THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY PRESENTED BY THE WILLIAM A. WHITAKER FOUNDATION ; Si. sir it iT #■. ■• •.. - j ^ *»• ‘i ' . \f‘ w^- -t ♦ *r 1 POEMS. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill https://archive.org/details/poems00tenn_3 « •> ♦ ¥ T' 4 ^ • #' i f • • » H . rob' N SiO From a Medallion by Thomas Woo LN E R. L'mdon,Edward Maxon,Dover Street. POEMS BY ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C.L., rOET LAUREATE. ♦ LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. LONDON: BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS, TO THE QUEEN. Kevehed, beloved—O you that liold A nobler office upon earth Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old. Victoria,—since your Itoyal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the brows Of liim that utter’d nothing base ; And should your greatness, and tlie care That yokes with empire, yield 3"Ou time To make demand of modern rhyme If auglit of ancient wortli l)e thei’c ; TJien—while a sweeter music wakes. And thro’ wild jMarcIi tlie throstle calls, Vdiere all about your palace-walls The sun-lit almond-blossom slndves— VI TO THE QUEEN. 1’nke, Madam, this poor book of soiip^'; For tlio’ tlie faults were thick as dust Ill vacant chambers, I could trust Your kindness. May you rule us long, And leave us rulers of your blood As nolile till the latest day! May children of our children say, ‘ She wrought her people lasting good; ‘ Her court was pure ; her life serene ; God gave her peace ; her land reposed ; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife and Queen; ‘ And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons when to tak(^ Occasion by the hand, and make Tlie hounds of freedom wider yet OQ c> 0:2^ By shaping some august decree, AVhich kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people’s will. And compass’d by the inviolate sea.’ March, 1851. CONTENTS Page CLARIBEL.1 LILIAN.3 ISABEL.5 MARIANA. TO . 11 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.13 MADELINE.2*1 SONG.—THE OWL.23 SECOND SONG.—TO THE SAME. ODE TO MEMORY.24 SONG.29 THE SEA-FAIRIES. ADELINE.33 A CHARACTER.. . THE POET.3S THE POET’S MIND.41 THE DESERTED HOUSE.43 THE DYING SWAN.45 A DIRGE.47 LOVE AND DEATH. . . 50 Vlll CONTENTS. Tago THE BALLAD OF OR!ANA. THE MERMAN. THE MERMAID. SONNET TO J. M. .. CIRCUMSTANCE.‘j'i THE LADY OF SHALOTT.C7 ELEANORE.7(> MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.82 THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER.StJ FATDIA.97 Q'lNONE.99 THE SISTERS.109 TO.. 112 THE PALACE OF ART.113 LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.128 THE MAY QUEEN.131 NEW YEAR’S EVE.134 CONCLUSION.137 THE LOTOS-EATERS.. A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN.I 49 MARGARET.163 THE BLACKBIRD.. . . 166 ^...108 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.. “YOU ASK ME, WHY, TilO’ ILL AT EASE,”.I 75 “OF OLD SAT FREEDOM ON THE HEIGHTS,”.I 77 ‘ LOVE THOU THY LAND, M’lTH LOVE FAR-BROUGHT”.170 THE GOOSE ... CONTENTS. IX THE EPIC. Page , 189 MORTE D’ARTilUR . 191 THE GARDENER’S DAUGHTER; OR, THE RICTURES . 203 DORA. AUDREY COURT . . 2-20 WALKING TO THE MAIL EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE. . 228 ST. SIMEON STYLITES ... ... THE TALKING OAK. . 2T2 LOVE AND DUTY .... . 250 THE GOLDEN YEAR . ULYSSES. . 2G4 LOCKSLEY HALL. . . . 2 cr GODIVA. 'I'HE TWO VOICES. . 285 SIR GALAHAD. . 305 ST. AGNES’ EVE. AMPHION. THE DAY-DREAM;— PROLOGUE . THE SLEEPING PALACE. . 317 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. THE ARRIVAL. J’lIE REVIVAL. THE DEPAR'l'URE. MORAL . . 326 I .’ENVOI. . 326 EPILOGUE . . 329 b / X CONTENTS. Page WILL WATERPROOF’S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE.330 EDWARD GRAY.340 TO -. AFTER READING A LIFE AND LETTERS.343 TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE.345 A FAREWELL.347 LADY CLARE. 349 THE LORD OF BURLEIGH.353 SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUERN GUINEVERE.357 THE BEGGAR MAID.359 THE VISION OF SIN.361 “ COME NOT, WHEN I AM DEAD,”.370 “MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH, AND LEAVE”.371 THE EAGLE.372 “BREAK, BREAK, BREAK,”.373 THE POET’S SONG 375 LIST or ILLUSTRATIONS. Artists. Engravers. I’age CLARIBEL. T. Williams . 1 MARIANA. J. E. Millais, A R.A. DAI.ZIEL, Brothers 7 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN! y W. H. Hunt T. Williams . 13 NIGHTS. ) Do. . Do. . . . J. Thompson . . 19 ODE TO MEMORY. T. Creswick, R.A. W. J. Linton 24 THE SEA-FAIRIES. W. Mulready, R.A. . J. Thompson . . 