health and courage fail ; Therefore be ended Fancy's dangerous shew, Henceforth be God's own gifts enough of joy or woe ! But not to Thee, sweet Poesy ! — not to Thee„ Ethereal Spirit of Beauty, Love and Right, Bid I herewith farewell. O, were I free From thy blest bondage ( — chains of sunny light Which bind me night and morn, and morn and night — ) Yet for the (1) Vision's splendour that hath been. For Love made lovelier. Boyhood's self more bright, And Youth yet sharing thy resplendent sheen, Still must I kneel to thee, my handmaid, spouse and queen ! Thus only change I, that a higher sphere Thou shalt henceforth inhabit, — calmer skies ; 4 PREFATORY STANZAS. The awfuller heights of Christian Hope and Fear, The calmer heaven of Christian charities ; This only if in His good will it lies, Who is thy Master, as of all things good, Mine, as of all things evil, weak, unwise ! Hence through the stress of every fickle mood, Be Fancy's strength to His submitted and subdued ! THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. A SONG ! a song ! — there's no voice beside, For the sun hath lain down on the green hill's breast, And the birds are idle and sleepy-eyed, And the young lambs gone to rest ; A song" ! a song* !,— fo a welcomino: To the midnight hours approaching. That the stirring voice of a living thing May rise on the hush, like the green of spring On the wintry woods encroaching. Sing me a song — be it grave or gay, From a sad or^a joyful bosom. To vibrate far in the leaves away, Shaking the dew from the pine-tree spray And the scent from the olive blossom ! Why spake he thus, that wild-eyed boy, When he was all alone ; Who there should wake in sorrow or joy A glad or a mournful tone ? Was there a choir of the wood nymphs old Hid in the hollow trees, 8 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Or deem'd the boy that his prayer was told To the listening- Naiades ? There was a stream and an ancient wood, But the days were past, I ween. When the nymphs sang up thro' the bubbling flood, Or laugh'd through the leafy screen. Then was he in a rapturous dream. Such dream as boyhood knows, When the earth is fill'd with a golden gleam. And the gates of heaven unclose : And we stand on earth 'mid an heavenly host Who sing in an angel strain Of the joyful things that our parents lost, And their sons shall receive again ; Of the love that is not o'erdarken'd with fears, But, pure as the heaven it shadows, Flows on unstained down the vale of years. Like a brook through the laughing meadows ; Of the faith that is not bought by guile, But in innocent calm reposes. By the young earth's joy made warm the while, Like a clear lake winning a sunny smile From the hue of its circling roses : Was it to these he made his prayer. That lonely boy at eve, With his heart so still that he might not care If the song should rejoice or grieve ? Hush ! let Night repeat her tale. THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Hear the answering nightingale ! Far and near the throbbing song Rises, sinks or floats along ! Low or loud, serene, sedate, Plaintive, peaceful, passionate ; Shyly threads the darkened alleys. Walled and roofed with scented leaves ; Echoes down the swarded valleys ; Climbs the feathered mountain-cleaves ; Till upon the waters falling, In its sad and sweet decay, Dies in silence more enthralling The delicious roundelay. Where the shadow of Ravenna's wood Is darker than the night, Is built a bower, where Solitude Might take his best delight ; A nest-like dwelling in the arms Of oak, and larch, and pine ; Fit refuge, Sylvia, for charms — Alas, and crimes like thine ! Bedded in branches deep and green That lone tower's base is seldom seen. And one small wicket rudely fixt Two furrowed chestnut boles betwixt. And one tall turret loftily From far away espied. Looming above the leafy sea 10 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Of the tree-tops waving restlessly, Like a rock across the tide, Are all of visible works that stand To tell that human heart or hand Hath ever crossed the silent mood • Of the deep mid-forest's solitude. Yet there are paths in that deep wood, And meetings by the moon, And hearts have yielded, ere they should, Their best and dearest boon : And love in light unholy guise Hath there been asked and given. When the stars have hid their lustrous eyes And a veil has been over heaven. 'Twould take the tears of a hundred years And a hundred years of prayer, To cleanse the crime from the Book of Time In a single night done there : woman so wicked and fair ! O youth so fiery-hearted ! When the sun grows dark in the mid-day sky, Then will the lust of the lawless eye From the pride of life be parted ! Yet among those who roam at eve The thickets of that tainted wood, Is one on whom all ill can leave No trace of evil, save for good ; In boyhood's spotless armour strong THE BRIDAL OF RAVE^^NA. U To love the right and hate the wrong, His heart like that Venetian glass That broke if poison touched the brim, Had sooner burst than there should pass Or rest a tainted thought in him. And though 'twas he whose signal son So softly stole those woods along, Yet not as others seek thy home, When evening lifts the veil of shame. And pleasure thrills the yielding frame, Woman of sin, is Ser Marco come ; Too young to know, too pure to guess The stoiy of thy wickedness. Yet old enough to see and care That love is sweet and thou art fair ! With a misty light the moon came out As Marco struck the closing chords. But the huddling notes run wild about. And the singer's lip it gives no words ; — Why are the lips so suddenly mute. What hath possessed the foolish lute ? Two forms stood there before his sight Cut dark against the red fire-light ; A female cheek was fondly press'd, Too fondly for a simple guest, A little word, " Away !" was spoken, And a spell was raised and a heart's thrall broken. For Ser Marco seized his bridle rein, 12 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. And flung his lute upon the ground ; And the stamp of hooves urged on amain Died sooner from the echoing plain Than the harp-string's jarring sound. And Sylvia stood aghast awhile, And then, as eased from deadly pain, She smiled a sweet and sudden smile, And spake the selfsame word again : " Away !" she said, and he, the guest, Again her cheek as closely pressed ; And went his way and ne'er returned ; For a silence crept on his riotous breast As he thought on the light so fierce and fell, Like a gleam 'twixt the burning bars of hell. In the Harlot's eyes that burned ; And the voice that seemed some stranger's tone, And not that too familiar one ! And Sylvia turned her then and knew Within her lonely home, That utter wretchedness which few Have felt and overcome ; It seemed as yet life's troubled wave Had flowed beneath the sun, But now was entered in a cave, — How deadly dark an one ! Where all the light was from behind, — Faint struggles of a failing mind In grim convulsive glimpses setting THE BRIDAL OF RAVE^^NA. 13 Upon the waters ebbing fast, The horrible image of the past, Seen truly only when at last Is no repenting nor forgetting ! And love — for she had loved, and crime Had been no hindrance but a goad, That she might lighten for a time The ever-growing load : Love was with her but not to cheer ; Her silence was but drearier. That she possessed the magic viol, Which could have charmed her griefs away, And he alone would not make trial. For whom the fickle strings would play. And deem not that she could not know The passion's warmest, fondest glow. Because her soul no longer bore The purer hue which once it wore. O were it true, as some have said. That love but grows in holy ground, Where were the bitter harvest spread So thick within us and around ? They picture Love, in Indian tales. An infant on a milkwhite flower, That down the sacred river sails At evening's quiet hour ; There nestling in his pearly boat, For ever lies the Power afloat ; And all his play is, half-asleep, 14 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENXA. To break the waves with frolic finger, Or hunt the twinkling orbs that linger Reflected in the soft blue deep ; But this is not the Love that mars The stillness of Italian bosoms, Though sailing midst as brilliant stars, Among as odorous blossoms ; Oh no ! the flower where he may lie Must be some flower of deeper dye ; And oh ! the stream he floats upon, Too oft, alas ! no hallowed one ! Marco forgot — 'tis ever thus ; Days pass away with shower and shine, With shower or shine alike bedimming The picture once believed divine. The full fair form and wild eyes swimming In languor most luxurious. Marco forgot his forest witch Before a beauty more enchanting ; Eyes rolling in a light as rich, As white a hand, as fair an arm, All girdled by that only charm In which his forest-love was wanting. What wonder ? Is't not ever so That men should pluck and fling away ? The flowers our woodland path that strew, The flowers that make our gardens gay, Is't not their guerdon every day. Common or choice, an hour or so THE BRIDAL OF RAVEKNA. 15 To charm and then be flung- away ? And 'tis the same with tenderer buds Than fill the gardens or the woods, That cannot be renewed by tending, Replaced — refreshed— but when they die Sink to a sleep that hath no ending, And leave — how blank a vacancy ! — With hearts that have but one sweet blooming ; And when their wreathen stems are spent, Lie down content, or discontent. Even as they know they die entombing Their odours in their death, or keep The thought that there is one will weep The gracious memory of their scent. A year has passed — but one short year ; A little year of week and day. And day and moment scarcely here, Ere they were passed away ; A year of these unnoticed hours Had woven a dazzling veil that hung Betwixt his eyes and those wild bowers Which he so oft had roamed among. Where he had seen and sued and sung In passion's accents faintly clear. The while the whispering atmosphere Grew silent, and the shivering grass And rocking boughs their rustling cheer, Hushed for the vows to pass. And if sometimes the tender blue 16 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. That dwells above the setting sun, And love's white planet peeping through When day is scarcely done ; And spicy scent of forest leaves, And trunks subdued with rosy light ; And whispering sounds of summer eves, And sweeter hush of summer night ; And careless strings of loving rhymes, On boyhood's waxen heart impressed, Would make his bosom throb sometimes. And spoil his joy and break his rest. To Lyra's bower he would repair, And lull his treacherous memory there. The bridal day with every noon Grew nearer ; — well I wot, the day Fair Lyra said was all too soon ; For robe and tire and trinketry She needed a delay ; But Marco said, " Fair Lyra, I Am thirsty for thy love ; 0, pray Let Thursday be our wedding day ; To-morrow and to-morrow's peer Will well suffice for bridal cheer. Thou'rt conquered ? By thy golden hair Confess, confess it, lady fair !" And round his finger as he said He curled one shining tress : She cut the love-lock from her head, And whispered, '' I confess !" I THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 17 'Tis morn — the morn ; at dawn of day The Italian sky, a sea of mist, Of curling mist and vapours grey, Above the earth in silence lay ; Then softly, slowly, ray by ray, The Sun those vapours kissed, — Kissed into gold and rose-tints gay And purpling amethyst. And then the wind came up the south. And on its way with balmy mouth Breathed on the flowers, and every bud Gave sweetest answer as it could ; Faint odours some, but full and free The fragrance of the orange-tree. Young Marco lay, 'twixt sleep and waking, Beside the casement on his bed. While morning from its prison breaking, Those joyous odours shed ; Around him crept the burdened air. And, like a voice of song, A spell to rouse, a weight to bear. At once so weak and strong, That we are silent yet desire To utter words, and words of fire, — So wrapped that air the feverish boy Sleepless for love and hope and joy In anxious quiet long. About the casement twist and twine Thick tods of spicy jessamine, c 18 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. An ancient tree that well might bear A climber, like a turret stair, So wreathed it is and thick, — so wide Strag-gles the stem from side to side. Then suddenly on Marco's face Fell down a rustling shower apace Of snowy blooms, a blissful shower, A balmy rain of starry flower. A moment he lay still, and deemed 'Twas but the wind ; but then a breath, A slide, a step, a leap beneath. Sounded, more stealthily it seemed Than suited well for passing jest To chide a bridegroom's lingering rest. Then up he sprang in time to see An urchin gliding from the tree, A wild-eyed boy, whose Nubian race Was written on his dusky face ; And Marco guessed whose ministry He served, for well he knew the glance That lit that wildest countenance, And oft in days of old would try With kindly gestures to engage The wayward heart of that strange boy — Serendib, Sylvia's tongueless page. Ser Marco called — in vain ! — the mute Pursued his path with fleetest foot ; And soon his course was lost to view THE BRIDAL OF RAVENlS^A. 19 In Stately groves of arching yew, An ominous spot where grandames told A spirit wont to watch his gold, And blast the careless human eye That pried into the mystery. A moment Marco's gaze hung still In thought upon the empty air. Then dropped upon the marble sill : — Why starts he ? what is there ? In haste he broke the silken thread. And thus with greedy eyes he read : " If thou shouldst breathe," the writing ran, '' This scroll's import to mortal man 'Tis death ! — but not alone to thee, On me as well the doom must be ; — Me — me once loved : — yet if thou wilt, No matter — so not mine the guilt. But to the work. To-night at noon A shadow will o'erdrive the moon ; Mark! — note it! — call thy guests to see, Then in the tumult steal to me. Watch well the hour — I need not pray. Nor kneel, nor supplicate to-day. But I command thee ! — in the gloom Of those wild yew trees round the tomb I wait thee — ^by the pending doom. By her thou lovest more than me. False Marco, now I summon thee !" 20 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Let pass the day with all its train Of painful bliss and blissful pain ; — Let pass the rite that bound together, For all the turns of life's wild weather, Those two young hearts with that strong chain Which cannot be unlinked again : Let pass the tumult and the tears, The throng of bridal hopes and fears, The quivering heart of glad unrest. Nor be the song required to speak The blush on gentle Lyra's cheek. Or the pang in Marco's breast ! The eve slid down — the stars came forth, And dance and song, and speech of mirth : The odours fell from flower and tree. And the young cheek glowed more lovelily. The night waned fast. Fair Lyra's glance Dwelt on her husband's countenance ; With wonder watched his restless laughter. And the moody look and the silence after. And the stealthy gaze to where she sate Enthroned amid her bridal state. She left her seat — she sought his ear, She told her wonder and her fear — Whose word is that so harsh and cold ? The bridegroom's not a midnight old ! The moon came forth — in silvery showers The lustre fell upon the bowers. THE BRIDAL OF RAVEXXA. 21 The blooms that had been lost to view Sprang straightway from the dusk anew ; And yet so changed and pale their hue, It seemed they left their joyous look Among the shadows they forsook. Once bright and warm, now cold and grey Glooms forth the white magnolia ; An ominous light the myrtle throws ; A leaden look is in the eye Of the o'er- blazed anemony ; A look of languor on the rose : The jasmine frowns with starry brows Along the wall ; — the clematis Flings wildly to the night-wind's kiss Its pallid tendrils, light and free, A ghostly splendour filled the boughs Of every waving orange tree. It seemed to more than Marco's eye fSome feverish motion in the sky Made all those flowers so dull and sere. And coloured that wan atmosphere. But few were there had time to gaze, And save light jests among the maze, Of circling dances gaily given, Marked none the marvel of the heaven. The hour drew on — and Marco's breath Grew hard — his lip more pale than death, When gliding through the careless throng, Enamoured of some breathless song, 22 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Into a dimly-curtained nook His stealthy way in haste he took, Where 'neath an arch of fretted stone He stood to watch the moon alone. Is he too late ? — a strange dark shroud Is on her face — no summer cloud ! A wild unearthly gloom is there, No passing film of murky air ! A shade most like that shade obscure That mortal things must all endure, Which spares the likeness to erase The mind and meaning of the face ! Is he too late ? A dazzling thread Yet lives upon the eastern rim — Grows momently that light more dead, 'Tis midnight ! — and the whole is dim. Then Marco from his dark retreat Sprang forth ; — as on some jest intent, He crossed the hall with footsteps fleet, And low before his bride he bent ; With frolic glance he prayed a boon, 'Tis granted, and he led her forth ; — They leave the gaily-lit saloon, They stand beneath the darkened moon ; With what wild flights of careless mirth. As on they press and forth they fare. Frets that gay throng the quiet air And the deep-sleeping earth ! THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 23 All eyes were upward turned save two And whither they ? Fair Lyra knew. " Forgive me, O my life ! my Heaven!" He whispered : gladly Lyra heard ; She deemed he meant that hasty word, And answered, '' Love, thou art forgiven !" Then one long kiss he claimed and won, His first — his last ! — and he was gone ! And though his presence Lyra missed, She deemed not of that fatal tryst. But thought among his guests he paid Some needful service ill delayed. With fleetest foot Ser Marco trod O'er terrace, stair, and velvet sod : The lights behind his course were lost As bower and sward in turn he crossed ; But still so near the spot he sought The laughter to his ear was brought. At length before the dome he stood Where slept the heroes of his blood ; The stone above, the yews around. Not wrapt in quiet more profound. To Marco's eye the spot seemed bright, With somewhat of a spectral light. So clear the dome its wan shade threw On those dark boughs of stately yew. In awe he bent a moment's space Before the spirit of the place ; Then thought of his endangered love ; 24 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. And threading hastily the grove, Stood before Sylvia face to face. Upon a stone o'ercrept with moss She sate — her features told the loss Of youth, and health gone long before, And there it seemed some deadly cross Had passed and wrought what never more Might youth or love or health restore. With something of a sybil look Her staff upon the stone she strook. And, moving nearer to the tomb, For Marco at her side made room. No word was utter 'd as they sate : The love, the fear, the mortal hate Were quenched in silence for a while ; Then slowly, with a darkening smile That curled her features fiercely fair, And in her eye an aspic glare, Her arm round Marco's waist she passed, Her arm, but not her arm alone : No statue on its base of stone Was ever fixed more fast ! In vain he strives — for brazen bands Have clasped upon his waist and hands. " Now, prisoner, hear ! my love, of old, And still my love, if all be told, • And why dissemble ? Prisoner dear. And but for thy sake prisoner, THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Now hear me ! In Ravenna's wood How thou hast knelt and sung and sued Bethink thee ; — let those eves of joy Return, and be again a boy ! Think of those eves, — the stars that shone While we pursued our path alone ; Think of the fragrant dews that rose To meet the odours from the bousrh : And think of every flower that glows Unheeded in that shelter now : Think of it all — that blissful moon That sparkled through those leaves of gold ; And see her now ! — I know full soon She will rekindle as of old To one of us — my wrongs were loth (My love how glad) to say to both ; Think of all this and why it ceased, Why fell the glory from the bough, Why "wanly as yon orb diseased My moon of life shines alway now ; Think of it all ! — thy love that died, My love that ever must remain, Then think that still the forest side May echo to that mirth again, — May — if thou will'st — that what thy guilt Hath levelled may be yet rebuilt ; Think that the memory of thy crime. Which }jet, I know, at eventime. When the chestnut odours float about, And all those well known stars are out. 26 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Grows dark about thy heart, to dull The brig"ht, and blast the beautiful ; That all this wound may yet grow o'er, • And both be happy as before : Think, then, think slowly, and decide, If thou hast courage to resign This frozen love, this pallid bride, And once again be mine, but mine ! " 111 weened the dame how that last word Would steel the soul of him that heard : His cheek had changed with every tone. And with the last, it seemed, to stone. In memory's depths beneath the spell The pleasant past had shone, how well ! His wild first love, — his childhood's joy, — The bliss that hung about the boy ; And Sylvia's self as then she shone, A glory which unto the earth Had come, yet seemed her native throne^ The privilege of loftier birth, To hold, and but be here a space. While yet the Heaven prepared her place ; That Sylvia yet was at his side Whom boyhood's passion glorified ; And who should save him once again From yielding to the siren's strain ? The assailant lent him his defence, He thought of Lyra's innocence : And as he thought, stirred Memory's waves THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 27 Fell back in silence to their caves ; And then he raised bis burning cheek, And thus he nerved himself to speak : "It cannot be ! " — the words fell forth Upon the air like lead on earth ; — " It cannot be!" — her moisten'd eye Grew hard and brighter as he spoke — "It cannot be, — although I die, My Lyra." — Forth the tempest broke : *' Enough!" she cried, — " no more ! — and I At last am lightened from the yoke ! Now watch, — watch well — as well as thou Couldst watch the tryst thou keepest now. Poor, blind, caged fool, that saw'st the snare Spread for thee, yet art captive there ! " She clapped her hands — with silent foot Stood at her side the Nubian mute. Then calmly from her girdle's fold A fragrant box of carven gold She drew, and to the tongueless slave A folded paper thence she gave. She spake no word of death or doom, She only said, — " Thou know'st for whom !" No notice ta'en, no farewell said, She pass'd away ; the lamp she bore Lay in its ashes sere and dead : No matter ! Marco saw no more ; Like some cut plant that falls and dies 28 THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. Across a lustier branch, he hes, A drooping weig-ht upon the bands That held his waist and lifeless hands. Meanwhile among the myrtles blooming That giddy rout pursued their way ; The scents the midnight air perfuming, Not lighter than their hearts and they : Who'll tell the terror and dismay That filled the crowd of late so gay. When servants hither, thither sent By Lyra's fearful discontent, Threaded the throng all round and round, And absent Marco was not found ? Through portals wide the anxious tide Poured back into the festal rooms ; To Lyra's sight not all that light The chambers' empty space illumes : A sickening doubt, a freezing thrill, A deadly sense of coming ill. Checks every vein, and binds the breath In languor well nigh deep as death ; And but her brother's arm upbore, The bride had fallen upon the floor. Upon a couch young Servio placed His fainting sister still embraced ; Then came the prayers, advice, commands, Scents, waters from a hundred hands ; From whose doth eas-er Servio take THE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. 29 The draught her deadly thirst to slake ? Whose are those eyes of stifled rage Fierce as the tiger's in his cage ? — Serendib's, Sylvia's tongueless page ! But whose that shriek that fills the air With the fierce music of despair ? 'Tis Marco's voice ! but where, oh, where ? They sought, they loosed, they led him back, It seemed he did not know the track ; They brought him to that hall so bright, What sees he by that blaze of light ? His weeping guests, an empty cup, And Lyra's features covered up ! Who knows some quiet English home Where peaceful pleasures only come, Where home-bred joys, like evening flowers, Are sweetest in the darkest hours. And whose few clouds of undelight With hope's glad rainbow still are bright ; Is there therein some ardent boy Whose soul is sick for fiercer joy, Who longs to knit the purple vine About his brows in verdant bands, And sit beneath the gloomy pine, And woo the maids of other lands ; And claim in warmer climes than this His kindred to the natives there ; And soar upon such wings of bliss, Or sink into the same despair ; 30 TPIE BRIDAL OF RAVENNA. let him tarry and beware ! And be't enough some cousin's hair To twine, some sister's lips to kiss ! Sweet is the murmur of the lute In hands familiar with the chords ; And beautiful the vine in fruit ; And sweet to hear the lover's suit Poured forth in soft Italian words ; And yet as sweet the song may be Flung lightly from an English bosom ; The English lover's tale less free As glad to hear ; — the apple tree As beautiful in blossom ! And let him know, and know in time, While longing for those brighter bowers. How oft the hidden serpent's slime Lies deadly on the fairest flowers ; And if too trite such words as these To overcome his fancy's ease, O let him think, when by the hearth He sits upon some Christmas eve, And round him beams that peaceful mirth Which he with home must leave ; When glad without as those within, The village troop beside the door Their carol sing, their guerdon win. Yet happier still than poor ; There let him think, if he would miss A single hour of this true bliss. Such dangerous raptures to essay As Marco, Lyra, Sylvia. MNEMEION Alitis in ])arv2e * * * * collecta figuram, Qu^ quondam in bustis aut culminibus desertis Xocte sedens, serum canit importuna per umbras. INTRODUCTORY SONNET. Green Hope, and rosy Love, and prickly Passion, Pale Peace, and mottled Doubt, and Yellow Fear, And black Despair, in fanciful mourner's fashion Are wrought by me into a garland here ; A chaplet for the brows of my cold Love, Whereof, the body dead, the soul yet liveth ; Or else to hang in mindful state above The secret grave which all dead things receiveth So that the comers-by may look thereon And say, ' Of price was that which here decayeth. For much more love than best encarven stone This uncouth twine of common flowers betrayeth.' Wherefore because it blooms for memory, Mnemeion naming it, I would it so might be. MNEMEION. Tarry, soft west-wind journeying from the sea To the green midland shades, and hear a boon Which a fond fancy-stricken prays of thee ! Abide, abide and list, O lady Moon, That walkest slowly with thy golden shoon The immortal paths ! — O hear me, gentle May, Wreathing thy tresses with sweet thefts from June! — « And ye, blue dancing waters, O delay A little space ere yet ye hasten on your way ! Now over garden walls come sweet mild smells, Like the free notes of prisoned birds ; and bees Sway lightly in the balanced lily bells ; And pearly spires upon the chesnut trees Shoot up ; and gently in the loitering breeze, That lazily wandering down the roofed walks (As 'twere a lover) takes a moody ease, Golden laburnums shake their pendant stalks ; And in a soft spring voice the crystal runnel talks. The grass is cool to him who rests thereon. And if a man one midnight there should lie,— MNEMEION. 35 One short spring midnight, — when the slant dawn shone, Lost were to him the purple eastern sky ; A wall of grass, uplifted gradually To night's soft music, were about his head, Nor aught of earth might that glad prisoner spy Save his green bound, wherethro' is blithely shed A hum of happy things, whose loves are being sped. And now, O Nature, hear me what I pray ! Run not thou by, until thy ministers, — Flowers, winds, yon lustrous moon, and the soft play Of flashing waves, and every thing that stirs Unto fj>rgetting of the primal curse, Have won my love, like me, to meet the night ; So, as in my heart, it m'ay be, in hers Sweet Nature winning, she may half requite Mine unrewarded care, if not with words, with sight. II. One more look on thee, love, before I slumber ! That I may dream and in my sleep be blest, Counting the dewy ringlets without number By which thy delicate temples are caressed. One more ! — a very short one, loveliest. For fear I sleep not, and my heated brain Too deeply with thine image be impressed, — ■ 36 MNEMEION. And how should that be ? — And how not ? again, Ah me ! I am a fool twisting a doubled chain. True, I will see thee in my dreams to-night. How shall it be, love ? As the young-eyed Spring Set in a sweet air of the tender light Of wood-walks when the limes are blossoming, And the mute throat of every creeping thing Fills with a chirp of love ? Or wilt thou be A spirit alit on earth, whose ears yet ring With the spheres' music, in the mystery Of a new world astray — is this how thou wilt be ? I'll give thee wings — a rosy pair of pipions Softer than cushion young love's way athwart The yielding ether's summer-soothed dominions When he brings pity to some mourning heart. And hued like infant's cheeks when the lips part In mild day-slumber ; such, so soft and fair, The wings I will provide thee by mine art ; Tell me, wilt kiss me, love, for such a pair? Nay, lady chaste and proud, thou art too froward there ! Or I'll imagine thee a new-scaped soul Yet betwixt earth and heaven, and thou shalt swim On filmy clouds whose opal wreaths shall roll Round thee, like music round the cherubim : — Upward, and upward, till thine eyes wax dim MNEMEION. 37 And dewy with the bliss for ever growing, Shalt thou float softly, till the immortal hymn Enter thine ears, and heaven's own roof be glowing O'er thee from glory still to inner glory going. Or stay ! — a Lamb I will devise thee rather, A snow-white feeder in some elmy nook, For whom a band of children small shall gather Pale flowers, the nurslings of some gentle brook, Such tints as earth pour'd when the first sun strook Her bosom from the flood set newly free, And she arose unto the light (2) and shook The flood-drift from her face, — all such for thee Patiently lying still, in love shall gathered be. Or say, wilt rather as a Dove be nested In the soft umbrage of a willow tree, While round thee, by the saucy breeze molested, The (3) green leaves whiten ever restlessly. As a bird's breast is ruffled, or the sea Frowardly cresting to the south wind's kisses ; There wilt thou lie half sleepy, while the free Wind peeping on thee now and then addresses A soft speech to thine ear and some few kind ca- resses ? Or shall the waters be a silver way Which thou shalt honour as a regal Swan ; 38 MNEMEION. A creature like the Spirit of the Day ; Or some proud visiter from ages gone, Whose crest its crown of praise bears calmly on Down the stirred waters of a thousand years, — So on the azure waves all white and wan. Shall thy pure beauty pay the heart's arrears Of joy delay'd or lost, and recompense for tears? Or stay ! O fancy, lend me but thy fingers To pluck yon star from the irradiate blue ! — Yon lovely star ! — amid the clouds it lingers, The darling of the heavens, where the faint hue Of the cloud is tricksiest and the sky most blue. Rosy and tremulous, now the bashful Splendour Faints and is lost ; — and now 'tis bright anew, O richest heaven ! O greedy depths 1 surrender That Star for my love's masque, so passing pure and tender ! love, how fondly from these frolic dreams 1 come to thee again ! — thy human eyes Are dearer than a thousand starry beams ; If I say fairer also, who denies ? Yet as a wave in fondness multiplies The image of the flower it loves the best. My fancy dallies with the shape that lies Most loved and deepest printed on my breast. And thou art she — that shape, my own ! my love- liest ! MNEMEION. 