AtI AU TP D gI
AND OTHER POEaMS.








MAUD,
AND P
OTHER POE3aS.
BY
ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C. L.,
POET LAUREATE.
BOSTON:
TICKN()OR AND FIELDS.
D DCCCLVI.




Stereotyped by
HOBART & ROBBINS,
-New England Type and Stereotype Foundery,
BosTroN.




CO N T E N T So
MAUD.   O.  7
THE BROOK: AN IDYL.....      1o 
THE LETTERS........... 121
ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON        127
THE DAISY......                    143
TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE,                o..    15
WILL..........O   E         o.     155
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE        o... 157








M AU t D.
I RATE  the  dreadful hollow  behind  the little
wood,
Its lips in the field above are dabbled with bloodred heath,
The red-ribb'd ledges drip with a silent horror of
blood,
And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers' Death,'




8                    MAUD.
20
For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was
found,
His who had given me life 0- father! 0 God!
was it well? —
Mangled, and flatten'd, and crush'd, and dinted. into
the ground:
There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he
fell.
Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a great
speculation had fail'd,
And ever he mutter'd and madden'd, and ever
wann'd with despair,
And out he walk'd when the wind like a broken
worldling wail'd,
And the flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands drove
thro' the air.




MAIAUD.                   9
4,
I remember the time, for the roots of my hair were
stirr'd
By a shuffled step, by a dead weight traild, by a
whisper'd fright,
And nay pulses closed their gates with a shock on
my heart as I heard
The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the
shuddering night.
Villany somewhere! whose?  One says, we are
villains all.
Not he: his honest fame should at least by me be
maintain'd
But that old man, now lord of the broad estate and
the Hall,
Dropt off gorged from a scheme that had left us
flaccid and drain'd.




10                     MAUD.
6.
Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? we
have.made them a curse,
Pickpockets, each hand. lusting for all that is not its
own;
And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or
Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his
own hearthstone?'But these acre the days of advance, the works of the
mnen of mind,
When rwho  but a fool would  have  faith in a
tradesman's ware or his word?
Is it peace or war?  Civil war, as I think, and that
of a kind
The viler, as underhand, not openly bearing the
sword.




MAUD.                   11
8.
Sooner or later I too may passively take the
print
Of the golden age -why not? I have neither hope
nor trust;
May make my heart as a millstone, set my face as
a flint,
Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are
ashes and dust.
Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days
gone by,
WVhen the poor are hovell'd and hustled together,
each sex, like swine,
When only the ledger lives, and when only not all
men lie;
Peace in her vineyard — yes!    but a company
forges the wine.




12                    MAUD.
10.
And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's
head,
Till the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the
trampled wife,
While chalk and alum  and plaster are sold  to
the poor for bread,
And the spirit of murder works in the very means
of life.
11.
And Sleep must lie down arm'd, for the villanous
centre-bits
Grind on the wakeful ear in the hush of the moonless
nights,
While another is cheating the sick of a few last
gasps, as he sits
To pestle a poison'd poison behind his crimson
lignts.




rAUJD.                   13
12.
When a Mammnonite mother kills her babe for a
burial fee,
And Timour-Manmmon grins on a pile of children's
bones,
Is it peace or war? better, war! loud war by land
and by sea,
War with a thousand battles, and shaking a hundred
thrones.
13.
For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round
by the hill,
And the rushing battle-bolt sang from  the threedecker out of the foam,
That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap
from his counter and till,
And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating
yard-wand, home.




14                   IAUD.
14.
7here  are workmen  up at the Hall: they are
coming back from abroad,
The dark old place will be gilt by the touch of a
millionnaire 
I have heard, I cknow not whence, of the singular
beauty of Miaud,
I play'd with the girl when a child; she promised
then to be fair.
15.
Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles
and childish escapes,
Maud the delight of the village, the ringing joy of
the Hall,
Maud with her sweet purse-mouth when my father
dangled the grapes,
Maud the beloved of my mother, the moon-faced
darling of all,



MSAUD.                   15
16.
What is she now?  My dreams are bad.  She may
bring me a curse.
No, there is fatter game on the moor; she will let
mPe alone.
Thanks, for the fiend best knows whether woman
or man be the worse.
I will bury myself in my books, and the Devil may
pipe to his own.




16                    MAUD.
IlI
LONG have I sigh'd for a calm: God grant I may
find it at last!
It will never be broken by Maud, she has neither
savor nor salt,
But *a cold and clear-cut face, as I found when her
carriage past,
Perfectly beautiful: let it be granted her: where is
the fault?
All that I saw (for her eyes were downcast, not to
be seen)
Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null,
Dead perfection, no more; nothing  nore, if it had
not been




MAUD.                      17
For a chance of travel, a paleness, an hour's defect
of the rose,
Or an underlip, you may call it a little too ripe,
too full,
Or the least little delicate aquiline curve in a
sensitive nose,
From which I escaped heart-free, with the least
little touch of spleen.
2




18                   MUD.
II.
COLD and clear-cut face, why come you so cruelly
meek,
Breaking a slumber in which all spleenful folly was
drown'd,
Pale with the golden beam of an eyelash dead on
the cheek,
Passionless, pale, cold face, star-sweet on a gloom
profound;
Womanlike, taking revenge too deep for a transient
wrong
Done but in thought to your beauty, and ever as
pale as before
Growing and fading and growing upon me without
a sound,




MAUD.                  19
Luminous, gemlike, ghostlike, deathlike, half the
night long
Growing and fading and growing, till I could bear
it no more,
But arose, and all by myself in my own dark garden
ground,
Listening now to the tide in its broad-flung shipwrecking roar,
Now to the scream of a madden'd beach dragg'd
down by the wave,
Walk'd in a wintry wind by a ghastly glimmer, and
found
The shining daffodil dead, and Orlon low in his
grave.




20                   BIAUD.
IV.
1.
A MILLION emeralds break from  the ruby-budded
lime
In the little grove where I sit —ah, wherefore
cannot 1 be
Like things of the season gay, like the bountiful
season bland,
When the far-off sail is blown by the breeze of a
softer clime,
Half-lost in the liquid azure bloom  of a crescent
of sea,
The silent sapphire-spangled marriage ring of the.and?




MAUD).                   21
2.
Below me, there, is the village, and looks how quiet
and small!
And yet bubbles o'er like a city, with gossip, scandal,
and spite;
And Jack on his ale-house bench has as many lies
as a Czar;
And here on the landward side, by a red rock,
glimmers the Hall;
And up in the high Hall-gaiden I see her pass like
a Hi'ht;
But sorrowv seize me if ever that light be my leading
star'
3.
When have I bow'd to her father, the wrinkled head
of the race?
I met her abroad with her brother, but not to her
brother I bow'd;




22                   IMAUD.
I bow'd to his lady-sister as she rode by on the
moor;
But the fire of a foolish pride flash'd over her
beautiful face.
0 child, you wrong your beauty, believe it, in being
so proud;
Your father has wealth  well-gotten, and  I am
nameless and poor.
4
I keep but a man and a maid, ever ready to slander
and steal;
I know it, and smile a hard-set smile, like a stoic, or
like
A wiser epicurean, and let the world have its
way:
For nature is one with rapine, a harm  no preacher
can heal;




MAUD.                   23
The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow
spear'd by the shrike,
And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of
plunder and prey.
5'We are puppets, Man in his pride, and Beauty fair
in her flower;
Do we move ourselves, or are moved by an unseen
hand at a game
That -pushes us off from  the board, and others ever
succeed?
Ah yet, we cannot be kind to each other here for an
hour;
We whisper, and hint, and chuckle, and grin at a
brother's shame;
However we brave it out, we men are a little
breed.




24                   MAUD.
6.
A monstrous eft was of old the Lord and Master of
Earth,
For him  did his high sun flame, and his river
billowing ran,
And he felt himself in his force to be Nature's
crowning race.
As nine months go to the shaping an infant ripe for
his birth,
So many a million of ages have gone to the making
of man:
He now is first, but is he the last? is he not too
base?
7.
The man of science himself is fonder of glory, and
vain,
An eye well-practised in nature, a spirit bounded
and poor;




MAUD.                    25
The passionate heart of the poet is whirl'd into folly
and vice.
I would not marvel at either, but keep a temperate
brain;
For not to desire or admire, if a man could learn it,
w~ere m ore
Than to walk all day like the sultan of old in a
garden of spice.
For the'drift of the Maker is dark, an Isis hid by
the veil.
Who knows the ways of the world, how God will
bring them about?
Our planet is one, the suns are many, the world is
wide.
Shall I weep if a Poland fall? shall I shriek if a
Hungary fail?




