■-■-■'.I-:-. . *'!'» Darnell Imircraitu ffitbratg 3tljaca, Nfto $nrk FROM THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://archive.org/details/cu31924031321478 Frontispiece. — Page 11. 1876. THE COMPLETE WOEKS ALFRED TENNYSON, INCLUDING QUEEN MARY. I U u s t r a t z to . BOSTON : WILLIAM F. GILL & COMPANY, No. 309 Washington Street. 1876. TO THE QUEEN. Eevkked, beloved— you that hold , A nobler office upon earth 'ihan arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old, Victoria, — since your Eoyal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the brows Of him that uttered nothing base; Aid «houlc! your greatness, and the care That yokes with empire, yield you tine To make demand of modern rhyme If aught of ancient worth be there; Then — while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls,, Where all about«your palace-walls The sun lit almond-blossom shakes — fake, Madam, this poor book of song; For tho' the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust Tour kindness. May you rule ua long TO THB QUEEN. And leave us rulers of jour blood As noble till the latest day I 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 take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet "By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still. Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the Inviolate tea." Maech, MSI. CONTENTS. CLARIBEL ■ LILIAN . . i . . . . . ISABEL MARIANA ..... ■ . . TO ....... MADELINE . . SONG. — THE OWL SECOND SONG. — TO THE SAME . . . RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ODE TO MEMORY SONG ........ ADELINE A CHARACTER ...... THE POET ........ THE POET'S MIND THE SEA-FAIRIES THK DESERTED HOU8B • ■ • ■ JUH ltYLNG SWAN ■■•■■« * DIRGE LOVE AND DEATH THE BALLAD OF ORIANA .... CIRCUMSTANCE THE MERMAN THE MERMAID SONNET TO J. M. K. . , ■ ■ ■ THE LADT OF SHALOTT .... MARIANA IN THE SOUTH .... ELEANORS THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER • . . fATIMA . . , . i . • . VI CONTENTS. CENONE , . , 64 TUB SISTERS 61 TO 62 THE PALACE OF ART 62 LADY CLARA VERB DE VERB 72 TIIE MAY QUEEN 74 NEW TEAK'S EVE ,....,.,. .76 CONCLUSION 78 THE LOTUS-EATERS 80 A DRKA.ll OF FAIR WOMEN R5 MARGARET . 94 THE BLACKBIRD 96 THE DEATH Of THE OLD YEAS 97 TO J. S 98 YOU ASK ME, WHY, TIIO' ILL AT EASE 100 OF OLD SAT FREEDOM ON TIIE HEIGHTS 101 LOVE THOU THY LAND, WITH LOVE FAB-BKOUGUT . . .102 THE GOOSE ' 105 THE EPIC 106 ■ MORTE D'ARTHUR 108 THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER; OR, THE PICTURES . . .115 DORA 122 AUDLEY COURT 128 WALKING TO THE MAIL ........ 128 EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE ....... 131 ST. SIMEON STYLITES 135 THE TALKINO OAK . , 140 LOVE AND DUTY 1+8 THE GOLDEN YEAR .......... 151 'ULYSSES 153 f.OCKSLEY IIAIJ. 154 GODIVA 164^ THE TWO VOICES ,100 am day dream: — PROLOGUE ....,,. 179 THE SLEEPING PALACE ...,,,,. 180 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 181 THE ARRIVAL 182 THE REVIVAL , .... ■ .... 181 THE DEPARTURE ...,..,,. lgi CONTENTS. Til (THE DAT DREAM: — MORAL . , , ......... 185 I/ENVOI 185 EPILOGUE .187 AMPHION 187 ST. AGNES' EVE 190 SIR GALAHAD 101 EDWARD GRAT 193 WILL (WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE .... 195 TO , AFTER READING A LIFE AND LETTERS . . ,201 TO E. L., ON IIIS TRAVELS IX GREECE 202 LADY CLARE 203 THE LORD OF BURLEIGH 206 SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE 208 A FAREWELL 210 THE BEGGAR MAID 210 -THE VISION OF SIN 211 COME NOT, WHEN I AM DEAD 217 THE EAGLE 217 MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH, AND LEAVE . . . .217 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 218 THE POET'S SONG 218 THE PRINCESS: A MEDLEY . 219 PROLOGUE 219 CONCLUSION 2!Hi /6s MEMORIAM 299 "MAUD 385 THE BROOK: AN IDYL ii'i THE LETTERS 427 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 429 CDYLLS OK THE KING! — DEDICATION 4 . . 431 THE COMING OF ARTHUR 433 CARET H AND LYNETTE ... 444 ENID 478 VIVIEN 519 ELAINE . . 538 THE HOLY GRAIL 571 PELLEAS AND ETTAItliE 595 THE LAST TOURNAMENT 611 GUTNEVF.RE 630 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR 647 VI11 CONTENTS. IDYLLS OF THE KING: — ~-"~ TO THE QliEEN 659 ENOCH ARDEN 661 ATLMEB'S FIELD 684 SEA DREAMS 703 THE GRANDMOTHER .711 TITIIONU9 716 THE VOYAGE 718 IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTEKETZ 720 THE FLOWER 721 REQUIESCAT 721 TIIE SAILOR BOY 722 THE ISLET 723 THE RINGLKT 724 A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA 725 A DEDICATION 726 boXdicea 727 IN QUANTITY 730 SPECIMEN OF A TRANSLATION OF TMK II,: \ \> IN BLANK VERSE . 731 THE CAPTAIN; A LEGEND OF TIIE NAVY 732 COME NOT, WHEN I AM DKAD 734 MY LIFE IS FULL OF WEARY DAYS 734 THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE . 735 SONG. — " LADY, LET THE ROLLING DRUMS," .... 736 SONG. — "HOME THEY BROUGHT HIM, SLAIN WITH SrEARS," . 736 ON A MOURNER 735 ODE ON TIIE DEATn OF Till: IIL'KE OF WELLINGTON . . .738 THE DAISY 7J4 TO TIIE KEV. F. 11. MAURICE 748 WILL 749 NORTHERN FARMF.R, OLD STYLE 75O SORTHERN FARMER, NEW STYLE 753 THE VICTIM 758 WAGES . , , 753 THE HIGHER PANTHEISM ,759 FLOWER IN TIIE CRANNIED WALL 759 JLUCRETIUS , ,760 THE GOLDEN BUPPE* 767 THE WINDOW, OR SONGS OF THE WHEN 778 A WELCOME TO TIIE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF EDINBURGH . . '85 IN THE GARDEN OF RWAJN8T0N . 736 THE VOICE AND THE PEAK 787 QUEEN MART .789 CLARIBEL. A MELODY. 1. Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves faE'. But the solemn oak-tree sighetL, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth. 2. 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 dwelleth, The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth, The babbling runnel crispetu, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth. 1 ISABEL. LILIAN. Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love roe. Clasps her tiny hands above me, Laughing all she can ; She '11 not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian. When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs, She, looking thro' and thro' me Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks : So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gather'd wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the ligttning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks ; Then away she flies. Prythee weep, May Lilian ! Gayety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian : Thro' my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth : Prythee weep, May Lilian. Praying all I can, If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, Fairy Lilian. ISABEL. 1. £yes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clear-pointed flame of chastity, Clear, wituout heat, undying, tended by Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane ISABEL. A Of her still spirit ; locks not wide-dispread, Madonna-wise on either side her head ; Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign The summer calm of golden charity, Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood, Revered Isabel, the crown and head, The stately flower of female fortitude, Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. 2. The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime; a prudence to withhold; The laws of marriage character'd in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her heart ; A love still burning upward, giving light 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 wife. 3. 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 Mecumt. RTith blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the garden-wall. The 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, " My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead 1 " 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 bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, " The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " MARIANA Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow The cock sung out an hour ere light : From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her : without hope of change, In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, " The day is dreary, He cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " 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 poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark : For leagues no other tree did mark rru " 1 """ 1 waste, the rounding gray. ouk only said, " My life is dreary, r»e cometh not," she said ; ssia said, " I am aweary, aweary, 1 would that I were dead ! " 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 their 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 1 would that I were dead ! " All day within 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. TO 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 would that I were dead ! " 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 bcur When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then said she, " I am very dreary He will not come," she said ; She wept, "I am aweary, aweary Oh God, that I were dead 1 " TO 1. Clear-headed friend, whose joyful scorn, Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain The knots that tangle human creeds, The wounding cords that bind and striin The heart until it bleeds, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn Roof not a glance so keen as thuu, . If aught of prophecy be mine, Thou wilt not live in vain. 2. Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit ; Falsehood shall bare her plaited brow : Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not now With shrilling shafts of subtle wit. Nor martyr-flames, nor trenchant swords Can do away that ancient lie ; A gentler death shall Falsehood die, Shot thro' and thro' with cunning words. MADELINE. 8. Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, Thy kingly intellect shall feed, Until she be an athlete bold, 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 Fenuel. MADELINE 1. 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. 2. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore. Revealings deep and clear are thine Of wealthy smiles : but who may know Whether smile or frown be fleeter ? Whether smile or frown be sweeter, Who may know ? Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Lignt^rlooming over eyes divine, Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thy smile and frown are not aloof From one another, Each to each is dearest brother ; SON'O. THE OWL. Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other. All the mystery is thine ; Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore, Ever varying Madeline. 3. A subtle, sudden flame, By veering passion fann'd, About thee breaks and dance*; When 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 while, All my bounding heart entanglest In a golden-netted smile ; Then in madness and in bliss, If my lips should dare to kiss Thy taper fingers amorously, Again thou blus'hest angerly ; And o'er black brows drops dawn A sudden-curved frown. SONG. — THE OWL. When cats run home and light is coma, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wita, ^e white owl in the belfry site. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHT) 2. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the beliry sits. SECOND SONG. TO THE SAME. 1. Thy tuwhits are lull'd I wot, Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, Which upon the dark afloat, So took echo with delight, So took echo with delight, That her voice untuneful gr u wii Wears all day a fainter tone. 2. I would mock thy chant anew; But I cannot mimic it ; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo, Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, With a lengthen'd loud halloo, Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-a RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. WHEN-the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free In the silken sail of infancy, The tide of time flow'd back with me The forward-flowing tide of time ; 10 RECOLLECTIONS OF 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, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alrasehid. Anight my shallop, rustling thro' The low and bloomed foliage, drove The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove The citron-shadows in the blue : By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide, Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim, And broider'd sofas on each side : _ In sooth it was a goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alrasehid. Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard The outlet, did I turn away The boat-head down a broad canal From the main river sluiced, where all The sloping of the moon-lit sward Was damask-work, and deep inlay Of braided blooms unmown, which crept Adown to where the water slept. A goodly place, a goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alrasehid. A motion from the river won Ridged the smooth level, bearing on My shallop thro' the star-strown calm, Until another night in night I enter'd, from the clearer light, Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd pahn, Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome Of hollow boughs. — A goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alrasehid. THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. 11 Still onward ; and the clear canal Is rounded to as clear a lake. From the green rivage many a fall Of diamond rillets musical, Thro' little crystal arches low Down from the central fountain's flow Fall'n silver-chiming, seem'd to shake The sparkling flints beneath the prow. A goodly place, a goodly time", For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Above thro' many a bowery turn A walk with vary-colorM 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 belto Half-closed, and others studded wide With disks and tiai-a. fed the time With odor in the ^ iden prime Of good Haroua Alraschid. Far off, and where the lemon grove In closest coverture upsprung, The living airs of middle night Died round the b^Jfcul as he sung ; Not he : but something which possoss'd The darkness of the world, delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal kve, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd, Apart from place, withholding t'.Tie, But flattering the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Black the garden-bowers and grots Slumber'd : the solemn palms were ranged Above, unwoo'd of summer wind : A sudden splendor from behind Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, And, flowing rapidly between Their interspaces, counterchanged 12 RECOLLECTIONS OF The level lake with diamond-plots Of dark and bright. A lovely time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead, Distinct with vivid stars inlaid, Grew darker from that under-flame : So, leaping lightly from the boat, With silver anchor left afloat, In marvel whence that glory came Upon me, as in sleep I sank In cool soft turf upon the bank, Entranced with that place and time, So worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Thence thro' the garden I was drawn — A realm of pleasance, many a mound, And many a shadow-checker'd lawD Full of the city's stilly sound, And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round The stately cedar, tamarisks, Thick rosaries of scented thorn, Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks Graven with emblems of the time, In honor of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. With dazed vision unawares From the long alley's latticed shade Emerged, I came upon the great Pavilion of the Caliphat. Right to the carven cedarn doors, Flung inward over spangled floors, Broad-based flights of marble staira Ran up with golden balustrade, After the fashion of the time, And humor of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid The fourscore windows all alight As with the quintessence of flame. THE ARABIAN NIGHTS 13 A million tapers flaring 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 tune To celebrate the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Then stole I up, and trancedly Gazed on the Persian girl alone. Serene with argent-lidded ^fm Amorous, and lashes like to la,*:' O f darkness, and a brow of ^.l*' Tressed with rgdolent ebony, In many a dark delicious curl, Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone ; The sweetest lady of the time, Well worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Six columns, three on either side, Pure silver, underpropt a rich Throne of the massive ore, from which Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, Engarlanded and diaper'd With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd With merriment of kingly pride, Sole star of all that place and time, I saw him — in his golden prime, The Good Haroun Alraschid I 1-J ODE TO MEMOBY. ODE TO MEMORY Thou who stealest fire From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present ; oh, haste, Visit my low desire ! Strengthen me, enlighten me ! I faint in this obscurity, % Thou dewy dawn of memoiy. 2. Come not as thou earnest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day ; but 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 locks the lovely freight Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits, Which in wintertide shall star The black earth with brilliance rare. 3. 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 sear, When rooted in the garden of the mind, Because they are the earliest of the year). iior was the night thy shroud. In sv'et dreams softer thac unbroken rest Thou 'ddest by the hand thine infant Hope. ODE TO MEMORY. U The eddying of her garments caught from thee The light of thy great presence ; and the cope Of the half-attain'd futurity, Tho' deep not fathomless. Was cloven with the million stars which tremble O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy. Small thought 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 nigher to heaven's spheres. Listening the lordly music flowing from The illimitable years. strengthen me, enlighten me I 1 faint in this obscurity. Thou dewy dawn of memory. 