39 Therefore I figure thee a Swan, a Dove, A Star — nay, any thing as fancy changes ; And as a child I play with my sweet love ; Dressing it up as fickle humour ranges ; And no wild masque, however strange, estranges Thy true looks from me — say, thou art a Star, I see thine eye, — a Dove, the flickering changes Of thy stirred locks, — a Swan, thy gracious air ; Somehow I picture thee in all things pure and fair ! III. Easy it is for them whose hearts are light With answered love undoubtful, to declare, Sitting beside her on the summer night. The pain which for their lady's sake they bear ; Knowing that she will toss her ringed hair Upon their upturn'd eyes in bashful play, But far, far different 'tis for me who bear Cold words unperished in my breast alway. To chill my dreams by night — to chill my thoughts by day. There is much prudence in the world, I know ; And many a one hath said that thou didst well The heart that dared so early buds to shew AVith the cold frosting of thy frowns to quell ; — And told in pride the evil day that fell 40 MNEMEION. On souls too early mated, — heart-warmth spent Ere the sharp winter times unshunnable Came o'er the downy cheek, or discontent Far worse, of struggling hearts with later passion bent. I cannot reason, love, with such as these : I cannot think of hearts like thine and mine With the pure spring of unstrained sympathies O'erfilled and sated ; — nor conceive the shrine Where now in simpleness and grace divine Our Virgin Love is set, all throned and crowned, To the foul worship of an idol sign Estranged, before whose face upon the ground Drunk with habitual crime, meek conscience lieth bound. Listen, love, listen to the fondling sea ! How to his cradled islets half-awake He whispers of the wondrous things that be Hid in his bosom ; how the great Sea-drake With lithe, enringed neck his path doth make Among the yielding mosses lank and soft Which line the deep ; or how a vast ship's wake Will send a white and flickering shade full oft A cross the grey sea-floor, glimmering from far aloft. Or listen to the woods, — how each to each The wedded boughs of interwoven pines (4) Do mutter peacefully a gentle speech : MNEMEION. 41 And fond festoons of wild unberried vines Thrill audibly through all their thousand twines For the deep love that binds them ; and the leaves Of nearing- elms a mute response of signs Yield, as the lovelorn bird his voice upheaves, Mounting, as a climber strong, the shelfless, chal- ken cleaves. Or look on mother earth with her green vest Folded about her, as her head is bent In the mild majesty of perfect rest ; And breath so pure 'twould seem a wandering scent From the pure stars so delicately shent Upon the purple heaven, and not a boon Made up of all her many treasures blent, Young buds, quick waters, sweating leaves of June, And trails of long white flowers blossoming aneath the moon. Now, love, as these are, is thy heart and mine, Calm and yet lifeful, — still, yet full of love ; For purity and passion in one twine Commingled bind us both, and from above. Below, around, on stealthy pinions move All influences of the world, — the main Paternal, and the motherly earth, the grove In spousal bondage knitted, to complain That we bend not, as they, to nature's three-linked chain. 42 MNEMEION. IV. Now with this lovely eve comes back to thee The heart, an idle truant all day long ; Call it no rebel, though sometimes it flee : No ! sweet the bondage as the chain is strong. But in the elbowings of the noisy throng There is no calm for holiness like thine. There is no issue for the murmurous song ; And 'twere not nature for a love like mine To shew its buds where all their scentless garlands twine. Then thou art left within my heart's recesses, As is a Relic in its shrine of gold, Which from its sacred privacy impresses A holier awe than aught which we behold ; So lies thine image in my heart's safe fold When day with its thick din of unknown tongues Confuses the jarred spirit ; — when the wold Grows shadowy, and the tumult of rude songs Is hushed, — oh ! then to thee the unchallenged hour belongs. But now 'tis ceasing, the rude noise of day : — Its clouds are breaking from yon hilly chain, i^nd, wreath by wreath, the dim mists curl away MNEMEION. 43 And yon uncovered summit wears again Its crest of nodding trees : and the long plain Stretches below it, calm and clear and green, Which all day long with reeking streams of rain Lay like a lake at evening ; all the scene Lies bare that was but caught the rolling haze be- tween. The sky grows clear and diamond-pure and bright Up to its crown ; and in the dewy west The hills stand black against the rosy light, Like Life's dark years on Fancy's sky imprest ; And the far east is drawing on its vest Of shadow, and makes ready for the dark ; And overhead full many a timid guest Scarce ventures on the eye, a tremulous spark, Which upon midnight's brow will stand, a burning mark. Now look !— One flash ! 'Tis past. The dark- ness throws Each moment a new shade upon the air — Upon the stars new fire. Again it goes Dancing along the hill-tops, fierce and fair The arrowy lightning-flash. Behind the glare The sky grows sickly-pale ; the earth below Gleams like some subterranean land laid bare, Red with black shadows. Ever to and fro Run on the burthened air faint moaning murmurs low. 44 MNEMEION. Like spirits' voices in their prisons, are The sounds — a discontented dismal song ; And earth lies still in awe, and every star Trembles in heaven as they pass along*. And all the music of the heavenly throng (Not heard on earth, though well perceived to be^ We feel, is silent, — as some passion strong Will still the inarticulate melody Which dwells in human hearts, as motion in the sea. Now how with every shade on Nature's cheek Is link'd some thought of thee ! Morn, noon and night With sun and moon and sunny stars all speak Some token of love's pain or love's delight ; So justly unto thee doth Earth requite The joy to thee and thy fair beauty owing ; And now this lightning flash its livid light Down the great depths of recollection throwing. Lights up one little gem, as daylight warm and glowing. 'Twas thus. Dost mind one sultry summer eve When thou and T, like children, as we were. Sate still to see the restless lightnings cleave The insensate blackness of the upper air ? Long time upon the imbowered garden chair We sate, betwixt the trails of hanging bells. Watching the silent fires dart every where. And fade and flicker, as a flood that swells And ebbs in turn, all down the darkened dells. MNEMEION. 45 Dost mind how the black rifts and in the fern The jagged teeth of rock would suddenly shine Like pillars and deep wells of fire in turn ; The while the trees with wan sad light divine Glimmered, a ghastly crowd— sepulchral pine And monumental oak ablaze together ; And the still water glanced, a burning line, From us to where 'twas quench'd by the black ether, — Love, dost thou mind that eve of sultry summer weather ? Then mind this too : awhile the silent flashes Played lightly, broad and harmless — then a sound As 'twere the echoes of a thousand crashes Of mountain-summits tumbling all around Brake out, as one blue crooked flame i' th' ground (Just at our feet it seemed) did root its blaze, A tree of fire ! (5) — but thou, love, in a swound Of fear, didst clasp me in a close embrace, Hiding at my fond heart thy cold discoloured face. I tell thee not how throbbed my startled heart Within her cave at that unlooked-for guest ; How hope's closed doors were suddenly flung apart ; — I tell not how at memory's still behest Came flying (fairy troop) unto my breast From the illuminate air of other years A thousand passages of regard, — request, 46 MNEMEION. Remembrance, look, word, accent ; each appears Like a sweet soft-eyed bird borne from serener spheres. And as from some lit wood of tenderest green The birds at sunrise hurry to the sun, So from the covert of the deep Has-been Trooped thither those glad memories, many a one : Oh ! lady, what a lovely unison Their mingled voices made : the rosy domes O' th' foxglove echo no serener tone When fairies feast — no mightier music comes From the ^olian winds, locked in their rocky homes. Nay, find not heart to say that word * begone ! ' No — let me read it, if it must be read, In thy most voiceful eyes. 'Tis done, 'tis done ! And now in peace from very deepness bred Of my great loss, I quietly am led From the dead presence of my mighty woe. Even like a speechless Parent from the bed Where his best flower in sudden overthrow Lies like a perishing shape of unsubstantial snow. MNEMEION. 47 Now is earth changed and heaven : — in the track Where the stars ride along the bending sky, Dark shapes are set in council — on the black In blacker blackness shadowed, I espy Fierce scowling feature and enthralling eye, And on myself is every look bent down ; I could believe that devils reigned on high, And sate on watch with that malignant frown To drive the hopeful back, to keep the despairing down. Beautiful stars, with your eternal wreath Binding the forehead of the midnight sky ! Moon, on thy central throne ! and thou, sweet breath Of earth's first murmurous slumber, stealingly Frosting the bright blue vault ; O tell me why Doth such strange power to human hearts belong. That one tone there of doubtful harmony. One string, as now this one in mine, set wrong, Can break with that faint jar all Heaven's accordant song? On ! on ! — and wherefore on ? Like one whose tread Is down a gloomy rent betwixt great hills Which join their butting fronts above his head, So look I down mine avenue of ills ; Save that a darker dread ray bosom fills ; 48 MNEMEION. Save that for me no spark of lovely light Shines starlike at its end, but blind depth chills The sickening heart and feeble, shrinking sight At that unshelved abyss of hopeless, endless night. Hist ! hist ! — the music ! 'Now the melody Walks, like a conqueror, up the silent air, That quivers to his footstep, as the sea That trembles when the tyrannous winds walk there. And now again with soothing whisper fair *Twould seem it deftly won a willing way Across the flattered deeps, whose waves upbear Now with fond art his frolicsome delay, As erst in dread they cowered beneath his fiercer sway. And now *tis gone ! — the echoes to their caves Have slunk, like truant children ; and the air Hath gathered into rest its thousand waves. And now " the presence of my great despair" Flings once again its shadow every where, Ev'n as before. momentary gleam ! Mocking the darkness 'tis my lot to bear, Come not again with thy deluding beam, To make my night of fate more dark and hideous seem. And now again, O moon, and stars, and sky ! MNEMEION. 49 Ye islet clouds ! — thou ether-sea between ! And ye, green trees, who knit your boughs on high, Making a pillared aisle across the green ; Yea ! all thou earth so holy and serene, Scarce breathing for deep sleep that locks thee in, And music, fit companion of such scene. Why are ye fair, if this small heart within From all your soothing spells such easy freedom win? VI. Yea ! a strange thing is this our human heart. And like a lute, which jars, or in shaped words Yields its sweet soul, as ignorance or art Nicely or rudely stirs the fickle chords ; So our coy breast its joy or pain affords, As with attent beseechings and soft prayers, Or the harsh fingering of unkindly words, Men, or ourselves, require its gentle airs, Wherewith to link our joys or drown our noisy cares. Yet not alone are human fingers free To wake its subtle music. Nature's hand Will oft-times win it to a gentle glee. Which mortal artist may in vain demand ; E 50 MNEMEION. And oft recal it to a tone more bland, When strained by man to discord. So, sweet breeze, Child of so fair an evening, hast thou fanned My thrilling heart to something nearer peace, Though I could yet be glad its notes might wholly cease ! And yet 'tis treason to so fair an even Such words to utter, or such wish to keep ! I do repent me, glowing cope of heaven. Before thy beauty bending, not to weep. Though I were fain, so clearly in the deep Of mine own soul is thy sad loveliness Reflected, mingling in its tideless sleep Like a sweet, sorrowful dream ; yet not the less Sweet, that 'tis full of tears and tearful tenderness. Aye ! 'tis the fitter that, in looking round me. Earth, sea, and sky should all alike produce But fresh mementoes that the chain hath bound me Which mortal finger may no more unloose. The moon, encircled with her silver dews, Looks down in tears upon the mournful sea ; And earth with dim and shadowy smile pursues Her own sad thoughts, the saddest of the three, — Sisters in one strait bond of sorrowfullest sympathy. Now wherefore is it that the mute world changes Ev'n as we change ? — that we must ever fling. MNEMEION. 51 From grief to grief as our vexed spirit ranges, Our own black shadow on each happy thing,— Throw darkness on the lustrous eye of Spring, And with the echo of our own sad voices Instruct the little summer birds to sing, And dull with our grave tread all merry noises At which old Autumn laughs, and Winter's self rejoices ? So if the moon, most like a stranded boat. Lies bedded in the solid-seeming blue, Ever I read the emblem, and I note My own sunk heart enshadowed in the view ; Or if the stars be thin and pale and few Upon the desert firmament, I yield To that sad picture still a meaning due, And deem I see my own life's barren field Starred with a few faint flowers, low, dim, and half- concealed. Or if, more bright than at the host's assembling To the black banner of the still midnight, Just at eve's fall, the crystal heavens are trem- bling Round the lone lustre of one glorious light, Then, — then, oh, how may I aread the sight ? Thou knowest, who hast been to my life's sky What that star is to heaven, — yet none aright Can tell its comfort while it sate on high, And none the horror of its fading off but I, 52 MKEMEION. Thus ever back to thee, sweet Fount forbidden, The river of my thoughts will fondly glide ; Its waves with lustre from thy light beridden, Its flood with waters from thy depth supplied : Glassing no loveliness within its tide. But overflowing with indwelling light, Thus on it rushes in its lonely pride Through herbless banks, beneath a starless night, Yet ever from its source made pure and clear and bright ! 'Tis a proud spectacle a lonely river Beneath a weight of black and sensible air Forcing his strong resistless way for ever : 'Tis a proud sight, " when all the heavens are bare," To see the moon so queenly cold and fair In uncompanioned might ride sternly on : 'Tis proud to watch the Sun's strong arm down- bear The writhing clouds : but there is pride in none As in a mortal man who walks through life alone. Let such a one — and such a one am I, And thou hast made me so — where Earth is set Crowned with the crown of all her majesty. There let him stand — yet may he not forget His pride, nor vail his fading coronet One instant to the imperishable crown ! MNEMEION. 53 Or let him go where all the hosts are met On the thronged sky, — and he will not bend down Nor loose one iron link of his eternal frown ! Then having thus bemocked the earth and sky, Go, set him on an island in the main, Where the great sea may gaze with terrible eye Into his heart of hearts, — and note again With what a proud and masterful disdain The unconquerable soul will hold its own ; He will but closer to his bosom strain The mail whereto his festered flesh hath grown, So mighty is his will to do and be alone ! Aye ! so it is ! — yet 'twas not always so : I can remember yet the summer eves, When I have kneeled unto the rosy glow. Which lay, like love, upon the breathless leaves, And the green grass, and the encrimsoned cleaves. And the long waves that could not break for pleasure. And the lit windows under far white eaves. And bright sand glittering like a golden trea^ sure, And all that filled brimful my boyhood's mighty measure. And not the summer eves alone could win My heart to worship, but amid the still 54 MNEMEION. Of middle noon, when earth for bliss holds in Her breath, a sudden rushing rapturous thrill My bursting veins with running flame would fill; So, drunk with joy, I would close up my eyes Till little bird, light leaf, and pattering rill. With gentle force that silence would surprise, And swell their mingled din up to the throbbing skies. And when the moon with light most rich and tender Filled the abysses of the purple sky, My soul seemed sharer of the golden splendour, Filled and o'erflooded with as warm a dye : And through its chillest depths and caves most shy (Though none as yet were wholly cold or dark) The cheerful lustre ran as suddenly, And in that light the kindly eye might mark A few warm hopes that flashed with faint uncertain spark. And when the round October sun, surprising The laggard stars with his more glorious beams. Kept on the splendours of his red uprising Till day, half-spent, lay down to silent dreams Of yellow woods and brimmed autumnal streams, And woke again at even to the sound Of harvest's ending song, and groaning teams MNEMEION. 55 Dragging the wains with rich ripe sheaves en- crowned, And merry boys and maids that danced and lauorhed around, — 'O' Then I could laugh and sing, I well remember, As one of them. Or when the moonlight flowing O'er the white countenance of dead December Lit the blank face and rigid eyelid, showing The few faint flowers whose sad sepulchral glow- ing Shed a thin radiance round the snowy brow, — My blood would tarry in its warm outgoing, And falling back with silent lapse and slow, Drown my still heart within in a deep flood of woe. But it is past, the sweet and soft surrender Of soul and body to this world's delight ; No more I warm me in the sunny splendour. No more refresh me in the dews of night ; It is as though a sudden scaly blight Had come on every flower, and plant, and tree; As on that noon which filled with ashes white The green Pompeian gardens, when the sea Fled, and the Italian mount reeled in its agony 56 MNEMEION. VII. That is thy star, fair girl ! — I love it best Of all the hosts that in the spangled sky ^ Walk to and fro, or in a stately rest Keep their unchanging thrones eternally. Look ! 'twill not shun thee, for its lustrous eye May not be veiled beneath a drooping lid, Like thine, fair girl ! when maiden fancies shy Call up the wakeful blood, as once they did When I, fond fool ! out-blabbed what I had best have hid. Yet not for this I love it best, 1 ween ! No ! if 'twere dull and dark, not bright and clear, And as a very Angel's eye serene, In darkness and in dulness 'twere as dear ; For it hath stronger ties to me than seer Versed in the starry laws hath ever read. For mortal birth-linked to its wayward sphere, I am no striver with a fate I dread,— I locked a chain myself, and by that chain am led. Bethink thee of that fair and sunny eve When we sate prating of all careless things, Thou carelessly, but I to joy or grieve In deeming I espied the secret springs Whence such and such words flowed — as monish- MNEMEION. 57 Or maidenly encouragement designed ; Nay, thou forget'st, but I — the memory clings To my fond heart, as to the longing mind Of banished men, the last green peak they left behind. One crowned star sate all alone on high : Like one that thinketh, sate she still upon Thedark, dark Heavens, and all the archingsky Was silent for her thought who sate alone : No murmur and no shout, no unison Of loud and gentle vex'd her solitude, But earth obedient watch'd her steady throne, And though she spake no word, her silent mood All restless things below to her own rest subdued. Glorious it was to peer into her face ! So beaming and benignant was its look. One could almost have deem'd that gentle grace From some reflected earthly gaze it took ! Dewy and sad, as shining in a brook Or stilly pool, when summer mists are grey ; At first it smiled upon us, then it shook And trembled, with strong passion ye would say, Then shot forth one wild gleam, then utterly died away! O then how blank was all that gleaming sky, Emptied of all its glory — by her flight Made dead, as some fair body when the eye 58 MNEMEION. Hides in death's shadows its enlivening" light. Then did we feel how dread a thing is Night ; And not the deep coerulean abysses, Baring their unfathomable g-ulfs to sight Could win us not to mingle with our blisses Some few regretful tears and cold misgiving kisses. Then faltered some few stars into the blue : The evening*-star far off hung low and bright And purple as a drop of morning dew. And then the sparkles of eternal light Swam over all, flushing the drear (6) blank height With beauty as of blossoms on a bough, Yet ever longed I for another sight Of that so wondrous shiner which but now Was flung so scornfully off from Heaven's yet rosy brow. Then kneeled I down, and with a burning prayer (I know not if to thee or Heaven I prayed) Asked, that as long as on the summer air That golden castaway should rise and fade, I might remember that sweet evening shade And thy most lovely face, although in tears And beauty perishing as the stars arrayed ; So, rising on me with the rising spheres. That night should still shine bright down all the depth of years. Such boon in lover's confidence I sought MNEMEION. 59 Unwitting of the portent : — but a languor Paled suddenly the fainting stars, methought ; And then the choleric wind in sudden anger Veiled up their light ; and lo ! a brazen clangour, As of the innumerable orbs wheeling away, Rano- from behind the darkness : — such an ang'er Plagued Heaven and allthe hosts that I should pray A boon of bliss so far beyond what mortal may. Such sudden shudder ran all nature through ; Yet was it granted, though with pain like this, And strivina: such as shook the han2:ino;' dew From night's black cope before its time, I wis. Yet for the poison mingled with the bliss 'Twas granted, not for blessing : — so that I Might ever with it think how happiness Off from the face of my young life did die. Even as that star fell oft" from that resplendent sky. For then full shortly that I deemed thy love, — As 'twere a plant at the fall and prime of blowing On all the under- branches of the grove. One day, a warm and gentle light bestowing, The next, a lank and flowerless pillar showing, — Shed its scarce budded leaves, bent down, and died ; — And I grim gloom exchanging for the glowing Of thy soft radiance, meaning due supplied To the Portentous Star of that sweet Eventide. 60 MNEMEION. VIII. The hills stand dark against the setting sun, Whose flag yet floats upon the western sky ; Amidst the cloudy glory, one by one, The glancing stars speed upward steadily ; And the young glimmering crescent white and shy Walks like a spirit in the fading blaze, Waxing in brightness as the glories die ; And earth more closely wraps her veiling haze And stealthy eve coming on, now hurries, now delays. In the deep wood I stand as in old days : The billows of green boughs wave round me still, Above me and around me ; and the rays Of the set sun grow chiller and more chill, As they were wont of old. Yon ruddy hill Wears yet its crown of gloomy elms as then ; Yet in my ears runs sweetly the small rill Till it grows silent in the peopled glen, Shrinking within its moss from the stern eyes of men. All is as it was wont to be ; — the flowers As gay, the scents as rarely sweet as erst ; — The weary eglantine flings down its showers Of snowy blossoms gaily to the first Sweet shiver of the nightwind ; and a burst Of rapturous voices marks the earliest shade ; MNEMEION. 61 And soft green lights gleam thickly interspersed Among the mossy banks ; and overhead Heaven in its living lamps shines lovelily arrayed. O ! the enjoyment that may not be spoken, Of which the round moon standing in the blue Hath stirred the seal, now — never, to be broken ; O the upheaving of the heart to view More nearly her whose eye so pierces through Our dull earth-crust, that mortal heart upleaps To the proud glance as it were made anew, To a new word untasted. O dull sleep's Best break ! O loftiest spring from the eternal deeps ! And yet the blindness of my foolish thought ! That I should speak ev'n for a space as though No more I knew than ancient Sages taught To the eye-worshippers — with all I know ! Yet Heaven above me, and the earth below. And the magnificence between, shall plead My pardon well with Him who made them so. O, for my eye's, and not my heart's, misheed. In yon unangered sphere my pardon let me read ! Blessings be on thee. Crescent Moon ! in number As the still stars about thee ! 'Twere a dream In sooth to glorify a poet's slumber. To think that such indeed they were ; — to deem Each sparkle of that deep ethereal stream, Which floats about thee, were a visible siofn 62 MNEMEION. Of blessings won from earth,each tremulous gleam Shot from each star, a consciousness divine Of thanks from human hearts which love their light, like mine. Fair Host ! — sweet Stars ! in social conclave sitting. Or singly o'er your azure waste apart With flickering wing and throbbing glory flitting, Take ye, too, blessings from a grateful heart ; And if from their low nest the tear-drops start, — Shy birds of night, — 'tis but a curious pain To watch the course of Time's deceitful art ; To think of bygone eves, a shadowy train ; All that comes back so oft yet never comes again ! IX. Moon, among the scrolled clouds on high, Wrapping thine unripe form and maiden smile, 1 thank thee much, that with another eye Thou lookest on me than thou didst erewhile ; — Be but thy present gaze as free from guile As that thy past one was from joy, and well I may repose me on this little isle, This small still isle amid the surge's swell. Albeit in peace for long I may not hope to dwell. And thou too. Light o' my memory ! thou, sweet Moon, MNEMEION^. 63 That in the darksome waste of my lorn breast Smilest, I thank thee ; — though thy dearest boon Be Quiet, which is not, but apeth Rest. My heart's high Queen ! my Spirit's Royal guest ! Before whose presence other tongues are mute, By whose loud calls my soul is else opprest ; — Mock-love that trims a faint and jarring lute, Ambition pleading^still an unrejected suit. Thee would I call — too daringly ; — but years Have left their crust upon me, and I bend No more as erst to all the tyrant fears Which once oppressed me at thy name, sweet friend ! Thus boldly to thy feet my vows I send — Hear me, — though blushes climb into thy cheek, Imperial blushes such as did ascend To Juno's brow when a mortal dared to seek A Godhead's portion — yet, ev'n angered, hear me To thee be this as all mine other toils. In thee beginning, ending still in thee, — Thee, the cold Goddess, at whose shrine the spoils I lay, in tribute for the victory. Trifling the contest and the prize may be, And yet not wholly valueless, I deem, (Though not to thee, sweet scorner,) yet to me, 64 MNEMEION. If but within thy heart one pleasant dream It wake, or on thy cheek one peaceful sunny g-leam. Have I not brought to thee in olden time Full many offerings, worthless though they be, — Weak flowers though budded in a golden clime Frail pearls tho' gathered from a deathless sea They were my first — I gave them all to thee. I may roam farther in that golden land, I may dive deeper in that deathless sea, Yet thine the undying fruit, and for thy hand Whatever wealth I dig from that immortal sand. Thou art a thread within my woof of life, All golden, running down its storied face ; Now hidden for a scene of shame and strife, Then freshly glittering in a summer place : Nor all unblest my life while I can trace That sheeny line, to trouble lending light, To pleasure, grandeur, and to calmness, grace. Oh, be it ever present to my sight As at my dawn of day, at noon, and eve, and night I Oh stay, stay ! — dwell with me, joyous Pre- sence, Sweet Shade, dwell with me ! — sit thou by my side In darkest sorrow and in lightest pleasance, To share. or shield ; — to heighten or to hide ! Soft praises ever to thine ears shall glide ; As though I fear'd the spectral shape should fade MNEMEION. 65 If my voice ceased the binding spell that tied The bright sky's tenant to our earthly shade, So constant, deep, and strong shall my fond prayer be made. So hear me, Thou, Mine Own, and yet not mine I As thou wert she to whom my spirit's might Gives its first morning incense, thou shalt shine The last faint star upon mine age's night ! And not a single wavelet of delight Shall roll its feeble tribute unto me, But shall bring too thine image to my sight ; Welcome for pleasure and for rarity. Yet, oh ! commended most by that sweet Shape of thee! THE MADMAN'S DAY. " Aye, if the madman could have leave " To pass a healthful day.' KE.ATS. THE MADMAN'S DAY. Without my clothes I went my way; From out my father's doors 1 went, A savage soul and discontent, I could not bear to stay. My heart with burning fears was hot ; She prayed me, but I heeded not; A smothering heat was in my brain, A glancing fire in every vein, How could I bear to stay ? I rushed into the open air ; I left the silvery tones beseeching, A meeter music I found there — The night-owl fiercely screeching : A boyish hand was in her nest, — How could the kindly creature rest ; Her home was downy- walled and white, Her children were her sole delight ; He fell for fear, the boyish thief, His limbs were safe ; — the old yew-tree Is scarcely eight feet high ; He rose up and fled hastily : 70 THE madman's day. For the horrible sound of the mother's grief He fled, and so did I. We left the dark churchyard behind ; The glimmering" gravestones and the yew : We raced between the hedges, twined All over with the white corn-bind, And hops bestarred with dew. His feet were clothed, but mine were bare ; [ sprang along as light as air, I overtook the urchin soon : I made the boy turn up his face, That I his features well might trace By the shining of the moon. My God ! what loveliness was there. That childish face so wildly fair ! So soft a cheek — so arch an eye — Half innocence — half knavery. I thought on Mary, and I said, ' God curse the beauty that is made But to betray or be betrayed !' So to myself I said. The little one seemed half afraid Of the naked man who held his arm. And muttered so betwixt his teeth, And breathed with such a whistling breath ; — He thought I spoke some awful charm, I knew it, yet I held him there, And laid his palm on my hot breast, (My heart the while lay still beneath) THE MADMAN S DAY. 71 And thus I made the urchin swear, Never again such sin to dare As rob a poor bird's nest, He swore it in a sweet low tone, Half-laughing, wicked little fairy ! O, how I wish'd the child my own — And who the mother, Maiy ? I kissed his cheek, he feared not now. His downy cheek, and then his brow ; Then loosed my grasp and let him go. He ran away until the turn, And then his footsteps fell more slow ; As one in thought he seemed to go. Meanwhile the fire that had run low Began again to burn. It burned within my brain i O Hell I What it was like I cannot tell ; I never felt its like I ween ; A sparkless, flameless, noiseless heat. Yet measured by a leaden beat A minute full between. I was as one by fiends possest ; • My hair ran down with icy sweat, Drip, drip upon my burning breast ; So cold, it seemed to pierce the skin,^- O Jesu Christ, my sin, my sin ! O would I could forget ! How silent and how strong ! — to hear A crackling flame climb up one's limbs, ■/'i THE MADxMAN's day. Feeding its way as up it climbs, I think were welcomer Than this strong', smothering, silent heat, But measured by that fearful beat ! 