26                    MAUD.
Or an infant civilization be ruled with rod or with
knout?
I have not made the world, and Hie that made it
will guide.
9.
Be mine a philosopher's life in the quiet woodland
ways,
Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be
my lot,
Far off from the clamor of liars belied in the hubbub
of lies;
From  the long-neck'd geese of the world that are
ever hissing dispraise
Because their natures are little, and, whether he
heed it or not,'Where each man walks with his head in a cloud of
poisonous flies.




MAUD.                   27
10.
And most of all would I flee from the cruel madness
of love,
The honey of poison-flowers and all the measureless
ill.
Ah Maud, you milk-white fawn, vyou are all unrmeet
for a wife.
Your mother is mute in her grave as her irage in
narlble above;
Your father is ever in London, you wander about at
your will;
You have but fed on the roses, and lain in the lilies
of life.




28                 NMAUD.
V.
A VOICE by the cedar tree,
In the meadow under the Hall!
She is singing an air that is known to me,
A passionate ballad gallant and gay,
A martial song like a trumpet's call!
Singing alone in the morning of life,
In the happy morning of life and of l~.ay,
Singing of men that in battle array,
Ready in heart and ready in hand,
March with banner and bugle and fife
To the death, for their native land.
2.
Maud with her exquisite face,
And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky,




MAUD.                   29
And feet like sunny gems on an English green,
Maud in the light of her youth and her grace,
Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die,
Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean,
And myself so languid and base.
Silence, beautiful voice!
Be still, for you only trouble the mind
With a joy in which I cannot rejoice,
A glory I shall not find.
Still! I will hear you no more,
For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice
But to move to the meadow and fall before
Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore,
Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind,
Not her, not her, but a voice.




30                  MAUD.
VL
MORNiNG arises stormy and pale,
No sun, but a wannish glare
In fold upon fold of hueless cloud,
And the budded peaks of the wood are bow'd
Caught and cuff'd by the gale:
I had fancied it would be fair.
2.
Whom but Maud should I meet
Last night, when the sunset burn'd
On the blossom'd gable-ends
At the head of the village street,




MAUD.                   31
Whoml but Maud should I meet?
And she touch'd my hand with a smile so sweet
She made me divine amends
For a courtesy not return'd.
3.
And thus a delicate spark -
Of glowing and growing light
Thro' the livelong hours of the dark
Kept itself warm in the heart of my dreams,
Ready to burst in a color'd flame;
Till at last when the morning came
In a cloud, it faded, and seems
But an ashen-gray delight.
4.
What if with her sunny hair,
And smile as sunny as cold,
She meant to weave me a snare
Of some 6oquettish deceit,




32                   MAUD.
Cleopatra-like as of old
To entangle me when we met,
To have her lion roll in a silken net
And fawn at a victor's feet.
5.
Ah, what shall I be at fifty
Should Nature keep me alive,
If I find the world so bitter
When I am but twenty-five?
Yet, if she were not a cheat,
If Maud were all that she seem'd,
And her smile were all that I dream'd,
Then the world were not so bitter
But a smile could make it sweet.
6.
What if tho' her eye seem'd full
Of a kind intent to me,
What if that dandy-despot, he,




MAUD.                   33
That jewell'd mass of millinery,
That oil'd and curl'd Assyrian Bull
Smelling of musk and of insolence,
Her brother, from whom I keep aloof,
WVho wants the finer politic sense
To mask, tho' but in his own behoof,
With a glassy smile his brutal scornWVhat if he had told her yester-morn
How prettily for his own sweet sake
A face of tenderness might be feign'd,
And a moist miragle in desert eyes,
That so, when the rotten hustings shake
In another month to his brazen lies,
A wretched vote may be gain'd.
7.
For a raven ever croaks, at my side,
Keep watch and ward, keep watch and ward,
Or thou wilt prove their tool.
Yea too, myself from myself I guard,
3




34                  MAUD.
For often a man's own angry pride
Is cap and bells for a fool.
Perhaps the smile and tender tone
Came out of her pitying womanhood,
For am I not, am I not, here alone
So many a summer since she died,
My mother, who was so gentle and good?
Living alone in an empty house,
Here half-hid in the gleaming wood,
Where I hear the dead at midday moan,
And the shrieking rush of the wainscot mouse,
And my own sad name in corners cried,
When the shiver of dancing leaves is thrown
About its echoing chambers wide,
Till a morbid hate and horror have grown
Of a world in which I have hardly mixt,
And a morbid eating lichen fixt
On a heart half-turn'd to stone.




MIAUJD.                 35
9.
0 heart of stone, are you flesh, ani cauo-ht
By that you swore to withstand?
For what was it else within me wrought
But, I fear, the new strong wine of love,
That made my tongue so stammer and trip
When I saw the treasured.splendor, her hand,
Come sliding out of her sacred glove,
And the sunlight broke from her lip?
10.
I have play'd with her when a child;
She remembers it now we meet.
Ah well, well, well, I may be beguiled
By some coquettish deceit.
Yet, if she were not a cheat,
If Maud were all that she seem'd,
And her smile had all that I dream'd,
Then the world were not so bitter
But a smile could make it sweet.




36                    MAUD.
VII.
1.
DID I hear it half in a doze
Long since, I know not where?
Did I dream it an hour ago,
When asleep in this arm-chair?
2.
Men were drinking together,
Drinking and talking of me;
Well, if it prove a girl, the boy
Will have plenty: so let it be.'
3.
Is it an echo of something
Read with a boy's delight,
Viziers nodding together
In some Arabian night?




MAUD.                  37
4.
Strange, that I hear two men,
Somewhere, talking of me;
Well, if it prove a girl, my boy
Will have plenty: so let it be.'




38                 BI AUDo
VIII.
SHE came to the village church,
And sat by a pillar alone;
An angel watching an urn
Wept over her, carved in stone;
And once, but once, she lifted her eyes,
And suddenly, sweetly, strangely blush'd
To find they were met by my own;
And suddenly, sweetly, my heart beat stronger
And thicker, until I heard no longer
The snowy-banded, dilettante,
Delicate-handed priest intone;
And thought, is it pride, and mused and sigh'd
No surely, now it cannot be pride.'




MAUDo                  39
IX,
I WAS walking a mile,
More than a mile from the shore,
The sun look'd out with a smile,
Betwixt the cloud and the moor,
And riding at set of day
Over the dark moor land,
Rapidly riding far away,
She waved to me with her hand.
There were two at her side,
Something flash'd in the sun,
Down by the hill I saw them ride,
In a moment they were gone:




40                  tAUvD.
Like a sudden spark
Struck vainly in the night,
And back returns the dark
With no more hope of light.




NAUD                    41
X.
SICK, am I sick of a jealous dread?
Was not one of the two at her side
This new-made lord, whose splendor plucks
The slavish hat from the villager's head?
Whose old grandfather has lately died,
Gone to a blacker pit, for whom
Grimy nakedness dragging his trucks
And laying his trams in a poison'd gloom
Wrought, till-,he crept from a gutted mine
Master of half a servile shire,
And left his coal all turn'd into gold
To a grandson, first of his noble line,




42                   MAUD,
Rich in the grace all women desire,
Strong in the power that all men adore,
And simper and set their voices lower,
And soften as if to a girl, and hold
Awe-stricken breaths at a work divine,
Seeing his gewgaw castle shine,
New as his title, built last year,
There amid perky larches and pine,
And over the sullen-purple moor
(Look at it) pricking a cockney ear.
2.
What, has he found my jewel out?
For one of the two tnat rode at her side
Bound for the Hall, I am sure was he:
Bound for the Hall, and I think for a bride.
Blithe would her brother's acceptance be.
Maud could be gracious too, no doubt,
To a lord, a captain, a padded shape,




iMIAUD.                 43
A bought commission, a waxen face,
A. rabbit mouth that is ever agape -
Bought? what is it he cannot buy?
And therefore splenetic, personal, base,
Sick, sick to the heart of life, am I.
3.
Last week came one to the county towrn
To preach our poor little army down,
And play the game of the despot kings,
Tho' the state has done it and thrice as well:
This broad-brimm'd hawker of holy things,
Whose ear is stuft with his cotton, and rings
Even in dreams to the chink of his pence,
This huckster put down war! can he tell
Whether war be a cause or a consequence?
Put down the passions that make earth Hell 1
Down with ambition, avarice, pride,
Jealousy, down! cut off from the mind




44                   MAUD.
The bitter springs of angel and fear;
Down too, down at your own fireside,
With the evil tongue and the evil ear,
For each is at war with mankind.
Ah God, for a man with heart, head, hand,
Like some of the simple great ones gone
For ever and ever by,
One still strong man in a blatant land,
Whatever they call him, what care I,
Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat - one
Who can rule and dare not lie.