4. Uome forth I charge thee, arise, Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes I Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vines Unto mine inner eye, Divinest Memory ! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which 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 hill-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, In every elbow and turn, The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland. O 1 hither lead thy feet ! Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat Of the thick-fleeced sheep from wattled folds, Upon the ridged wolds, When the first matin-song bath waken'd loud Over the dark dewy earth forlorn, What time the amber morn Forth gushes from beneath a iow-hung cloud. 16 ODE TO MEMORY. 5. Large dowries doth the raptured eye To 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, That 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, Ever retiring thou dost gaze On the prime labor of thine early days : No matter what the sketch might be ; Whether the high field on the bushless 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 reinspi-ed, 80NQ. 17 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 1 strengthen me, enlighten me 1 1 faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. SONG. 1. 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 sigh In the walks; Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. 2. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death ; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the 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. Ijf ADEUXE. ADELINE. 1. Mystery of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair: Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? 2. Whence that aery bloom of thine, Like a lily which the sua Looks thro' in sad decline, And a rose-bush leans upon. Thou that faintly smilest still. As a Naiad in a well, Looking at the set of day, Or a phantom two hours old Of a maiden past away, Ere the placid lips be cold ? Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, Spiritual Adeline ? 8. What hope or fear or joy is thine ? Who talketh with thee, Adeline ? For sure thou art not all alone : Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own ? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings ? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews ? Or when little airs arise, How the merry bluebell rings To the mosses underneath ' Hast thou look'd upon the breatk Of the lilies at sunrise 1 Wherefore that faint smile of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? A CHARACTER. 4. Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, Some spirit of a crimson rose In love with thee forgets to close His cur'tains, wasting odorous sighs All night long on darkness blind.. What aileth thee ? whom waitest thou With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow, And those dew-lit eyes of thine, Thou faint smiler, Adeline ? 6. Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies ? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side of the morn, Dripping with Sabasan spice On thy pillow, lowly bent With melodious' airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face, While his locks a-drooping twined Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays, And ye talk together still, In the language wherewith Spring Letters cowslips on the hill ? Hence that look and smile of thine, Spiritual Adeline. A CHARACTER With a half-glance upon the sky At night he said, " The wanderings Of this most intricate Universe Teach me the nothingness of things.* Yet could not all creation pierce Beyond the bottom of his eye. He spake of beauty : that the dull Saw no divinity in grass, Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; Then looking as 't were in a glass, He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair, And said the earth was be»"itirul. 19 20 THE POET. He spake of virtue : not the gods More purely, when they wish to charm Pallas and Juno sitting by : And with a sweeping of the arm, And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye, Devolved his rounded periods. Most delicatelv hour by hour He canvass'd human mysteries, And trod on silk, as if the winds Blew his own praises in his eyes, And stood aloof from other minds In impotence of fancied power. With lips depress'd as he were meek, Himself unto himself he sold : Upon himself himself did feed : Quiet, dispassionate, and cold, And other than his form of creed, With chisell'd features clear and sleek. THE POET. The poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above ; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scon- 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 fame : The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed And wingM with flame, Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tonguo, And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Pilling with light THE POET. 21 And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Them earthward till they lit ; Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, The fruitful wit Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Where'er they fell, behold, Like 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 spring Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Tho' one did fling the fire. Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams Of high desire. Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world Like one great garden show'd, And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd, Rare sunrise flow'd. And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow, When rites and forms before his burning eyes Melted like snow. There was no blood upon her maiden robes Sunn'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 Wisdom, a name to shake All evil dreams of power — a sacred name. And when she spake, Her words did gather thunder as they ran, And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, Making earth wonder, J 2 the poet's smn>. So was their meaning to her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world. THE POET'S MIND. 1. 