31 THE DESERTED HOUSE Do. Do. 43 A DIRGE. T. CRE.SWICK, R.A. W. J. Linton . . 47 THE BALLAD OF ORIANA . W. H. Hunt Daijziel, Brothers 51 Do. .... Do. . . . Do. . . . 55 CIRCUMSTANCE . J. C. Horsley, A.R.A. J. Thompson . 02 Do. . Do. . . . AV. J. I.inton . . 03 THE LADY OF SHALOTT . W. H. Hunt J. THOMP.SON . 67 Do. . . . D. G. Rossetti . . Dalziel, Brothers 75 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH . Do. W. J Linton . 82 THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER . . . J. E. Millals, a.R.A. 'I'. Williams . . SO Do. Do. J Thompso.n 93 (ENONE. C. Stanfield, R.A. W. J. Linton . . 99 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Xll THE SISTERS. THE PALACE OF ART Do. • . THE .MAY QUEEN .... NEW YEAR’S EVE . CONCLUSION .... THE LOTOS-EATERS A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN . Do. THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR THE GOOSE . MORTE D’ARTHUR .... Do. .... THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER; OR, "j A rtists. J. E. Millais, A.R.A. D. G Rossetti . . Do. J. C. Horsley, A.R.A. 1 ) 0 . Do. C Stanfield, R.A. . J. B. Millais, A.R.A. Do. Do. . . . W. Mulready, R.A. . I). Maclise, R.A. . . Do, Engraver-s. Page Dalziel, Rrothers 109 Do. Do. 113 119 W. J. Linton . . 131 Do. Do. Do. . 134 . 137 . 141 Do. . . 149 Dalziel, Brothers 161 Do. . . 172 J. Thompson . . 184 Do. . . 191 Dalziei., Brothers 199 THE PICTURES . . . . DORA. Do. . EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE THE TALKING OAK . . . . Do. THE GOLDEN YEAR . . . . ULYSSES ...... LOCKSLEY HALL . . . . Do. .... GODIVA. SIR GALAHAD . . . . ST. AGNES’ EVE. Do. -J. C. Horsley, A.R.A. J. Thompson 203 J. E. Millais, A.R.A. Do. . . . C. Stanfield, R.A. . J. E. Millais, A.R.A. Do. T. Creswick, R a. C. Stanfield, R.A. . J. E. Millais, A.R.A. Do. W. 11. Hunt . . . D. G. Rossetti . J. E. .Millais, A.R.A. C. Stanfield, R..\. T. Williams . . 213 J. Thompson . . 219 W. J. Linton . . 228 J. Thompson . .242 Dalziel, Brothers 25a W. T. Green . . 200 Do. . . 264 .1. Thompson . . 267 DAI.ZIEL, Brothers 274 Do. . . 281 W. J. Linton . 305 DA1.ZIEL, Brothers 309 W. J. Linton . 311 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THE DAY-DREAM Do. Artists. J. E. Millais, A.R.A. Do. WILL WATERPROOF’S LYRICAL MO¬ NOLOGUE, MADE AT THE COCK EDWARD GRAY '. A FAREWELL. THE LORD OF BURLEIGH . THE BEGGAR MAID . “MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH, AND LEAVE” . W. Mulreadv, R.A. . J. E. Mill.\is, A.R.A. T. Creswick, R.A. J. E. Millais, A.R.A. W. IL Hunt . . . -T. Creswick, R. .V. « ( Xlll Engravers W. J. Linton . . Page 317 C. T. Thompson 823 J. Thompson . . 330 Do. 340 T. Williams . . 347 Dalziel, Brotiieils 353 T. Williams . . 359 W. T. Green . 871 Do. . . 373 BRE.\K, BREAK, BREAK,” C. Stanfield, R.A. « I r 4 * jr Ak.^ i POEMS. (published 1830 .) CT.MUBKL. A :>n:T.opv. r. Where Clari])el low-lietli Tlie breezes pause and die, lietting' the rosedeaves fall: But the soleiiin oak-tree sigheth, 15 2 CLARIBEL. Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth. II. At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone : At noon the wild bee hummeth About the moss’d headstone : At midnight the moon cometh, And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelletli, The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth, The babbhng runnel crispetli, Tlie hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth. 3 ].ILIAN. Airy, fairy liilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Cla2)S her tiny hands above me, Laughing all she can ; She’ll not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Tnlian. II. When my passion seeks rieasance in love-sighs She, looking thro’ and thro’ me d’horoimhlv to undo me. Smiling, never speaks : So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple. From beneath her gather’d wimjile (ilancing vith black-headed eyes, d’ill tl le lightning laughters dimjile The hahy-roses in her cheeks ; Then awav she flies. 4 LILIAN. III. Prytliee weep, May Lilian I Gaiety witliout eclipse AVearietli me, May Lilian : Thro’ my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilletli: Prytliee weep. May Lilian. IV. Praying all I can. If prayers will not hush thee. Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee. Fairy Lilian. ij I SAB KL. Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clear-pointed fianie of cliastit}^ Clear, vitliout beat, imd^dng, tended by Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane Of her still spirit; locks not wide-dispread. Madonna-wise on either side her head; Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign d'he suinnier calm of golden charity, AVere fixed shadows of thy fixed mood, Pievered Isabel, the crown and head. The stately flower of female fortitude. Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. ir. The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime ; a prudence to witldiold ; The laws of marriage character’d in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her heart; A love still burning upward, giving light G ISABEL. To read those laws ; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, tho’ undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro’ all the outworks of suspicious pride ; A courage to endure and to obey; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway. Crown’d Isabel, thro’ all her placid life. The queen of marriage, a most perfect wile. III. The mellow’d reflex of a winter moon; A clear stream flowing with a muddy one. Till in its onward current it absorbs With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother: A leaning and upbearing parasite. Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite. With cluster’d flower-bells and ambrosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other— Shadow forth thee:—the world hath not another (Tho’ all her fairest forms are types of thee. And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finish’d chasten’d purity. MARIANA. “Mariana, in the moated grange .”—Measure for Measure. With blackest moss tlie flower-2)lots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots d’hat held the peach to the garden-wall. 8 MARIANA. Tlie broken sheds look’d sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, “ iMy life is dreary, He cometh not,” she said ; She said, “ I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead! ” II. Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven. Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the hats. When thickest dark did trance the sky. She drew her casement-curtain hy, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, “ The night is dreary. He cometh not,” she said ; Slie said, “ 1 am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! ” III. U2)on the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : The cock sung out an hour ere light: o o From the dark fen the oxen’s low Came to her : without hope of change. In sleep she seem’d to walk forlorn, d’ill cold winds Avoke the gray-eyed morn About the lonelv moated grange. MARIANA. y She only said, “ The day is dreary, He cometh not,” she said; She said, “ I am aweary, aweaiy, I would that I were dead ! ” IV. About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken’d waters slept, And o’er it many, round and small. The cluster’d marish-mosses crept. Hard by a po2:)lar shook alway. All silver-green with gnarled bark : For leagues no other tree did mark Tlie level waste, the rounding gray. Slie only said, ‘‘ My life is dreaiy, He cometh not,” she said; She said, “ I am aweary, aweary, I would that I w^ere dead ! ” V. And ever when the moon was low. And the shrill winds were up and away. In the white curtain, to and fro. She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within tlieir cell. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, “ The night is dreary. He cometh not,” she said; She said, “ I am aweary, aweary, I would that 1 were dead! ” c 10 MARIANA. VI. All day Avitliin the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creak’d ; The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek’d, Or from the crevice peer’d about. Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors. Old footsteps trod the upper floors. Old voices called her from without. ■ She only said, “ My life is dreary. He cometh not,” she said ; She said, “ I am aweary, aweary, I woidd that I were dead! ” VII. ’The sparrow’s chirrup on the roof. The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour AVhen the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day \\ as sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, “ I am very dreaiy. He will not come,” she said; She wept, “ I am aweary, aweary. Oh God, that I were dead! ” 11 TO I. Clear-headed friend, whose joyful scorn, Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwaiu The knots that tangle huniaii creeds. The wounding cords that bind and strain ddie heart until it bleeds, Ihiy-fringed eyelids of the morn Iioof not a glance so keen as thine : If aught of prophecy be mine, Tliou wilt not live in A ain. ji. Ijow-cowering sliall tlie Sopliist sit; Ealseliood shall bare her plaited brow: Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not now Witli shrilling shafts of sul)tle wit. Xor martyr-lianies, nor trenchant swords Can do awjiy tliat ancient lie ; A rentier deatli slndl I’alseliood die, Shot tliro’ and thro’ with cunning words. 