MAUD.                   45
XIL
1.
O LET the solid ground
Not fail beneath my feet
Before my life has found
What some have found so sweet;
Then let come what come may,
What matter if I go mad,
I shall have had my day.
2.
Let the sweet heavens endure,
Not close and darken above me




46                  XMAUD.
Before I am quite quite sure
That there is one to love me;
Then let come what come may
To a life that has been so sad,
I shall have had mv day.




MAUD.                  47
XiI.
1.
BIRDS in the high Hall-garden
When twilight was falling,
Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,
They were crying and calling
2.
Where was Maud? in our wood;
And I, who else, was with her,
Gathering woodland lilies,
Myriads blow together.
3.
Birds in our wood sang
Ringing thro' the valleys,
Maud is here, here, here
In among the lilies.




43oS                 MAUD.
4.
I kiss'd her slender hand,
She took the kiss sedately;
Maud is not seventeen,
But she is tall and stately.
6.
I to cry out on pride
Who have won her favor!
O Maud were sure of Heaven
If lowliness could save her.
6.
I know the way she went
Home with her maiden posy,
For her feet have touched the meadows
And left the daisies rosy.
7.
Birds in the high Hall-garden
Were crying and calling to her,
Where is Maud, Maud, Maud,
One is come to woo her.




MIAUD.                  49
8.
Look, a horse at the door,
And little King Charles is snarling,
Go back, my lord, across the moor,
You are not her darling.
4




50                   DIAUD.
A111.
SCORN'D, to be scorned by one that 1 scorn,
Is that a matter to make me fret?
That a calamity hard to be borne?
Well, he may live to hate me yet.
Fool that I am to be vext with his pride!
I past him, I was crossing his lands;
He stood on the path a little aside;
His face, as I grant, in spite of spite,
Has a broad-blown comeliness, red and white,
And six feet two, as I think, he stands;
But his essences turn'd the live air sick,
And barbarous opulence jewel-thick
Sunn'd itself on his breast and his hands.




IAUD.
2.
Who shall call me ungentle, unfair,
I long'd so earnestly then and there
To give him the grasp of fellowship;
But while I past he was humming an air,
Stopt, and then with a riding-whip
Leisurely tapping a glossy boot,
And curving a contumelious lip,
Gorgonised me from head to foot
With a stony British stare.
3.
Why sits he here in his father's chair?
That old man never comes to his place 
Shall I believe him ashamed to be seen?
For only once, in the village street,
Last year, I caught a glimpse of his face,
A gray old wolf and a lean.
Scarcely, now, would I call him a cheat;




52                   MAUD.
For then, perhaps, as a child of deceit,
She might by a true descent be untrue;
And Maud is as true as Maud is sweet:
Tho' I fancy her sweetness only due
To the sweeter blood by the other side;
Her mother has been a thing complete,
However she came to be so allied.
And fair without, faithful within,
Maud to him is nothing akin:
Some peculiar mystic grace
Made her only the child of her mother,
And heap'd the whole inherited sin
On that huge scapegoat of the race,
All, all upon the brother.
4.
Peace, angry spirit, and let him be!
Has not his sister smiled on me?




MAUD.                  53
X1v
MAUD has a garden of roses
And lilies fair on a lawn;
There she walks in her state
And tends upon bed and bower,
And thither I climb'd at dawn
And stood by her garden-gate;
A lion ramps at the top,
He is claspt by a passion-flower.
2.
Maud's own little oak-room
(Which Maud, like a precious stone




54                  MATUD.
Set in the heart of the carven gloom,
Lights with herself, when alone
She sits by her music and books,
And her brother lingers late
With a roystering company) looks
Upon Maud's own garden gate:
And I thought as I stood, if a hand, as white
As ocean-foam in the moon, were laid
On the hasp of the window, and my Delight
Had a sudden desire, like a glorious ghost, to glide
Like a beam of the seventh Heaven, down to my
side,
There were but a step to be made.
3.
The fancy flatter'd my mind,
And again seem'd overbold;
Now I thought that she cared for me,
Now I thought she was kind
Only because she was cold.




MAUD.                  55
4.
I heard no sound where I stood
But the rivulet on from the lawn
Running down to my own dark wood;
Or the voice of the long sea-wave as it swell'd
Now and then in the dim-gray dawn;
But I look'd, and round, all round the house I
beheld
The death-white curtain drawn;
Felt a horror over me creep,
Prickle my skin and catch my breath,
Knew, that the death-white curtain meant but
sleep,
Yet I shudder'd and thought like a fool of the sleep
of death.




56                   MAUD.
xv
So dark a mind within me dwells,
And I make myself such evil cheer,
That if I be dear to some one else,
Then some one else may have much to fear;
But if I be dear to some one else,
Then I should be to myself more dear.
Shall I not take care of all that I think,
Yea, ev'n of wretched meat and drink,
If I be dear,
If I be dear to some one elseo




-MAUD.                  57
XVI.
TIns lump of earth has left his estate
The lighter by the loss of his weight;
And so that he find what he went to seek,
And fulsome Pleasure clog him, and drown
His heart in the gross mud-honey of town,
He may stay for a year who has gone for a week:
But this is the day when I must speak,
And I see my Oread coming down,
O this is the day!
O beautiful creature, what am I
That.  dare to look her way;
Think I may hold dominion sweet,




59                    MIAUD.
Lord of the pulse that is lord of her breast,
And dream of her beauty with tender dread,
From the delicate Arab arch of her feet
To the grace that, bright and light as the crest
Of a peacock, sits on her shining head,
And she knows it not: 0, if she knew it,
To klnow her beauty might half undo it.
I know it the one bright thing to save
31y yet young life in the wilds of Time,
Perhaps from madness, perhaps from crimne,
Perhaps from a selfish grave.
What, if she be fasten'd to this fool lord,
Dare I bid her abide by her word?
Should I love her so well if she
Had given her word to a thing so low?
Shall I love her as well if she
Can break her word were it even for me?
I trust that it is not so.




AIAUD.                   59
3.
Catch not my breath, O clamorous heart,
Let not my tongue be a thrall to my eye,
For I must tell her before we part,
I must tell her, or c-;e.




60.PiAUD.
XVII.
Go not, happy day,
From the shining fields,
Go not, happy day,
Till the maiden yields.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth,
When the happy Yes
Falters from her lips,
Pass and blush the news
O'er the blowing ships.
Over blowing seas,
Over seas at rest,




SAUD.                    61
Pass the happy news,
Blush it thro' the West;
Till the red man dance
By his red cedar tree,
And the red man's babe
Leap, beyond the sea.
Blush from West to East,
Blush from East to West,
Till the West is East,
Blush it thro' the West.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.