1 Away I ran, no matter where, The cold wind bristled in my hair ; My members drank the chilly wind, My heart in its desire. Which had been like a bird confined Within a cage of fire. Slacked its stretched wings, and sate at ease, Hearing the noise of that sweet breeze. I thought of home, a peaceful place. Of childhood, and my mother's face ; Of all the love that was in store For me despite my guilty case. And them that loved me almost more. Because I wanted grace ; I thought of nights which had come down While we among the shrubbery stood. And pure love set his icy crown Upon my youthful blood ; I thought of noon among the fields So quiet when I lay alone ; Of sunsets when, like crimson shields, The China roses shone Upon the eaves, upon the wall. And ivy dark betwixt them all. All peaceful things rose up again ; THE MADMAN S DAY. 73 The dew of them refreshed my brain ; I nearly turned my penitent steps To home, and to my mother's joy, I saw the quick smile curl her lips To meet her darling boy ; Her darling, in his sin and shame, Her son, her darling son the same. Then while with love my heart was soft, And blissful sighs broke quick and oft, And tears, like dew at summer eves. Gathering among the underleaves Of waving plants, began to freight My eyelids with a balmy weight ; Then, suddenly, O Heaven and earth ! A shrieking hornblast issued forth — As one might be at sunrise where , By echoing Heaven surrounded, The Prince of all the Powers of Air His dread reveillez sounded. And cracked his whips, to make appear The lurking demons everywhere. Then burned my heart again : — afresh The horrid shiver shook my flesh. On, on I went ! — I did not run, My pain, I felt, I might not shun ; In quiet I bore on my load Through woods where every singing bird Awoke when my hot palm it heard 74 THE MADMAN S DAY. Crushing the deep grass, strowed, As 'twere an ancient banquet room, With rushes with their dry perfume ; — Across bleak moors I went remote — The peaweep cried a wailful note ; A babe that hath not tasted milk, A babe whose mother dear is dead. Whose cheek is soft as flaggy silk, From out its weak and thirsty throat So sad a voice would shed ! I went through pastures moist and deep. The oxen bellowed in their sleep, A short and wild and angry low ! That I with my foul foot should go Through meadows innocent and pure, What sinless creature might endure ? Then would I stand quite still, and hear The drops fall singly from the trees ; And think how soon, like one of these, My soul (for I was full of fear) Would drop, a solitary falling From life — a shivered dewdrop here, More easy of recalling ! And then — but as I mused, alas ! That fearful pulse within my breast Beat once again, — like lead on glass, The dull deep clang ! away ! away ! No rest ! no stay ! — away, away ! Away, away ! No rest ! THE MADMAN S DAY. 75 A sense of guilt, like some foul wind, Whose breath is suffocation, Kept panting ever just behind : Hope leaned on desperation. Good God ! that race I cannot tell ; Only I know, a vault-like sound. An iron echo from the ground. Rang ever, where my footsteps fell ; Only I know, that I passed through A village which, a child, I knew As well as my own garden ; White walls, green trees, a straggling stream. And Labour, cheerful warden. Tame birds, and stonecrop on the roof, And lilac mallows making proof Of every summer beam : Now, in my race, I passed through it — With dark red gloomy fire 'twas lit, Such horrid flame as dyed the walls Of Sodom and Gomorrah, With gay sunshiny intervals. Like mirth i' the midst of sorrow ; A glimmering place ! a chattering rout Of spinning-jennies all about Kept up a doleful thrill : It ran from brook to brook throughout ! It ran from hill to hill ! Away I sped with sobbing breath, — One ghastly face tied up for death Grinned at a cottage door : 76 THE MADMAN S DAY. I ran as if for life and death — Thank God, I know no more ! And now to thee, my Mary dear. My pearl of price ! my flower of pride ! I tell this tale, in quiet here Sitting- at thy sweet side ! In peace again — Heaven's light restored To yonder balmy fields, Each bud enfranchised to afford Once more the scent it yields : O blessed Mary ! who was this That brought the beauty back ? Who won a world of love and bliss From yonder fearful wrack ? 'Twas thou, my love ! — Be thine the meed With Him who stirred thee to the deed ! SHORTER POEMS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. He's not among them on the green ; Those daisies may be gay and bright, Those boyish bosoms clear and light ; But he lies hid in shades unseen, My love and my delight ! Is yonder he ? Tis like in size, In limb as light, in step as free ; Ah no ! \feel it cannot be. My heart would leap through these dim eyes If it believed 'twere he ! Said I 'twas like him ? O false eye ! tongue too loose ! there is not there One face, one form that may compare With his ; of all that company Not one, not one so fair ! Not even he, now loved the best. Whose eyes are full of love, as day Is full of light, may bear away The palm from him who lies at rest, And if not he, who may ? 80 SHORTER POEMS. All nobleness was on his face And form : a soul so bright and bold His perfect figure did o'ermould ; Upon his brow a spirit's grace Did seem to be unrolled. Above the baseness of the earth His mounted spirit, like a bird, Sped on ; a height till then unstirred He dwelt in, whence his song-like mirth Fell round us, gladly heard. Fine moods were with him ! Scorn of wrong And Love attended on his steps ; Like music, which in a moment skips From low to high, they changed along His fair and flushing lips. No more — 'tis not that all is said. Oh no ! and angels in the sky Would weary of God's praise ere I Of his ; but he is cold and dead, And we will pass it by. 1 MISCELLANEOUS. II. £1 II. FOR A BOOK OF POETRY, DESIGNS, ETC. Little Book, thou art intended For all whimsies of the pen ; Follies to be left or mended, Some time future, heaven knows when ; Haply not until the brain Leave its coil of joy and pain ; And the hearing, sight, and scent Be waxen disobedient. On thy pages shall be shrined Eveiy mood of changeful mind : Joy and Sorrow, brother-powers ; Hope that springs and Fear that cowers ; , Friendship, knitting subtle cords Out of looks and thoughts and words ; Charity, that, like a sun, Kindles all it beams upon Into blissful light serene ; Love with taper fingers clean Wreathing roses white and holy ; Backward-leaning Melancholy ; Peace, and peaceful discontent, When the silence doth invent 82 SHORTER POEMS. Music, and the blank with forms Self-impregnate, slowly warms Into life ; as stagnant lakes Curdle into worms and snakes. Nor the pencil shall refuse Toll of lovely sights and views, Caught through jambs of granite cleaves In the set of autumn eves ; Nor sweet forms in vision seen, Or with running waves between Spied far down in stilly waters, Ocean's shadowy sons and daughters ; Nor the shapes, that walk away. Twinkling 'twixt the trees far off, When the night is met with day. And the marsh-frogs croak and cough. And the night-bird's balmy throat Lingers on its favourite note. Nor the forms that come and go. Light and laughing, sad and slow, Dimly seen to frown and dimple Down the aisles of History's temple ; Grecian lords with hanging hair ; Roman- ladies sternly fair ; Knight with steed, and dame with tercel And children's faces universal Linking our age with that and all By nature's likeness general. MISCELLANEOUS. 11. 83 Little Book, thy slaves shall be Eye and heart and memory ; Fancy shall be at thy door, Truth thy bounden servitor ; Every whim the eye that catches. Coinage of the midnight watches, Or of day, though less divine, Little Volume, shall be thine ; Vision — filmy train of dreams ; All that is and all that seems ; Things of spirit, things of blood, Outlined in abstruser mood, When the fingers loosely play. And the mind is far away ; Things of sorrow, things of glee, Honoured Volume all for thee ! 84 SHOKTER POEMS. III. A MORAL FOR SPRING. When the Spring sky is waxing soft, And sun and cloud and sunny rain Change o'er its surface fast and oft, Then seek a low and sheltered lane : There let then be a dancing brook And a green plank or mossy ledge, Where you may rest at ease and look Upon the flapping of the sedge ; And let some nodding briars hang o'er To whip the waters till they seethe ; Partly by these disturbed, but more By rugged pebbles underneath : Then think of life, how often vexed With fretting sedge and scourging briars, Yet ever how much more perplexed By its own bed of fierce desires ! MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 85 IV. THE GREEN LANE. A DAY of joy ! a gladsome day, Fit courier of the flowers of May ! Come out, along the grassy lane That links green Bilton's glancing spire To Lawford's road, for sand and mire The road of roads again ! Come out ; there is the tall Oak-tree Upon its bank of grass. And sitting there we'll think we see The soft spring-breezes pass, The blithe spring-breeze that scarce can stir For this warm air entangling her. Say you the oaken buds are pale ? No matter ! we'll look down the vale ; And Lawford trees, a dusky group. We'll fancy green ; and Brownsover's Grey hedge-row lines and Holbrook's firs ; With woodbine withes we'll loop ; And we — yet more could Fancy do — We'll make a Spring, friend, for us Two. Us two alone ? Nay, we'll not wrong With self's least blight this joyous day ; ; SHORTER POEMS. Though we alone are here, we'll long- For other faces far away ; Dear friends from Granta's willowy side, And silent Soar and crystal Clyde, And others still as true and dear, Who are at hand but are not here. The seasons might be secret scrolls Hid underground, for us, Dear friend, if we with our hid souls Could always commune thus : But peace, dear boy, that lies to you, A virgin ore upon the soil, To older hearts sinks out of view ; A secret mine, but worked by few, And then with pain and toil ; So tell us wiser men than we, And so I know that it may be ; Then speed, kind Fancy, and uncoil Thy Spring for him and me. Our good green lane with wreaths is'drest, Our old oak looks his stateliest ; The gorse is lit upon the hedge, A sullen fire, like smouldering sedge, A sullen, smouldering fire ; And hawthorn shoots are snowy Avhite ; And tender buds just bared to sight Spot thick the dancing briar ; And far and near the speedwell shines, MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 87 And hops as fair as Tuscan vines As gracefully and fondly fair, Shoot snaky tendrils everywhere. Come down, spring birds ! come, lark and thrush, The corn is thickening, and the bush Will well protect from prying eye The dear domestic mystery. Come, swallow ! lo ! the gentle brook Looks up with an impatient look. It would be kissed by breast of thine, And it would share its sunny shine With wagtails through a crystal rain Self-raised, now seen, now lost again. Now, fancy, rest ; say, gentle friend, Where shall her tricksy voyage end ? See, Newbold's Church stands almost near, Drawn by the moistened atmosphere ; A quiet church, it stands among Its tribes of green or mossy graves ; And listens to the merry throng Of Avon's rippling waves ; And not by these to sadness won. By those to over-gladness bent. Stands holy in its unison Of earth's delight and heaven's content. Thither, my friend, let fancy go, And rest her wins-s in that low fane. 88 SHORTER rOEMS. And then we two shall feel and know That she may speed again, For in no feverish discontent Our pleasures in her train we sent, If thus among" those graves she go, And rest her in that holy ground, Unshocked the holiness below. And the holiness around. MISCELLANEOUS. V. 89 V. Thine eyes are calm and cold, my love, A gentle glorious hue Made up of sunset's gold, my love, And starry midnight's blue, A ghostlike glory — half of day. And half of splendours past away. Nay, look not so serene, my love, A twinkle let there be, A twinkling smile between, my love. Thy stony glance and me ; That placid look I cannot bear — O, let one smile be dancing there ! No smile ! — no word ! — no breath, my love ! Ah well ! I can devise An answer even from death, my love ! A smile from stony eyes ; I'll shut mine own, then I shall see My Love as wonted smile on me. 90 SHORTER POEMS. VI. ]My sorrow is not sin ; — by day My eyeballs are like balls of stone : Bat when at night I kneel to pray, And Heaven and I are all alone, Then God's own Hand so strong and still Unlocks them, and I weep at will. O my first Friend ! in childhood's joy Was fastened first our love's sweet chain 'Twas riveted upon the boy, And now in youth 'tis snapt in twain ; And just when I am grown a man And need have all the love I can ! Yet wounds it most that none should know, Save me and two or three beside, That earth such loss doth undergo : To me it seems now thou hast died That virtue is gone out of nature ; Yet other men see no defeature : The Heaven's blue dome is blue as ever, The grass as green, the birds as gay, MISCELLANEOUS. VI. 91 The wind as busy with the river, The sun as constant to the day, And thou, that perfect chrysolite, Art hid : — we could not bear the siffht ! 'O' It is so strange that thou, so fair. So noble, shouldst be let to die. And still the freedom of the air Be granted to such things as I ; It is a marvel most extreme, 'Tis like the puzzle of a dream. Couldst thou not tarry, O my friend ! My schoolfellow ! my mate in play ! Thought'st thou my love was at an end When we no more met every day, And didst thou run to treacherous Death To cure the pains of broken faith ? Couldst thou not wait till love had died. Or sickness torn thy bloom away ; And I, attending at thy side. Had used mine eyes to thy decay. And practised my sad heart awhile To live upon a fainter smile ? Or tell me truly, was my love A load too burdensome to bear ? Ah, fond ! now thou art fled above My love hath followed thee up there ; SliORTEll POEMS. And there it is, and angels' mirth Rings down through it unto the earth. i But angels' joy is grief and pain To men whose hearts are vile and weak And I would pray that thou again On earth shouldst walk and smile and speak ; But that He wills who knoweth best. And I am fond and fear-oppressed. Yet this I would, — that I might be Where thou art, O my first and best ! For here my soul most lonelily Abideth, and is not at rest ; I loved life well before, but now I only wish to be as thou ! O come thou back, my schoolboy love, Or let me come and be with thee ; My soul is restless as a dove Let out upon the silent sea, Or that which from the ark went forth While yet the waters hid the earth. O, my dear friend ! if 1 had known Thy danger ; and thy danger's cure Had been my life- breath for thine own, I would have paid the price, be sure ; But now, since that can never be, Oh would, oh would I were with thee ! MISCELLANEOUS. YII. 93 Til. DIRGE. Thy cheek is cold, thy cheek is blue, Life hath never such a hue ; Thou art dead, who cannot tell? Ah me ! fare thee well ! Ah ! thine eye so bright and proud ! All is covered with a cloud, And thy careless heart so free ; Ah me ! woe is me ! Thy lips so curling, rosy-red, Stiff and blue and cold and dead ! Which sweet words once bubbled o'er, Thou hast left the earth so gay ; Thou in Heaven sing'st to-day : Thou'rt in Heaven, there to dwell ; 'Tis well ! fare thee well ! Thou art fled and leavest me, Cruel, cruel 'tis of thee ; Thou art worthy of much blame. Ah ! love ! fie for shame ! 94 SHORTER POEMS, Like a curly-tendriled vine Thou about my heart didst twine ; As a child I loved thee so, Ah me ! none could know. Yet thou fleest — 'tis no more All I knew and loved before ; All is buried underground ; Ah, love! love, sleep sound ! Nay, a better lore I learn, , Yet methinks thou shalt return ; When Christ cometh thou wilt come, Welcome, day of doom ! MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 95 VIII. HOLBROOK FIRS. No matter for the rain ! — 'tis not A thing to care for : lo ! with ease I could make count of every spot That trickles through these latticed trees. These burly pines are not afraid, But gladly take the kindly aid, That they the sooner may lay by Their black old-fashioned green, and vie With the fresh year's hilarity. No matter for the rain ! unless We make it cause of thankfulness For cuckoo's throat, that wins therefrom New doublets of a mellower sound. For gladness rising all around, And intimations glad that come From overhead and underground : The wild wood-dove, that doth imbibe A kind of madness of delight, And frantically flings away Her voice o'er hill, and down, and plain, And cares not if it come again, Since she, she only or the tribe 96 SHORTER POEMS. Of feathered things as blithe and bright, The lack full gladly will repay, The lack to heaven and this green spring And echo faintly answering. Peace— peace and joy, — these gentle Trees Should only hold such guests as these : Dear friend, no matter for the rain ! Those larches are in glee as loud As they had never seen a cloud : Look round you — look again ! See yonder train of piimrose buds Set out, — it rises and descends, Till deep in Brinklow's willowy woods The blithe procession ends : Now look each floweret in the face, Each floweret like a fair pale sun ; A peaceful eye, dear friend, could trace Joy brightening, softening every one ! I am alone, my friend, and yet 1 speak as if we were together ; And so we are, and I forget All things but you : and well I know, Taught by a blind sweet inner sense, Which overcomes fond why and whence, That thy dear love, which lifts me so Above this plague of wayward weather, Hath yet a stronger power, a flow More deep, a holier influence. MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 97 I know — have known for years — that Earth Was bound to me by ties unholy, So falsely have I played with mirth When my best mood was melancholy : But now 'tis changed ! thank God, 'tis changed ! And things half-loved and things estranged, Things high, and pure, and holy. Come back in thee so pure and good, And I a humbler happier mood Inhabit, and am lowly ; And so the winds of earth's unrest Pass harmless round my quiet nest ; And through green boughs of fresh delight My heart, undazzled by the view, Sits gladly watching day and night Heaven's starred or sunny blue. And, dearest friend, to thee I owe That I again so glad may be, To thee and God who made thee so, And gave thee unto me. 98 SHORTEll POEMS. IX. ADDRESS TO BEAUTY. Oft have I sought thee, Beauty, oft, And found thee oftener yet, Around, below, aloft, A seal and signet set : A seal on this sweet earth, — a token ; A glimmer from a hidden mine Cast to the negligent sunshine ; A promise, that may not be broken. Of bliss that hides where mortal eye Cannot pierce through the fair obscurity. Sweet soul of this sweet earth ! One othei- comes to thee ; From men and men's bounds gladly forth Thine own to be ! Yet gladly ? Ask no word ; The heart may be about to die, And yet win glimpses of its old delight ; Even as the warmth was stirred In David's bosom when the Shunamite Came there to lie. O send me not away. Blest spirit, that 1 sought thee not before MISCELLANEOUS. IX. 99 I had a dearer play, My heart with other mantling* joys ran o'er, And was contented with the golden store Of those rich smiles now mine no more ! no more ! no more ! Content ? The very sunlight from the sky I could have parted with, for I Had a light — her eyes, her eyes — Dearer than a thousand skies. Now these are turned aside To others than to me ; And I repent me of my olden pride, And bend to thee ! Gracious soul of this sweet earth ! Come from the azure deeps, come forth' Come from the starry isles, if keeping- There thy glorious rest unsleeping ; Or from hiding in the caves, Coral-paven, walled with pearl ; In whose depths the gamesome waves Run and leap, and toss and whirl ; Or from the islands in the ocean, Steady 'midst eternal motion ; Or the shores to weary billows Laying green or golden pillows i Or where'er thou art abiding, Proudly shewn or shyly hiding. Come, when dawn is pale and grey, Or when glory, bolder growing, 100 SHORTER POEMS. Nestles in the breast of day ; Come, when eve is calmly flowing Into every nook and field, And the moon is unrevealed, Or by glimpses glowing. Hear thy child and come to me. Come to me, sweet mother, come ! Life is lonely without thee, Lonely, dark, and wearisome ! MISCELLANEOUS. X. 101 X. In vain the Heart calls out for words, And asks coy Fancy for a strain Worthy to be and to remain ; She, wilful maiden, leaves the chords To silence, and no aid affords : But when the blind and baffled Will In spite and feebleness lies still, Out come the notes like autumn birds That jostle in the air, and then The Head and Heart are friends asrain. *D" Who knows a poet's pain and pleasure, Who knows not this ? but we must measure The weariness and the annoy. My friend, beside the after joy. The pathways of our human mind Are narrow, and the step behind Treads out the footsteps earlier printed ; And if our pains be crowned at last, Light Fancy looks not to the past, And Labour is contented. 102 SHORTER POEMS. XI. TO IMPERIA. Thou art not, and thou never canst be mine ; The die of fate for me is thrown, And thou art made No more to me than some resplendent shade FJung on the canvass by old art divine; Or vision of shaped stone ; Or the far g-Iory of some starry sign Which hath a beauty unapproachable To aught but sight, — a throne High in the heavens and out of reach ; Therefore with this low speech I bid thee now a long and last farewell Ere I depart, in busy crowds to dwell, Yet be alone ! All pleasures of this pleasant Earth be thine ! Yea, let her Servants fondly press Unto thy feet, Bearing all sights most fair, all scents most sweet: Spring, playing with her wreath of budded vine ; Summer, with stately tress Prinked with green wheat-ears and the white corn- bine ; And Autumn, crowned from the yellow forest-tree; MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 103 — And Winter, in his dress, Begemmed with icicles, from snow dead- white Shootino: their wondrous lif>ht ; These be thine ever. But I ask of thee One blessing only to beseech for me, — Forge tfulness. Xir. INSCRIPTION FOR A SECLUDED SEAT. The daisy nods at twilight, and a sound Rustles up softly from the dewy ground ; And the inquisitive stai's at summer eves Sometimes behold me through the ruffling leaves. If thou hast eyes as pure and voice as sweet. Come ! thou art welcome to my mossy seat. 104 SHORTER POEMS. XIII. DAY S HELP. All night I slept a tortured sleep Betwixt the demons, doubt and fear They held my eyes, I could not weep, Nor lift their fingers sere. At length with morn I crept away ; I walked between the arching limes ; On came the day-break red and grey. As in departed times. The glad birds' noise went up around- O God ! or my own foolishness ! I took it for an ominous sound Of peace to my distress. And day flung lavishly about His broad white beams ; my terror fled : Surely I heard a secret shout Of angels overhead ! Make not our hope to ebb and flow. Great God, who art our strength and stay ; But let the dark night help us so As doth the sunny day! MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 105 XIV. I WILL not paint my love's perfections With lifeless hues from nature's store ; His gentle words, his gentle actions Shall speak his worth, my sorrow more. I will but tell that in his bosom (Fair chest !) a noble heart was hid ; I will but say that honour's blossom Shone fair and white on all he did. Or if I tell his lofty stature, His arching brows, his curling lips, 'Tis but to shew how his high nature His outer beauty did eclipse. It seemed to me his noble spirit Was like some ancient Arch sublime : Which, dwarfing all the dwellings near it, Brings back the old gigantic time. And there was Love, a lowly floweret. Beneath this arch so fair and tall : O why did death so soon devour it. And make that lofty arch to fall ! 106 SHORTER POEMS. XV. Bold Spring! disdain those puny flowers, Dwarfed stepsons of the frost ; Cast off all thought of wintry hours, Whatever price it cost : Fling far away to darkest night (Be just, sweet Spring, be fearless !) Those primroses so blear and white, These daisies dim and cheerless. Yon haggard violets maimed and sere, O cordial Spring, disdain them ! To wrong thy glory have no fear, 'Twould wrong it to retain them : Disdain, disown the stunted birth, And clear the shame from off the soil ; To force, not love, be sure, the earth Brought forth a brood so mean and vile ! Then fling thy hands abroad, sweet Spring, On tree, and hedge, and field, Call out the leaves, glad heralding Of gladness unrevealed ; The bud, the flower, the fruit,— the blade. The barley in the sheaves ; For all thy bliss destroyed, delayed. MISCELLANEOUS. XV. 107 O give us but green leaves ! The odours of the buds unseen, O blessed Spring, enfranchise ; And bid the clouds of golden green Go wandering in the branches : Let us be folded when we walk With hedges thick and thickening trees ; With verdure clothing every stalk, And fragrance filling every breeze ! Then, Spring, once safe, thy triumph gained, Be merry on the past ; With scented winds at will unchained Mock winter's icy blast ; Besnow the garden walls with flower, With lilac buds behail us ; Rain apple-blossoms by the hour. Our patience will not fail us ; Nay, we will aid thy glee, not slack With frolicsome petition. To dreary winter to come back, And better his condition ; And if he come, we will not care. But jeer the grey-beard to his face ; Nor grudge that one day's sharper air Should give the next a fresher grace. 108 SHORTER POEMS. XVI. THE MISER'S DREAM. There are brown lashes to full many an eye, And dark rich locks down pearly shoulders rolled, And yet I care not ; sleeping peacefully, And counting in my sleep the scantless gold, Laid up in slumber's gorgeous treasure-hold. It is no care to me that running tears Dim the bright eye ; I cannot leave untold My heaps, though brown locks in the sun of years Grow white and dry, or fall in the blast of sudden fears. The light by which I count is glorious red, The very heaps' own light that lie around. Cast from the ruddy golden hillocks spread Thickly as graves in a city burial-ground ; But these are gold, rich gold ; no idle mound Built over dead men's bones ; and golden showers Rain ever on them with a chinking sound, Sweeter than when the May-queen, gathering flowers. Shakes o'er the sleeping pool the dewy bellamours. Ah ! let the lean-faced Poet with quick eyes Tell if he will of plashing summer shower ; MISCELLANEOUS. XVI. 109 / love the golden rain that did surprise Languishing Danae in the iron tower : This for the poet and his balmy bower ! His be the drops that sparkle on the tree, I will give up the jewels in the flower, And all the spoil of summer's argosy ; — But oh ! these golden drops, these rich red drops for me ! HO SHORTER POEMS. XVII. SONG. If the Spring is sweet, when its violets In a countless train assemble, Yet thou art sweeter, (who forgets ?) With thine eyes, and the veiny rivulets That round thine eyelids tremble ! If Summer be dear with its dewy prize Of the damask buds unclosing, Yet thou art dearer, (who denies ?) With thy cheeks and the rosy light that lies On thy downy skin reposing ! If Autumn with golden sheaves be fair. And the hops which the wind caresses, Yet thou art fairer, I declare, With the sunny shine of thy golden hair, And the toss of thy dancing tresses ! And if Winter be white with its glittering snow. In wave, and wreath, and wrinkle. Yet thou art whiter, well I know. With thy neck, and thy long neck's graceful flow, And thy teeth's resplendent twinkle ! MISCELLANEOUS. XVII I. XVIII. TO THREE LITTLE GIRLS AT A PIANOFORTE. Darling children ! — three together, Now with finger, now with palm ! Ah ! the notes — I doubt me, whether They will understand the charm : Listen how they cross and scream ! Wilder music not the stream Wakes from all its stones in motion, When its face is white as cream ; Verily not the tossing ocean, With its quarrelling waves gregarious, Makes a melody more various ! Hush ! — my children, let the riot Cease awhile into a calm ; Let the jangling notes be quiet ! Rest the finger, and the palm ! Sisters small, shall I be teaching How this earth's fair tune is marred By the eager over-reaching, By the touch too quick, too hard ? How this bodily instrument Owns a kindred discontent, Folly strained or passion jarred ? 112 SHORTER POEMS. Nay, sweet peaceful sisterhood, 'Twere no use, it is no need ; Ye are yet too pure and good — . Vain to you the lore indeed ; Come and kiss me, come and shew, Love, — that only lore ye know : Fd give years, and wealth, and wit, To know half as much of it ! XIX. INSCRIPTION FOR A SPRING-HEAD. The leaves' pure shadow, and the cleanly shine Of noontide's sun and midnight's stars is mine ; No unclean impress yet my face hath curst, Take care, stranger, thine be not the first ! MISCELLANEOUS. XX. 113 XX. SONG. (7) I LOVE thy glowing cheek, but best I love thy golden hair, To hide my face in that sweet nest, And woo a happy-visioned rest. In that dark ambush there. One ear against thy cheek's aglow, The other, it is bare : Fling, sweetest love, o'er it also, I pray thee, love, in mercy throw^ The meshes of thy hair. Ah ! love, I thought to crop a rest Of golden-pinioned dreams. But slumber in so sweet a nest With thee for mistress, me for guest, A sacrilege it seems. Thy hair it shuts us in all round ; 'Tis like a summer cave, With vine-curls trailing to the ground, That ever with a slumberous sound Serenely shift and wave. 114 SHORTER POEMS. Each burning blush of sunset's sky Into our pleasant tent (As through its lash the lovelit eye) Shines with a richer, warmer dye, Through thy light tresses sent. Never were we so much alone As now, my own heart's dove ! Come, turn thy face, mine own, mine own ! Come, let us talk — we are alone — Come, let us talk of love. MISCELLANEOUS. XXI. 115 XXI. THE HIGHLANDER IN ITALY. Come ! pleasant thoughts of home ! — be near, be near ! In these hoar woods more dear, Shelving ungently to the torrent's side, Than when a year ago, among the trees. That circle with their loving boughs the porch Of our ancestral church. My cheek as yet unyellowed by disease, I called you to my heart at eventide ! There is a lake that wins the sunbeams here. Even like our own blue mere, And bluer far the sky that lies thereon, And lovelier far the flowers that bend their necks To break its ripple with their gentle kisses ; But oh ! my sad eye misses The blushing wreath of heather red, that deck.s Our own lake, heaving in its ribs of stone ! And here are birds that sing unto themselves Among the mountain shelves. Or wake a louder music o'er the flood, That rudely, like a tongue-tied infant, mock.* The tumult, or the sweet, soft, stealing song 116 SHORTER POEMS. But I forget, and long For the clear echoes from our naked rocks, And the shrill eaglets quarrelling o'er their food. And here are joyous voices now and then Of glad wayfaring men, Thrown up in sport, and kindly tones beseeching The morning's blessing on the traveller ; But though the sound be winning to the ear. Yet 'tis not half so dear, Nor half so strong the sleeping heart to stir As those old accents of my mother's teaching. Yes ! and here too is every other thing Of my heart's worshipping, When first my map of life I fondly planned ; But all are changed, even as the lake, the wood. The bird, the music of the human tongue, Aye, over all is flung Some change, — o'er all except my native blood, Which is the same and fits not with the land. It seems but mockery to mine eyes to see Church, valley, lake, and tree. Spread all around me, yet not calling forth One gush of pleasure from this stony breast. That did so melt, when from my own old room, I gazed on mere and coomb. And spire and ancient elm in sabbath rest. Ere yet my foot had touched a foreign earth. MISCELLANEOUS. XXI. 117 But then the yellow tinge came o'er my cheek, And I set forth to seek, In a more southern region's fabled wealth Of lifeful breezes and restoring springs, Some respite from my sharp and gnawing pains ; But still the fever reigns, And now I would return, — in the olden things Of my own home, to find my spirit's health. But 'tis too late ! — and Earth may close her book Forme, — for I may look No more upon the single page I love ; And may-be it is well, — that clinging bands Of old affections, and the ties as strong Of scenes loved well and long, May not with fatal strength knit down my hands When I would stretch them to the heaven above i 118 SHORTER POEMS c XXII. MOTTO FOR A BOOK OF SEA-WEEDS. Stolen from the ocean-depths ? It is not true ; But gently, by the wave's commissioned hand, Plucked from the dark sea-gardens where they grew, And laid, as Ocean's offering to the land. With heaps of speckled shells upon the glistering sand : Thence gathered for delight of children's eyes, And question thus awaked of Nature's mysteries. MISCELLANEOUS. XXIII. 11§ XXIII. THE HAUNTED COTTAGE. Now am I by the haunted cot, Where once were murderous deeds adoing Tis whole, and sound, and ruined not, Yet somehow sadder than a ruin. And wh}', it is not hard to tell. For nature's justice doth not sleep ; And what is stained by deeds of hell, Green earth is loth to keep. And so all rusts she sends, and mould Into the joints, and roof, and wall ; And fear on all men who behold, With wishes for its fall. And see ! the dust upon the ground Claims kindred with its dusty thatch ; The damp's small finger-mark is found Upon the blistered latch. There is a little pool close by ; Upon its bank the furze-bush quakes ; A clear cold water ; like an eye. Strange shades of sense it takes. 