12 TO III. Weak Truth a-leaning on lier crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in lier utmost need, Tliy kingly intellect shall feed. Until she be an athlete hold, And weary with a finger’s touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed ; Like that strange angel which of old. Until the breaking of the light. Wrestled with wandering Israel, Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, And heaven’s mazed signs stood still In the dim tract of Penuel. PtECOLLECTION.S OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free In the silken sail of infanc}^, The tide of time flow’d back with me, The forward-flowing tide of time ; And many a sheeny summer-morn, Adown the Tigris I was borne. By Bagdat’s shrines of fretted gold. High-walled gardens green and old ; True Mussulman was I and sworn, I’or it was in the golden prime Of fjood Haroun Alraschid. O 14 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIOHTS. ir. Aniglit my slialloj), rustling tliro’ 'J'lie low Jiml bloomed foliage, drove Tlie fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove d’lie citron-shadows in the blue : lly garden porches on the brim, Tlie costly doors Hung open wide, (Iold glittering thro’ lamplight dim, And broider’d sofas on each side: In sooth it was a goodly time, b’or it was in the golden prime Of good ITai’oun Alraschid. III. Often, where clear-stenim’d platans guard ddio outlet, did I turn away d’lie boat-head down a broad canal From the main river sluiced, where all ddie sloping of the moon-lit sward ^Vas damask-work, and deep inlay ()t braided blooms unniown, which crept vVdown to where the water slei)t. A goodly place, a goodly time, J^’or it was in the golden prime Of good Ilaroun Ah’aschid. IV. A motion from the river won ilidged the smooth level, bearing on l\Iy shallop thro’ the star-strown calm, Fntil another night in night i enter’d, from the cleai’er light, O “ KKCOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. Iiiibower’d vaults of ])illar’d palm, Imprisoning sweets, wliicli, as they clomh Heavenward, were sta3'’d beneath the dome Of hollow boughs.—A goodly time. For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Still onward; and the cdear canal Is rounded to as clear a lake, from the green rivage maii}^ a f;dl Of diamond rillets musical, Thro’ little ciystal arches low Down from the central fountain’s How Fall’ll silver-chiming, seem’d to shake d’he sparkling Hints heneath the prow. A goodly t)lace, a goodly time, f’or it was in the golden prime Of good llarouii Alraschid. vr. Above thro’ many a bowery turn A walk with vaiy-colour’d shells Wander’d engrain’d. On either side All round about the fragrant marge From fluted vase, and brazen urn In order, eastern flowers large. Some dropping low their crimson bells Half-closed, and others studded wide AVitli disks and tiars, fed the time With odour in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. 10 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. VII. Far off, and wliere tlie lemon-grove In closest coverture upspriing, The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul as he sung; Not he : but something which possess’d The darkness of the world, delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal love, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress’d. Apart from place, withholding time. But flattering the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. VIII. Black the garden-bowers and grots Slumber’d: the solemn palms were ranged Above, unwoo’d of summer wind : A sudden splendour from behind Flush’d all the leaves with rich gold-green. And, flowing rapidly between d’heir interspaces, counterchanged The level lake with diamond-plots Of dark and bright. A lovely time. For it was in the golden prime Of good llaroim Alraschid. IX. Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead. Distinct with vivid stars inlaid. Grew darker from that under-liame : So, leaping lightly from the boat, ^\ ith silver anchor left afloat. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. Ill iiiiirvel whence that glory caiiie Upon me, as in sleep I sank In cool soft turf upon the bank, Entranced Avith that place and time. So worth}^ of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. X. Thence thro’ the garden I was drawn— A realm of pleasance, many a mound. And many a shadow-cheqiier’d lawn Full of the city’s stilly sound. And deep myrrh-thickets bloAving round The stately cedar, tamarisks. Thick rosaries of scented thorn. Talk orient shrubs, and obelisks Oraven with emblems of the time, in honour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. XI. ^\ ith dazed vision unawares From the long alley’s latticed shade khnerged, I came uiion the great Pavilion of the Caliphat. Pight to the carven cedarn doors. Flung iinvard over spangled doors. Broad-based Ilights of marble stairs Ban up with golden balustrade. After the fashion of the time. And humour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. 1) 18 KKCOLLECTIONS OF THE ARAHJAN NIGHTS. xir. 'I’lie fourscore windows all alight As with the (j[uiiitesseiice of dame, A million tapers Haring bright From twisted silvers look’d to shame The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream’d Upon the mooned domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till there seem’d Hundreds of crescents on the roof Of night new-risen, that marvellous time. To celebrate the golden prime Of good llaroun Alraschid. XIII. Then stole I up, and trancedly Gazed on the Persian girl alone. Serene with argent-lidded eyes Amorous, and lashes like to rays Of darkness, and a brow of pearl Tressed with redolent ebonv. In many a dark delicious curl. Flowing beneath her rose-lined zone ; The sweetest lady of the time, A\T11 worthy of the golden prime Of good llaroun Ali-aschid. XIV. Six columns, three on either side, Ihire silver, underpropt a rich d'hrone of the massive ore, from which 1 )own-drooi)’d, in many a floating fold, Fngarlanded and dia 2 )er’d RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. 10 AVitli inwrouglit flowers, a cloth of gold, d’hereoii, liis deep eye laugliter-stirr’d AVitli merriment of king!}' pride, Sole star of all tliat place and time, I saw him—in liis golden ])rinie. The Good IIaiioun Alrasciiid ! 20 MADELINE.- Thou art not steep’d in golden languors, No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thro’ light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. ir. Smiling, frowning, evermore. Thou art perfect in love-lore, lievealings deep and clear are thine Of wealthy smiles : hut who may know Whether smile or frown be fleeter ? Whether smile or frown he sweeter, AVho may know ? Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Light-glooming over eyes divine. Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine. Ever varying Madeline. MADELINE. 21 Tliy smile and frown are not aloof From one another, Each to each is dearest brother ; Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other. All tlie mystery is thine; Smiling, frowning, evermore. Thou art perfect in love-lore, hlver varving Madeline. III. A subtle, sudden tlame. By veering passion fann’d. About thee breaks and dances ; Wlien I would kiss thy hand. The flush of anger’d shame O’erflows thy calmer glances. And o’er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown : But when I turn away, Thou, willing me to stay, Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest; But, looking fixedly the wliile. All my hounding heart entanglest In a golden-netted smile ; Then in madness and in bliss. If my lips should dare to kiss Tliy taper fingers amorously, Again tliou blushest angerly ; And o’er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown. SONG.—TI IK OWL. I. When cats run liome and liglit is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And tlie far-off stream is dumb. And the wliirring sail goes round. And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming liis five wits, Tlie wliite owl in the belfry sits. ir. Wlien merry milkmaids click the latch. And rarely smells the new-mown ha}^ And the cock hath sung beneath the tliatcl Twice or thrice his roundehiy. Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits, ddie white owl in the lielfry sits. 21 } / SK(JONI> S(>N(;. TO TIIK HAMK. Thy tuwliits ara lull’d I wot, d'liy tiiwlioos of y(iHi(jniIgl)l, W'liicli upon llio djirk sdlojil, So took echo with dcjliglil, So took oclio with delight, d’liut her voi(;e iintunci'ul gi’owii, Wcfii'K ull (hiy 51 hilntcT tone. II. 1 would niock thy cluiuiit unew ; lint I oaiiiiot luiiiiick it; Not }i. whit of thy tiiwhoo, Tho(! to woo to Ihy tuwhil, ’Thco to woo to thy i.iiwhit, With ji hingtlicii’d loud halloo, 'I’liwhoo, tiiwhit., tiiwhit, tuwhoo-o-u. ODE TO MEMORY. I. Thou avLo stealest fire, L'roni the fountains of the past, To glorify the present; oh, haste. Visit my low desire ! Strengthen me, enlighten me ! 