62                   MVAUD.
XVIII.
1.
I HAVE led her home, my love, my only friend.
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wish'd-for end,
Full to the banks, close onr the promised good,
2.
None like her, none.
Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk
Seem'd her light foot along the garden walk,




>vAUD.                  63
And shook my heart to think she comes once more;
But even then I heard her close the door,
The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone.
3.
There is none like her, none.
Nor will be when our summers have deceased.
O, art thou sighing for Lebanon
In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious
East,
Sighing for Lebanon,
Dark cedar, tho' thy limbs have here increased,
Upon a pastoral slope as fair,
And looking to the South, and fed
With honey'd rain and delicate air,
And haunted by the starry head
Of her whose gentle will has changed my fate,
And made my life a perfumed altar-flame;
And over whom thy darkness must have spread
With such delight as theirs of old, thy great




64                  MlAUD.
Forefathers of the thornless garden, there
Shadowing the snow-limb'd Eve from whom she
came.
4.
Here will I lie, while these long branches sway,
And you fair stars that crown a happy day
Go in and out as if at merry play,
WTho am no more so all forlorn,
As when it seern'd far better to be born
To labor and the mattock-harden'd hand,
Than nursed at ease and brought to understand
A sad astrology, the boundless plan
That makes you tyrants in your iron skies,
Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes,
Cold fires, yet with power to burn and brand
His nothingness into man.
But now shine on, and what care I,
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl




NMAD,                  65
Tile counter-charm of space and hollow sky,
And do accept my madness, and would die
To save from some slight shame one simple girl.
6.
Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may give
More life to Love than is or ever was
In our low world, where yet't is sweet to live.
Let no one ask me how it came to pass;
It seems that I am happy, that to me
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,
A purer sapphire melts into the sea.
7.
Not die; but live a life of truest breath,
And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs.
0, why should Love, like men in drinking-songs,
Spice his fair banquet with the dust of death?
Make answer, Maud my bliss,
Maud made my Maud by that long lover's kiss,
5




66                   MAUD.
Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this?' The dusky strand of Death inwoven here
With dear Love's tie, makes Love himself more
dear.'
8.
Is that enchanted moan only the swell
Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay?
And hark the clock within, the silver knell
Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white,
And died to live, long as my pulses play;
But now by this my love has closed her sight
And given false death her hand, and stol'n away
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell
Among the fragments of the golden day.
May nothing there her maiden grace affright!
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell.
My bride to be, my evermore delight,
My own heart's heart and ownest own, farewell.
It is but for a little space I go:




nAUD.                  67
And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell
Beat to the noiseless music of the night!
Has our whole earth gone nearer to the glow
Of your soft splendors that you look so bright?
I have climb'd nearer out of lonely Hell.
Beat, happy stars, timing with things below,
Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell,
Blest, but for some dark under-current woe
That seems to draw - but it shall not be so:
Let all be well, be well.




4)6x8 MAUD.
XlX.
1i.
STRANGE, that I felt so gay,
Strange, that I tried to-day
To beguile her melancholy;
The Sultan, as we name him, —
She did not wish to blame him
But he vext her and perplext her
With his worldly talk and folly:
Was it gentle to reprove her
For stealing out of view
From a little lazy lover
Who but claims her as his due?
Or for chilling his caresses
By the coldness of her manners,




MAUD.                  69
Nay, the plainness of her dresses?
Now I know her but in two,
Nor can pronounce upon it
If one should ask me whether
The habit, hat, and feather,
Or the frock and gypsy bonnet
Be the neater and completer;
For nothing can be sweeter
Than maiden Maud in either.
2.
But to-morrow, if we live,
Our ponderous squire will give
A grand political dinner
To half the squirelings near;
And Maud will wear her jewels,
And the bird of prey will hover,
And the titmouse hope to win her
With his chirrun at her ear.




70                  MIAUD.
3.
A grand political dinner
To the men of many acres,
A gathering of the Tory,
A dinner and then a dance
For the maids and marriage-makers,
And every eye but mine will glance
At Maud in all her glory.
4.
For I am not invited,
But, with the Sultan's pardon,
I am all as well delighted,
For I know her own rose-garden,
And mean to linger in it
Till the dancing will be over;
And then, O then, come out to me
For a minute, but for a minute,
Come out to your own true lover,




MIAUD.                 7i
That your true lover may see
Your glory also, and render
All homage to his own darling,
Queen ~Maud in all her splendor.




o72                 MAUD.
XX.
RIVULET crossing my ground,
And bringing me down from the Hall
This garden-rose that I found,
Forgetful of Maud and me,
And lost in trouble and moving round
Here at the head of a tinkling fall,
And trying to pass to the sea;
O Rivulet, born at the Hall,
My Maud has sent it by thee
(If I read her sweet will right)
On a blushing mission to me,
Saying in odor and color,' Ah, be
Among the roses to-night.'




MAUD.                   73
xxi.
1.XXI
COME into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
2.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.




~~74  ~        MAUD.
3.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till. a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
4.
I said to the lily,' There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
\W.hen will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play.'
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.




MAUD.                   75
5.
I said to the rose,' The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose,'For ever and ever, mine.'
6.
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;
7.
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs




76                  MAUD.
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.
8.
Tilhe slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
9.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,




MlAIUD.
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
10.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries,' She is near, she is near;'
And the white rose weeps,' She is late;'
The larkspur listens,' I hear, I hear;'
And the lily whispers,' I wait.'
11.
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,




i!                 MAUD.
My heart would hear her and beat,'Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.




MAUD.                   79
XXII.
1.
6THE fault was mine, the fault was mine'Why am I sitting here so stunn'd and still,
Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill?It is this guilty hand!And there rises ever a passionate cry
From underneath in the darkening landWhat is it that has been done?
O dawn of Eden bright over earth and sky,
The fires of Hell brake out of thy rising sun,
The fires of Hell and of Hate;
For she, sweet soul, had hardly spoken a word,
When her brother ran in his rage to the gate,




80                   MAUD.
He came with the babe-faced lord;
Heap'd on her terms of disgrace,
And while she wept, and I strove to be cool,
He fiercely gave me the lie,
Till I with as fierce an anger spoke,
And he struck me, madman, over the face,
Struck me before the languid fool,
Who was gaping and grinning by:
Struck for himself an evil stroke;
Wrought for his house an irredeemable woe;
For front to front in an hour we stood,
And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood,
And thunder'd up into Heaven the Christless code,
That must have life for a blow.
Ever and ever afresh they seem'd to grow.
Was it he lay there with a fading eye?' The fault was mine,' he whisper'd,' fly!'
Then glided out of the joyous wood
The ghastly Wraith of one that I know;




MAUD.                  S1
And there rang on a sudden a passionate cry,
A cry for a brother's blood:
It will ring in my heart and my ears, till I die, till
I die.
2.
Is it gone? my pulses beat -
What was it? a lying trick of the brain?
Yet I thought I saw her stand,
A shadow there at my feet,
High over the shadowy land.
It ib gone; and the heavens fall in a gentle rain,
When they should burst and drown with deluging
storms
The feeble vassals of wine and anger and lust,
The little hearts that know not how to forgive:
Arise, my God, and strike, for we hold Thee just,
Strike dead the whole weak race of venomous worms,
That sting each other here in the dust;
We are not worthy to live.




MAUD.
XXIII.
Sr,EE what a lovely shell,
Small and pure as a pearl,
Lying close to my foot,
Frail, but a work divine,
Made so fairily well
With delicate spire and whorl,
How exquisitely minute,
A miracle of design!
WVhat is it? a learned man
Could give it a clumsy name.




MAUD.                   S,3
Let him name it who can,
The beauity would be the same.
3.
The tiny cell is forlorn,
Void of the little living will
That made it stir on the shore.
Did he stand at the diamond door
Of his house in a rainbow frill?
Did he push, when he was uncurl'd,
A golden foot or a fairy horn
Thro' his dim water-world?
4.
Slight, to be crush'd with a tap
Of my finger-nail on the sand,
Small, but a work divine,
Frail, but of force to withstand,




Q84                 MAUD.
Year upon year, the shock
Of cataract seas that snap
The three-decker's oaken spine
Athwart the ledges of rock,
Here on the Breton strand 
5.
Breton, not Briton; here
Like a shipwreck'd man on a coast
Of ancient fable and fearPlagued with a flitting to and fro,
A disease, a hard mechanic ghost
That never came from on high
Nor ever arose from below,
But only moves with the moving eye,
Flying along the land and the mainWhy should it look like Maud?
Am I to be overawed
By what I cannot but know
Is a juggle born of the brain?




MAUD.                   85
6.
Back from the Breton coast,
Sick of a nameless fear,
Back to the dark sea-line
Looking, thinking of all I have lost;
An old song vexes my ear;
But that of Lamech is mine.
For years, a measureless ill,
For years, for ever, to partBut she, she would love me still;
And as long,, 0 God, as she
Have a grain of love for me,
So long, no doubt, no doubt,
Shall I nurse in my dark heart,
However weary, a spark of will
Not to be trampled out.




86                  DTAUD.
8.
Strange, that the mind, when fraught
With a passion so intense
One would think that it well
Might drown all life in the eye,That it should, by being so overwrought,
Suddenly strike on a sharper sense
For a shell, or a flower, little things
Which else would have been past by!
And now I remember, I,
When he lay dying there,
I noticed one of his many rings
(For he had many, poor worm) and thought
It his mother's hair.
9.
Who knows if he be dead?
Whether I need have fled?
Am I guilty of blood?