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 light, and clear as wind. 2. Dark-brow'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. The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer. In your eye there is death, There is frost in your breath Which would blight 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. In the middle leaps a fountain Like sheetrlightning, Ever brightening With a low melodious thunder ; All day and all night it is ever drawn From the brain of the purple mountain Which 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, You never would hear it ; your ears are so dull; So keep where you are : you are foul with sin ; It would shrink to the earth if you came in. THE SEA-FAIRIE8. Stow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold ; and while they mused, Whispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea. Whither away, whither away, whither away ? fly no more. Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore ? Day and night to the billow the fountain calls : Down shower the gambolling waterfalls From wandering over the lea : Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells High over the full-toned sea : O hither, 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 : Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dales, And merrily, merrily carol the gales, 24 THE DKSERTED HOUSE. 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 color of cove and cave, And sweet shall your welcome be : O hither, come hither, and be our lords, For merry brides are we : We. will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: O 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 Runs up the ridged sea. Who can light on as happy a shore All th«i world o'er, all the world o'er ? WhitV"- away ? listen and stay : mariner, mariner, fly at more. THE DESERTED HOUSE. Life and Thought have gone away Side by side, Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they I All within is dark as night : In the windows is no light; And no murmur at the door, So frequent on its hinge before. Close the door, the shutters close, Or thro' the windows we shall si The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark deserted house. Come away : no more of mirth Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth, And shall fall again to ground. 25 THE DYING SWAN. Come away : for Life and Thought Here no longer dwell ; But in a city glorious — A great and distant city — have bought A. mansion incorruptible. Would they could have stayed with us 1 THE DYING SWAN. The plain was grassy, wild, and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, And loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went Some blue peaks in the distance rose, And white against the cold-white sky, Shone out their crowning snows, One willow over the river wept, And shook the wave as the wind did sigh ; Above in the wind was the swallow, Chasing itself at its own wild will, And far thro' the marish green and still The tangled water-courses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow : at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear ; And floating about the under-sky, Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear ; But anon her awful jubilant voice, With a music strange and manifold, Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold ; As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd 26 Thro* the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds. And the willow-branches hoar and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing reeda, And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, And the silvery marish-flowers that throng The desolate creeks and pools among, Were flooded over with eddying song. A DIRGE. Now is done thy long day's work ; Fold thy palms across thy breast, Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. Let them rave. Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; Nothing but the small cold worm Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; Chanteth not the brooding bee Sweeter tones than calumny ? Let them rave. Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; The woodbine and eglatere Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear Let them rave. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave Let them rave. LOVE AND DEATH. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, Bramble-roses, faint and pale, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Thro' the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. The gold-eyed kingcups fine , The fi-ail bluebell peereth over Bare broidry of the purple clover. Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that, folds thy grave. Let them rave. Wild words wander here and there : God's great gift of speech abuserf Makes thy memory confused : But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear It 'he green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. LOVE AND DEATH. What time the mighty moon was gathering light Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise, And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes ; When, turning round a cassia, full in view Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, And talking to himself, first met his sight : " You must begone," said Death, " these walks are mine Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight ; Yet ere he parted said, " This hour is thine : Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath, So in the light of great eternity Life eminent creates the shade of death ; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall, But I shall reign forever over all." THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with ray woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana : Winds were blowing, waters flowing, We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana ; Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew-wood black as night, Oriana, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. While blissful tears blinded my sight By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. She stood upon the castle-wall, Oriana : L She watch'd my crest among them all, Oriana : She saw me fight, she heard me cal : . When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana, Atween me and the castle-wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana : The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana : The. ilamnpH arrow glanced aside, ly heart, my love, my bride, • -iana ! life, my love, my bride, Oriana ! Oh ! narrow, narrow was the space, Oriana. Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oriana. Oh 1 deathful stabs were dealt apace, , The battle deepen'd in its place, Oriana ; But I was down upon my face, Oriana. They should have'stabb'd me where J lay, Oriana ! How could I rise and come away, Oriana ? How could I look upon the day ? They should have stabb'd me where I lay, Oriana — They should have trod me into clay, Oriana. 80 CIRCUMSTANCE. O breaking heart that will not break, Oriana ! pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Oriana ! Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana : What wantest thou ? whom dost thou seek, Oriana? 1 cry aloud : none hear my cries, Oriana. Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana. I feel the tears of blood arise Up from my heart unto my eyes, Oriana. Within thy heart my arrow lies, Oriana. O cursed hand 1 O cursed blow I Oriana ! happy thou that liest low, Oriana ! All night the silence seems to flow Beside me in my utter woe, Oriana. A weary, weary way I go, Oriana. When Norland winds pipe down the sea, Oriana, 1 walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana. Thou liest beneath the greenwood t' 3S, I dare not die and come to thee, Oriana. I hear the roaring of the sea. Oriana. CIRCUMSTANCE. Two children in two neighbor villages Flaying mad pranks along the heathy leaa; Two strangers meeting at a festival ; Two luvers whispering by an orchard wall THE MERMAN. 3] Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease ; Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower, Wash'd with still rains and daisy-blossomed ; Two children in one hamlet born and bred; So runs the round of life from hour to hour. THE MERMAN. 1. Who would be A merman bold, Sitting alone, Singing alone Under the sea, AVith a crown of gold, On a throne ? 2. I would be a merman bold ; I would sit and sing the whole of the day * I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power; But at night I would roam abroad and play With the mermaids in and out of the rocks, Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower ; And holding them back by their flowing lock" I would kiss them often under the sea, And kiss them again till they kiss'd me Laughingly, laughingly ; And then we would wander away, away To the pale-green sea-groves straight and high, Chasing each other merrily. 8. There would be neither moon nor star ; But the wave would make music above us afar — Low thunder and light in the magic night — Neither moon nor star. We would call aloud in the dreamy dells, Call tc each other and whoop and cry All night, merrily, merrily ; They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells, Laughing and clapping their hands between. All nighf, merrily, merrily : But I would throw to them back in mine Turkis and agate and almondine : Then leaping out upon them unseen 1 would kiss them often under the sea. £2 THE MERMAID. And kiss them again till they kiss'd ma Laughingly, laughingly. Oh ! what a happy life were mine Under the hollow-bung ocean green ! Soft are the moss-beds under the sea; We would live merrily, merrily. THE MEEMAID. 1. Who would be A mermaid fair, Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea, In a golden curl With a comb of pearl, On a throne ? 2. I would be a mermaid_ fair ; I would sing to myseh" the whole of the day ; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair ; And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, " Who is it loves me ? who loves not me ? " I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall, Low adown, low adown, From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around, And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound, Over the throne In the midst of the hall ; Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate With his large calm eyes for the love of me. And all the mermen under the sea Would feel their immortality Die in their hearts for the love of me. SONNET TO J. M. K. 88 3. But at night I would wander away, away, I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, And lightly s vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks ; We would run to and fro, and hide and seek, On the broad sea wolds in the crimson shells, Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea;' ' But if any came near I would call, and shriek, And adowri the steep like a wave I would' leap From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells; For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list, Of the bold merry mermen under the sea ; ' They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me, In the purple twilights under the sea ; But the king of them all would carry me, Woo me, and win me, and marry me, In the branching jaspers under the sea ; Then all the dry pied things that be In the hueless mosses under the sea Would curl round my silver feet silently, All looking up for the love of me. And if I should carol aloud, from aloft All things that are forked, and horned, and soft Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, All looking down for the love of me. SONNET TO J. M. K. My hope and heart is with thee — thou wilt be A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest To scare church-harpies from the master's feast; Our dusted velvets have much need of thee : Thou art no Sabbath-cb*awler of old saws, Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily; But spurr'd at heart with fieriest energy To embattail and to wall about thy cause With iron-worded proof, hating to hark The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone Half God's good Sabbath, while the worn-out clerk Browbeats, his desk below. Thou from a throne Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark. 84 THE LADY OF SHALOTT. THE LADY OF SHALOTT. PART I; On either side the river % Long fields of barley and of rye, That cloth e the /siai^ and meet the sky ; And thro' the field the road runs by To m any-tow er'd Camelot; And up ai\d down the people go, Gazing wjhere the lihes blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk^and sfirjjer Thro' the wave that runs forcer By the island in the river Flowing down 1 1 Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gr) y towers, Overlook a space of flow^Hf r And the silent isle i imbows d The Lady of Shalott. By the marg in, wil low-v eil'd. Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horsis ; and unhail'd The shaUog flittet h silken-sa il'd Skimming down" to Camelot But who hath seen her wave her hand ? Or at the casement seen her stand ? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott? Only reapers, reaping early In among the bgacged barley, Hear a song_that echoes cheerly From the river winding cl«arly,. Down to towerM Camelot And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves i n uplf ads airy, Listening, whispers, " T is the fairy Lady of Shalott.' THE LAD1T OF SHALOTT. Si part n. There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to CamelofrS There the river-eddy whirls, And there the suriy_yillagFehj»b, And the red cloakTof market-girls, """*' Pass onward from Shalott Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad/., {js\OKP< Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, / Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, " Goes by to towerM Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two : She hath no loyal knight and true,' The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, P*or often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights, And music, went to Camelot : Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed ; " I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott 8t THE LADY OF SHAI.OTT. part in. A bow-shot from her Lower-ea ves. He rode DeTween the barley-sheaves. The sun came_dazzUng thro' the lea vne, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir .Lancelot. A red-cross knight forever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, "" Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle gl itter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy . The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rotte down to Camelot And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rbde his armor rung, Beside remote Shalott. All in thehlue. unclouded weather Thi ck-ie jreU'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burningjlame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glowjti ; On -burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode , From unaErneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, " Tirra lirra," by the river ^ Sang Sir T^-ncelot. THE LADY OF 8HALOTT. 37 She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot Out flew the web and floated wide ; The mirror crack'd from side to side ; " The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. PART IV. In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yejlow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raimng ver tower'd . Camelot ; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The lady of Shalott. . And down the river's dim expanse — Like some bold sggB-in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance — With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay 5 The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Lying, robed in snowy -white That loosely flew to left and right — The leaves upon her falling light — Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot : And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. 88 THE LADY OF SHALOTT. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn d to towered Caiuelot For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleam ing shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her nama- The Lady of Shalott. Who is this ? and what is here ? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot But Lancelot mused a little space ; He said, " She has a lovely face ; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott." MARIANA IN THE St UTH. 39 MARIANA EN THE SOUTH. With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, Close-latticed to the brooding heat, And silent in its dusty vines :• A faint-blue ridge upon the right, An empty river-bed before, And shallows on a distant shore, In glaring sand and inlets bright. But " Ave Mary," made she moan, And " Ave Mary," night and morn, And " Ah," she sang, " to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Thro' rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown To .left and right, and made appear, Still-lighted in a secret shrine, Her melancholy eyes divine, The home of woe without a tear. And "Ave Mary," was her moan, " Madonna,- sad is night and morn ; And "Ah," she sang, " to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." Till all the crimson changed, and past Into deep orange o'er the sea, Low on her knees herself she cast, Before Our Lady murmurM she ; Complaining, " Mother, give me grace To help me of my weary load." And on the liquid mirror glow'd The clear perfection of her face. " Is this the form," she made her moan, " That won his praises night and morn? And "Ah," she said, " but I wake alone, , I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn. ' 10 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, Nor any cloud would cross the vault, But day increased from heat to heat, On stony drought and steaming salt ; Till now at noon she slept again, And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass, And heard her native breezes pass, And runlets babbling down the glen. She breathed in sleep a lower