1 faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. ODE TO MEMORY. II. Come not as thou earnest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; hut robed in soften’d light Of orient state. Whilome thou earnest with the morning mist. Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss’d, When she, as thou. Stays on her floating loeks the lovely freight Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits, Whieh in wintertide shall star The hlaek earth witli hrillianee rare. III. Whilome thou earnest with the morning mist, And with the evening cloud. Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast, (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, Wlien rooted in the garden of the mind. Because they are the earliest of the year). Nor was the night thy shroud. Tn sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Tliou leddest by the hand thine infant Pfo])e. The eddying of her garments caught from thee Tlie light of tliy great presence; and the cope Of the half-attain’d futuritv, Tho’ deep not fathomless. Was cloven witli tlie million stars which tremble O’er the deep mind of dauntless infancy. 20 ODE TO MEMORY. Small tliouglit was there of life’s distress ; For sure she deem’d no mist of earth could dull Those spirit-thrilling eyes so keen and beautiful: Sure she was niglier to heaven’s spheres, Tiistening the lordly music flowing from The illimitable years. O strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, d’hou dewy dawn of memory. IV. Come forth I charge thee, arise. Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes ! Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vines Unto mine inner eye, Divinest ^lemory ! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall AVhich ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried : Come from the woods that belt the gray liill-side, The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father’s door, « And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o’er matted cress and ribbed sand. Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves. Drawing into his narrow earthen urn, Tn every elbow and turn, Tlie filter'd tribute of the rough woodland. 0 ! hither lead thy feet! Ikmr round mine ears the livelong bleat ODE TO MEMORY. Of the tliick-heeced slieej) from wattled folds, Upon the ridged wolds, When the first matin-song hath waken’d loud Over the dark dewy earth forlorn. What time the amber morn Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung eloud. V. Large dowries doth the raptured eye d\) the young spirit present When first she is wed ; And like a bride of old In triumph led. With music and sweet showers Of festal flowers. Unto the dwelling she must sway. Well hast thou done, great artist Memory, In setting round thy first experiment With royal frame-work of wrought gold ; Needs must thou dearly love thy first essay, And foremost in thy various gallery Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls Upon the storied walls; For the discovery And newness of thine art so pleased thee, 'Lhat all which thou hast drawn of fairest Or boldest since, but lightly weighs With thee unto the love thou bearest The first-born of thy genius. Artist-like, J'iver retiring thou dost gaze (.)n the prime labour of thine early days; No matter what the sketcli might be ; 28 UDE TO MEMORY. Whether the high field on the biishless Pike, Or even a sand-built ridge Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Overblown with murmurs harsh. Or even a lowly cottage whence we see Stretch’d wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, Where from the frequent bridge. Like emblems of infinity. The trenched waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bower’d close With plaited alleys of the trailing rose. Long alleys falling down to twilight grots. Or opening upon level plots Of crowned lilies, standing near Purple-spiked lavender; Whither in after life retired From brawling storms. From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired. We may hold converse with all forms Of the many-sided mind. And those whom passion hath not blinded, Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded. My friend, with you to live alone, Were how much better than to own A crown, a sceptre, and a throne ! 0 strengthen me, enlighten me! I taint in this obscurity. Thou dewy dawn of memory. 