MAUD.
However this may be,
Comfort her, comfort her, all things good,
While I am over the sea!
Let me and my passionate love go by,
But speak to her all things.holy and high,
Whatever happen to me!
Me and my harmful love go by;
But come to her waking, find her asleep,
Powers of the height, Powers of the deep,
And comfort her tho' I die.




MAUDo.
XXIV.
1.
0 THAT't were possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!
2.
When I was wront to meet her
In the silent woody places
Of the land that gave me birth,
We stood tranced in long embraces
Mixt with kisses sweeter, sweeter
Than anything on earth.




MAUD.                     89
8.
A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee;
Ah Christ, that it were possible
For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be.
4.
It leads me forth at evening,
It lightly winds and steals
In a cold white robe before me,
When all my spirit reels
At the shouts, the leagues of lights,
And the roaring of the wheels.
Half the night I waste in sighs,
Half in dreams I sorrow after




90                  MAUD.
The delight of early skies;
In a wakeful doze I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The'delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.
6.'T is a morning pure and sweet,
And a dewy splendor falls
On the little flower that clings
To the turrets and the walls;'T is a morning pure and sweet,
And the light and shadow fleet;
She is wallking in the meadow,
And the woodland echo rings;
In a moment we shall meet;
She is singing in the meadow,
And the rivulet at her feet




MAUD.                  91
Ripples on in light and shadow
To the ballad that she sings.
7.
Do I hear her sing as of old,.
My bird with the shining head,
My own dove with the tender eye?
But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry,
There is some one dying or dead,
And a sullen thunder is roll'd;
For a tumult shakes the city,
And I wake, my dream is fled;
In the shuddering dawn, behold,
Without knowledge, without pity,
By the curtains of my bed
That abiding phantom cold.
Get thee hence, nor come again,
Mix not memory with doubt,




%92        iINAUD,
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain,
Pass and cease to move about,'T is the blot upon the brain
That will show itself without.
9.
Then I rise, the eave-drops fall,
And the yellow vapors choke
The great city sounding wide;
The day comes, a dull red ball
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke
On the misty river-tide.
10.
Thro' the hubbub of the market
I steal, a wasted frame,
It crosses here, it crosses there,
Thro' all that crowd confused and loud,




MAUD.                   93
The shadow still the same;
And on my heavy eyelids
My anguish hangs like shame.
11.
Alas for her that met me,
That heard me softly call,
Came glimmering thro' the laurels
At the quiet evenfall;
In the garden by the turrets
Of the old manorial hall.
12.
Would the happy spirit descend,
From the realms of light and song,
In the chamber or the street,
As she looks among the blest,
Should I fear to greet my friend




94                   DIAUD.
Or to say'forgive the wrong,'
Or to ask her,' take me, sweet,
To the regions of thy rest'?
13.
But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and fleets
And will not let me be;
And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,
Hearts with no love for me:
Always I long to creep
Into some still cavern deep,
There to weep, and weep, and weep
My whole soul out to thee.




MAUD.                  95
DEAD, long dead,
Long dead!
And my heart is a handful of dust,
A-nd the wheels go over my head,
And my.bones are shaken with pain,
For into a shallow grave they are thrust,
Only a yard beneath the street,
And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat,
The hoofs of the horses beat,
Beat into my scalp and my brain,
With never an end to the stream of passing feet
Driving, hurrying, marrying, burying,
Clamor and rumble, and ringing and clatter,




96                  MIAUD.
And here beneath it is all as bad,
For I thought the. dead had peace, but it is not so;
To have no peace in the grave, is that not sad?'
But up and down and to and fro,
Ever about me the dead men go;
And then to hear a dead man chatter
Is enough to drive one mad.
-2.
Wretchedest age, since Time began
They cannot even bury a man;
Ahnd tho' we paid our tithes in the days that are gone,
Not a bell was rung, not a prayer was read;
It is that which makes us loud in the world of the
dead;
There is none that does his work, not one;
A touch of their office might have sufficed,
But the churchmen fain would kill their church,
As the churches have kill'd their Christ,




MAUD.                   97
3.
See, there is one of us sobbing,
No limit to his distress;
And another, a lord of all things, praying
To his own great self, as I guess;
And another, a statesman there, betraying
His party-secret, fool, to the press;
And yonder a vile physician, blabbing
The case of his patient- all for what?
To tickle the maggot born in an empty head,
And wheedle a world that loves himn not,
For it is but a world of the dead.
4.
Nothing but idiot gabble!
For the prophecy given of old
And then not understood,
Has come to pass as foretold;
Not let any man think for the public good,
7




98                    MAUD.
But babble, merely for babble.
For I never whisper'd a private affair
Within the hearing of cat or mouse,
No, not to myself in the closet alone,
But I heard it shouted at once from the top of the
house;
Everything came to be known:
Who told him we were there?
5.
Not that gray old wolf, for he came not back
From the wilderness, full of wolves, \where he used
to lie;
He has gather'd the bones for his o'ergrow-n whelp
to crack;
Crack them now for yourself, and howl, anid die.
6.
Prophet, curse me the blabbing lip,
And curse me the British vermin, the rat;




MAUD.                    99
I know not whether he came in the Hanover ship,
But I know that he lies and listens mute
In an ancient mansion's crannies and holes:
Arsenic, arsenic, sir, would do it,
Except that now we poison our babes, poor souls!
It is all used up for that.
7.
Tell him now: she is standing here at my head;
Not beautiful now, not even kind;
He may take her now; for she never speaks her
mind,
But is ever the one thing silent here.
She is not of us, as I divine;
She comes from another stiller world of the dead,
Stiller, not fairer than mine.
8.
But I know where a garden grows,
Fairer than aught in the world beside,




100                  IAUD.
All made up of the lily and rose
That blow by night, when the season is good,
To the sound of dancing music and flutes:
It is only flowers, they had no fruits,
And I almost fear they are not roses, but blood;
For the keeper was one, so full of pride,
He linkt a dead man there to a spectral bride;
For he, if he had not been a Sultan of brutes,
Would he have that hole in his side?
9.
But what will the old man say?
He laid a cruel snare in a pit
To catch a friend of mine one stormy day;
Yet now I could even weep to think of it;
For what will the old man say
When he comes to the second corpse in the pit.
10.
Friend, to be struck by the public foe,




MAUD.                  101
Then to strike him and iay him low,
That were a public merit, far,
Whatever the Quaker holds, from sin,
But the red life spilt for a private blow —
I swear to you, lawful and lawless war
Are scarcely even akin.
11.
O me, why have they not buried me deep enough?
Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough,
Me, that was never a quiet sleeper?
Maybe still I am but half dead;
Then I cannot be wholly dumb;
I will cry to the steps above my head,
And somebody, surely, some kind heart will come
To bury me, bury me
Deeper, ever so little deeper.




102                   MAUD.
XXVI.
My life has crept so long on a broken wing
Thro' cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear,
That I come to be grateful at last for a little
thing:
My mood is changed, for it fell at a time of year
When the face of night is fair on the dewy downs,
And the shining daffodil dies, and the Charioteer
And starry Gemini hang like glorious crowns
Over Orion's grave low down in the west,
That like a silent lightning under the stars
She seem'd to divide in a dream  from a band of the
blest,




MAUD.                 103
And spoke of a hope for the world inl the coming
wars-'And in that hope, dear soul, let trouble have rest,
Knowing I tarry for thee,' and pointed to Mars
As he glow'd like a ruddy shield on the Lion's
brea st.
2.
And it was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear
delight
To have look'd, tho' but in a dream, upon eyes so
fair,
That had been in a weary world my one thing
bright;
And it was but a dream, yet it lighten'd my despair
When I thought that a war would arise in defence
of the right,
That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease,
The glory of mlanhood stand on his ancient height,
Nor Britain's one sole God be the rnillionnaire:




104                  MIAUD.
No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace
Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note,
And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase,
Nor the cannon-bullet rust on the slothful shore,
And the cobweb woven across the cannon's throat,
Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more.
And as months ran on and rumor of battle grew,'It is time, it is time, 0 passionate heart,' said 1
(For I cleaved to a cause that I felt to be pure and
true),'It is time, 0 passionate heart and morbid eye,
That old hysterical mock-disease should die.'
And I stood on a giant deck and mixed my breath
With a loyal people shouting a battle cry,
Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly
Far into the North, and battle, and seas of death.