12d SHORTER POEMS. It seems to look towards that lone cot, As if some fellowship it had Therewith : 'tis not in good, I wot, It looks so stern and sad. And yet not sadness such as bows Yon weary cottag-e walls forlorn ; Though overcast, its guilty brows Have yet a touch of scorn. You might believe that ill it brooked Those guilty walls' so slow decay, And therefore thus it looked, and looked So sternly night and day. And thus, perchance, it vents the claim Of natures, that immortal be, Which, we may think, can hide their shame In their eternity. 'Tis well ; for if upon earth's face Its secret crimes could all be read. For love or mirth, what fitting place ? Where could we lay our dead ? MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 121 XXIV. I HAVE a lady throned in my soul, That in her home — my soul — hath dwelt alway, And never seen the merry sunlight roll O'er the glad peaks at morning-, nor the May Flush the bare thorns i' the spring-tide ; sitting at play In my still soul among the roses there Which never bud nor fade ; beneath its day, Which ebbeth not, nor springs, like the outer air Butbideth still and rich, as the roses fresh and fair. And She herself it is that keepeth still My heart, with joy or fear no more distressed As once, but throbbing gently with a thrill Awed to the quiet of that quiet guest ; And yet not dully bowed to her behest But pulsing measurely, like a Fountain keeping In an eastern hail its regular unrest ; And so all day and night my heart is leaping Even as I wake or sleep, that Dame awake or sleeping. Soothly thou sayest 'tis no mortal Dame ; No light of earthly fire is in her eye, She is immortal, being of heaven; — her name. 122 SHORTER POEMS. Ye would well guess, divinest Poesy ; — And her true home is in the starry sky, But she came down to me, most blessed Leech, When sick with love my heart was near to die : And a relieving lore she did me teach, And soft as winnow of an angel's wings her speech. She gave me all in which my soul rejoices ! She poured a subtle essence in my ears, So that I understood all Nature's voices ; How the young birds choose out their mottled feres, And how the stars roll ringing on their spheres, ThrilHng the air about them ; and the trees' Low welcome when the dewy morn appears ; And the faint loves of busy-seeming bees, Whereto the idle flowers sing sleepy lullabies. And from my eye by her too was withdrawn The earthly crust which did confine its rays ; So I beheld, if at the rosy dawn A golden star would lag awhile to gaze. In timorous wonder at the mighty maze Which lay beneath her feet ; or all too early At even (like a primrose that displays His tender cheek when winter winds are surly) Glimmer with faint dim light most winning, soft, and pearly. And other things I saw by that device ; How young buds blindly to the surface creep, MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 123 Then to the sun spread wide their wonderins: eves. Like children of a sudden waked from sleep ; And how upon the bi'oad unwieldy deep The million million interweaving waves A measured dance and seemly order keep ; And how the moon exchanges her dim caves ; And how the flesh melts down in the hot and trampled graves. Yea, all things good and bad thereby 1 saw ; Made rich beyond all riches, sound, or sight. By that uplifting of the eternal law. But, for to all she gives not such delight. To tell those things to any mortal wight She lets not ; stringing still more close than ever The tongue which haply might abuse its right ; And vainly strive I those strong bonds to sever. Wasting short life away in fruitless fond endeavour. SPRING SONNETS. SPRING SONNETS. No hint of spring ! no single forming flower, Tipt with kind blue or tender-blushing red As touched by morning's finger, lifts its head In cunning corners of the privet bower ; No crocus shuts at evening's starry hour, Jealous of heaven; nor on the ground is spread The constant periwinkle's hardihead As wonted, lustrous from the wintry shower. Whither is gone the sunny purple sky ? Where hide the summer winds serene and shy ? It is so long since nature's glory fled That w^ere't not for the birds that still abide Their Mother — the long-slumberer — the dull-eyed, Man might forget his faith, and deem her dead. 128 SHORTER POEMS. TI. The overclouding Day is shy, may be, Our too fastidious niceness to displease With rays not bright enough, too free a breeze. O Sun, come back ! no ill-wise critics we ! Morn after morn went lagging tediously (Dimness for day, a deeper haze for night) And never one slant ray of sunny light Came flickering through the cloudy company ! O Sun, we now have learned (if needed this) The thankfullest humbleness : we do not try 'But feel ; our wisdom with a dismal train Came to us ; she is here. O forth again. Forth on thy wings of love, and hope, and bliss, Bright Sun, into the blank deserted sky ! SPRING SONNETS. III. 129 III. The trees are dripping: 'tis a pleasant sound, Though but from leafless boughs ; though there be spread No shadows of green branches overhead, No windless screen of rustling leaves around : Yet the grey carpet of the wintry ground Is greening, and the pale buds spot the trees ; And the dear fragrance floats upon the breeze Of brooks set free, and prisoned leaves unbound. The chapel cross upon a space of blue Stands clear ; about it is a rainy mist : The weather- watcher scents the south ; anon The haloed Moon comes tremulously on ; The clouds into a goldenish amethyst Kindling. Sweet season, be the omens true I 130 SHORTER POEMS. IV. The earliest scent of dew this Year hath tasted, And oh, how welcome ! Like a friendly face Calling old times from their dim dwelling-place It comes : five passive months my heart hath wasted In bondage ; this fresh odour hath uncased it ; And gaily from its chrysalid serenity Leaps the glad spirit in the year's amenity : Winter was stern, but life hath yet outfaced it, And with a following of the laughing leaves. And flowering buds, and budding flowers, rejoices, Freed from her thraldom ; but last eve I heard The warning of her dear preluding bird ; And lo ! already she is here ; and cleaves All heaven and earth with quickened scents and voices ! SPRING SONNETS. V. 131 Y. Time and the constant Spring; will conquer all : Five cruel months of rain, and snow, and frost Attacked the Spirit of life, who fought, but lost; Then underground, having dug a secret hall, They laid therein their unresisting thrall. Trod down the grave and left it. Then the fates Drew back those tyrants through their golden gates ; And nature did her favourite spring recall ; But as she came not, mourning her as dead, Took weeds and wreathed them round her desolate head, And would not hear of comfort ; but in grief, Couched on dry river-flags, lay still and wept : Nevertheless the lazy spring but slept, And now is here aa-ain with flower and leaf. 132 SHORTER POEMS. VI. Days back and weeks, with unrewarding eyes (As her best cheer) hath Earth beheld the morn Slant downward from its eastern lodge forlorn, A wintry sheet of white cold light. Arise, A{ Sun of young May ! behold the softening skies ^ Present a flushing cheek (their morning duty) To thy paternal kiss ; earth's filial beauty Tarries alone thy rising to arise : The Mountains farther east are antedating Thy glory with lit summits ; the heaped Sea Rims the horizon with a burning line : No Hills have we, no glimmering Sea divine. Yet our low elmy pastures are awaiting Tby morning presence not less duteously. SPRING SONNETS. VII. 133 VII. Come, Spring, with me into a little cell Where I and the wood-spirit (who she is I know not, but her looks are full of bliss) Live quietly alone : not kings that dwell In the iron guard of thrice-walled citadel Such safety know, not convent monks such peace, As we but fenced by the incorporeal breeze, But cloistered in our deep and grassy dell : Thither ethereal Spring, come, come with me ! Not that we are not happy, but thy breath May melt the crystal sky to deeper blue ; Tempt out the flowers ; enkindle the dark hue Of the grey water, which now sullenly Sleeps in its stony basin, dark as death. 1S4 SHORTER POEMS. VIII. O Time, who sang- thee first with hoary wings And blue keen scythe, — a shape of shivering age, Plying for aye a thankless pilgrimage In ruthless strife among Earth's loveliest things ? Was't not in winter with the ministerings Of bellying clouds and huddling blasts to inspire, And fingers crampt that groped upon the lyre, And could not find the music of the strings ? O had he sate with soft winds in his ear As I, and watery murmurs blent therewith, And fragrant grass (fresh as the heaven above), Below him, he'd have made thee fair as Love ; . Given thee blithe ringlets for those locks so sere, A stately river-lily for the scythe. SPRING SONNETS. IX, 135 IX. Nod on, meek snowdrops, so demurely gay ! Nod on — dance lightly ! for the sky above Looks on you with an azure eye of love ; A fatherly regard the wintry day Doth for your sprightly innocence display ; And the fierce wind, which in the forky pines Above your heads incessantly wails and whines, On you falls lightly as a breath of May. A man, I think, in darkest mood of spleen, Could scarce hold face against a glimmering joy To see your child-like quire at their employ, This tireless repetition of their game ; And I, for other cause right glad, I ween. Could shout aloud and leap to see the same. 136 SHORTER POEMS. X. On the other side of yon long row of trees The young Spring passed : a joyous sunny gleam, Hanging about her hair, did make her seem A glorified Goddess. A delicious breeze Warped the dry branches : and a look of ease Calmed the wan turf whereon that lady walked ; And daffodils, green-headed, golden-stalked, (Being unripe) and wide-lipped crocuses. And snowdrops lily-pale but marble-cold Shot up, unsheathed from the secretive soil, A carpet for her ; and a rainy scent Descending from the unfreaked firmament Gathered round nature's heart and made it bold, Tempting her features to a sweet half-smile. SPRING SONNETS. XI. 137 XI. Strange power inhabits these fresh days of spring, A strange expansive power, that almost storms These walls of flesh, our dull corporeal forms, Till the enfranchised Soul, a naked thing, In innocent freedom with the spirit of spring Spends peacefully her honey-moon, — too short. For careless suns scorch in their wasteful sport The tender leaves too soon, too early fling A dimness on the turf. No care for this 1 They are not yet — still fancy's vagrant wing May ply its unchecked way o'er heaven and earth ; And as to some wild rook that in his mirth Dives in the yielding grass, the world that is Will yield to her as gaily voyaging. 138 SHORTER POEMS. XII. What spell is in this day that here are met March, April, May together? Brag-gart winds Tie up earth's bosom ; April rain unbinds ; May sunshine, scented with the violet, Thwarts both. What needs the swarf and toil and fret, The anxiety of half-resolve and doubt, O year, when March and April are run out, And May upon her rightful throne is set ? O know thy mind ; a resolute will pursue And strengthen justice ! clear the rebel train Out of May's pathway ; scourge the blustering Powers ; Sweep the blue heaven of its encumbering showers ; Stand to thine own Anointed firm and true, And since thou hast enthroned her, let her reign ! SPRING SONNETS. XIII. 139 XIII. " Come, May, inspire me !" Not as men of old Sought of Apollo and that Holiest Nine The influence and energy divine, Asked I thine aid, fair Spirit : yet behold ! Surely my heart some influence doth enfold, Not earthly ! — deep within, the secret mine Of joy lies opened to the sunny shine; The soil of fancy swarms with flowers untold : Some lingering river winds me in ; some star Looks softly on me through a mist of gold ; In leafy wreaths my limbs imprisoned are, Spotted with hawthorn buds ; and roses bold Mat my fresh forehead. Oh, not earth nor sky Is gladder at thy coming, May, than I. 140 SHORTER POEMS. XIV. Such dreams as lovers fancy in their moods Of self-excluding selfishness, I dream ; Rocking serenely on a lazy stream Betwixt green banks encrowned with shady woods : Fern hangs therefrom, and grass that with the flood's Soft pulse sways slowly, greening the dark wave ; And shine upon the waters branches brave Of nut and alder, starred with crimsoned buds ; And blackest shoots of ash keep serried line On one side : on the other, pollard willow Flings flickering shadows on the sleepy billow ; And wayward ivy and the looped woodbine Runs through the trees ; and, crowning all, above Sits rosy Venus, star of Eve and Love. SPRING SONNETS. XV. 141 XV. Earth gives thee joy, thou yellow crescent moon ! From the full cups of flowers, from breathing grass, From shy small waves that glitter as they pass, From waving branches. Grateful for what boon, Loves she the mistress of Night's quiet noon ? For light that makes a silver-golden mass Of each low pool, — a drop of opal glass Of each long dewdrop on the stalks of June ? Is it for this she thanks the bounteous Maid, The Sun's fair Sister ? Student, from thy cell Lean thy pale cheek and answer ! Gentle Lover, Thou who hast sate within the beechen shade All day, declare the secret ! discover. Hot-hearted Sinner ! Mourner, come and tell ! MISCELLANEOUS. PART THE SECOND. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PART THE SECOND. I. In silent hours when I have felt As but in silent hours we feel, And all that in the past hath dwelt The active present would reveal ; Religion ! blissfully imbued Into the depth of all the scene, Thy light hath blest the solitude, And made the silence more serene. The night fleets on, the dream departs, But still is left a kindly glow ; For heaven is nearer to our hearts, Than worldlings will believe or know : And every beam of that world's bliss, Though cast thro' clouds that close again. In souls not all enslaved to this, A cheering presence will remain. 146 SHORTER POEMS. II. THE POETS. There is a meadow, which I know full well, Near my own summer-home ; and by the stream, Which idly flaps in many a tiny cell, Scooped by some frenzy of its own, I deem, Out of the loamy bank, I lie and dream Whole sultry afternoons. Some willows there Pile up their silvery cones beneath the beam Of the broad sun, and win the laggard air To dally with their boughs, they are so light and fair. And a stiff alder feeding his green pride From the fresh waters ; and an aged thorn, Which to the very grass on either side Bends his brown boughs most rugged and forlorn ; And one old sloe-tree, polished by the horn Of many a playful ram, fence round a place, A place most pleasant, when the mists of morn Are fled, and summer shows her unveiled face, Oppressive for the weight of its exceeding grace. 'Twould seem the nook was furnished by kind elves For Oberon's musing ; o'er the water's sound The mossy trunk of one great Willow shelves, Most slumberously easy ; — near the ground MISCELLANEOUS. II. 147 A single twine of naked root runs round, Catching- a cushion of the leaves which fall In twinkling showers for ever. Here imbound In sleep's soft arms, I lie, a wilUng thrall, Oft until evening's grey is gathered over all. There I one evening lay ;— the sun was dying ; Slant gleams shot off the corn upon the hill Into the green recess where I was lying. Of coy dame Fancy taking my sweet will : My blood went pulsing with the soft half-thrili Of strong enjoyment sinking into rest. For I had just been bathing in the rill My tired and heated limbs ; and now undrest They lay by gentle airs in w^anton play caressed. I had been walking under roofed woods. Thinking of dim, high temples, and the sound Of low and dying hymns, like the flapping flood's Soft sameness, which crept hushingly around ; And every wrinkle in the mossy ground Had seemed a yellow-mossed inscription, telling Of those whose memories will be ever found Writ on the living earth, the gloi-ious dwelling, Which they did honour once with presence more excelling. Then, like a child who with great names and things Deals lightly, wotting scarce what he may say, 148 SHORTER POEMS. I dreamed of all who from the Immortal Springs Have filled and borne a deathless cup away ; And haply thought whose wreath of living bay I would the soonest wear if I might choose : So did I spend the hours of dying* day, And the white moonlight sparkling in the dews Shone into my dim eyes before I ceased to muse. Would I could count the sights that crossed my soul! Sometime methought I saw an ancient oak, The father of a forest ; on its bole Shone steady light, and shifting splendour broke From its stirred leaves as the autumn wind awoke ; But chiefest glory of the ancient tree, A Lyre was hung thereon, which never spoke But once, when Ariosto's fingers free Troubled the silent hours of its tranquillity. And then again another fancy came. A broad-based monument before my eye Grew up. Of marble seemed it, cold as fame, And more eternal. Mightily on high From out its very middle to the sky A Pillar towered, like some old Elm, whose root Is heaped with the leaves of many a century And Dante's forehead on its top was put. Bound with the deathless plant which only bears no fruit. MISCELLANEOUS. II. 149 Then I did look upon another shape. A proud strong Eagle on a dizzy height Sate fearfully. Upon the kingly nape Of his high neck a golden chain was pight ; Else had he winged his bold unbashful flight Into the Heaven of Heavens. His mighty eye Sternly drank in the sunbeams, as of right His dwelling were among the clouds on high, Which strew the great sun's path along the morn- ing sky. This meant the poet of Lost Paradise. Then a fresh form upon my sight did creep ; A milk-white lamb, with pleading upturned eyes. Deep as the heavens reflected there, did keep A noontide rest in grasses green and deep : Many rich flowers were thereabout dispread. And small gold-winged flies did rustling leap Among them ; and a guarded fountain head Made music sweet, with which that Creature's soul was fed. This emblem was of Spenser well I knew. Then I looked round, and lo ! a new conceit : A lovely serpent, dim, yet bright of hue, (Most like a misted prism) about my feet With wavelike motion, most serene and sweet. Wound harmlessly ; its eyes, as moist and beam- ing 150 SHORTER POEMS. As some young hopeless lover's when they meet That other which avoids them, dwelt in seeming Upon my fear ; half love, half grief at my mis- deeming. Thus fancy pictured Shelley. Then a Boy Stood up before me ; tall and large of brow, Among high lilies laughing in the joy Of June, he stood ; Endymion had stood so, I ween ; so musing in the sunny glow Of night and Dian's arms. How gloriously Shone that white forehead! yet there lurked below A small black worm, which marked that he should die, [^y®- No less than that fierce light which overflowed his And this was Keats. A mystic Harp, twined round With delicate flowers , no gro vvth of common earth , Stood next before me. Silence most profound Held it at first ; then fitfully gushed forth Mysterious echoes of melodious mirth ; None knew their wherefore save himself who gave With his wild hand the wondrous music birth. An Ancient Man, to whose wise glances clave I.ight cheer, like grasses green gladdening a secret grave. Thus saw I Coleridge. Then again a change : A goodly Pile I saw, upbuilded high Into a stormy heaven ; in many a range, MISCELLANEOUS. II. 151 Arch above arch ran up into the sky, A mound of building" ; terraced g-orgeously Were its inclining sides, and tree and flower Varied its face, as oft you may espy Upon great Indian palaces : each bower Lived, but the frame was clay and shrank with every shower. In such an emblem Byron did I dress ; But my thought changed yet once again, and now Upon a flowery plot in quietness Sate an Old Man with calm and reverend brow. And eyes, which looked into the flowers as though They held unto his gaze a written book ; And thence he read, in words most sweet and low, Tales hidden ofearth's common things ; the brook, Lake, and inspiring hills, and soothing forest nook. And this was Wordsworth, Earth's Interpreter Unto the dull of ear ; and I had long Listed his glorious musings, but the stir Of love within me craved another song : And I took off my eyes, and the thick throng Of waiters for his place before my brain. Drove on that meek Old Man : but then a tongue Of such sweet ravishment as ne'er again May turn a deep delight into a rapturous pain. Crept round me — oh ! so winningly, that all The crowd of musical voices ceased to sing. 152 SHORTER POEMS. And breathlessly 1 listened till the fall ; Then starting looked whose fingers struck the j string ; But 1 saw nothing, save a glistering Of golden beams, such as do weave a crown, Insufferably blazing, for the King Of Day, when from his eastern throne come down He looks o'er sea, and earth, and air without a frown. Slowly (the while the heavenly strain grew sweeter) The spreading hair of that so wondrous light Centred to one large burning Star ; oh, meeter To hang upon the forehead of the Night, Than all the million constellations bright That ever flout the presence of young morn With the cold radiance of their proud despite. But the deep joy with which my soul was torn Was far, I ween, too sweet to be by mortal borne ; And Shakspeare waked me. Now the grass was hoar With summer's rivalry of winter's frost ; And the white moon outspread her radiance frore Over the broad still meadow-sward, embossed With ladysmock and kingcup, and the host Of summer's menials, in whose gaudier hue MISCELLANEOUS. II. 153 The native ^reen by day was well-nigh lost : But all was covered now with glimmering dew, And slept all sober-sad and modest to the view. But I arose and left that meadow fair, Whereon the silver moon so coldly shined, And towards the edging of thick trees which there Cut their dark outline on the grass, inclined My homeward steps, and soon I left behind The small brook's shiver, and, the little hill Ascending, mixed among dear faces kind ; Glad in their human love to warm and fill A heart by lonely thought made something dull and chill. 154 SHORTER POEMS. III. SONG. Blame me not, sweetest, that I play With pleasures which thou dost not share ; Another's eyes sometimes obey, And sometimes wreathe another's hair; My fancies may with others be, But oh, my heart is still with thee ! Some joys so deeply sweet are ours That in fond fear to call them up, We dally with the gaudy flowers That crown the margin of the cup, And thus awhile I bend the knee To others, ere I kneel to thee ! But if thou chidest, I have done : And light the task such chains to break ; In thy sweet strength the glory won, The toil encountered for thy sake ; And then my fancies too will be Where my heart is — with thee ! — with thee ! MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 155 IV. THE AWAKING OF THE SLEEPER. She wakes ! the impatient blood springs up From slumber's chain to claim its right ; And sudden, like a mantling cup, Her cheek o'erflows with rosy light. And those large eyes awake and play, With mustered glory newly burning ; Like stars that nurse their fires by day At even to their task returning. 156 SHORTER POEMS. V. SLEEPS PRAISE. Dear , would that tliou wert here !| A simple wish, yet true, And linked to visions far more dear Than ever fancy drew : The vision of thine own soft eyes, Thy voice's pleasant tone, The pressure of thy hand, that tries Kind contest with mine own. Thine eyes raised fondly unto mine, Thy soft brown eyes I see, And meanings soft that in them shine, All born of love to me : I know not if to others they Wear such a gentle glow. But they are lovelier than the Day To me, full well I know. I feel thee nestling in my breast, My arms about thee twined ; My head bent down takes happy rest, Upon thine own reclined : My arm is at thy side the while, And when thy heart beats fast, I start, and catch the meaning smile So fondly upward cast. MISCELLANEOUS. V. 157 O blessed be sleep that can o'erleap The toils of time and place, And bring the lonely ones that weep, To converse face to face ! TKere lie long* miles of fertile land Betwixt me and my joy, And yet in sleep I hold thy hand, And press thy cheek, my boy ! 158 SHORTER POEMS. VI. TO A LITTLE SISTER. Come to me, child, come climb my knee. Kiss me, nurse me, fondle me, Blessedest creature 'neath the skies ; Wind thy little arms about me, With thy flaxen tresses flout me, Flinging them upon my eyes. Kiss me, kiss me, little sister. Far I went, oh far away, Many a long" and lingering day, Shall I tell her how I missed her, Little darling and her play ? There were friends, kind friends and many, Where I went, yet still I said, " Oh, I want the best of any ! Where you are not, little Fanny, Who shall comfort me instead ?" Some were men with fiery passions Writ on brows not all unscathed, In the Styx of worldly fashions They their tender hearts had bathed ; Surely none of these were they Who could teach — if so could any — To forget your graceful play, Pure and peaceful sister Fanny ! Some are fond and gentle-souled, MISCELLANEOUS. VI. 159 And their love sweet rest ensures, Yet their g-reetings seemed but cold, And their love but dead to yours. They can never climb my knee. Kiss me, nurse me, fondle me, Make me lie and hide my face And the woefullest case to feign. Pressure close and dear embrace Of thy smooth soft arms to gain ; Or to win by feigning- slumber (While a sly still watch I keep) Balmy kisses without number. Showered upon my seeming sleep. Blessedest creature, mildest-eyed, Meekest- mannered, gentlest- hearted ! I'll not murmur at thy side Of the time when we were parted ; Come, sweet sister, climb my knee. Kiss me, nurse me, fondle me ! 160 SHORTER POEMS. VII. I've loved thee now, my little boy, Thro' many a mood of wayward feeling-, And grief hath wrought thee no annoy, And when my heart was drunk with joy, I felt the intoxication stealing* With treacherous influence throug-h my frame, Yet loved thee, loved thee still the same. In joy I loved thee well, heaven knows, And in these recent hours of sorrow. When dawn seemed dark as evening's close, Still softly through the gloom arose The purpling streaks of this to-morrow. And still to thee my spirit came, And loved thee, loved thee still the same. And when my earliest worldly care Closed round ; and by its shade was driven The light of earthly things most fair. And even heaven's light shone dimly there, One star amid my darkened heaven Yet burnt with calm unflickering flame, I loved thee, loved thee still the same. Yet not alone in joy and woe ; For when' my soul was stirred in travail MISCELLANEOUS. Vll. 161 Of that new birth that irked me so, And all my ties to things below My heart was busy to unravel, One purest bond I yet might claim, And love thee, love thee still the same. So fear not thou, nor will I fear That aught shall work our love's defeature; It stood when life and death drew near. It stood while angels tarrying here Changed earthly to an heavenly nature. And now be sure, come praise or blame, I'll love thee, love thee still the same. 162 SHORTER POEMS. vm. The fields have got their bounds at last, A visible confinement ; Of green protection from the blast Their summer's full assignment : No matter though the shade o'erhead Be something of the thinnest ; — Thy work, blithe spring, will soon be sped, But end as thou beginnest. But work as blithely on and on, Glad spring ! the elms are greening ; His crimson crowns the larch hath won ; 'His grandeur overweening The chestnut hath begun to wear ; The oaken sprouts are tender ; The beech upon the illumined air Unfolds a golden splendour. The currant walls are full of flower. Behold, the fair pale clusters Are lengthening, lengthening hour by hour ; The careful pear-tree musters His blossoms for a stealthy show In nooks and corners suiting ; MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 163 The tender peach is fair in blow, Yet fairer than in fruiting* ! The wanton cherry hides his joy In mimicry of winter ; Like lines of snow his branches lie Shot from a snowy centre, A radiant image ! — far and wide The strawberry flowers are crowding ; Stars which no night can wholly hide, Nor clouds be overclouding. The dog-rose shoots are yet astray 'Twixt colour and material ; The woodbine spray might fade away In radiance aerial, So faint it is, upon the tree So light the leaflets quiver ; — iA visible scent that green might be, Or a shadow in a river. O spring, while thou wert taking rest A weary time we waited ; The fire of hope within the breast In turn increased, abated; We watched the change of every breeze, Each cloud the breeze impeding ; Bare as a row of leafless trees Crept day to day succeeding. 164 SHORTER POEMS. But then arose upon the gloom This dawn ; those feeble creepers Were buried in a flowery tomb, With April showers for weepers ; Now comes a franker Set— in haste Of well-doing, unwearied, Yet still is plain and uneffaced The tomb where those are buried. No matter ! — nay, 'tis well, 'tis best, Tis joy's most sure assurance To bear engraven in the breast The signs of past endurance ; That smile is sweetest which comes tlius From grief; most safe that pleasure, Which God Himself hath offered us, And mixed in His own measure. MISCELLANEOUS. IX. 165 IX. AN OLD MAN TO HIS LITTLE CHILD. Come, come, my child, come play, come play, The sun so bright will fade away, — Come haste ere yet thine hour be past And thy young life's sky grow overcast. Ay, 'twill be so, my little child, Thy spring must some time be defiled, It cannot run for long below But something will bedim its water, Oh be it but a rock to throw A shade, and not a stain, to flow Still with the stream, my daughter ! God grant it be no more than this ; And yet 'tis sad to think of thee. When that sweet eye that now with bliss Runs over, catching from the kiss Of sunbeams dwelling lingeringly, That shifting, eddying, gentle light So dear unto an old man's sight Whose own is dim as dim can be,— When that shall be as dim as his, Yet thou not half so old as he ! Surely 'tis saddening so to think, Yet surely, surely 'twill be so ; 166 SHORTER POEMS. And thou wilt sit beside the brink Of this g-reat whirling world, and throw Thy loves thereon, — to float and flow Awhile, and then to sink ! Oh my soul grieves to dwell thereon ; 'Twould be so, if I had no share Of thine affection more than One Who never looked on thee till now, Might claim in right of silver hair From one so young as thou. A debt doth Childhood owe to Age, Their gentlest play, their sweetest smile, The aching spirit to assuage Ere yet a farther pilgrimage It take, unto that blissful isle. Which ever lieth just before us. From the first hour we di"aw our breath To that when peace at last comes o'er us In the still hour of death ; That isle which some call love, and some Call peace, and some, I ween, call fame, Whence none that reach it, ever come To signify its name. How well thou listenest, Little One, And yet thou knowest not the meaning Of half my words,— but I have done. And surely, child, thy patient gleaning Of wisdom's ears to thee yet green. MISCELLANEOUS. X. 167 Strown by thine earthly sire, I ween, May be a lesson well for me To learn and store that I the rather With ear as glad, and faith as free, May list the dark lore dealt to me By my eternal Father ! X. INSCRIPTION FOR AN ARBOUR FORMED OUT OF A LARCxE CLEMATIS. Now if thy heart be fitly framed to meet The kindly purpose of this sunny seat, Call for the viol, reach the goblet down ; I'll give the lyre a wreath, the cup a crown. 168 SHORTER POEMS. XI. TRANSLATION. .ENEID IV. 522-9. 'TwAS night, and weary things through all the earth Were tasting placid slumber ; and the woods, And the fierce surface of the sea had rest ; — The hour when all the stars in middle lapse Are rolling, and the earth is still below ; The cattle of the field, and the gay fowl, And all that in the liquid lake's expanse, Or in the tufted champaign, lives and dwells. All 'neath the still night-heaven lying asleep, Rested, forgetful of the toils of day. MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 169 XII. A VISION FOR A MAY NOON. A LONG, long- avenue of noble Trees, Between whose feet, and shadowed by whose shade A lucid tide, untroubled by the breeze. To their dark boughs a watchful mirror made : And silvery voices through the verdant screen Stealing, and trembling on the quiet flood ; And pauses of a sweeter hush between, But broken by the softly -pulsing blood ; And maidens in a ring about a boy. Where the tide ended in a grassy shelf; Whose floating tresses 'twas his fond employ To pleach with rosy garlands for himself. And tap their dewy cheeks and kiss their lips. And be as half a lover, half a brother. And lead their eyes into a soft eclipse With playful pressure, now one, now another ; Sometimes half veiling blue eyes with their lid To see them shadowed through the filmy veil, Now letting fiery orbs be semi-hid In contrast with the enclosure lily-pale. 170 SHORTER POEMS. XIII. YESTERDAY. Yesterday ! 