21) SON G. I. A SPIRIT haunts the year’s last hours Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers : To himself he talks ; For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigli In the walks; Earthward he howeth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i’ tlie earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. ir. The air is damp, and hush’d, and close. As a sick man’s room when he taketh repose An hour before death ; ^Iv verv heart faints and niv whole soul <>rieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, 30 SONG. And tlie breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year’s last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i’ the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. THK SEA-FAIIUES. Slow sail’d the weary mariners and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet hices, rounded arms, and bosoms prest d’o little harps of gold ; and while they mused, AVhispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reacli’d them on the middle sea. Whither away, whither awa}^ whither awa}^ ? Hy no more, hither away from the high green held, and tlie liappy blossoming shore ? Oav and nij^ht to the billow the fountain calls ; Down shower the gamholling wnterfalls 32 THE SEA-FAIRIES. From wandering over tlie lea: Out of tlie live-green heart of the dells The}'' freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white hells the clover-hill swells Iligli over the full-toned sea : O hitlier, come hither and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me : Hither, come hither and frolic and play ; Here it is only the mew that wails; We will sing to you all the day : ^lariner, mariner, furl your sails. For here are the hlissful downs and dales, And merrily merrily carol tlie gales. And the spangle dances in bight and bay, And the rainbow forms and flies on the land Over the islands free ; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand ; Hither, come hither and see ; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, And sweet is the colour of cove and cave. And sweet shall your welcome he : O hither, come hither, and lie our lords I'or merry brides are we : We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words; 0 listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee : O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords lUins up the ridged sea. Who can light on as happy a shore All the world o’er, all the world o’er ? ^\ hither awav? listen and stav: mariner, mariner, dv no more. 3 o ADELINK. Mystery of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, But beyond expression fair AVitli thy floating flaxen hair; 'I’hy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of tliine, S])adowy, dreaming Adeline? II. Whence that aery bloom of thine, Like a lily which the sun fjooks tliro’ in his sad decline. And a rose-bush leans ujmn, Thou that faintly smilest still, As M, Naiad in a well, Fmoking at the s(d. of day, ()r a phantom two hours old K A DEL INK. • > • > 1 or a maiden ])ast away, Mre llie placid lips be cold ? A\’lierefore those faint smiles of thine, Si)ii’itua,l Ad (dine ? III. What hope or fear or joy is thine ? Who talketh with thee, Adeline ? For sure thou art not all alone: J)(^ heating hearts of salient sinings Keej) measure with thine own? Hast thou heard the hiitterliies What they say betwixt their wings ? ())• in stillest evenings W illi whiit voi(a‘ the violet woos d\) his hejirt the silver dews ? Or when little airs jirise. How the merry hliiehell rings d\) the mosses undernesith ? Iljist thou look’d ii})on the hrejith Of the lilies at sunrise? Wherefore that hiiiit smile of thine, Shiidowy, dreaming Adeline ? n. Some honey-converse feeds thy mind. Some spirit of a crimson rose In love with thee forgets to close His (uirtjiins, wasting odorous sighs All night long on darkness blind. \\ luit aileth thee ? whom waitest thou With Ihy soften’d, shadow’d brow. ADELINE. Aiifl those (low-lit eyes of thine, 'i'hou faint siuiler, Adeline ? V, liovcst thou tlie doleful wind Wlien tlioii f(a/est at the skies ? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from tlje side of the niorn, Dripping witlj Sahajan spi(;e On thy ])i]low, lowly hent With irielodions }>irs lovelorn, Ih’eathing Light against tliy fa(;e, Wlnle his locks a-droj)ping twined itoiind thy neck in subtle ring INIuke a cu,rennet of I'nys, And ye talk together still. In the hmguage wlierewith Sf)ring Letters cowslips on tlie liill ? Jlence tluit look and smile of tliine, S])iritiud Adeline. 