MAUD.                   105
4.
Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims
Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold,
And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and
shames,
Horrible, hateful, monstrous, not to be told;
And  hail once  more  to  the  banner of battle
unroll'd!
Tho' many a light shall darken, and many shall
weep
For those that are crush'd in the clash of jarring
claims,
Yet God's just doom shall be wreak'd on a giant
liar;
And many a darkness into the light shall leap,
And shine in the sudden making of splendid names
And noble thought be freer under the sun,
And the heart of a people beat with one desire;
For the long, long canker of peace is over and done,




106                  MAUD.
And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic
deep,
And. deathful-grinning  mouths of the  fortress,
flames
The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire.




THE BROOK;
AN IDYL.
HERnE, by this brook, we parted; I to the East
And he for Italy - too late - too late:
One whom the strong sons of the world despise;
For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share,
And mellow metres more than cent for cent;
Nor could he understand how money breeds,
Thought it a dead thing; yet himself could make
The thing that is not as the thing that is.
O had he lived!,, In our school-books we say,
Of those that held their heads above the crowd,
They flourish'd then or then; but life in him
107




108                THE BROOK.
Could scarce be said to flourish, only touch'd
On such a time as goes before the leaf,
When all the wood stands in a mist of green,
And nothing perfect: yet the brook he loved,
For which, in branding summers of Bengal,
Or ev'n the sweet half-English Neilgherry air,
I panted, seems, as I relisten to it,
Prattling the primrose fancies of the boy,
To me that loved him; for "0 brook," he says,
" 0 babbling brook," says Edmund in his rhyme,
"Whence come you?" and the brook, why not?
replies.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.




THE BROOK.                  109
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.' Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out,
Travelling to Naples.  There is Darnley bridge,
It has more ivy; there the river; and there
Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.




110                THE BROOK.' But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird;
Old Philip; all about the fields you caught
His weary daylong chirping, like the dry
High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.' 0 darling Katie Willows, his one child!
A maiden of our century, yet most meek;
A daughter of our meadows, yet not coarse;




THE BROOK.               1 1
Stralgnt, but as lissome as a hazel wand;
Her eyes a bashful azure, and her hair
In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell
Divides three-fold to show the fruit within.'Sweet Katie, once I did her a good turn,
Her and her far-off cousin and betrothed,
James Willows, of one name and heart with her.
For here I came, twenty years back - the week
Before I parted with poor Edmund; crost
By that old bridge which, half in ruins then,
Still makes a hoary eyebrow for the gleam
Beyond it, where the waters marry - crost,
Whistling a random bar of Bonny Doon,
And push'd at Philip's garden-gate. The gate,
Half-parted from a weak and scolding hinge,
Stuck; and he clamor'd from a casement, "run,'
To Katie somewhere in the walks below,
"Run, Katie! " Katie never ran: she moved
To meet me, winding under woodbine bowers.




112               THE BROOK.
A little flutter'd, with her eyelids down,
Fresh apple-blossom, blushing for a boon.' What was it? less of sentiment than sense
Had Katie; not illiterate; neither one
Who dabbling in the fount of fictive tears,
And nursed by mealy-mouth'd philanthropies,
Divorce the Feeling from her mate the Deed.' She told me. She and James had quarrell'd.
Why?
What cause of quarrel? None, she said, no cause;
James had no cause: but when I prest the cause,
I learnt that James had flickering jealousies
Which anger'd her. Who anger'd'James?  I said.
But Katie snatch'd her eyes at once from mine,
And sketching with her slender pointed foot
Some figure like a wizard's pentagram
On garden gravel, let my query pass
Unclaim'd, in flushing silence, till I ask'd




THE BROOK.               1-13
If James were coming. " Coming every day,"
She answered, " ever longing to explain,
But evermore her father came across
AWrith some long-winded tale, and broke him short;
And James departed vext with him and her."
How  could  I help her?  "Would  I —was it
wrong?"
(Claspt hands and that petitionary grace
Of sweet seventeen subdued me ere she spoke)
O would I take her father for one hour,
For one half-hour, and let him talk to me! "
And even while she spoke, I saw where James
Made toward us, like a wader in the surf,
Beyond the brook, waist-deep in meadow-sweet.' O Katie, what I suffer'd for your sake!
For in I went, and call'd old Philip out
To show the farm: full willingly he rose:
He led me thro' the short sweet-smelling lanes
Of his wheat-suburb, babbling as he went.
8




114               THE BROOK.
He praised his land, his horses, his machines;
He praised his ploughs, his cows, his hogs, his dogs;
He praised his hens, his geese, his guinea-hens;
His pigeons, who in session on their roofs
Approved him, bowing at their own deserts:
Then from the plaintive mother's teat he took
Her blind and shuddering puppies, naming each,
And naming those, his friends, for whom  they
were:
Then crost the common into Darnley chase
To show Sir Arthur's deer.  In copse and fern
Twinkled the innumerable ear and tail.
Then, seated on a serpent-rooted beech,
IHe pointed out a pasturing colt, and said:' That was the four-year-old I sold the Squire.'
And there he told a long long-winded tale
Of how the Squire had seen the colt at grass,
And how it was the thing his daughter wish'd,
And how he sent the bailiff to the farm
To learn the price, and what the price he ask'd,




THE BROOK.              115
And how the bailiff swore that he was mad,
But he stood firm; and so the matter hung;
He gave them line: and five days after that
He met the bailiff at the Golden Fleece,
WVho then and there had offer'd something more,
But he stood firm; and so the matter hung;
He knew the man; the colt would fetch its price;
He gave them line: and how by chance at last
(It might be May or April, he forgot,
The last of April or the first of Miy)
HIe found the bailiff riding by the farm,
And,6 talking from the point, he drew him in,
And there he rmellow'd all his heart with ale,
Until they closed a bargain, hand in hand.'Then, while I breathed in sight of haven, he,
Poor fellow, could he help it? recommenced,
And ran thro' all the coltish chronicle,
Wild Will, Black Bess, Tantivy, Tallyho,
Reform, White Rose, Bellerophon, the Jilt,




116                 THE BROOK.
Arbaces, and Phenomenon, and the rest,
Till, not to die a listener, I arose,
And with me Philip, talking still; and so
We turn'd our foreheads from the falling sun,
And following our own shadows thrice as long
As when they follow'd us from Philip's door,
Arrived, and found the sun of sweet content
Re-risen in Katie's eyes, and all things well.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;




THE BROOK.               117
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
Yes, men may come and go; and these are gone,
All gone. My dearest brother, Edmund, sleeps,
Not by the well-known stream and rustic spire,
But unfamiliar Arno, and the dome
Of Brunelleschi; sleeps in peace: and he,
Poor Philip, of all his lavish waste of words
Remains the lean P. W. on his tomb:
I scraped the lichen from it: Katie walks
By the long wash of Australasian seas
Far off, and holds her head to other stars,
And breathes in converse seasons. All are gone.'
So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a stile
In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind
Old waifs of rhyme, and bowing o'er the brook
A tonsured head in middle age forlorn,




118               TIlE BROOK.
Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath
Of tender air made tremble in the hedge
The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings;
And he look'd up. There stood a maiden near,
Waiting to pass. In much amaze he stared
On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair
In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell
Divides three-fold to show the fruit within:
Then, wondering, ask'd her'Are you from  the
farm?' -'Yes' answer'd she. -' Pray stay a little: pardon
me;
What do they call you?'-' Katie.' -' That were
strange.
WBhat surname?'-' Willows.' —' No!'-' That is
my name.'-'Indeed!' and here he look'd so self-perplext,
That Katie laugh'd, and laughing blush'd, till he
Laugh'd also, but as one before he wakes,
Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream.




THE BROOK.               119
Then looking at her;' Too happy, fresh and fair,
Too fresh and fair in our. sad world's best bloom,
To be the ghost of one who bore your name
About these meadows, twenty years ago.''Have you not heard?' said Katie,'we came
back.
We bought the farm we tenanted before.
Am I so like her? so they said on board.
Sir, if you knew her in her English days,
My mother, as it seems you did, the days
That most she loves to talk of, come with me.
My brother James is in the harvest-field:
But she - you will be welcome - 0, come inll!'