'tis past — 'tis gone, Life and Love so hurry on. Love and Hope and Joy embracing- ! Where is fled that band so gay ? Seraph's arms are interlacing, Lo ! they bear them far away : Fitting portage ! worthy freight ! Heaven is glad at guests so fair, Music echoes in the air. Bat the earth is desolate. Yesterday I sate beside Him I loved at eventide : Calmly in the consecration Of a hope attained with toil. Love's strong thrill and exultation Fell to silence and a smile : I perceived the earth meanwhile Rolling underneath my feet, 'Twas a motion strange and sweet ; Films of shadow did beguile Silly Eve of all her treasure ; Crimson larch-buds in the green MISCELLANEOUS. XIII. 171 Lamped no more ; no more were seen Daisies set in merry measure, Merry measure yet serene. Low and lower sang- the cuckoo, Faint and fainter answered Echo : All the while my love and I Saw one sight, the sparkling- sky ; Heard one sound, the night's still tread Underfoot and overhead ; Felt one feeling, round, above. Below, but most within, — 'twas love. There is a time when love is more Than life ; and there are some so free From clogging earth's infirmity. That their pure spirit bubbles o'er This golden goblet of our flesh, Alike at Morning clear and fresh, And Noon, and Night ; alone at Even, When earth holds colloquy with heaven, Comes such high mood to me ; But then, or if not only so. Yet oftenest and with deepest glow. Shadowy films stole one by one Silly Eve's delight away ; Her bright crown that by her lay (Woven wild flowers fair and gay), Night first laid her hand upon. Then as though in stealthy play, 172 SHORTER POEMS. Weighing by the impurpled rim To the attendant seraphim, Quick she gave the cirque, which thej'- To her treasure caves convey. Grass grew brown that had been green ; Hawthorn buds retired to keep Pensive watch or quieter sleep ; In the meadow that had been As a joyous congregation, For its stirring eager glee, Silence with the adumbration Deepened, deepened sensibly. Crake among the bladed corn, Stirring cuckoo in the thorn. Thrush, and finch, and larch were still ; Down the valley, up the hill Ran the water's voice subdued ; Was it strange that holy mood Gathered like a voice divine, Round our hearts, my love's and mine ? Yesterday is fled ; the blank Of a Night most dark and dank Hath defiled the blissful eve ! Shadows ready to deceive Hung around, their hue was fair, Love and Joy are hidden there. MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 173 XIV. RETURN. " The stream which in some meadow sward Goes doubling, like a thing* in fear, Is not so fond of its long grass, And shadowy lights that come and pass, As I of those sweet thoughts that guard My lingering sojourn here." So thought I, when two years ago I, half a man and half a boy, Looked sadly forward to the day When my life's stream should turn away From this green land to which I owe So long a course of joy. My friends derided me for this : And straightway my impatient blood Reproved me for the hasty doubt That there was land as fair without, A land as fair and full of bliss, Though of a sterner mood. So forth I went in youthful glee ! As frolic as a spring that leaps 174 SHORTER POEMS. To change its quiet verdurous nest, A hollow in the mountain's breast, For granite cleft precipitously, Ravines, and shelves and steeps. I went : I left this sunny shade ; I passed into a gloomy air ; No wonder that the animal blood Could never stir to any good The qold damp gloom on all bespread, The chill spread everywhere. Some eves there were when sunnier cheer Clothed heaven's bedarkened dome ; Some nights when in the cloisters' state, Or groves with spring illuminate, I walked with friends long known, and dear And felt almost at home. But still my heart uneasily Took pleasure even of that which pleased ; The flower-plots might be fair and fine, I only felt they were not mine, And what I crept with thievish glee I cropt, and joy diseased. But now among my olden haunts I walk at home by Avon's side — At home ! my heart with gathered wings Sits quiet on her nest and sings ; MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 175 She knows her place, she knows her wants, And how they are supplied. Who on a barren moor hath been Pelted with hail as sharp as glass ? Let him be folded suddenly In a green field with a blue sky, Walled round with elm trees tall and green, And spread with greenest grass ; The sun will breathe upon his cheek With almost fatherly protection : The visitings of the outer breeze, That struggle through the jealous trees, Will be like kisses kind and meek Of sisterly affection. With such a grateful quietness Among my olden haunts I go ; And own again earth's genial power, Laid up in sky and field and flower. The swelling wolds to breathe and bless, The azure heavens to glow. 176 SHORTER POEMS. XV. I KISSED her lids so motionless, I kissed her lips, — she never stirred : I whispered in her ear, — I guess That loving tone she never heard : Dead to my praise and my caress Was my sweet sing-ing-bird. Darts of a sunny light shot in Through shutter old and green old glass, They cut the dusk, — they lit the skin With lustre outside warm, — alas, The bed itself was warm within As that sweet body was ! MISCELLANEOUS. XVI. 177 XVI. ARMORIA S GARDEN. The place was silent, but most beautiful ; And for the habitation of strange forms Such as old Pan, well fitted, but no less Nay more, for creatures of a pure pale grace Like Dryads — shadowy spirits of the trees. Flowers of all country's kinds were gathered there Uprising vase-like shapes of bush and stalk Gemmed with all colours and all shapes of bud, And sweeping trails of amaranthine blooms Crossing the lucent air, aswing or still, Rosy or white or pleading violet, With surfeit of sweet scent weighed down and sick, Or barren to all harvest save of sight. All kinds of trees were there, graceful or strong : Palms bowdng or quite still (as listening Unto, the whispering wind,) big chestnut boughs Such as roof over ^Etna's choicest shelves ; Fir ; spicy walnut ; feathery tamarisk, Lady of trees ; and graceful willow sad, With whose grey leaf lorn lovers deck themselves ; Ash, both which lays light finger on the breeze Aspiring, and her sister that bends back Her bashfuller branches from the bold blue sky Even as a creature fearful or ashamed ; 178 SHORTER POEMS. Pines with their cones thickset, and mighty oak, And heavy fig, and pattering sycamore. All mingled there from east or golden west Or north or sunny south, — to frame a place Of walled and roofed arcade and pillared aisle, Branching away into dim nave and choir .And cupola above and niche (wherein Lay saint-like forest flower, so frail and meek) And all the graceful or aspiring forms That art imagines and man's hand perfects. MISCELLANEOUS. XVII. 179 XVII. AN ARIA. Love me, fair lady, for my golden hair ! The kneeling stripling sighed. The lady said : Though sunvset's glory on thy locks were shed, And brilliance like the rising sun's were there, 'Twere yet no gain to thee, I should not care. The willow boughs that dally with the spring Are to my soul as much a dearer thing As to my simple eye they are more fair. Then he devised another fruitless prayer ; Quoth he : My tongue is deftly set and sharp, I can speak music like that twangling harp That holds sweet colloquy with the evening air. Said she : I doubt not, yet the simple voice Of one meek flower that humbly doth rejoice And counts its graces borrowed, I declare, Hath to my ear a tone more soft and rare Than thy twined mazes of a selfish pride, Which music's labyrinths, impotent to hide. Make known, as clear as it unguarded were. Now rack me, lady, said the youth, my wit Was cunningly tortured to a converse fit To shew thine own perfections :— soothly there Thou hast well taught me of what worth they are . 180 SHORTER POEMS. XVIII. Th ey say that love is full of fears, And well 1 know they speak the truth, For I have loved, with sm iles and tears And all the fiery haste of youth ; And I have had in woman's breast A partner for my grief and joy, Yet never felt that perfect rest Which now 1 feel in thee, my boy ! Till friendship's chain is snapt in twain I will not sue to love again. Let woman's eyes in truth or guile Weep, laugh, or sneer, 'tis nought to me, While I command thy sunny smile. And live with friendship and with thee ; Love's cheek will shrink, his hair turn grey, His lip grow thin, his eye grow dull. While thou to me, boy, day by day Canst only grow more beautiful ; Changing the child's for manhood's dress, And innocence for uprightness. Aye, friend, young friend, a single day To see thee smile and hear thee speak. MISCELLANEOUS. XIX. 181 Were joy enough to smooth away An age of wrinkles from the cheek ; And if so blest a state as this God willeth should not thus remain, I will not grieve, thou'lt be in bliss And I — oh surely not in pain , For when thou'rt gone, my heart must be In highest heaven along with thee ! XIX. INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN. Lean down, O stranger ! if thine ear be pure Thou shalt hear music leaning so, be sure, Sweet tiny music in my plashing falls Inwoven, with serenest intervals. It is the Spirit of the Spring who calls, Wherefore lend thou a pure and patient ear And be thou strong of faith and persevere. 182 SHORTER POEMS. XX. SIR LEONARD. A DARK red stain is on his hand, His hand is redder than his face ; His face is yellow as the sand ; His brow is shrunk as if a band Of scorching iron ringed it round ; And he is in a secret place, A-lying on the ground. Into the loose blue loamy mould He thrusts his hand — 'tis haply hot ; For Leonard is a warrior bold, His dagger's hilt is rough with gold And jewels sharp and apt to gall, • — ^That yellow brow, that ruddy spot, O heed them not at all ! Sir Leonard homeward went. He heired His kinsman's land — hill, wood, and glade ; But never more his wrist he bared To man or woman loved or feared ; No hawk sate there from Whitsun eve, But night and morn, and sun and shade, He hid it in his sleeve. MISCELLANEOUS. XXT. 183 XXI. 'Tis past for me, The sorrow and the shame is past away ; The eye which painfully Looked on thine honom-'s sudden disarray Hath worn its path, and speeds without dismay ; Nay, joy hath taken root. Blossomed and borne its fruit, Upon the rifted tree but smitten yesterday. 'Tis past for me, The cloud is melted into milky rain ; The lily sad to see Hath lifted up its pearly head again ; Therefore 'tis past, the sorrow and the pain ; And shame is swiftly bent I nto a blithe content, And pride hath found a soil in seeming of disdain. 184 SHORTER POEMS. XXII. If I desire with pleasant song's To throw a merry hour away, Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs In careful tale he doth display, And asks me how I stand for singing- While I my helpless hands am wringing. And then another time if I A noon in shady bower would pass, Comes he with stealthy gestures sly And flinging down upon the grass , Quoth he to me : my master dear, Think of this noontide such a year ! And if elsewhile I lay my head On pillow with intent to sleep. Lies Love beside me on the bed, And gives me ancient words to keep ; Says he : these looks, these tokens number, May-be, they'll help you to a slumber. So every time when I would yield An hour to quiet, comes he still ; And hunts up eveiy sign concealed And every outward sign of ill ; And gives me his sad face's pleasures For merriment's or sleep's or leisure's. MISCELLANEOUS. XXIII. 185 XXIII. GODS GIFT. God gave a precious gift to me, a gift of love and bliss, A friend in whom my trust, my hope, and all my pleasure is : friend, young friend ! deceive me not, nay, thou hast not power, in sooth, For thou art God's own gift to me, who is the God of Truth. A year, a perfect year, my love, I've known and loved thee now, Nor seen one stringing of the lip, one darkening of the brow ; Nor heard one tone of sneer or scorn, one tone too proud or free ; One wayward word to any one, far less, far less to me ! 1 saw thee and I sought thee, 'twas a prize that might repay For many a night of weariness and many a weary day ; I have sought thee, I have won thee ; oh the net is firm and fast. 186 SHORTER POEMS. And thy heart of hearts, my timorous bird ! is mine, is mine at last ! And / love thee, how fervently ! As a father loves his son, As a brother loves his brother who hath never had but one. As a mother loves the tiny thing that lies across her knee, So faithfully, so fondly I, my little friend, love thee. We are not made alike, young friend ! thine eye is full of ease, Thy heart is pure, and deep, and full as a spring* among the trees ; And a playing-place for dainty smiles is that fair cheek of thine. And glimpses of a joyful peace less earthly than divine. And I — but if I am not thus — if weary in my youth. Weary of long and fruitless search for love, and peace, and truth, I've wandered, to my sorry night be thou the joyous day ; In thine innocence will I be calm, and in thy good- ness gay. (8) MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 187 XXIV. Maidens ! what's the matter here ? What sly snake hath stung us ? Heaving heart, and sigh, and tear ! Ah ! young Love's among us ! Come ! join hands — be quick — be still, And we'll hunt him out, we will ! He has rosy cheeks, be't said ; Eyes of stariy lustre ; Round his lips so ripe and red Milky dimples muster; But he's armed and stout of limb, So we must be rid of him. He has arrows sharp and sure, And a bow — the strongest ; Whom he wounds will want a cure, 'Twill be of the longest ; Arrowy glances, whispers small, These are what he fights withal. Who is here with starry eyes, Cheeks like snow sun-smitten, Melting lips, like strawberries Begging to be bitten ? 188 SHORTER POEMS. Seize the same, if such there be, She's in the conspiracy. But who here with charms and wit Hath a kindly nature ? There's the boy, be sure of it, She conceals the traitor ; Rid of her — ah ! then, I know Love will never plague us so ! SONNETS PERSONAL AND OCCASIONAL. SONNETS. A SPLENDOUR lodges in the tents of nig-ht ; — Yon blazing' sun with all his thronging train Of amber cloudlets flecked with purple grain But now is entered in : how gay and bright Must be the interior presence, what delight ! On the dark forehead of the Ethiop eve Once more the spousal Glory to receive ! —With such fond shapes did the antique fancy spite Her own bedarkened soul ; yet have we leave To trick our knowledge with like graceful art ; Yet may we, dallying with a similar skill, Give God's obedient orb a regal will And form and members ; and to shadowy eve Assign a tented home and woman's heart. 192 SHORTER POEMS. II. TO STEPHEN LANGTON, WHO DIVIDED THE BIBLE INTO CHAPTERS AND VERSES. i Langton ! a due of praise not easily paid, And thanks than praise thrice heavier, unto thee By every Christian votary offered be ! Our rich but tangled Eden thou hast made Familiar as the garden where we played In chil dhood safely ; with observant grace Leading a broad highway to each high place, -m Laying a path through every darkened glade. * Many in watches of the night awake Have thanked thee ; many in the mid-day sun ; Many when mindful age and sickness sore Stung them ; in youth and health full many an one; But on that bed, where all for once partake Terrorless hope, or hopeless terror, more. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. III. 193 III. TO THE SAME. Some to wild hope and craving desolation Giving fond ear, have deemed that earthly veord To dead men's souls in gratitude preferred, Word of praise, prayer, thanks, love, commemora- tion, Upfloating, like a dewy exhalation, The quiet heights of heaven's own air hath stirred; A thing not unacceptably seen and heard By blissful angels in supremest station. If this be so, a glitter of bright thanks, Langton, upon thy course of heavenly duty Must wait, like mists that trace a river's banks About a fertile flat in glimmering beauty, What time the sun is wan and near to die, And evening's planet largest in the sky. 194 SHORTER POEMS. IV. WILDERSMOUTH. Those wavy Tors ! in many a mid-day dieam My fancy up the furzy steep hath twined, And brought the influence of the fresh sea-wind Down to the combe, beneath a sultiy beam Languidly stretched in slumber ; still I seem Beneath the damp shade of the rocks to find The urchin and the cowrie fairly lined, And satinstone of soft and snowy gleam : And still the straggling Wilder to waylay With piled-up fragments ; to deceive again The limpet weary of the weighty sea ; To catch once more the impooled anemone, Which, all unconscious of the ebbing main, Shone, as a midnight rainbow softly gay. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. V. 195 V. It is no ready coin of the lavish tongue That coins its own and scants not of its gifts, If I affirm that now my Cottage lifts Its snowy brow with purple clusters hung ; If now the home, fore-honoured and fore-sung Opens its quiet chambers, low nor light, Yet gladdened by the wave, whose shadows bright Through casements wide on roof and wall are flung : The humming burden of a sea self-pleased, And fretted by no ebb like ours at home, Sings ever through the air, itself so quiet ; And cheerful vines, proud of their fruitage, riot Under the eaves, and up the rooftree roam, Their gadding humour scarce ev'n then appeased. 196 SHORTER POEMS. VI Like some half-seen and half-imagined Star, Guessed in the blue when sun and moon are meeting, Methinks the Italian land so.fair and far Across the sea deputes a fancied greeting : The golden waves, from that rich land retreating, Toy with the prey that will be theirs so soon ; (9) And Nice's silver bells beneath the moon Are now to eve their gentle faith repeating. I can already see the encrimsoned strand. Dowered by the sunset ; and the snowy Hills Lift a continuous crown into the sky Upon the left : and where methinks I stand, A little myrtle-guarded Cottage fills Its small home-plot with peace, and love, and joy. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. VII. 197 VII. Unto the hills and groves of other lands Thou, little book, art giv'n ; all these soft leaves, Rustling so freshly to each breeze that weaves Its delicate network o'er the fair sea sands ; These fragile flowers that with their milky hands Catch and keep prisoners all odours sweet ; These hills that meet to part, and part to meet ; And this wild brook, the meadow's pleasant bands, Are fair, how fair ! — But not for thee, I ween, They utter sweetness from a hundred tongues : Thou art the mirror whereupon must twine Fairer in shadow the delicious vine. Faithfully flattered ; and the measured throngs Of cypress boughs wifh Roman stars between. 198 SHORTER POEMS. Vm. THE TEMPLE-CAVES OF ELEPHANTA, m THE BAY OF BOMBAY. Lame grandeur — grace forlorn ! — such consolation Speak we of halls by Time's inconstant whim Wounded, then healed : in this vast antre dim A lowlier mood befits, for here Creation Worked half the work, man's slow co-operation But niching and enchiselling God's design ; Nature and art co-workers. See ! the brine Is here, the mindful sea's commemoration (Annually served) of brotherhood in birth : (10) No place is this by freak of doting Time Untenanted ; this plashy Chamber's shade Man fled in fear ; but nature undismayed Still dwells here, careless that the giddy Earth Flouts the dark portal with its goldenest clime. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. IX. 199 IX. Most glad it is to view a pleasant thing That shall be soon to us but is not yet, All stealthy, like the greenness of the spring The foresent brightness of its coming set Upon life's trodden paths; — more glad, how oft. Than that it heraldeth. So have I met The dawning on a mountain-top, while soft As one that doth unvest a wounded man, He hath disgirt him of his mists, and laid His scarred beauty bare ; and more my sight Was pleased when glade stole softly after glade, And purple knoll and steamy lake grew bright, Than when my eye with easy compass ran O'er his broad brow encrowned with perfect light. (11) 200 SHORTER POEMS. X. ON CERTAIN PSALMODY. The rudest minstrelsy that ever woke A smile upon a Lyrist's cheek is this ; Yet words of love, and holiest happiness Are buried in the noise ; and every stroke Of that dull voice fastens a heavier yoke On words by David uttered, while the morn Gleefully tossed his hoary hair forlorn, And wrapt the harp in the uplifted cloak ;— Dress, heart, and spirit wild with one delight ! But so 'tis the condition of our being That we from pain, annoyance, and unrest, Must sift our blessings, if we would be blest ; Through earth's discordancies of sound and sight With inner apprehension , hearing, seeing. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XI. 201 XI. Youth hath a house, a lean and raftered place, Which hath two windows turned to Love and Fame ; Fair prospects either whereupon to gaze, Methinks I now may shortly read the same : Green is the First, a smooth and swarded land, Dipping and folding into gentle vales ; Flowery and warm it is, and near at hand. And golden sunshine sleeps in all the dales ; But full of naked peaks, all bare and cold, And glinting to a moon most calm and bright. The Other Region, rugged to behold, Keeps afar off a still and stern delight. Now have I read them, and I know full well On which my eye would rather choose to dwell. 202 SHORTER POEMS. XII. The still moon peering through half-parted folds Of silken curtains into chambers warm With luxury and thronged with revellers, In thoughtful minds a longing memory stirs Of the pure splendours banished, and remoulds The unshaped heart to nature's ancient form : So is it when cold gleams of naked Tnith, Whose home is in a higher, purer sphere, Shoot on us in our busy questioning Of the eternal lips of the world's youth. The Poets and the Sages of that Spring, Which since hath come unto the blossoming ; So then the heathen page is dropped in fear Even as the winecup of the wassailer. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XIII. 203 XIII. Surely they plead but ill who would excuse The hardness of their nature, for that they Live ever from the natural world away, — Its mountains, meadows, valleys, streams ; and bruise Their hearts into unfeelingness with use Continual and forced, of barren walls Whereon the sun's bright presence never falls. Nor cheering glitter of the starry dews. This even have I stood within the heart Of the stern city ; sluggishly crept round The wintry mists, but blessedly above Hung the meek crescent-moon in light and love, And never would I pleasure more profound Than that I tasted in the echoing mart. 204 SHORTER POEMS. XIV. TO THE STARS. What shall we call you, peaceful Visitants ? Glad eyes of heaven, with light intelligent, And comprehension, on our dwellings bent ? Or, fitting still our fancies to our wants. Shall we salute you as the lights made ready In the far homes wherein we are to dwell, Cheering us on through labour long and steady That is between us and our tabernacle ? Or, as the hurrying Sceptic's careless glance, And stony heart would judge you, silly Balls Played with for ever by an idle Chance, Himself sole ruler in the heavenly halls ; — Now thanks to that within us which refuses Which it rejects to doubt, and which it chooses ! OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XV. 205 XV. What is thy lore, O dial of the sky, Rare book with all thy golden letters rare ? Broad Heavens ! unfold your lesson, for the prayer Is humble ; what the profit if we lie And glean the "■ harvest of a quiet eye ?" Peace, in the silence of the kindled air, Peace in each freighted star which, floating there, Rides at its golden anchor peacefully. O would that Man (a riotous multitude Through all the earth) before his aching head Sought the brief refuge of the hasty bed, Would mark for one short moment the still mood Of heaven above him, when the bright stars shed Their silent influence; — it would be for good. 206 SHORTER POEMS. XVI. To souls bred up to learn what may be learned, The blank of heaven with wisdom runneth o'er ; Silence is oft a golden monitor : 4 And mutest flies, and insects undiscerned By the bare eye, to those whose hearts have yearned To know truth, wonder, and earth's noblest lore, Have spoken to the heart and feeling more ''Mk Than hath to eye and hearing been returned "" By colour, shape or voice ; wherefore have men, The wisest, grudged not an unthrifty leaning For hours against a tree in some still glen, Or by the marge of brook or ocean ; gleaning From all the wondrous things discovered then, A rule for thoughts unjust or overweening. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XVil. 207 XVII. If I have dared too early to unlock The sealed cavern of my inner heart, And spied, where nestling in the barren rock Of human passion, thou, sweet fountain, art Whose suppliance, I would almost hope, may be From the great depths of ancient poesy ; Thou joyous fountain, chasing thine own waves Round the smooth cauldron which thy game hath worn: Be he the judge whose own soul inly saves One holy spot by life's rough jars untorn, — A spot to turn to, or when fortune smiles not, Or ache the sorrows time itself beguiles not ; The home where dwell, or dwelt in days gone by. The sisterhood unparted — Youth, Love, Poesy. 208 SHORTER POEMS. XVIII. You need not tell me how they loved of yore — Not that immortal Mantuan's golden strain, (12) Not Shakspeare's liquid lute could teach me more Than this apt heart within me, so refrain ! Love that is imaged by the ivy clothing The furrowed elm with garlands never sere ; Love, jealous heart to jealous heart betrothing, With sacrament where faith hath conquered fear ; Love, taught by Reason, (gentle Nature guiding Her bright-eyed servant with a pure intent ;) Love, o'er whose rites serenest Peace presiding, May watch the revel with a brow unbent, Such love have I and mine : what boots to tell That Ancient Lovers did not love so well ? OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XIX. 209 XIX. '* A Garland fashioned of the pure white rose ! " The words come to me at short intervals, (13) As through fresh leaves some fitful wind that calls To one whose cheek with thoughtful sunset glows. Silently down, the terraced hill there goes A weeping maiden train ; a snowy pall's White drapery on the still air swells and falls ; A white-rose wreath in holiest repose Lies on the bier, the emblem of the dead ; Now see another gayer train that flows Into the church, — a maiden young and fair With ringlets gathered to a braid is there, A braid that doth support upon her head A garland, likewise, of the pure white rose ! 210 SHORTER POEMS. XX. BOYHOODS BLISS. Love, and the queen of love, the Cythersean ! Lo ! here are words to lap the riper sense In boyhood's blind sweet inexperience, To win the man of twenty-one to be an Imp of fifteen again, with hasty paean Saluting Pleasure as his conquest fit. And Beauty, in whatever shape of it. Loving with ardour Sapphic or Circean. Woman, with languid eye luxuriously Developed through the half-uplifted lid ; In summer leaves, thou amorous night-bird, hid, I do believe ye know not how to die So fervently on sight, or sound, or sigh. Or aught delicious, as my boyhood did ! OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXI. 211 XXI. VENUS EMERGENS. Fair Venus sate upon her pearly shell ; And tho' the green wave amorously all round Lipped the encrimsoned edges, yet the spell Failed not by which the encroaching tide was bound. There the young Goddess in the hollow sate, Clasping one rosy ancle with her hand, While her large eyes in wondering unrest Ran o'er the azure arches of the sky. In silence she upgazed, till two grey doves, Flew down and nestled in her snowy breast ; Then shrieked aloud in sudden joy. Whereat, From the dark covert of the green sea-groves, Nereids trooped up, and Tritons carefully Drew the fair bark, and fairer freight to land. 212 SHORTER POEMS. XXII. CONTINUED. A SMOOTH-LIPPED Shepherd, dreamingofsweeteyes, Among the Paphian thickets, saw afar, The flashing- of white arms and golden scales : His dazzled eye then shading with his hand, He watched the landward -floating companies. Till, the crowd parting at the very shore, Alone he saw the pearly shell draw near, And she who shone upon it (like a star Upon a moonlit cloudlet) step on land. Then starting from his trance, he gazed no more, But straightway thro' the matted myrtles broke, And sped across the silken-swarded vales Into the city, where he panting spoke The wondrous story in the general ear. OCCASIOVAL SOXNETS. XXIII. 213 XXIII. J T is not happiness that moves the Muse ; And I thus long* am silent : when the day Goes heavily and then art far away, Then my love's motion, answering to its dues, No more, methinks, its tribute will refuse ; And I in grateful verse may half express The power and passion- of my tenderness, And what I have enjoyed, and what I lose. Be not impatient, therefore, nor misdoubt My heart because 'tis silent ; there ascends At morn and even to the Throne above A smoke of thankfulness for thy dear love, Kindled of such pure bliss, as, measured out For all such lack, makes more than best amends ! 214 SHORTER POEMS. XXIV. 'Tis almost bitter to behold thee so, Home of my Childhood ! though we disunite So gently, and no strange and sudden spite Part our close loves with one vindictive blow. 'Tis lessening of our sorrow to foreknow ; Yet the distrustful heart in parting fears Lest the rank weeds, foul crop of later years, Thy young-green recollections overgrow. 'Twere never thus while yet we might behold The garden from whose turf we plucked our flowers, The nursery and the toys which once were ours. Ah well ! we must be used, as we grow old. To see our by-gone household seats grown cold, And blossoms dearer yet perished from our sweet bowers. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXV. 215 XXV. ON A VIOLET FLOATING IN A GLASS OF WATER. Blest be this lakelet and its tiny Isle ! A land coerulean, by a crystal tide Of fairest water clipped on every side ; Both purest, — whose mixed fragrance doth beguile The hot and weary spirit, like the smile Of childhood, velvet-cheeked and easy-eyed, Whose heart supports sweet Love, upon a tide As pure as this, as fair and sweet an isle : O that the odour fused and blended so Of this fresh water, and this sweetest flower That coins heaven's air to beauty in the mint Of its own Spirit, gay and innocent, Might never be forgotten ! thence would flov/ Profit and joy for many a silent hour. 216 SHORTER POEMS. XXVI. Let Fancy make her journey as she wills ; Yea, if she will, spread out umbrageous wings Beneath the sun, until all earthly things, — Green grass, and spiry hedgerows and quick rills, — Are smit with sadness, and a blank damp fills The hollow of the blue and breathing sky. In mood as wild the other morning I Traversedwith comrades twain the Charnwood Hills. One with transparent eyes and beaming face Looked into mine a balmy look of bliss That made me hope : — the other held away His hoary beard as angered mortals may ; Who were they did me such offence and grace ? The Angel MichaelThat, the Patriarch Joseph This. « OCCASIONAL SO^TNETS. XXVIl. .217 XXVII. " The heart is full of flowers, who says therein Are hidden snakes that heave the treacherous crest, And vermin whose corruption scales the best With ministry less noted ?" Thus we win Faint courage to behold the soul within, From question asked by Wonder of Self-love ; Thus boldly doth a tiptoe Fear reprove The mention of the inhabitative sin. Come, Love and Wonder, work your work ! unbar The gates, proud warder ! Wonder, gaze thy fill, And grow by gazing ! come, thou pallid Fear, And wrapt in Truth's serener atmosphere, Stand in thine own dimensions ; like a star In mist, thou now art large or less at will. •218 SHORTER POEMS. xxviir. WRITTEN ON THE 20th JUNE, 1837 ; THE DAY ON WHICH KING WILLIAM IV. DIED. The meanest word uttered on such a day Will have and keep its value. William dies To-day : no magic in the sentence lies ; Yet will it have an everlasting sway, Which all the rebel Years must yet obey ; Which all the irrespective Centuries, That hurry on the good, and great, and wise, Cannot annihilate and do away : For Time, a tender Father, marks his Hours As fondly as a maiden her few flowers, And doth to every little one allow This privilege ; to die but not decay, Being embalmed in every casual Now ; And this not he, their Parent, can gainsay. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXIX. 219 XXIX. CONTINUED. There may be other lessons, and there aie ; And others to deliver them : for me Be it enough to cull for Memory The garland she will not disdain to wear : Let these dim hawthorn hedges, sallow-fair. Fling down the years their present sleepy scent ; Let the rich clouds that hang this firmament Grow not by time more light, nor heavier ; The hot moist clover with as sweet a breath (Almost too sweet) creep up ; the lagging bells, With their wild fallings and their passionate swells, Struggle athwart the lazy atmosphere As now ; if at another royal death Again I walk with Avon rippling near. 220 SHORTER POEMS. XXX. Brave Boy, when thy young heart is fully grown, And courage, firmness, love, are budded out Into their summer richness, thou wilt own An heirdom such as few of us have known ; In our unsteady selves so tossed about, That we may hardly chide the stormy world For its unkindly harbourage ; but thou Wilt not be thus, when that which in thee now Lies hid, like beauty in the unquickened rose, Into its later glory is unfurled : Its opening I may see ; but ere its close Leave my old age delightless unto me, May some sharp wind uproot the tottering tree. And let me sleep where none his sorrow knows. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXI. 221 XXXI. O YES, one object may be centred purely In the young* spirit's most luxurious stir ; She shall be honoured, loved, and served more surely For the rude riot that surroundeth her ! The Day behind the clouds lies blue and calm. And slyly laughing- as she sits alone, Counts light indeed earth's few faint airs of balm. Heaven's golden sunshine being all her own ; The maiden stars preserve their peaceful way. Albeit the winds with blast, and cry, and clangour. Tease their fair orbs ; half in too rough a play, And half in sallies of a frolic anger ; The silver moon unfretted doth pursue Her fancies, if the sky be black or blue. 222 SHORTER POEMS. XXXII. Thy walls, old Home, are bare ; but marks remain Where hung the painter's glories. There, for years Jephtha's meek Daughter, steeped in silent tears, Knelt midst the gloomy torches ; there again Venetia's palace, and her spousal main In sunset's brazen splendour gleamed serene ; There misty morning on a pastoral scene Asked homage to the genius of Lorraine. Here Tivoli far off hung dim, while nearer Upon a meadow plot three naked Boys Danced gleesomely, none fairer and none dearer Unto the Mother, who looked on in love ; There Rome's proud temple in translucent skies Sheathed its tall spires; the moon hung high above 11 OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXIII. 223 XXXIII. Lady, if birds to two dudded lands Be native, as the sun shines there or here, So, as thy home, a loving atmosphere, Ranges, mayst thou too range, and yet the bands Of home be round thee, like a mother's hands Twined round her child, a gleeful prisoner ; Thus now are England's homelier shores as dear To thee as once were Taio's golden sands ; And thou dost not despise for fiery passion, The hurried harvest of a glowing clime, Old England's homage of a calmer fashion : Remembering well that flowers which slowest form, And are of quieter dye, although as warm. Lose less their tints, and bloom a longer time. 224 SHORTER POEMS. XX XIV TO THE POET WORDSWORTH. (14) I HAVE beheld thee, loved and honoured Name, A name no longer, but a shape of life With human thoughts, loves, hopes, and interests rife, No white Ideal crowned with burning* fame. But one in whom our nature's lowest claim Fights with her highest in serenest strife ; A daughter's sire, the husband of a wife ; Thro' all thy fancy's moods a man the same : A man with hoary hair, a good old man, In calmness, glory, majesty, and purity, Most like a rounded silver moon serene, Whose age is not a ghostly pale Has-been, But the compactest image of maturity, The perfect apex of Heaven's perfect plan. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXV. 225 XXXV. TO THE SAME. I Wordsworth ! great spirit ! loveliest of our Time, And of all England's Bards, save One, the greatest, Well with thine outward manliness thou matest The figure of thy soul, serene, sublime : I And, hearing thee, I felt as in that clime Where Gods with mortals mingled; — Bacchus wise, Minerva with grave port and stately eyes, I Blithe Venus, daughter of sweet Fancy's prime. But power more gracious dwelt with thee than theirs. And influence to a human heart more dear, Since thou didst shew us what pure glory can Be won, if worked for, by a mortal man. Whose hopes and cares are human hopes and cares, Whose loves and griefs are earth's, whose dwelling here. 226 SHORTER POEMS. XXXVI. THE PORTRAIT OF THE SAME POET; IN THE COMBINATION-ROOM OF ST. JOHN's COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. Where mountain turf, the purest and the greenest, Lays to the barren rocks a tender breast, The painter's art hath set thee, last and best Of England's quire of bards, that, not the meanest. Rightly on earth, divine old man, thou leanest, Still less divine than earthly, and more blest In that admixture of earth's loftiest Affections with the upper sky's serenest, Than if far off on cloudy wings upborne Among the splendid stars thy lonely way, Hidden or seen, at noon, and eve, and morn Were meted out, a kingly path forlorn ; H I And how much dearer in thy humble sway To us who feel, and love, and laugh, and mourn! OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXVII. 227 XXXVII. TO AMY ROBSART, AS DEPICTED BY SIR W. SCOTT IN HIS NOVEL OF '^KENILWORTH." Sweet flower, that from a pleasant rustic shade, And careful tendance of familiar eyes, Wert too soon plucked to be the guarded prize Of one whose love a loftier plant betrayed — Loftier, not lovelier ; — ill-fated maid, Whose story in the hearer's bosom lies, A well of tears, which every day supplies With new remembrance day by day displayed, If Fame were aught, and sad commemoration More than a tearful light upon the air, Thou wert repaid by that sublime oblation, Unto thine honour, lady good and fair, Offered by genius singly, while mankind Watching the sacrifice, approved behind. 228 SHORTER POEMS. XXX VIII. Six moons ago why did 1 so rejoice, That one less bond now tied me down to earth,' If thou so busy be, in grief and mirth, With a new cord thrice -stranded, knotted thrice, To hold me still an exile from the skies ? Is it not so ? — or is the love of thee A ladder to lead thither ? — let it be ! A rainbow path of milky lig-ht it lies On my heart's eye ; and heavenly messengers. New energy the whole dull breast that stirs, Good thoughts, deep love, and thankfulness extreme. Tread the ascending arch : on the other side Comes down delicious Happiness tender-eyed, Calm as a picture, calm remembered in a dream. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XXXIX. 229 XXXIX. The wild- winged Birds when one the other calleth Have answer forth from farthest thickets sent, Though yet no nearer kindred them befalleth Than heirship of a common element ; The very Storms that are at war and hate Punctually respond across the listening hollow, And echo, who with none is friend or mate, Sends yet her voice the meanest herd to follow ; O then since all things, bound in simple kindred, In hate opposed, or in un-knowledge free, Yield yet the signal sought, O why is hindered The mutual service of my love and me ? Speed, Post! blow, Wind ! then distance in disgrace Will yield his prey again to my embrace. 230 SHORTER POEMS. XL. Thou sad, and I so joyful, gentle friend ! Yet loosed no link of that which once did tie Our spirits to one sorrow or one joy ; There must be wrong betwixt us, though unkenned ; There must be what we should avoid or mend : Most on my side, I fear me, whose glad face Before those tremulous eyelids, and the trace Of scarce-dropped tears seems almost to offend. Yet if it were but that a needless fear, A shadowy trouble, on thy clearer breast Is flung too strongly, then my sun of joy Might scare away that phantom of annoy : Surely it must be so, dear friend, for here Conscience is ware of no unseemly guest. I OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLI. 231 XLI. How would you start if from the breezy sky Unclouded — not a speck upon the blue — A voice should fall ; how if the senseless hue Of some spring rose should quicken to an eye ; How if a flying bird or tongueless fly Among green boughs with language should pursue Your summer walk ; such things have happed to few , And few such marvellous warning could abye. Therefore has God who tempers to the weak Their lesson, mercifully flung to me My warning in an echo from a Hall, Builded surpassingly yet near to fall ; The ruin of a palaced Soul, by freak Of devils inhabiting riven fearfully. 232 SHORTER POEMS. XLII. I TOO possess a home, an isle of peace Upon a sea of waving corn, a green Fair plot of quiet garden-ground serene. Here, summer Twilight's sweet solemnities Are kept all day by sun-excluding trees : There, lingering walks and velvet turf between, Bright flowers hold sunshine all the year I ween, A happy haunt for Chamwood's neighbouring breeze ; But dearer, that in the midst of this fair space There stands a house where now, (and all life long I trust) for me by toil or care opprest, Is nursed the twilight of a kindly rest, In loving arms imbowered ; and love's bright face For sunshine, when made chill by pain or wrong. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLHI. 233 XLIII. Stay, cold moon, stay and hear ! for I would tell To one that hath no tongue to tell again The mystery within me, thoughts that dwell, Like haunting ghosts, within the ruined fane Of my lorn heart and half-disordered brain ! And yet I scruple, in a jealous fear. Lest other eyes be sharp as mine to trace Ev'n in thy silent and unfeatured face The secrets told thee when no soul is near. Ah, faithless Keeper of a sacred trust. Thus ev'n thy sympathy were bought too dear. Sleep, sleep again, in my close heart confined Dark Secret, sleep ! — and let the thriftless wind Scatter thee with the rest when I am dust. 234 SHORTER POEMS. XLIV. MADINGLEY CHURCHYARD. Three sides a grove of yews, a gloomy grove, Hung with their viscid fruit; the fourth the church, A fane with yellow walls and scribbled porch, Where rests the mouldering bier : around, above The sky, and a still air of peace and love, Informing the green turf with gentler green Than lies without ; and shadow not unseen. And coo clear-heard of meditative dove ; 'Tis death's serenest garden : — would that here Many were laid, the blessings of whose graves Is lost to me — thou chiefly. Mother blest, Mother, own mother! whose unbroken rest Is taken where the city's noisy waves Roll loudly, and the busy tongue chafes near. I OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLV. 235 XLV. Am I or am I not what I would be ? Have I within me of that golden ore Which poets, using from the time of yore, Have yet left some unspent. Alas for me, Bemazed in so great perplexity ! Alas for one that longs but cannot crop, Standing among green trees with fruit o'er- weighted ; Alas for one athirst, whose heat no drop Of the encircling waters may assuage ; A young heart crusted with the shell of age ; Enjoyment lost, yet longing unabated, A soul that fain would speak, yet hath no tongue. Like any desolate thing, a hai*p unstrung, A tree that bears no fruit, a dove unmated ! 236 SHORTER POEMS. XL VI. O ! 'tis like evening's soft and sad recalling Of morning's freshness thus to think of thee ; And nourishing dews upon my heart are falling, That have been late so scant and were so free : Then too they rested longer, for the tree Of my green love o'ershadowed them. No more, No more that lusty desert-plant runs o'er With the deep verdure of its greenery : Buds thereupon were shaped, and leaves were whitening Into a sheet of virgin flower — 'tis o'er ! Gathered the sudden cloud, and fell the lightning, And the scathed trunk that is a tree no more Now strikes unseen a deep and deepening root, And yet may never bear blossom or fruit, Nor hold its head aloft, and spread, and soar ! OCCASIO"NAL SONNETS. XLVII. 237 XLVII. Sweet Lady, thou hast changed thy smiles to frowning, Yet canst thou never change my love to hate, But it must still, like living ivy crowning A broken pillar, round the desolate Remembrance of thy by-gone years of smiling. Bloom with a fond affection self-sustained ; With cheerful light the interval beguiling Till thine old love be once again regained. Or, the grey memory being wholly perished, By which the creeper's scanty life was fed, The shrunken withes round that they vainly cherished Upon the dust in mournful faith be spread ; Like those true shrivelled flowers by sextons found In the dry coffins of a chalky ground. SHORTER POEMS. XLvm. I KNOW my love is set about my brow, A band of living light ; a glorious crown, More bright than diamonded cirques that throw Their mocking brilliance round the fretted brow Of monarchs with their jewelled pride weighed down. I feel it there though eye of man see nought Save the soft lustre of a settled peace, And smiles from every motion of my thought Breaking, like twinkles on the lulled mid-seas. As soft, as sweet, and with as sure succession ! And thus in hope's strong armour cased I seize An easy conqueror, on the rosy hours. And, looking ever down my path of flowers, Pace gently towards my bower of rest — possession. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. XLIX. 239 XLIX. ON RECEIVING GOOD NEWS OF A FRIEND IN INDIA. Glad tidings of the plant so fair, so dear ! The sweet transplanted Tree whose leaves grew faint, And pale, and sick, as with a mortal taint, In the first breath of that strange atmosphere. No matter, 'tis revived, and with a clear Green flush, as 'twere of spring, is dyed anew. Now blessing be on every wind that blew Upon the bearer of this welcome cheer ; Methinks I see the gallant Ship draw near : Dancing with joy, upon her path slie comes, I And sensible pleasure seems to steep her sails, And creep among her shrouds, like some soft gale's , Mild stir, as though the inanimate Frame could hear I The welcome flung her from a hundred homes ! 240 SHORTER POEMS. L. Lady, there are sweet plants of loveliest leaves, On which, the garden's boast, still softly settles Amid their luxury of doubling petals And colours as the colours of spring eves. An odour of the fields, a free wild scent ; So with thy tutored elegance is blent, Sweet lady, a home-grace that wins us more Than tresses gathered up and rolling o'er, Or hand's pure shape, or eye's dark languishment. So in thy boudoir's artful shade it were. As we beheld thee in the open air, Beneath a roof of flowery branches bent ; Or at a well, or by a cottage wall. Or any how most pure and natural. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. LI. 241 LI. There are some trees (who knows not such a tree ?) Which standing in a garden full and fair Make themselves lonely, so supreme they are ; So gorgeous in their dyes, their scent so free ; So strong yet delicate in their tracery, And so surpassing rich the fruits they bear. O friend ! if I such lofty name may share, Such among other men thou seem'st to be. The humblest nestler in the breast of heaven, The freest dallier with the earth-born breeze, Bearing the soul's best fruit, the mind's best flowers To Him who planted thee ; so in all hours And places, highest place to thee is given Unconsciously. May such pure fame increase ! 242 SHORTER POEMS. LII. The most distasteful glooms that ever leant Upon the face of dimpling pool, or brook Whose natural aspect is a joyous look. As childhood's merriest, free from discontent, And ease best imaged by a bow unbent. Were less to blame for marring earth's delight Than this untimely cloud, whose sullen spite Dashes thy soft eye's wonted merriment. Yet if it come lest boyhood's sun should fling Upon the tender spring serene and pure Of home affections ever insecure. An eye in too unguarded fire arrayed. Then is it welcome as the tree whose shade Holds cool and constant w-aters in the spring. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. LIII. 243 LIII. My friend, a space, one short year's space ago, We two together paced the green arcades Of Trinity, fair mother, while the shades Gathered among the boughs, and to and fro Athwart them, as we walked, the rosy glow Of eve's sweet star pursued a courteous race, Quicker or slower as the wilful pace Of our mute idleness was quick or slow. Now think how much a single busy year Hath laid on our young shoulders ! — upon thine The weight of a dear wife, and Christ's dear cross, And many souls for final gain or loss ; — A burden not so heavy, although near, Two bright boys' care, and Happiness, on mine. 244 SHORTER POEMS. LIV. Benignant lady, if that one so young May bless thee for the beauty of thy brow, And not presume, I, lady, bless thee now ; They fabled that the wild bees came and hung On Plato's lip ; — if any fanciful tongue Should say that creatures which no mortals know, Creatures all white with wings as soft as snow. Came down from heaven and on thy forehead clung I could believe it, of such heavenly mould Is the calm there, and such a kindly calm Mantles thy quiet eyes, quiet not cold ; And such a meditative grace dwells ever On thee, as on a plant by some still river Kissed but not ruffled by sweet airs of balm. OCCASIONAL SONNETS. LV. 245 LV. WRITTEN AFTER READING A BOOK OF EASTERN TRAVELS. To us encaged in home and loving faces, How pleasant to believe we bend our way, Lone travellers at morn and eve of day, Where the sweet desert shews his vernal graces, Or where the Euphrates' palm-lined wave embraces Babel's heaped ruins, faithful in decay ; Or in the Holy Land's most holy places Earn the light scallop-shell, as I to day. Thanks to thee. Traveller, brave and joyous-hearted! Thanks to the constant soul that held its own Among those mournful regions ! — But for me, A sudden chill of heart creeps through my glee, Though but to hear of these bright lights departed, Those glories of my childhood overthrown. MISCELLANEOUS. PART THE THIRD. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PART THE THIRD. I. THE GIPSY BEGGAR. They gave him nought ; he turned away With such a sufferance as is bred From careless usage day by day ; 'Twas wisdom in an humble way Both of the heart and head. I followed on that lordly train ; Their laugh yet rang upon the ear Just round an elbow of the lane ; And me the gipsy asked again For alms, when I drew near. For alms — he had no home, he said, And (changed the beggar's tale before) No wife nor children ; all were dead, He was alone on earth, he said, And stricken with a sore. 250 SHORTER POEMS. Twas cunningly devised to move My heart, however he might guess ; And more his seeming want of love The tender depths of pity clove, Than deeper shared distress. His was an ancient Roman's face, So statue-like in shape, and yet So viperous in eye, the grace Of that calm outline keen gave place To its continual fret. It glanced ten times while yet he spoke. Ten separate darts it made or more. On me — upon his tattered cloak — Upon an imp, that wildly broke From out a hovel door. I looked upon the boy and him, 'Twas clear to me they were akin ; Only the younger was less grim To see, his cheek more dewy-dim. And of a finer skin. But in the lips and lofty brows 'Twas evident that they were one, And in the eye, its sudden close And quick expansion ; now who knows But they are sire and son ? MISCELLANEOUS. I. 251 So thought I to myself, and fast My charity was running down ; But yet when one quick glance was past, No look upon the child he cast, No smile ; nor yet a frown. So I gave credence, as seemed meet, To that sad tale of loveless woe, For coldest heart that ever beat Was never schooled to such deceit As this, said I, I know. The imp went dancing down the lane, And never saw us standing there, When suddenly he fell ; amain A horrid cry — a cry of pain, Rang shrilly on the air ! 'Twas nature's dart, aimed at the heart. Which had forsworn her gentle sway : It pierced— away the father ran ; Three leaps had borne the hasty man To where the urchin lay. He took him up, he laid his cheek To his ; the lovely boy's was pale : He kissed him as a mother meek Kisses her child, but doth not speak For fear his slumbers fail. 252 SHORTER POEMS. Moist dew was in his viperous eyes Tiiat were so horny bright before : To soothe the boy with play he tries ; He mimics playfully his cries, Until the child forbore. Then up to me — he saw me smile — He led the boy so fair and young" ; *' Five more I have, sir," — I, meanwhile, For the heart's faith, forgave the guile. That was but of the tongue. II. INSCRIPTION FOR AN ARBOUR. Sing songs and be right merry in this bower ! So wills the genius of the place, and hour, Be it mid-day, or eve, or noon, or night, For hearty Nature wars not with delight. So be thou merry with thy love or friend, If but thy soul be clean thou'lt not offend. MISCELLANEOUS. III. 253 in. 'Tis six o'clock — the sun is low, The kindled grass is all a-glow, A living" emerald sea ; The fields are dewy; tempt them not My tender friend ! my garden plot Is dry, come walk with me ! I'll shew you where my darlings grow, My pets, a dear memorial shew Of friends far off or near, Whose thoughts with love's economy, Keep yet one little space for me. Whether ahroad or here. Mark yon lithe creeper ! linked, and light, Up Cintra's garden walls so white, 'Twas used of old to climb. Or fling an odour scarce of earth. Where Lisbon's dames, with love and mirth, Beguile the summer time. This was a neighbour then thereto, Where Taio's waves were fair to view, And lemon groves to smell ; 254 SHORTER POEMS. And large dark eyes its beauty quaffed, And sweet lips sang, and light hearts laughed O'er its long buds as well. Now mark yon group of marigold, A thousand bunchy buds unrolled ! A thousand orbs of fire ! Bright as the girdle of the skies, And many in their changeful dyes As Heaven's own various quire ! They and that larkspur fair and light, Yoi;i hollyhock as grand as Night, Yon agile climbing pea. Beside the ruined convent- wall Once saw their faces, one and all. Deep in the Laacher See. Now see this flower, so proud and tall ; I name the flower, my cardinal, Because its ancient home Was where upon his measured walks The red-robed priest might brush its stalks, — The Vatican at Rome. Now see another favoured guest ; Yon balsam, with the palmy crest, A pyramid of bells. As scarlet as a baby's lips Asleep : — where white Byzantium clips The azure wave, it dwells. MISCELL.1NE0US. III. 255 And yet another pair I call, The last, the dearest of them all, Though worthless to the florist, This foxglove from a lofty hill, This mouse-ear, from a mossy rill, In thee, dear Charnwood Forest ! 256 SHORTER POEMS. IV. Listen to my sweet dream. I was at play With little boys; — a bearded man am I, Though young. — Among us all, I dare to say, None had less thought how every one must die And, like a breath of wind, be gone away. I So we went on ; — they running, and I chasing ; A thousand tricks we played ; devices sly : Dart, subtle fall, and twist, and downright racing, I to arrest them, they to get away ; And among all my peers, I dare to say, Was none who had less thought of death than I ii It was no wonder, near such glancing eyes, Dewy with laughter, and such silken cheeks, And limbs so springy, and a heart that flies So lightly in the train of all wild freaks. That I, though ten years older, should not see For one short hour, the soundless Shade that plies Its steps, beside our own continually. And I did not, and with these children played As many a sensible person would have said, MISCELLANEOUS. IV. 257 Much like a madman, but I loved my place Among- the pure sweet souls so young and joyous, And I believe by such another race, We might outrun most grief, that doth annoy us. No matter, I ran on ; with sudden grips Now one of them I caught, and now another ; And made them kiss me with their rosy lips. For all well loved me, — one, as doth no other, My own God's-gift : — but see that youngster trips. The slender graceful boy, in mourning dress ; I have him by the waist, but still he slips His face away, and will not my caress. At last I win him, by my loving stress, O my lost friend ! it is thy younger brother ! O my lost friend, that wert so bright and brave. So gentle and so loving ; whose new bloom Was so soon quenched by the engulphing grave, — O think not I forget thee in thy tomb ! Day brings no surer day-light, night no gloom More certain, than they both unto my bosom, Bring back my friend, the plant of love, whose blossom Was so soon trampled by a greedy doom. Thou knowest, love, to whom the starry light Is as our day, — to whom our waxing moon Stands hornless ever, and the sun at noon Begets no terror in his central height Of that dull eve which dogs him in our sight ; Thou, to whom all things fair are fair for ever, s 258 SHORTER POEMS. And have no change of beauty, but are bright Steadfast with no reflux and no endeavour ; Thou knowest that as these stand still to thee In fulness, so stands still my love to me With one clear presence, rounding day and night. MISCELLANEOUS. V. 259 V. COLIN CLOUT IN WARWICKSHIRE I LOVE my humble happiness ; No sweeter scent doth follow The lily on the height, I g*uess, Than the lily in the hollow ; I love the quiet-flowing eves, The sober glow of morning, The calm to every hour that cleaves, Securing and adorning. The silent fields that lie so still, And nourish their sweet grasses ; The wind that pass when pass it will, You scarce can tell it passes : The flowers that have no care beyond Their own serene decorum ; The brooks, of hanging banks so fond. And hawthorn boughs bent o'er 'em ; The violets' haunts where modest buds Among brown oak-leaves tremble ; The grassy places in the woods Where the primroses assemble ; The hedgerow where the cowslip makes Its music ; and the meadow 260 SHORTER POEMS. Where the ladysmock, small banneret, shakes Its shreds of lilac shadow ; The river sides with waters cool By day and night acquainted ; The wild rose cup so beautiful So delicately scented ; The woodbine, trump of morn and night, The Mayblob's golden tabour ; The speedwell with its moral bright Of the cheeriness of labour ; All these, my humble stock of joys, I love, and am contented : The heart must be so that employs But half the blessings lent it ; And if to each adds Thought the witch Some bygone scene to feed on, In Warwickshire am I as rich As Adam was in Eden. MISCELLANEOUS. VI. 261 VI. Like young Vertumnushe stands there, The primrose crown is in his hair ; The pure spring blush upon his face , In every limb a primal grace ; And gentle boyish feelings teach His dimpling lips a vernal speech. — What had the power of old that he, My Love, hath not more plenteously ? All gentle feelings try their art, And coax his dimpling lips apart ; What saith he ? loving words, be sure. The coinage of a heart as pure As ever looked through boyish eyes ErePassion's mists began to rise. — This is what lacked that Godhead blest And my Love hath so manifest. 262 SHORTER POEMS. VII. GRACE CAREWE. The passing bell is scarcely down ; And though the hand is cold, About the heart no more at strife, Some remnants of the warmth of life Their conquered fortress hold. Oh ! woeworn heart ! 'tis rest to thee, If death be rest to any ; So wearisome hath been thy way. So bright a sunset crowned thy day, Thy griefs, thy hopes so many ! It might seem scarcely time to tell, Beside thy yet warm ashes, How red and ripe those lips have been, How bright the eye that glanced between Those long, soft, silken lashes ; And more unfitting still to read The tale of crime and sorrow, Beside the bed whereon she lay, And changed our weeping for to-day. To hoping for to-morrow. MISCELLANEOUS. VII. 263 And so it were if wisdom's steps For loitering search would tarry ; But human hours will wait for none, And we must gather as we run The wealth which we would carry. " O pride of beauty too secure ! O light of love misleading ! O careless heart in caution's spite To passion's idle words, the right Of wedded vows conceding!" O'er many a fall those words I've said In tears I could not master, But never with a soul so stirred As when the startling tale I heard Of Grace Carewe's disaster ! Most deeply was I grieved thereat, For I had always thought her In mind as lovely as in face ; In truth I deemed her knightly race Had never prouder daughter. Well, well, — 'twas otherwise : — her shame In common mouths was spoken. Yet ever as around it went With pity and with wonderment, And oft with tears 'twas broken. 264 SHORTER rOEMS. And now a year had worn away Our anger at her failing : The troubled water had run clear ; And never met her name our ear But answered with bewailing. Her lovely face, her open hand, The charm that lay upon her Ere yet she left her maiden ways, Her own respect and our fond praise To tarry with dishonour ; All came back sweeter to our thoughts : As light a moment shaded Shews yet more brilliant when unmasked ; So we remembered her, nor asked How such resplendence faded. Thus was it, when, one sabbath day, When summer's heat lay heavy On man, and beast, and cornfields white That glimmered with a restless light, And dark still woodlands leavy, The sexton of our village church Unlocked the doors at dawning, To let the breezes fill the place With pleasant scents and (16) airs of grace, Kissed from the lips of morning. MISCELLANEOUS. VII. 265 It is an old and seemly fane, Yet more from time's soft gracing-, Than pillars ranked in stately files, And shadowy length of lofty aisles, And arches interlacing". And its chief charm is in the thought Of prayers there offered weekly, And penitent sobs in its low pews, And foreheads damp with clammy dews Of them who mourn less meekly. Yet there were many quaint old tombs To brave Carewes erected ; And later carvings less uncouth, Whose marble yet was fair and smooth, In many a group collected. The fairest of that seemly crowd, To Grace's mother given, Bore carven on a sable base A snowy dove, whose native place Was in the heights of heaven. There round the pillar that upheld That tribute to the sainted. Lay Grace, her child, — with sin no more But grief and sorrows running o'er. Sin's wages, well acquainted. 266 SHORTER POEMS. The father saw her as the latch Of his tall pew he lifted ; A proud old man, yet not the less With human wish to love and bless, And human pity gifted. The poor old man — I see him yet, The burden in his bosom ; I half believe the faded flower Was dearer than the brightest hour Of the untainted blossom : They brought her home — they laid her here, That body weak and wasting. Yet that, — God wounds and God makes whole- That took an everlasting soul To glory everlasting ! MISCELLANEOUS. VIII. 267 VIII. Believe not 'tis an influence lost If yet to me no power be given, To tell of that blessed sight that crossed My senses yester-even. We may not all at once declare What we have felt in blessed mood, When the spirit of the breathing air Runs through us, like our blood. A finger on our lips is laid, Which wishes are too weak to move, — A spell that will not be gainsaid, The voicelessness of love. A Stillness which is not Content But Striving, such as may be guessed Is a dumb thing's disquietment, — A restlessness in rest. — One that a scattered last-night's dream At morn would vainly strive to string. May weave the whole, upon the stream Of mid- day idly balancing ; 268 SHORTER POEMS. And I to-morrow in a song May speak those boisterous hopes and joys, Which yester-eve were leaping, strong As the merry blood that leaps along The veins of lusty boys. MISCELLANEOUS. IX. 269 IX. THE CLEARING OF THE RAIN. The stars are hanging, one by one, In rows along the embowed sky ; And the great moon stilly looketh on, And the sweet wind runneth by. The rain all day in large long drops Fell, never ceasing ; — now the wind Hath dried the tall acacia tops, And the beechen boughs behind. But the chesnut leaf is heavy still. And the clover and the beaded corn ; And merrily o'er the whirling mill Will the swollen brook be borne. Come forth, my sister, come and share The boon of joy to nature given, The freshness of the lightened air. And the mirth of the naked heaven ! 