3(3 A CHARACTEK. AVith a half-glance upon the sky At night he said, “ The wanderings (Af this most intricate Universe Teach me the nothingness of things.” Yet could not all creation pierce Revond the bottom of his eve. %■ He spake of beauty : that the dull Saw no divinity in grass, Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; Then looking as ’twere in a glass. He smooth’d his chin and sleek’d his hair. And said the earth was beautiful. He spake of virtue : not the gods Alore purely, when they wish to charm Pall as and Juno sitting hv : O V And with a sweeping of the arm. And a lack-lustre dead-blue eve, Hevolved his rounded periods. A CHARACTER. 37 ^lost delicately hour by hour He canvass’d human mysteries, And trod on silk, as if the winds Blew his own praises in his e^^es. And stood aloof from other minds In impotence of fancied power. AVitli lips dei)ress’d as he were meek. Himself unto himself he sold : Upon himself himself did feed : (^uiet, dispassionate, and cold. And otlier than his form of creed, AVith chisell’d features clear and sleek. 38 THE POET. The poet in a golden clime was born, Witli golden stars above; Dower'd with tlie hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw thro’ life and death, thro’ good and ill. He saw thro’ his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will, An open scroll. Before him lay : with echoing feet he threaded The secretest walks of hime : ’The viewless arrows of his thonghts were headed And wing’d with flame. Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tonaue, And of so fierce a flight, Erom Calpe unto Caucasus they sung. Filling with light THE POET. And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Tliem eartliward till they lit; Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field fiower, The fruitful wit Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Where’er they fell, behold, Ifike to the mother plant in semblance, grew A flower all gold. And bravely furnish’d all abroad to fling The winged shafts of truth. To throng with stately blooms the breathing spr Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs witli beams, Tho’ one did fling the fire. Heaven flow’d upon the soul in man}' dreams Of high desire. 'rims truth was multiplied on truth, the world l ake one great garden show’d. And thro’ tlie Avreatlis of floating dark upcurl’d, Hare sunrise flow’d. And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow, Wlien rites and forms before liis burning eves ^lelted like snow. 40 TPIE POET. Tliere was no blood upon her maiden robes Siinn’d by those orient skies; But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes And in her raiment’s hem was traced in flame WiSDo:sr, a name to shake All evil dreams of power—a sacred name. And when slie spake, Her words did gatlier thunder as they ran, And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man. Making earth wonder. So was their meaning to her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl’d. But one poor poet’s scroll, and witli Ids word She shook the world. 41 THE POET’S MINI). Vex not thou the poet’s mind With thy shallow wit: Vex not thou the poet’s mind ; For thou canst not fathom it. Clear and bright it should be ever, Flowing like a crystal river ; Bright as liglit, and clear as wind. II. Dark-hrow’d sophist, come not anear; All the place is holy ground ; Hollow smile and frozen sneer Come not here. Holy water will I pour Into every spicy flower Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around, d’he flowers would faint at your cruel cheer. In your eye there is death, There is frost in your breath THE POET’S MIND. Which would bliglit the plants. Where you stand you cannot hear From the groves within The wild-bird’s din. In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants, It would fall to the ground if you came in. I n the middle leaps a fountain Like sheet lightning, Ever brightening With a low melodious thunder ; All day and all night it is ever drawn TT’om the brain of the pur2)le mountain AVhicli stands in the distance yonder : It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above. And it sings a song of undying love; And yet, tho’ its voice be so clear and full, Vou never would hear it; your ears are so dull; So keep where you are: you are foul witli sin ; It would shrink to the earth if vou came in. c/ TIIK DKSKIiTKI) IIOTISK. r. Life and Thougiit have gone away Side by side, r.eaving dcv)!* and windows wide*: Careless tenants tliey ! n. All within is dark as niglit : In tlie windows is no liglit ; And no ninrnnn- at tlie d