THE LETTERS.
1.
STILL on the tower stood the vane,
A black yew gloom'd the stagnant air,
I peer'd athwart the chancel pane
And saw the altar cold and bare.
A clog of lead was round my feet,
A band of pain across my brow;' Cold altar, Heaven and earth shall meet
Before you hear my marriage vow.'
121




122              THE LETTERS.
2.
I turn'd and humm'd a bitter song
That mock'd the wholesome human heart,
And then we met in wrath and wrong,
We met, but only meant to part.
Full cold my greeting was and dry;
She faintly smiled, she hardly moved;
I saw with half-unconscious eye
She wore the colors I approved.
She took the little ivory chest,
With half a sigh she turn'd the key,
Then raised her head with lips comprest,
And gave my letters back to me.
And gave the trinkets and the rings,
My gifts, when gifts of mine could please;
As looks a father on the things
Of his dead son, I look'd on these.




THE LETTERS.               123
4.
She told me all her friends had said;
I raged against the public liar;
She talk'd as if her love were dead,
But in my words were seeds of fire.'No more of love; your sex is known:
I never will be twice deceived.
Henceforth I trust the man alone,
The woman cannot be believed.
5.' Thro' slander, meanest spawn of Hell
(And women's slander is the worst),
And you, whom once I loved so well,
Thro' you, my life will be accurst.'
I spoke with heart, and heat and force,
I shook her breast with vague alarmsLike torrents from a mountain source
WTe rush'd into each other's arms.




124               THE LETTERS.
6.
We parted: sweetly gleam'd the stars,
And sweet the vapor-braided blue,
Low breezes fann'd the belfry bars,
As homeward by the church I drew.
The very graves appear'd to smile,
So fresh they rose in shadow'd swells;' Dark porch,' I said,' and silent aisle,
There comes a sound of marriage bells.'




ODE ON THE DEATH
OF
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
125








ODE ON THE DEATH
OF
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
BuRY the Great Duke
With an empire's lamentation,
Let us burl the Great Duke
To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation,
Mourning when their leaders fall,
Warriors carry the warrior's pall,
And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall.
127




12S          ODE ON THE DEATH OF
2.
Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore 
Here, in streaming London's central roar.
Let the sound of those he wrought for,
And the feet of those he fought for,
Echo round his bones for evermore.
8.
Lead out the pageant: sad and slow,
As fits an universal woe,
Let the long, long procession go,
And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
And let the mournful martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low.
4.
Mourn, for to us he seems the last,
Remembering all his greatness in the Pasto




THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.          129
No more in soldier fashion will he greet
With lifted hand the gazer in the street.
0 friends, our chief state-oracle is mute:
Mourn for the man of long-enduring blood,
The statesman-warrior, moderate, resolute,
Whole in himself, a common good.
Mourn for the man of amplest influence,
Yet clearest of ambitious crime,
Our greatest yet with least pretence,
Great in council and great in war,
Foremost captain of his time,
Rich in, saving common-sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
In his simplicity sublime.
O good gray head which all men knew,
O voice from which their omens all men drew,
0 iron nerve to true occasion true,
O fall'n at length that tower of strength
Which  stood four-square to all the winds that
blew 
9




E130          ODE ON THE DEATH OF
Such was he whom we deplore.
The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er.
The great World-victor's victor will be seen  no
more.
All is over and done:
Render thanks to the Giver,
Enaland, for thy son.
Let the bell be toll'd.
Render thanks to the Giver,
And render him to the mould.:Under the cross of gold
That shines over city and river,
There he shall rest for ever
Among the wise and the bold.
Let the bell be toll'd:
And a reverent people behold
The towering' car, the sable steeds:
Bright let it be with his blazon'd deeds,




THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.          131
Dark in its funeral fold.
Let the bell be toll'd:
And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd;
And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll'd
Thro' the dome of the golden cross;
And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;
He knew their voices of old.
For many a time in many a clime
His captain's-ear has heard them boom
Bellowing victory, bellowing doom;
When he with those deep voices wrought,
Guarding realms and kings from shame;
Writh those deep voices our dead captain taught
The tyrant, and asserts his clainm
In that dread sound to the great name,
Which he has worn so pure of blame,
In praise and in dispraise the same,
A man of well-attemper'd frame.
O civic muse, to such a name,
To such a name for ages long,




132          ODE ON THE DEATH OF
To such a name,
Preserve a broad approach of fame,
And ever-ringing avenues of song.
6.
Who is he that cometh like an honor'd guest,
With banner and with music, with soldier and with
priest,
With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest?
Mighty seaman, this is he
-Was great by land as thou by sea.
Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,
The greatest sailor since our world began.
Now, to the roll of muffled drums,
To thee the greatest soldier comes;
For this is he
Was great by land. as thou by sea;
His foes were thine; he kept us free;
0 give him welcome, this is he,




THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.          133
Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lost an English gun;
This is he that far away
Against the myriads of Assaye
Clash'd with his fiery few and won;
And underneath another sun,
Warring  on a later day,
Round affrighted Lisbon drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labor'd rampart-lines,
Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,
And ever great and greater grew.
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew




134        1 ODE ON THE DEATH OF
Past the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and, glen
With blare of bugle, clamor of men,
Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
And England pouring on her foes.
Such a war had such a close.
Again their ravening eagle rose
In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;
Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown
On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down;
A day of onsets of despair!
Dash'd on every rocky square
Their surging charges foam'd themselves away y
Last, the Prussian trumpet blew;
Through the long-tormented air
Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,
And down we swept and charged and overthrew.
So great a soldier taught us there,
What long-enduring hearts could do




THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.           l3
In that world's earthquake, Waterloo!
Mighty seaman, tender and true,
And pure as he from taint of craven guile,
O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,
O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,
If aught of things that here befall
Touch a spirit among things divine,
If love of country move thee there at all,'
Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine 
And thro' the centuries let a people's voice
In full acclaim,
A people's voice,'The proof and echo of all human fame,
A people's voice, when they rejoice
At civic revel and pomp and game,
Attest their great commander's claim
With honor, honor, honor, honor to him,
Eternal honor to his name.




136          ODE ON THE DEATH OF
7.
A people's voice! we are a people yet.
Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget
Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers;
Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set
His Saxon in blown seas and storming showers,
We have a voice with which to pay the debt
Of boundless love and reverence and regret
To those great men who fought, and kept it ours.
And keep it ours, O God, from brute control;
O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul
Of Europe, keep our noble England whole,
And save the one true seed of freedom sown
Betwixt a people and their ancient throne,
That sober freedom out of which there springs
Our loyal passion for our temperate Icings;
For, saving that, ye help to save mankind
Till public wrong be crumbled into dust,
And drill the raw world for the march of mind,




THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.         137
Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just.
But wink no more in slothful overtrust.
Remember him who led your hosts;
He bade you guard the sacred coasts.
Your cannons moulder on the seaward wall;
His voice is silent in your council-halI
For ever; and whatever tempests lower
For ever silent; even if they broke
In thunder, silent; yet remember all
He spoke among you, and the Man who spoke;
Who never sold the truth, to serve the hour,
Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power;
Who let the turbid streams of rumor flow
Thro' either babbling world of high and low;
Whose life was work, whose language rife
With rugged maximns hewn from life;
Who never spoke against a foe;
Whose eighty winters freeze with one rebuke
All great self-seekers trampling on the right:
Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named;




1t8s          ODE ON THE DEATH OF
Truth-lover was our English Duke;
Whatever record leap to light
He never shall be shamed.
8.
Lo, the leader in these glorious wars
Now to glorious burial slowly borne,
Follow'd by the brave of other lands,
He, on whom from both her open hands
Lavish Honor shower'd all her stars,
And affluent Fortune emptied all her horn.
Yea, let all good things await
Him who cares not to be great,
But as he saves or serves the state.
Not once or twice in our rough island-story,
The path of duty was the way to glory:
He that walks it, only thirsting
For the right, and learns to deaden
Love of self, before his journey closes,




TIE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.          139
He shall find the stubborn thistle bursting
Into glossy purples, which outredden
All voluptuous garden-roses.
Not once or twice in our fair island story,
The path of duty was the way to glory:
He, that ever following her commands;
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won.
His path upward, and prevail'd,
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled
Are close upon the shining table-lands
To which our God Himself is moon and sun.
Such was he: his work is done:
But while the races of mankind endure,
Let his great example stand
Colossal, seen of every land,
AMnd keep the soldier firm, the statesman  pure;
Till in all lands and thro' all human story
The path of duty be the way to glory:
And let the land whose hearths he saved froin shame