270 SHORTER POEMS. X. Awake, sweet nightingale, awake and sing For I am listening. And I can read thy meaning melody, (By my own love-taught heart so gifted,) Or if it trembling creep among the boughs, Low as a boy's first vows ; Or if in tumult long and loud 'tis lifted Up to the blue roof of the summer sky. Sing, bashful bird, — sing up ! — be bold, and throw The balmy overflow Of thy full heart along the heedless wood : The trunks can never tell thy pain. And may-be it may comfort some lorn lad. Half sorrowful, half glad, Who at a tree-foot thinketh o'er again The unmastered mystery of his racing blood. Oh ! it is comfort at grey eventide, Set by the Loved One's side, To list, while all that from our human tongue, We could not strike with our best skill, MISCELLANEOUS. X. 27: Is poured into our ears from nature's lyre ; Filling our high desire With notes, as fiery as our headlong will, Yet softly, as our natural reverence, sung ! Yes ! bring thy love beneath the starry sky. Ere yet the eyes be dry From the first knitting of two hearts in one ; And care not that thy lips are mute ; So the sweet bird, love's best interpreter, Be there to offer her The gratulations of his untired lute, Thanks, love, hope, fear, in rapturous unison ! 272 SHORTER POEMS, XI. MOTHER'S LOVE. He sang so wildly did the Boy, That you could never tell, If 'twas a madman's voice you heard. Or if the spirit of a bird Within his heart did dwell. A bird that dallies with his voice Among the matted branches ; Or on the free blue air his note To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float, With bolder utterance launches ; None ever was so sweet as he. The boy that wildly sang to me, Though toilsome was the way and long, He led me not to lose the song. But when again we stood below The unhidden sky, his feet Grew slacker, and his note more slow, But more than doubly sweet. He led me then a little way Athwart the barren moor, And then he stayed and bade me stay Beside a cottage door ; MISCELLANEOUS. XI. 273 I could have stayed of mine own will, In truth, my eye and heart to fill With the sweet sight which I saw there, At the dwelling of the cottager, A little in the doorway sitting, The mother plied her busy knitting, And her cheek so softly smiled, You might be sure, although her gaze Was on the meshes of the lace, Yet her thoughts were with her child. But when the boy had heard her voice, As o'er her work she did rejoice, His became silent altogether. And slily creeping by the wall, He seized a single plume, let fall By some wild bird of longest feather ; And all a-tremble with his freak, He touched her lightly on the cheek. O what a loveliness her eyes Gather in that one moment's space, While peeping round the post she spies. Her darling's laughing face ! O mother's love is glorifying. On the cheek like sunset lying ; In the eyes a moistened light. Softer than the moon at night ! 274 SHORTER POEMS. XII. VERSES FOR A COMMON CASE. Yes, Alice, there was wont to be A trouble on thy brow, And grief and pain 'twas then to me, But not such pain as now : I deemed the shadow was but thrown From transient unrest ; I knew not that it was thine own, And born within thy breast. I knew not then that thou hadst been To other than to me, As sunset is unto the green As moonlight to the sea, A light to lighten what was sad, To deepen what was fair, A lamp of comfort, which has had Its presence every where. I looked that still it should be so, That rapture and that grief Should gain from thee a fresher glow. Or livelier relief: MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 275 I thought that death, when death should come, Would lighter seem to me, Since, after death, the eternal tomb Would still be shared with thee. 'Tis past away, that hope so bright, That flower whose glorious hue Clad the bare future with a light As lovely as untrue ; 'Tis scattered, like a broken wave ; And I must now look on To sorrow, sickness, and the grave, Past and possessed alone. Think, Alice, once a little word, A momentary breath. Had left untied the triple cord Which binds us now till death ; The certain smile of tearless eyes, Upon our paths had set : And spared our past of stifled sighs, Our future of regret. Now, Alice, now we live or die, United though alone ; In all the rest apart, brought nigh In this, our little One ! Here is the cord that will not break, The bond we cannot sever, The tie so strong, that it shall make Our fates the same for ever. 276 SHORTER POEMS. Yet can I blame the tong-ue too slow Thy secret love to tell, When I hang back and linger so O'er that one word ' farewell !' 'Tis uttered ! — Alice, once most dear, Still too dear to my heart, I have performed my duty here, And, Alice, we must part. Go, take the child, our common child, I yield him with the rest ; Thou hast his little heart beguiled, He loves his mother best : I know if I have ever won Some share of love from thee, 'Twas as his father — as thy son, The child is dear to me. Take him, for kind words kindly said, And looks all words above ; For years of wifely duty paid To one thou didst not love : Thine unwise choice thou didst fulfil Most nobly, though 'twas hard ; And it is fitting thou should'st still Bear with thee thy reward. Whate'er thy fate, may He on high, Whose aid alone is sure. Help thee the good to profit by, The evil to endure. MISCELLANEOUS. XII. 277 And now farewell ! — turn not away, Though cold the word may be, Thou dost not know how I will pray For my own child and thee. I go unto my usual home, The hearth I used to praise ; But thou hast chilled the pleasant room, And dulled the cheerful blaze ; Well, well, I blame thee not for this. Reproach were worse than vain. Enough ! as mine the bygone bliss, Be mine the present pain ! 278 SHORTER POEMS. Xm. THE FOURTH BELL. Again ! Ag-ain ! Another bell is sounding ! My heart is hardened, yet I hear it pass, Like thunderpeals from crag to crag rebounding, Or echoes ringing down a sea of glass : My heart is hardened, yet I cry, ' Alas !' And hurryiiig sobs choke up my burning throat ; And leaden pain, a heavy icy mass, Lies on my heart ; and like an empty boat My reason sways about on feeling's deeps afloat. Again ! Again ! A fourth ! and if the saddest, No wonder ; he it tolls for was the first ; His cheek the softest, and his eye the gladdest, His warning shortest, and his passage worst. The earliest love my childish bosom nursed Is cut away from earth, a perished flower ; Rathe bud, which just as summer's glory burst Upon it, by the pitiless, pelting shower Is cheated of its day before the noontide hour. (17) The crown of triple glory from his head Hath suddenly fallen ; Beauty, Joy, and Youth, Untwined, lie by him as he lieth dead. His neck'.s Adornment, Honour, Love, and Truth, MISCELLANEOUS. XIII. 279 Lie all unlinked on's other side in sooth. No other head will they so fairly fit, Wrought in such nice proportion, more the ruth ! So with his lost perfections infinite About him, Love and Grief will lay him in his pit. They have been young whom I bewailed ere- while, My threefold embassage to highest heaven : They have been young ; but with sedater smile They laughed, and on their foreheads were engraven Thoughts deeper, passions calmer ; be forgiven The fondness if I yet loved thee the best, With thy quick spirit, and the bond unriven Of love and gaiety within thy breast, Besides, thou wert the first, so must I love thee best. Wouldst thou remind me of the grassy bank, Where we two played in childhood's sunny air ? Of each long lesson and each harmless prank We shared in turn ? An useless toil it were, For I forget them not, but with close care Have told them to myself for years and years, Deeming I hoarded seed of converse rare When we should meet again — 1 hoarded tears — Regret without its hopes, and love without its fears. Come back, old Sorrow, served by pleasant Hope ! Come back, old Love, with Fear beside thee set, 280 SHORTER POEMS. Fear that day's dome or midnight's starry cope Should fall ; or thou thy dearest heart forget. O give me doubt, and hope, and terror yet ! Give me the sun and shade ; — the pleasant rack Of flitting clouds that vary and not fret ! O call the dim, fair, flequered azure back, And spare me this dire ceil of pure crystalline black I O Earth ! come help me with thy shaded face To mourn him ! Sky, assist me with thy dew ! Lo ! Joy is throned in every sunny place, On this green grass, on yon resplendent blue ; And Autumn's loveliest day comes forth to view. O Earth and Nature ! were the power but mine To quench your glories, I the deed could do , To lose the torture of yon sunny shine, And that bright sky I see, not feel, to be divine. Beauty is gone, and yet thou never mournest ; And Youth is gone, and thou art glad as ever : And death is here, and thou again returnest, With nodding trees and gaily-sparkling river : A sylvan Huntress with her glancing quiver, With horn and hound unto the green wood flying, So blithe as thou, thou careless Earth, was never. And yet before thy face the corse is lying, Where life and love are dead, and beauty's self is dying. O Earth, hard -hearted ! with how vain a yearning MISCELLANEOUS. XIII. 281 Theancients calledthee Mother ! Heart of Pride, Where is thy darkened green, thy seemly mourn- ing For him who in his loveliness hath died, For him, the fairest son that Morning eyed, Or Night desired with longing heart to see I Earth ! Earth ! the lesson will not pass aside : Our mother thou art not, and wilt not be. Nor own the sons of God a filial love to thee ! 282 SHORTER POEMS. XIV. In a (lark hut she lay, whose poverty Shewed strangely by the silken garments spread About her couch, the couch itself so poor. They were the garments of her former pride, Cherished, as hnking her with other days, Even in her wretchedness ; and now brought forth To lie upon her bed, for the mere warmth Which they might add to its thin coverlets. This was a piteous thing to see and know ; But there was worse than this in that bright eye, Shining from out her pale and hag-gard face With intellectual light, once plainly nursed, Alas ! as plainly now all but subdued By the o'erpowering damps 'mid which it burned. 'Twas a sad sight indeed to us who looked Far back, from this sick bed to olden days, When in her boudoir's softened shade she sate, And conquered by her light and glancing wit The hearts that bent not to her loveliness. Then the soft sun had scarcely seen her cheek ; Now all autumnal blasts had license free Upon her very bed to visit her. Alas ! Alas ! I scarce can think of more than thus, To say, ' Alas !' and then, ' Alas !' again. Yes, so upon her broidered ottomans MISCELLANEOUS. XIV. 283 She lazily laughed through the careless days, Till— — Yet misdeem not, he she loved was true, And she, at least, though weak may be within. And all unpropped by aught more sure than earth, Had learned no actual vice — oh deem it not. She was too worldly-proud for worldly shame ; And when she wedded, 'twas a sacrifice To one who well deserved it in the eye Of the more fair to judge, and if her world Shut hence its doors against her, one had deemed It were for good, not harm. Though he was poor, And though he grew from out a lowly stock, Yet was the seed of precious fruit in him ! But the fine essence that was there locked up Ate daily through its casquet ; and he died. And all his poet's dreamings died with him. And with one little child to mock her fate. Or cheer it, as might be, with its hght step And natural gaiety, his widowed wife Was left to toil for bread. And she did toil. With head and hands, writing one while, and then Varying with humbler labour her short days. So was it that she cheerfully upbore Her sorrow and her suffering, by the smile Of her sweet child repaid and overpaid ; Till God was pleased to take her merry boy Unto Himself in heaven. But then she drooped, And said her light was out, and she must sleep, — — And she lay down and very soon she slept. 284 SHORTER POEMS. XV. This nipping air, this lowering day, Where is their power, and what are they ? Our joy why should we measure By what we nev^er can controul ; Methinks the self-acqaitted Soul Will help itself to pleasure. These fading Trees with wiser spirit Make their necessity a merit, And cheerful in decay, Meet every morn with brighter hues ; And why should thinking man refuse To be as wise as they ? Off with the petted gloom, — the toy Of wilful boyhood tired of joy ! Why should we pine to roam ? The heart which hath no inner blight, f s to itself its own delight, And makes its bliss at home. Our nature (could the truth depart ?) Is o:lad in a domestic heart. MISCF-LLAXEOUS. XV. 285 And with its God for g-uest, May ever share a home-made feast ; Quell then this gloom, or be at least Tlie weakness unconfest ! 286 SHORTER POEMS. XVI. My own dear love, I call thee so, And fear not to offend, For he my love must be, you know, Whoever is my friend. For I am one that may not ask For woman's smiles and tears; Long- past for me that pleasant task Of young-er, calmer years. i asked when I was yet a boy, I asked, and asked in vain ; And then died down that tree of joy Which will not spring- again. And many years I went astray. With sadness for my guide ; And thought, since that had passed away, There was no love beside. And so, though gay and free I seemed, To those whose hearts were glad. My hidden sorrow I esteemed The dearest thing I had. MISCELLAXEOUS. XVI. 287 But then an hour filled heaven above, And filled the earth with joy ; Canst guess that hour, my own dear love ? Thou canst, thou dost, my boy ! 288 SHORTER POEMS. XVII. 'Tis like a bathe in waters clear, With flowers and shady branches near, To sit, my love, with thee ; To sit by thee, my love, and hear Thy voice so fresh and free. O thou canst fondly move and speak, And in the dimples of thy cheek Is hidden fresh delusion ; Grave looks and smiles so sly and sleek In winningest confusion. O yes, my eyes have their desire : No lily filled with sunset fire More lovely could you call ; No wildrose sporting on a briar In loveliness more natural. My eyes are glad, but gladder yet My spirit is, for there is set On all thou dost and sayest^ Affection, a fair coronet. And gentleness the gayest. , MISCELLANEOUS. XVII. 289 Affection interfused with glee Is round thee ; as the deeper sea, Bespeckled from above, Folds tender shells, so quiet glee Encompasses my love. 290 SHORTER POEMS. XVIII. Joyfully round the gleaming sky The dim white vapours roll, And joyful are my limbs, and I Am joyful in my soul. The crocuses are fled again, And yet we never mourn : Why should we ? Shall not we remain Until the flowers return ? I had a friend who saw the spring Into the earth descend ; But autumn's gathering birds took wing, And I had lost my friend. As fair was he as any flower, As delicately gay : — Dark, dark and sad to me the hour When he was torn away. Joy hath strange fancies : one is this. That it will lend and borrow, And oft exchange a present bliss For ,a departed Sorrow. MISCELLANEOUS. XIX. 291 XIX. TO A BUTTERFLY. Deem'st thou I would harm thee, Fairest, That thou fleest down the wind ? Or is't but the dread thou bearest To our handed humankind ? Salutary fear thoug-h blind ! Is it thine implanted nature, Or the judgment of thy mind. Tell me, tell me, little Creature, So resplendent ! so unkind ! Thou dost ill if me thou fearest, I could hurt few living things ; And of all that flits and flees In the hedgerow, in the trees, Surely thou art still the dearest, For thy glorious horns and wings, For those folds of tenderest amber, Eyed with many an orb of red, Fitting napery for the chamber Of Titania, or the throne Of the delicate Oberon ! Come ! nay, fly ! 'tis wisely written In thy little heart to fly, 292 SHORTER POEMS. Lest the innocent be smitten, And the guiltless creature die. Is it so ? Alas, the thirst, Earliest slaked in Abel's blood, Burns as fiercely as at first In our lineal multitude : Keep thy vantage, come not near. Thou dost passing well to fear ! XX. INSCRIPTION FOR A VASE OVER- GROWN VTITH VINE. Do me no harm, kind stranger, nor untwine A single swathe of my encircling vine ; So firm as I am thou thyself mayst be, And Love cling to thee as this Vine to me ! MISCELLANEOUS. XXI. 293 XXI. TO A BROWN LOAF. Welcome, brown loaf, of cottage cheer So pleasantly reminding ; And pleasures ever dwelling near, Though oft beyond the finding. A clean white napkin from a board As clean as it, descending, A bowl of milk, and boonly stored The garden's wealth attending ; And rosy-cheeked and eager-eyed, Blithe boys and girls addressing To Him who doth their cheer provide The last meal's thankful blessing ; These are the sights for which to thee. Brown loaf, I am a debtor ; So come, when come thou canst, to me, The oftener 'tis the better ! 294 SIEORTER POEMS. XXII. Dear , how could I outgo My love in words, who love thee so, That deepest draughts of deepest pleasure, The merry summer's merriest measure. The loveliest progress of the year, Were but a wearisome walk of woe, A funeral march, so slow, so slow, If thou shouldst not be near ? My sun art thou, my tender sun, That opes the sweet buds every one. Each bud, and bell, and fragrant blossom, That yields the rifling of its bosom To the wild spring so fond and free ; And if the sun should suddenly die, All earth were not so sad as I If thou wert gone from me. I love thee, as the stars above Affect the dewdrops of the grove, Which spring in answering pairs together, One star, one earth, and one in ether ; And not that brotherhood, though fixt In Nature's steadfastness, I wis. Is firmer or so firm as this Thyself and me betwixt. MISCELLANEOUS. XXIII. 295 XXIII. INSCRIPTION FC'R A PYRAMID PLANTED WITH FLOWERS, THE TOMB OF A DOG. Look round these shelves, watch how the hungiy bee Sucks there the earliest wood-anemone ; Winks the sly violet here ; the primrose there Lights up its stars upon the shady air;- (18) Yonder the hooded lily meekly dwells ; 'Here the blue hyacinth chimes its massive bells. Is this fond Nature's sport ? No ! human hands Reared the green mount; for Lion's sake it stands : Be thou as humble, loving, true, as he, And some may build as sweet a grave for thee. 296 SHORTER POEMS. XXIV. You bid me sing— what shall I sing ? Of spring and spring's young roses, When hope's sweet breeze is on the wing, And love's sweet bud uncloses ; Or sing of Autumn's sad delay, Trees baring, blossoms blighting, And sleepy clouds before mid-day The golden sun benighting ? O be the song, you say, of spring ! 'Tis fittest so, my dearest, When it is I that strike the string. And thou, sweet love, that hearest; 'Tis fit because in youth and health We two sit here together, Lapped soft and safe in spring-tide's wealth Of flowers and fairest weather. So be it ! — shall I tell thee how In all these pleasures round us. Are mingled snares to overthrow And glories to confound us ? How silently into the breast With these delicious breezes Are drawn deep he^rt-aches unconfest, And treacherous diseases ? MISCELLANEOUS. XXIV. 297 How many a parent's heart hath traced To such an hour as this is The loss which still for him lays waste Our yet unchallenged blisses ; — A pause to see the sunbeams pass, The annual leaves renewing ; An eve spent thus upon the grass, Such talk as ours pursuing ? Nay, nay, not so ! — with Hope, not Fear, Be youth and health acquainted. Nor be the freshness of the year With such sere wisdom tainted : If every tree along the ground The future winds were scenting. Where were the shady arbours found, The summer heart contenting ? Wild works the heart in bondage here. And shall we then unchain it ; No watchful doubt, no prudent fear. To warn it, to. restrain it ? Through rugged roads its path must lie. And places dark and lonely. And shall we teach the untravelled eye To look for sunshine only ? Nay, doubt not, friend, the genial mood, A slavish Fear preferring ; It is not Fear but Gratitude Keeps best the heart from erring : 298 SHORTER POEMS. With finer care she warns, made strong By prescient recollections ; With tenderer foot she treads among The fanciful affections. She never wounds with breath austere The buds of kindly feeling ; With love she works, from love down here To upper love appealing- : By memory stretching to a past Of favours felt already, And faith that holds the future fast She keeps the present steady. A curious eye that asks in all, Whose grace and glory wears it? A heart that listens for the call And answers when it hears it. No more she needs to guide us by Through Earth's most dangerous blisses. Dear friend, have we that watchful eye, And such a heart as this is ? MISCELLANEOUS. XXV. 299 XXV. SONG. LovEST thou streams that swiftly flow, Separating bank from lea ? Yes, thou lovest them well I know — Come, oh come then, come with me ! Lovest thou woods where friendship's flowers Twine around each mossy tree ? Lovest thou heather-twisted bowers ? Come, oh come then, come with me ! Lovest thou in a lonely dell Converse with its Deity ? Yes, I know thou lovest it w^ell. Come, oh come then, come with me ! Bound in Friendship's holiest chain, Dost thou struggle to be free ? Stretch not — strive not — 'tis in vain, Come, oh come then, come with ine ! 300 SHORTER POEMS. XXVI. It may be, must be, that the sky, Encumbered with a cloudy crust, Shall cease to shine ; each lovely ily Lay down its golden panoply And go again to dust ; The leaves must first be scorched, then fall The turf turn grey beneath our feet ; And every flower, and field, and all The bright expanse of winding meads. Grow scentless as they now are sweet ; The sheep and glossy kine must needs Soon cease to low and bleat ; The birds to sing this buxom strain ; Old winter must come back again : But though it be thus surely willed By power that is without. Yet let us with our joy be filled. And have no fear nor doubt ; For if the power within be not Too idle, while the sun is here, The fruit of this our gladder lot, Bright thoughts and fancies clear. MISCELLANEOUS. XXVI. 301 Will yet be stored and unconsumed ; And winter's gloom, thereby illumed, Seem but a tender sweet half-light, Not darker than an autumn night. 302 SHORTER POEMvS. XXVII. I AM rated by my neighbours, I am scoffed at by the wise, That my fancy so o'erlabours For such cold ungrateful eyes. When I tell them all this frowning Is a pretty April mood, They, their brows with wrinkles crowning Question the similitude. — But the clouds at times defiling Thy clear forehead, others see : What proves this but that thy smiling Is reserved, sweet love, for me ? MISCELLANEOUS. XXV ill. 303 xxvm. He sate, no stiller stands a rock, And gazed upon an ancient clock ; He heard its steady even tone, He watched its finger moving on, From one to five, from five to ten, So through its hourly course again. Thus sate he through the livelong day, And as the minutes sped away. So seemed it to the wretch, he felt The life that in his members dwelt (Like waxen image set of old By magic fire with rites untold) Minute by minute, hour by hour. Waste and still waste its vital power. And melt perceptibly away. Thus sate he through the livelong day. Powerless alike for good or ill, Bound hand and foot, a captive still ; Wretched and conscious of his lot. And longed to rise and yet did not. Oh, what a lesson was there told In that wise saw that said of old, '* One half thy will thou sure wilt win So soon as e'er thou darest begin !" 304 SHORTER POEMS. XXIX. TO ONE WEEPING AT THE FALL OF A TREE. Our old Ash gone ? — And why the tear, If it be lopped away ? It is the fate of all things here That they should all decay. But not decayed, but in its bloom, And in its pride of years ; — Asks not at least so sad a doom These unavailing tears ? Nature asks nought that nought avails : Yet give thy heart relief ; There is a spirit in these dales That justifies the grief. Look round ! — we have no purple hills That scale the evening sky ; No far-seen falls of sparkling rills These pastures dignify. Yet have we beauty of our own, A bliss which may we keep ! Which gives our hearts a gentle tone, And teaches us to weep. MISCELLANEOUS. XXIX. 305 Green pastoral fields that for their state Look to the sky above, And on the clouds and sunshine wait With reverential love ; These are our boon : nor fail thereto Calm waters, that appear To watch the fields they wander through, And brighten with the year. Thus all things round us tune, I guess, The spirit and the sense To a dependent tenderness And mutual confidence : And thou mayst weep : for if the tears Raise not the fallen tree, They keep thy heart for other years The closer friend to thee. 306 SHORTER POEMS. XXX. My heart leaps up when I behold A Rainbow in the sky. Wordsworth, It was a day of shower and sun, By summer breezes softly fanned, Among-st the vales and mountains dun, And sprinkled Lakes of Cumberland : Such day as best that land may choose, Where Nature's choicest gifts have striven, And Earth puts forth her freshest hues To sparkle in the light of heaven. I passed along the mountain side, And watched the falling- drops that broke The crystal Lake's transparent tidej While hills beyond in sunshine woke : And marked the gleams that passing o'er Brought out in clear distinctive view The heathered outlines that before Were melted into shapeless blue. But soon a sight of new surprise Called off my thoughts from even flow I saw a rainbow arch arise, And span half-way the vale below. MISCELLANEOUS. XXX. 307 In bold relief it stood displayed Ao-ainst the further mountain's side ; And bolder still in darkest shade Towered up that mountain's loftier pride. Most beautiful it was to trace That blended arch of sparkling rain Rise gently upward from the base, And fall as gently down again. That faultless outline's perfect mould, Those blended hues in fair degree ; But yet, though beauteous to behold, It was no sight of joy to me. For I in southern lands had dwelt, Where hills are low and clouds are high ; And, taught unconsciously, had felt That bow an inmate of the sky. And fondly deemed that arch's span. That soaring pile that sprang to birth, A breadth beyond the reach of man, A height above the touch of earth. It was a shape of joy and praise, The welcome * rainbow in the sky ;' Linked with young childhood's holiest gaee And poets' sweetest minstrelsy, And sight it was of saddening pain To find the covenant bow shrunk down, A humble inmate of the plain, A mountain's tributary crown. 308 SHORTER POEMS. Alas that ignorance chid and taught, Whilst wandering in life's onward maze, Should ever break some clue of thought That leads us back to earlier days ! Alas that knowledge icy cold Should join the humble with the true, To leave us, as its stores are told, The wiser and the poorer too ! Four years, my friend, are passed along. Since thou and I together first Opened that spring of friendship strong, That will not fail our constant thirst. How many a hope that then would rise Hath faded since that time away ; The hues that decked our former skies. The rainbows of an earlier day. How many an end we cherished best, A stay in sorrow and in pain, Has stood discovered and confessed, . Unhallowed, impotent, and vain : And thoughts we deemed of heavenly birth Have proved them sprung from selfish mind, By some tall point of grosser earth That rose above them and behind. Grieve not for these, though bright they shone Far better that our hopes should die. Than vain and dazzled wander on. Unthinking of the purer sky ; MISCELLANEOUS. XXX. 309 The foolish heart would strive to blend The fleeting mist's fallacious hue, The passing tints that vapours lend. With highest heaven's abiding blue. Grieve not for these : nor dare lament That thus from childhood's thoughts we roam : Not backward are our glances bent But forward to our Father's home. Eternal growth has no such fears, But freshening still with seasons past, The old man clogs its earlier years, And simple childhood comes the last. Yes, as each ignorant thought of pride Yields to the touch of wisdom true, Some hateful bar is cast aside That held us from that childhood's view : As each new lesson swells the whole, A new and lasting link is given, Some foretaste of the childlike soul Of such as are the sons of heaven. 310 SHORTER POEMS. XXXI. 'Tis a pleasant shade That winds old Avon's cloven arm, a shade Of beechen boughs, and oak, and starry larch ; And over Aganippe a green birch Hangs down its arms, and with a gentle hand Plays with the water ; flinging buds thereon In spring, and when the flighty summer wind Is higher than his wont, a few bright leaves. At even, when the west is all ablaze, A tender light lies on it, not the sun's 'Tis true, but a delicious yellow haze, Lit by the sun upon the neighbouring isle Which is one sheet of king-cups — 'twere too bright Even thus, if 'twere not for some willow boughs That temper it with dim uncertain grey. Yet though shut out from sunset, deem it not Disconsolate, for through the western firs Come dark red gleams not seldom, and the gnats In their wreathed dance catch oft upon their wings. The light, and fling it down upon the stream. MISCELLANEOUS. XXXII. 311 XXXII. My window bower is ^reen and bright. Though something of an autumn light Is hiding in the leaves, A lustre warm and rich yet clear, That hints the tender Season near Which smiles as it bereaves. My fuchsia buds grov/ somewhat pale, And should a harsher air prevail Than lifts June's lazy boughs, Silently circling down the breeze A leaf or two from yonder trees The warning voice allows. So sang I, — when the Summer leant On Autumn's breast in gay content. And felt no deeper care Than gratifies a happy soul, If thus at times the Suitor stole A lock of her bright hair. 312 SHORTER POEMS. I have lived round the year : I saw The summer loveliness withdraw, The winter blank succeed : The heart that gleans as it should glean Will know what nature's warnings mean, And listen and take heed. MISCELLANEOUS. XXXIII. 313 XXXIII. A REQUEST AND THE ANSWER. '* Give me one Thought of thine, to be '* A living' monument of thee ; " Though soon obscured, though soon forgot, ' ' The thoughts of mortals perish not ; "' There is a time when all shall come, " Like trooping sprites, to hear their doom; '' All on the opening mind shall blaze, " The gathered lights of many days. " All live till then ; that judgment past, " Thoughts fair and fruitful only last. " Then give one Thought, 'twill last, though frail, " At least till earth's foundations fail. " And haply then, to Heaven preferred, " Live in its archives registered." Askest thou a thought ? Ah ! what is thought ? A fleeting shade ; a thing of nought. Sitting on babbling lips, whose cry Lures onward iron Poverty ; A nerveless shape ; an ice-cold flame ; An idol ; now a chance-born name, Now flaunting in the eyes of men. Now lurking in some lonely den ; A coin to cheat with ; or a stone 314 SHORTER POEMS. Transmitting lustre not its own. Yet what so cheap ? let one receive Expression, hundreds more will heave Ready for life ; as on the shore One sparkling wave may break and roar For myriads more that swell and strain. Far in the deep unbroken main. Ten thousand beams are lost in space For one that lights a planet's face ; The dull dead earth drinks up the shower, One raindrop gems the living flower ; While bowing foliage strains the root Few leaves protect the nestling fruit ; So thoughts are countless, truths are few, That thought is nought which tells not true. Then ask not such ; their tinsel light May ill befit the pageant bright, Passions unfeigned, the issuing train That thickly throng another's brain ; Who, wise in time, hath cared to stay Their footsteps ere they passed away. The solar fountain glows and burns, Cold beams the musing moon returns ; Mine, like the phantom fires that flame On Hecat's altar, scarce may claim To mix their lamp with torches bright From Nature's hearth, true vestal light ; For, be the fuel pure or foul, Not Thought but Passion fires the soul. MISCELLANEOUS. XXXTII. 315 Passionless thoughts are mine, nor dare Thy high theatric pomp to share ; Nor should they, knew I not the glow Of torches lit at hearths we know, How ill strange fire in Fancy's eye With such auspicious light may vie ; The priceless value of a weed When much-loved soil hath nursed the seed ; A fruitless flower, a thought, a name. Prized for the place from which they came. Take, then, this thought, the end will shew Whether 'tis vanity or no. — Few rightly name the name of Love, Who never sought its source above ; Few save the heaven-taught bard could tell Of that mysterious chain that fell From Jove's high throne, its mighty girth Binding to heaven the balanced earth. Who ne'er has learnt the fruitful end For which he lives, nor striven to bend Heart, mind, and will, to that high goal Lacks Love's full brightness in his soul. 316 SHORTER POEMS. XXXIV. ON A MELANCHOLY BIRTHDAY SONG. Not rightly they who have ere while essayed The celebration of Time's turning days, A finger of high praise Upon their harps have laid, And tuned a lofty measure Of hope, and youth, and pleasure, And joys of life more sweet that they are yet delayed ; They should have wailed and wept, And thought of things undone and things gone by, And them who kept Their rest beneath the turf so silently. Yet hark ! ev'n they, The noisy dancers round Time's rolling wheel, When for themselves the lay Hath been awaked, by what they/eeZ Taught truth they knew not when 'twas faraway. Have let the music steal Far up and down among the Years, Kissing with faint and farewell kisses The olden joys it misses. As each appears ; MISCELLANEOUS. XXXIV. 317 As 'twere the odour of a dying flower, With sad soft visiting, Searching each nook of that despoiled bower Which thrilled beneath its fragrance in the spiing. 318 SHORTER POEMS. XXXV. ON VISITING A WILD BEAST SHOW AFTER AN EVENING WALK. Sunset and these fierce sounds, the brazen Eve And these wild Asian voices, 'tis no wrong To Nature's sing-le heart to join them thus. So thought I to subdue the intruding doubt With reason's reedy spear : I might have won And taught my heart to go astray for years, But for one little thing, no more than this. Where our dear spring goes trickling silently Into the deeper stream (no gentle wind That glides into the deep of the air, more still) An hour before I stood. Quiet was there, All quiet, the deep quiet of the eve, The deeper quiet of Love, for he with me Stood looking on that little trickling stream Whom I love more than life, and in whose love I taste that calm I never knew before, The quiet of a satisfied heart. The west Meanwhile was tossing in the setting sun, Billowy calm, and wild volcanic surf, A sea of golden fire ! But all the storm Was noiseless, so the mind, being undisturbed By terror, could enjoy the unreal shew, And to its peace add yet the accessional calm MISCELLANEOUS. XXXV. 319 Of fancy in fruition. All this peace Fell round us, him and me, in Holbrook Copse ; And twinkling' leaves, and folded daisy buds, Bent for repose, the gnats, and the dimming' distance, And all the usual remembrancers Of rest and slumber, could not move us more. Then the dear company of our English birds, Cuckoo, and the wooden-throated crake, and lark Whose heart outswells his bosom, these we left In their last ecstasy, and I, alone. Entered the throno^ed menas^erie. The shock Was broken by sweet music, and at first I felt not aught unfitting. There around Was all that beauty, beauty of colour, and form, And power, and dim association. Which I have loved since childhood, haply then : The leopard, that among my nightly dreams Hath laid his snowy lip to Junga's wave At noon or the Indian eve, while over him The oleander held a tender shade Of pale pink tremulous iiowers ; and there as well The lion lay asleep, or half awake Lifted a grave slow eye, till I could think The light distilled through palm leaves, and the ground Bestrewn with withered dates ; and there besides Were all the Southern Americ's gorgeous birds, And Africa's fair serpents. Yet ere long Came doubt lest I profaned the quiet eve 320 SHORTER POEMS. 1 I quitted for these wonders. Reason wove A cunning web, and nature's unseen hand Untwined it ; I was vexed with painful doubts ; And all the calm that I had gathered up Into the garner of my heart, from eve And love, was wasting. Then a little voice Pierced through that discord of the heart and head ; A little voice, one same, low, plaintive note, The coo of a caged stock-dove. Instantly I did abjure all doubt, and put away All trouble and unrest, and though I stayed For others' sakes in that hot booth, meanwhile My heart was with my love in Holbrook Copse. MISCELLANEOUS. XXXVI. 321 XXXVI. THE MOON WHOM CAPTIVES LOVE. Smile of the moon ! — for so I name That silent greeting- from above ; A gentle flash of light that came From her whom drooping captives love. THE LAMEXX OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. WOEDSWORTH. He knew thee well, fair Queen of Night, Who named thee her whom captives love : For then methinks the harred delight Doth not so painfully invite ; And all the walks by hill and grove Put on a calm pictorial mien, As less to be desired than seen. Not she alone whose woe-worn eyes In many a noontide's glowing mood Saw joy they could not recognize : Not she alone hath learned to prize The stiller bliss ; and understood That raptures which do not repress Out of themselves their own excess, Make an imperfect happiness. At such an hour a lovelier heart Than dwelt in Scotland's lovely queen, 322 SHORTER POEMS. Learned too the self-consoling art ; Rent his dark prison's walls apart, While his clear spirit walked unseen In realms as glorious as the mind Can reach when earth is left behind. Honour to Raleigh — deathless name ! Honour and pity : never a star Breathes from the height of noble fame A tenderer or a brighter flame ; With him all gentle fancies are, That hedge from Time's desire the great, The good, and the unfortunate. He through his bars a wandering eye (No truant to the heart at home) Sent often when the moon was high, While gleams as silver as the sky From gabled roof, and spire, and dome. Told still of life, but life subdued To silence and to solitude. So works the Earth to comfort all : And thus by many a change benign She answers every nature's call : And every ill that can befall Our spirit hath its medicine ; Hath hours, when all the world seems bent, To ease its private discontent ! MISCELLANEOUS. XXXVIT. 323 XXXVII. TRANSLATION. jENEID XI. 342 — 377. Turn Drances idem infensus, quem gloria Turni Obliqua invidia stimulisque agitabat amaris, Surgit et his onerat dictis atque aggerat iras. Matter to none obscure, nor our poor voice Requiring takest thou counsel of, g-ood king ! What end the fortune of our nation brings AH know, allow they knoAv, yet dread to speak. He must first give them liberty of speech, Unloose their prisoned breath, by whose advice. Ill-omened, and whose manners ill-severe. So many leaders' eyes have closed, — through whom Our city sits together in our sight One company of mourners, while he tries The Troian camp (his confidence in flight) And startles heaven with arms. Most excellent king ! One gift yet farther to those gifts proposed, Propitiation to the Dardanids, One only gift add more — thy virgin child. Her, let the violence of none withstand But that her father to a son-in-law Most noble, nuptials worthy, do present ; 324 SHORTER POEMS. With an eternal bond sealing this peace. But if a fear so terrible possess Our hearts and minds, himself let us entreat, From him beseech our pardon for the deed ; Let him give up the maid, — to king and country Yield of his grace their own ! Why, why so oft Dost thou fling out upon this naked peril The wretched citizens, head of Latium's woe ? No help is there in war, peace ask we all, Turnus, and peace's only certain pledge. I first, thy fancied foe, ready to bear That name in truth, if need be, — see ! I come A suppliant : have thou pity on thy friends, Subdue thy soul, be vanquished and depart ! Enough already of defeat and death Have we beheld, and mighty fields laid waste. Or if fame move thee so, if in thy breast So strongly breed the valour, and so sweet The indowered sceptre seem, have then thy will, Offer the foe with confidence thy breast. So Turnus gets his royal wife, and we (Cheap lives) are indistinguishably strewn Upon the earth, unburied, unbewailed ! Now, if thou darest, aught if thou possess Of that thy lineal valour, look in the face Him who now calls thee ! Kindled the fire in Turnus' heart thereat ; Groaning, from out the bottom of his breast Break forth these words. DARKNESS DEPARTED. STANZAS INTRODUCTORY. My Lute, since Love enslaved thy numbers A change hath passed across the strings, And thou hast caught in peaceful slumbers A vision of serener things ; And Passion's wayward flight is over ; And Fancy's fever-fit is past ; And all tlie tumults of the lover Are settled in the friend at last ! 'Tis true, my heart with fresher blossom Is green — but there is none for thee — Oh how the tongue belies the bosom ! O take thy choice most full and free ; If I have stayed the hasty finger, That long ere this thy strings had drest, Believe, be sure, I did but linger To judge which seemed the worthiest. And I have judged, and I will gather, And I will twine my fau-est flowers, Sweet Peace, and Love, that bloom the rather For wintry winds and clouded hours ; That Peace, the ever-green unfailing, Whicb screens the soul from storms of sin ; That Christian Love that lies exhaling Its odorous incense safe within. My gentle Lute, full many a folly Hath erst been wedded to thy chords ; 328 STANZAS INTRODUCTORY. Wild Love, distempered Melancholy, And fondest knots of fondest words : O be that use forgot, forgiven ! Let mirth give place to thoughts more meet. And earthly weeds to flowers of heaven SuiTender, fairer in defeat ! Some herbs earth's valleys have about them, To human hearts so sweet and dear. That heaven's own amaranths without them Could seem but dull and scentless here ; Henceforth may such mixed garlands cherish Thy new-strung chords, my gentle lute, Or let the frailer flowerets perish ! And 5'^e, loved strings, be mute ! be mute ! DARKNESS DEPARTED. (19) Alone, alone, quite desolate. My friends afar, or cold, In study's self-deceiving state My weary watch I hold. But oh ! I study not ; the book Upon my knee may lie ; 'Tis all unread ; I only look Upon the starry sky. Sometimes unto the page I turn. But oh ! 'tis all in vain ; My head swims round, my eye-balls burn, Till I look up again. And wandering thought will ever stray To those bright stars above, And think of her as far away. And her as watchful love, 330 SHORTER POEMS. II. How often sit I, twining" sand; In all my dark to-come, Striving but vainly to command One sunny spot for home ; One slip of green whereon to set A home where I might lie, And looking downwards half forget The black o'erhanging sky ! DARKNESS DEPARTED. III. 331 III. They ask me if I have not ^ot Some secret in my brain, I say, Oh yes ! now guess ye what — Nay, prithee, guess again. They say, Some lady's smiles are hid. He is in love, you know : Now very God in heaven forbid That love should e'er be so ! No ! 'tis not love, for love is made Of joy and pain mixed up, And this to my cold lips conveyed Is an unmingled cup : I have no hopes and secret smiles To cheat me of my sleep ; Me of my rest no bliss beguiles, I lie awake to weep ! For love, the flower, is dead and dry ; Its blossom died before ; I but remember with a sigh What blessed hues it wore. It was the first, best, only Plant That in my garden grew ; And I must love it, though it want Its olden scent and hue. 332 SHORTER POEMS. So 'tis love's ghost who dwells with me, A thin and bloodless shade, And me almost as thin as he His company hath made. My diet — how I sleep and eat, May others never know ! My rest is on dead hopes, my meat Is words said long ago. And so they tell me I am pale, And in my youth look old, — I marvel that a sadder tale Hath not ere this been told ; The tempest now hath been so long And fierce above my head. If I had not been young and strong I long since had been dead. But no, I cannot wholly die, For God who reigns above Knows that I could not upwards fly ; My wings are tied by love. I cannot win my thoughts away From this world's pain and sorrow ; Methinks I scarce could kneel and pray If I must die to-morrow. No ! my dead heart may not awake ; 'Tis buried in the earth ; 'Twere likelier that a corpse should break His coffin and come forth. DARKNESS DEPARTED. III. 333 Love dying drew with it my heart, My heart holds down my soul ; I cannot rend the links apart, And I must lose the whole. I speak with calmness, yet I know Full well the words I say : 1 thought of them so long ago, They give small pain to-day. And this it is whose deadly shade Hath killed my hopes of joy ; And me so pale and thin hath made, And aged while a boy. 334 SHORTER POEMS. IV. My store of love is gathered in, And never may I seek ag-ain. For mine own gain, the smiles to win Which men throw carelessly to men ; To know they are mine own, no chance Directing, but an earnest eye, Which sends to mine the meaning glance Of mutual fealty. As I have done, no more do I : Again I may not wander forth To tend the sympathies that lie Uncared for on the thriftless earth. Till the waste plant grow up apace, A pleasant bower, a shady tree ; To many souls a resting-place, A very home to me ! DARKNESS DEPARTED. V. 335 V. This one sad truth how truly keep The faithless host of years, That he who sows in smiles shall reap In unavailino' tears : o That though Joy's beams a moment shroud Our pilgrimag-e of pain, 'Tis but a Rainbow, and the cloud Will soon be black again. 336 SHORTER POEMS. VI. Let me return ! — I have not found The treasure which I hid of old, Or deemed I hid, amidst the sound Of these dark billows pacing round, A young heart's blessed hopes profound, And quietness untold. At even, when the parting sun Outspread his glowing wings for flight, I came, and in the twihght dun Hid many joys, and many an one In the blue vest of night ; Joys gathered from the day ; the thought Of smiles from eyes that loved me breaking And lightning looks from clouded wrought ; And things to others that seemed nought. To me sweet pastime making. These I hid here by this dread sea, Among these rocks so drear and lone ; And deemed I had whereto to flee If darker days should come to me ; DARKNESS DEPARTED. VI. 337 And darker days are come to me, And now my hoard is gone ! And now all stern is nature's face ; And fervent souls, though wounded, high, Brook ill her only grudging grace, The loneness of the desert place, And the o'er-brooding sky. And hearts not thankless yet must long For other sights and sounds than these ; The striving, unattaining throng Of waves rolled fruitlessly along, And the dull galleyslave-like song Of the laborious seas. Let me return, before the throne Of human sympathy to kneel, If there be such ; — if not, my own Close heart shall better mourn alone, Than grieve to this unhearing stone. And sea that cannot feel. Again be yours your solitude, Unlistening Rocks and scornful Sea ! No more upon your haughty mood My tones of sorrow shall intrude, Ye are too high for me ! I came to you, my old repose, The peace of happier days to find ; 338 SHORTER POEMS. And I have learned how Nature grows More niggard as our need she knows, And lets her sun but shine for those That have a sunny mind. DARKNESS DEPARTED. VII. 339 VII. A FAREWELL TO AN OLD SET OF COLLEGE ROOMS. Farewell, old rooms, both good and ill Have passed in you, and must do still ; Though to others be the fears, Hopes, and happiness, and tears. Life must be a mingled cup, Joy and sorrow make it up, Lovings, hatings, comings, leavings, Hopings, trustings, undeceivings. Ah ! 'tis sometimes hard to know If the weal exceed the woe, Or the bitter overflow. You, old walls, have seen me lie On my tossed bed sleeplessly. While I thought of them that lay Cold, and dead, and far away ; Him beside the soft wave hidden, Once by Roman bark beridden, When the laurelled conqueror brought Good and evil strangely wrought. Arts and knowledge, shame and fear, 340 SHORTER POEMS. To the barbarian islander ; Or the milder face of him Nursed in valleys deep and dim, Where the soul of man is bent, Nature's kindly instrument, To the still and holy mood Of the Alpine solitude. Them I thought of, gently healing Festered wounds of slighted feeling, With the knowledge sure and dear That, had they but tarried here, I had never wiped as now Icy drops from friendless brow : And the thought, like gentle words Sweetly tuned to holy chords, Lulled my throbbing heart to rest, With another still more blest That in all the sore distress Of my longing loneliness. Selfish wish had never risen To recall them to their prison. Who on unbound wings had fled To be happy overhead. Hours like these have shed a gloom O'er my little cheerful room, Yet the shade is put to flight By such pleasure as to-night : Words of chance have taken root. DARKNESS DEPARTED. VII. 341 Hidden seed hath come to fruit ; Light of pleasant eyes is on me, Words of love are showered upon me ; And I come, by music led Of those loving words so said, From the shades as dark to me As Tartarus to Eurydice. Such a blending comes to me, Old room, when I look on thee : First 1 count my former weeping, Day with day sad Lent-tide keeping. Fasting from the soul's delight, Loving nought but coming night, Night again with answering sorrow Loving nought but coming morrow, Day and night w^ith one same chain Bounden, running round again ; Then my callous heart unhardens, Like the earth of frost-bound gardens. When the earliest crocus peeps. And the snow-drop slily weeps Tears of pleasure to the sun ; And my tears as freely run. Joyous tears ; — the balmy rain Of love's spring come back again. Now farewell, if not in sorrow I forsake you, by to-morrow 342 SHORTER POEMS. Will come something, not regret But a feeling kindlier yet, The serene memorial mood, And a little gratitude. OBSERVATIONS. What is usually said at the beginning of a vo- lume I propose to say here, between the text and the notes. Dryden remarks (in one of his admi- rable introductions, if I rightly remember), that a man's powers may be judged by his work, his common sense by his preface. Perhaps a fear to meet this criterion makes me thus disguise it : at any rate, as the matter of a preface is usually some expression of personal opinion, it seems to me more fitting that it should be delivered here in the privacy, as it were, of the 340th page, than that it should thrust itself upon the reader in the opening of the book. There are several poems, I am aware, among the foregoing which will be by many objected to, as too open revelations of private feeling. This very common objection seems to me to be founded on a misapprehension, or only a partial apprehen- sion of what poetry is (using the word in its abstract sense), and consequently of the sort of critical judgment to which it is liable. As explanations come always with a better grace volunteered than demanded, I shall anticipate the courtesy due to 344 OBSERVATIONS. an accused person by stating, as shortly as I can, why the objection appears to me an unfair one. Most justly is the practice of poetical composi- tion called the poetical Art ; for the experience of all ages has shewn clearly enough that through his art alone can the poet face the changes of taste and time. But if there is an art to exhibit, there must be a power also to conceive. This, of course, is nothing new ; and no one, when it is put to him in this form, would think of denying it. But the human mind, generally, holds intellectual truth with a grasp at least as weak and unsure as it holds truth moral or spiritual. We shall see the injustice which is done by a partial recognition of the poet's twofold character, as a conceiver and as an artist ; and those who will may think of the pain which it has caused. In society, and in all matters that concern the Man himself, the Poet's character as a Conceiver is not only acknowledged but often unjustly ex- alted. He is so generally looked upon as the only possessor of the " mens divinior," or, in the common term, inspiration, that many a man, not enough remembering that his talents are not his own, has avoided exhibiting poetical powers that he may have possessed, from a vague notion that he should thereby be assuming what he might feel to be an unjust, or at any rate an unpleasant, superiority over other men. In the same manner as the Watchmaker, or any other Craftsman, claims a OBSERVATIONS. 345 superiority over those who are ignorant of his craft, the poet does indeed claim a superiority over other men ; and he claims an additional superiority as a conceiver over those who are not conceivers. But the astronomer, the historian, the sculptor, the painter, the musical composer, are as much Conceivers, and as much enjoy their inspiration, as the poet who among- us is the only one who receives the glory ; and I suppose that there have been persons in modern times as well as ancient who have felt even Terpsichore to be a genuine Muse. But while the Man has been reaping in society the benefit of the exaggeration of his character as a Conceiver, ample revenge is being taken on his Work by a like exaggeration in literature of the other half of his character, his character as an Artist. As a Conceiver, his power is drawn from all the faculties of his nature, his perception, his invention, his reflection, his imagination, and his heart. As an Artist, he works from the judgment and the power of language only. Now the true criticism to which every literary work is justly liable is the reduction of it to that faculty from which it set out; just as the correctness of an arithmetical sum is proved by doing it backwards. And now to apply what has been said to the point I have been trying to prove, — the unrea- sonableness, namely, of the common objection to poetry involving to any extent an exhibition of 346 OBSERVATIONS. private feeling. The process is short. The con- ceiver is in this case drawing his power from the Heart alone, and to the Heart alone therefore must the result be submitted. The wording indeed of such poems may fairly be challenged by the judg- ment, for this is an exercise of the art ; but if the feeling be not responded to, what is proved but that the heart which calls, or that which refuses answer is diseased ? And what then the alterna- tive but the silence of compassion or the silence of self- accusation ? Here, then, is no room for cri- ticism, and to one, I think, who feels the solemnity which surrounds every phase of a human Soul, there is still less room for disgust. So much I have said" at the risk of appearing dogmatical, because I would willingly undergo the blame if the sacredness of such revelations may be at no less price defended. But is the reader uncon- vinced by what I have written ? Then let him be persuaded by what I shall quote. The following passage is from an Edinburgh Review of twenty years ago, and I think its eloquence will excuse its length. It is but fair to say, that the critic is speaking of a ''^ great poet," but if what he says be true at all, it must also be applicable in pro- portion to every one who is really a poet, and not (to use Carlyle's fearless vernacular) a '* sham." " Each of us," says this writer, '' must have been aware in himself of a singular illusion by which these disclosures, when read with that tender OBSERVATIONS. 347 or high interest which attaches to poetry, seem to have something" of the nature of private and confi- dential communications. They are not felt, while we read, as declarations published to the world, — but almost as secrets whispered to chosen ears. Who is there that feels, for a moment, that the voice which reaches the inmost recesses of his heart is speaking to the careless multitudes around him ? Or, if we do so remember, the words seem to pass by others like air, and to find their way to the hearts for whom they were intended, — kindred and sympathizing spirits, who discern and own that secret language, of which the privacy is not vio- lated, though spoken in the hearing of the un- initiated, — because it is not understood. There is an unobserved beauty that smiles on us alone ; and the more beautiful to us, because we feel as if chosen out from a crowd of lovers. Something analogous to this is felt in the grandest scenes of Nature and of Art. Let a hundred persons look from a hill-top over some transcendent landscape. Each will select from the wide-spread glory at his feet, for his more special love and delight, some different gleam of sunshine, — or solemn grove, — or embowered spire, — or brown-mouldering ruin, — or castellated cloud. During their contemplation, the soul of each man is amidst its own creations, and in the heart of his own solitude ; — nor is the depth of that solitude broken though it lies open to the sunshine, and before the eyes of unnumbered 348 OBSERVATIOT^S. spectators. * * * * But there are other reasons why we read with complacency writings which, by the most public declaration of our most secret feelings, ought, it might seem, to shock and revolt our sym- pathy. A great poet may address the whole world in the language of intensest passion, concerning objects of which, rather than speak, face to face, with anyone human being on earth, he would perish in his misery. For it is in solitude that he utters what is to be wafted by all the winds of heaven. There are, during his inspiration, present with him only the shadows of men. He is not daunted, or perplexed, or disturbed, or repelled, by real living breathing features. He can updraw just as much as he chooses of the curtain that hangs between his own solitude and the world of life. He thus pours his soul out, partly to himself alone, — partly to the ideal abstractions and impersonated images that float round him at his own conjuration, — and partly to human beings like himself, moving in the dark distance of the every day world. He con- fesses himself not before men, but before the Spirit of Humanity." More might yet be said, I think, touching what has been yet omitted, the necessities, namely, of what is called the poetical temperament, but after this magnificent passage I am not inclined to try to say it. NOTES. NOTES. I WISH to remark, that four poems in the volume were not written by me. There are reasons why the discerning Public must be left to distinguish them for herself ; no preference that she may give to them can mortify me, for they were written by those to whom I would willingly resign much more valuable considerations than praise. Note 1. Page 3. Yet for the vision's splendour that hath been. " The youth who daily farther from the East Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended." Wordsworth. Note 2. Page 37. And she arose unto the light and shook The flood-drift from her face. " And shook the flood-drift from her clouded face." This is a line, and I think a striking one, from a prize poem by a schoolfellow on the subject of " The Ark on the Moun- tains of Ararat." Note 3. Page 37. The green leaves whiten ever restlessly. " L'uliva in qualche dolce piaggia aprica Secondo il vento par or verde or bianca." These lines, to which I am indebted for the image in the 352 NOTES. text (the willow here answering- to the olive of the southern landscape), are quoted by Roscoe as a specimen of Lorenzo de' Medici's poetical powers, and indifferently translated by the biographer into the following oily couplet : " On some sweet sunny slope the olive grows, Its hues still changing as the zephyr blows." Note 4. Page 40. The wedded boughs of interwoven pines. The expression " wedded boughs" is to be found in the following passage of Shelley's Alastor : " Like restless serpents, clothed In rainbow and in fire, the parasites Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around The grey trunks, and as gamesome infant's eyes. With gentle meanings and most innocent wiles, Fold their beams round the hearts of those that love, These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs. Uniting their close union." It was by accident that I became aware of having borrowed here, and I dare say that there are many cases where I have borrowed and am still unaware of it. Note 5. Page 45. A tree of fire. " Branchy flame," or some like expression, implying the obvious image used in the text, is to be read in one (I cannot remember which) of Ebenezer Elliot's Poems. I do not mention this to own an obligation in this case, for I had not been happy enough to read any of Elliot's poems, I believe, when the line in question was written, but to gain an op portunity of offering my humble tribute of admiration to a o^reat Poet. Note 6. Page 58. The drear blank height. NOTES. 353 " Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry, hold, hold !" Macbeth. It was Coleridge's admirable suggestion (whether right or wrong) that " blanket " here was a corruption of " blank height." Note 7. Page 113. Song. I think it as well to mention, that this song and one or two other poems that may seem to be of the same spirit, were written when I was very young, and are only retained as specimens. The same apology ought to be made for two among the Occasional Sonnets, called Venus Emergens. Any one, however, will see there that they were written when I knew no more about a sonnet than that it was to contain fourteen lines. Note 8. Page 186. In thine innocence will I he calm^ and in thy goodness gay . " Serene as Innocence, as Goodness gay." This line is from " The Reigning Vice," a poem by a friend, exhibiting powers of satire which one is (juite as well sa- tisfied that one's friends in general should not possess. He has not chosen to put his name upon the title page, or I would make a public appeal to him to let the world see the beautiful poems which he yet withholds from it. Note 9. Page 196. The golden waves from that rich land retreating. How I came to forget that the Mediterranean tide is so slight as to be unnoticeable I do not know, especially as in the neighbour sonnet, which was written at the same period, the peculiarity is dwelt upon : the mistake, however, was made, and the rhyme has nailed it. 354 NOTES. Note 10. Page 198. And see the brine Is hercy the mindful Sea's commemoration, Annually served, of brotherhood in birth. In the Monsoon season the floor of this cave is covered with salt water. Note 11. Page 199. Sonnet. Either a superstitious regard for truth, or a wish to keep my verses as free as possible from the suspicion of " shams," makes me confess that 1 never did meet the dawn in the way here described. If any one would suggest how the sonnet could be so altered as to preserve the truth and the simile together, I should be very glad to adopt the alteration. Note 12. Page 208. Not that immortal Mantuan's tender strain. The allusion is to the Episode of Nisus and Euryalus, which seems to me unequalled in pathos by any story ever told. The sonnets of Shakspeare, which are alluded to in the next line, are very lovely, and very little admired. Note 13. Page 209. '* A garland fashioned of the pure white rose.'' The line is from the XX Vth of Mr. Wordsworth's " Son- nets Dedicated to Liberty," Part I. Note 14. Page 224. Sonnets to the Poet Wordsworth. It is worth while saying, to free me from the suspicion of adulation in case these sonnets should ever come under Mr. Wordsworth's eye, that they were written after accidentally meeting him in society, and when I had no idea that I should NOTES. 355 ever have the happiness of seeing more of the venerable Poet. The feeling is therefore genuine, however awkwardly expressed. Note 15. Page 245. Sonnet after reading a book of Eastern Travels. The book in question was Major Skinner's Travels, a book made delightful by the good spirits of the writer. The epithet *' sweet " here applied to the desert is only proper in spring, when it is covered with flowers, geraniums and mignonette being the commonest. Note 16. Page 264. Airs of grace. " She calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace." shakspeare. Note 17. Page 278. The allusions to Milton and Shakspeare in this stanza do not need particularizing. Note 18. Page 295. The primrose there Lights up her stars upon the shady air. I am glad that I have an opportunity of adding another to the public requests already made to Mr. Sidney Walker to allow his MS. poems to be printed ; private request appears to be utterly in vain ; and the poems, which are remarkable for a melody and imagery alike delicate and exquisite, are left to the enjoyment of his friends alone in the perishable shape of loose sheets of paper. The idea in the text was, I believe, taken from one of these secreted compositions. Note 19. Page 329. Darkness Departed. I wish to say, that the Poems under this title were written 356 NOTES. during that unsettled state of mind which I suppose most men sometime or other in their lives must pass through ; a state which, however morhid in itself, may be necessary to the formation of a sure and settled health. -"HE END. C. W liittingham, looks Court, Chancery Lane. .♦^' ■^■, *^ '-.: ,0- ^^^^• ^^^^^' ^^>^^^' --'^i&"L '^^'^ #'^- ^c.. ■'^ ^3^ .V c« <^^>v^ •0' V- ^^.% x^^.. oo' ,^\ ■"i^. 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