140          ODE ON THE DEATH OF
For many and many an age proclaihn
At civic revel and pomp and game,
And when the long-illumined cities flame,
Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame,
With honor, honor, honor, honor to him,
Eternal honor to his name.
9,
Peace, his triumph will be sung
By some yet unroulded tongue
Far on in summers that we shall not see:
Peace, it is a day of pain
For one about whose patriarchal knee
Late the little children clung:
O peace, it is a day of pain
For one, upon whose hand and heart and brain
Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.
Ours the pain, be his the gain!
Mlore than is of man's degree




THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.          141
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.
Whom we see not we revere.
We revere, and we refrain
From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility
As befits a solemn fane:
We revere, and while we hear
The tides of Music's golden sea
Setting toward eternity,
Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,
Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
And Victor he must ever be.
For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill
And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break, and work their will;
Tho' worlds on worlds in myriad myriads roll




142     ODE ON THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
Round us, each with different powers,
And other forms of life than ours,,What know we greater than the soul?
On God and Godlike men we build our trust.
Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears:
The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears:
The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears;
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
He is gone who seem'd so great. -
Gone; but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own
Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in State,
And that he wears a truer crown
Than any wreath that man can weave him.
But speak no more of his renown,
Lay your earthly fancies down,
And in the vast cathedral leave him.
God accept him, Christ receive him.
1852.




THE DAISY.'WRITTEN AT EDINBURGII.
0 LoVE, what hours were thine and mine,
In lands of palm and southern pine;
In lands of palmv of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine.
What Roman strength Turbia show'd
In ruin, by the mountain road;
How like a gem, beneath the city
Of little Monaco, basking, glow'd.
143




144               THE DAISY.
How richly down the rocky dell
The torrent vineyard streaming fell
To meet the sun and sunny waters,
That only heaved with a summer swell.
What slender campanili grew
By bays, the peacock's neck in hue;
Where, here and there, on sandy beaches
A milly-bell'd amaryllis blew.
How young Columbus seem'd to rove,
Yet present in his natal grove,
Now watching high on mountain cornice,
And steering, now, from a purple cove,
Now pacing mute by ocean's rim;
Till, in a narrow street and dim,
I stay'd the wheels at Cogoletto,
And drank, and loyally drank to him.




THE DAISY.                145
Nor knew we well what pleased us most,
Not the clipt palm of which they boast;
But distant color, happy hamlet,
A moulder'd citadel on the coast,
Or tower, or high hill-convent, seen
A light amid its olives green;
Or olive-hoary cape in ocean;
Or rbsy blossom in hot ravine,
Where oleanders flush'd the bed
Of silent torrents, gravel-spread;
And, crossing, oft we saw the glisten
Of ice, far off on a mountain head.
We loved that hall, tho' white and cold,
Those niched shapes of noble mould,
A princely people's awful princes,
The grave, severe Genovese of old.
10




146              THE DAISY.',
At Florence too what golden hours,
In those long galleries, were ours;
What drives about the fresh Cascinb,
Or walks in Boboli's ducal bowers.
In bright vignettes, and each complete,
Of tower or duotno, sunny-sweet,
Or palace, how the city glitter'd,
Thro' cypress avenues, at our feet.
But when we crost the Lombard plain
Remember what a plague of rain;
Of rain at Reggio, at Parma;
At Lodi, rain, Piacenza, rain.
And stern and sad (so rare the smiles
Of sunlight) look'd the Lombard piles;
Porch-pillars on the lion resting,
And sombre, old, colonnaded aisles.




THE DAISY.               147
0 Milan, 0 the chanting quires,
The giant windows' blazon'd fires,
The height, the space, the gloom, the o-lory!
A mount of marble, a hundred spires!
I climb'd the roofs at break of day;
Sun-smitten Alps before me lay.
I stood among the silent statues,
And statued pinnacles, mute as they.
How faintly-flush'd, how phantom-fair,
Was Monte Rosa, hanging there
A thousand shadowy-pencill'd valleys
And snowy dells in a golden air.
Remember how we came at last
To Comno; shower and storm and blast
Had blown the lake beyond his limit,
And all was flooded; and how we past




143               THIIE DAISY.
From Conmo, when the light was gray,
And in my head, for half the day,
The rich Virgilian rustic measure
Of. Lari Maxume, all the way,
Like ballad-burthen music, kept,
As on The Lariano crept
To that fair port below the castle
Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept;
Or hardly slept, but watch'd awake
A cypress in the moonlight shake,
The moonlight touching o'er a terrace
One tall Agave above the lake.
What more? we took our last adieu,
And up the snowy Splugen drew,
But ere we reach'd' the highest summit
I pluck'd a daisy, I gave it you.




THE DAISY.               149
It told of England then to me,
And now it tells of Italy.
O love, we two shall go no longer
To lands of summer beyond the sea;
So dear a life your arms enfold
Whose crying is a cry for gold:
Yet here to-night in this dark city,
When ill and weary, alone and cold,
I found, tho' crush'd to hard and dry,
Thiis ntursling of another sky
Still in the little book you lent me,
And where you tenderly laid it by
And I forgot the clouded Forth,
The gloom that saddens Heaven and Earth,
The bitter east, the misty summer
And gray metropolis of the North.




1.50              THE DAISY.
Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain,
Perchance, to charm a vacant brain,
Perchance, to dream you still beside me,
My fancy fled to the South again.




TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE.
COME, when no graver cares employ,
Gbdfather, come and see your boy'
Your presence will be sun in winter
Making the little one leap for joy.
For, being of that honest few,
Who give the Fiend himself his due,
Should eighty-thousand college-councils
Thunder' Anathema,' friend, at you;
151




152        TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE.
Should all our churchmen foam in spite
At you, so careful of the right,
Yet one lay-hearth would give you welc(me
(Take it and come) to the Isle of Wight;
Where, far from noise and smoke of town,
I watch the twilight falling brown
All round a careless-order'd garden
Close to the ridge of a noble down.
You'11 have no srcndal while you dine,
But honest talk and wholesome wine,
And only hear the magpie gossip
Garrulous under a roof of pine:
For groves of pine on either hand,
To break the blast of winter, stand;
And further on, the hoary Channel
Tumbles a breaker on chalk and sand;




TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE.       153
Where, if below the milky steep
Some ship of battle slowly creep,
And on thro' zones of lioht and shadow
Glimmer away to the lonely deep,
We might discuss the Northern sin
Which made a selfish war begin;
Dispute the claims, arrange the chances;
Emperor, Ottoman, which shall win:
Or whether war's aver:,ing rod
Shall lash all Europe into blood;
Till you should turn to dearer matters,
Dear to the man that is dear to God;
How best to help the slender store,
How mend the dwellings, of the poor;
How Egain in life, as life advances,
Valor and charity more and more.




154        TO THE REV. F. D. JMAURICE.
Come, Maurice, come: the lawn as yet
Is hoar with riine, or spongy-wet;
But when the wreath of March has blossorn'd,
Crocus, anemone, violet,
Or later, pay one visit here,
For those are few we hold as dear;
Nor pay but one, but come for many,
Many and many a happy year.
JaTnuary, 1854.




WI L.
1.
O WELL for him whose will is strong!
He suffers, but he will not suffer long;
He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong:
For him nor moves the loud world's random mock,
Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound,
Who seerns a promontory of rock,
That, compass'd round with turbulent sound,
In middle ocean meets the surging shock,
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd.
2.
But ill for him who, bettering not with time,
Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will,
155




156                    WILL.
And ever weaker grows thro' acted crime
Or seeming-genial venial fault,
Recurring an(d suggesting still!
He seems as one whose footsteps halt,
Toiling in immeasurable sand,
And o'er a weary sultry land,
Far beneath a blazing vault,
Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill,
The city sparkles like a grain of salt.




THE
CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
HALF a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Charge," was the captain's cry;
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs but to do and die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
157




158'THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
2.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well;
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd all at once in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery smoke,




THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.   159
Fiercely the line they broke;
Strong was the sabre-stroke:
Making an army reel
Shaken and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
4,
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Stolnr'd at with shot and shell,
They that had struck so well
Rode thro' the jaws of Death,
Half a league back again,
Up from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of si-x hundred.




160    THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
5.
Honor the brave and bold!
Long shall the tale be told,
Yea, when our babes are old -
How they rode onward.




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