moan, And murmuring, as at night and morn, She thought, " My spirit is here alone, Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." Dreaming, she knew it was a dream : She felt he was and was not there. She woke : the babble of the stream Fell, and, without, the steady glare Shrank one sick willow sear and small. The river-bed was dusty-white ; And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the blinding wall. She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, " Sweet Mother, let me not here alone Live forgotten and die forlorn." And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, For " Love," they said, " must needs be true, To what is loveliest upon earth." An image seem'd to pass the door, To look at her with slight, and say, " But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore." " O cruel heart," she changed her tone, "And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn ! "- But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say, " But thou shalt be alone no more." And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, eleAnore. 4] And slowly rounded to the east The one Hack shadow from the waJ. " The day to night," she made her moan, " The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn.'' At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony. There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening thro' the silent spheres^ Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her moan, " The night comes on that knows not morn. When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." ELEANORE. 1. Thy dark eyes open'd not, Nor # first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighborhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breeze's from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades : And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought, At the. moment of thy, birth, i , From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills, And shadpw'd coves on a sunny shore, The choicest wealth of all the^arth. Jewel or shell, or starry ore, To deck thy cradle, Eleanore. 42 ELEANORS. Or the yellow-banded bees, Thro' half-open lattices Coining in the scented breeze, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in Jairy' gardens cull'd A glorious child, dreaming alone, In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming bees Into dreamful slumber lull'd. 3. Who may minister to thee ? Summer herself should minister To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded On golden salvers, or it may be, Youngest Autumn, in a bower Grape-thicken'd from the light, and blinded With many a deep-hued bell-like flower Of fragrant trailers, when the air Sleepeth over all the heaven, And the crag that fronts the Even, All along the shadowy shore, Crimsons over an inland mere, Eleiinore 1 4. How may full-sail'd verse express, How may measured words adore The full-flowing harmony Of thy swan-like stateliness, Ele'anore ? The luxuriant symmetry Of thy floating gracefulness, Eleiinore ? Every turn and glance of thine, Every lineament divine, Eleiinore, And the steady sunset glow, That stays upon thee ? For in thee Is nothing sudden, nothing single ; Like two streams of incense free From one censer, in one shrine, Thought and motion mingle, feLEANORE. 4£ Mingle ever. Motions flow To one another, even as tho' They were modulated so To an unheard melody. Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other mellow-deep ; Who may express thee, Eleanore i 5. I stand before thee, Eleanore ; I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while Slowly, as from a cloud of gold, Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee for evermore, Serene, imperial Eleanore 1 6. Sometimes, with most intensity Gazing, I seem to see Thought folded over thought, smiling aslr«ep, Slowly awaken'd grow so full and deep In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite, I cannot veil, or droop my sight, But am as nothing in its light : As tho' a star, in inmost heaven set, Ev'n while we gaze on it, Should slowly round hh orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun remain Fix'd — then as slowly fade again, And draw itself to what it was before So full, so deep, so slow, Thought seems to come and go In thy large eyes, imperial Eleanore. 7. As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roof 'd the world with doubt and fear, Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, Grow golden all about the sky ; 44 ELEANORE. In thee all passion becomes passionless, Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight, And luxury of contemplation: As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still Shadow forth the banks at will : Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer sea : And the self-same influence Controlled] all the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleiinore. 8. But when I see thee roam, with tresses uncorifined, While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon; Or, in a shadowy saloon, On silken cushions half reclined ; I watch thy grace ; and in its place My heart a charmed slumber keeps. While I muse upon thy face ; And a languid fire creeps Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly : soon From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my color, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life. I die with my delight, before I hear what I would hear from thee; Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore, So dying ever, Eleiinore. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. I see the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, And who that knew him could forget The busy wrinkles round his eyes ? The slow wise smile that, round about His dusty forehead dryly curl'd, Seem'd half-within and half-without, And full of dealings with the world ? In yonder chair I see him sit, Three fingers round the old silver cup- I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest — gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me sad. Yet fill my glass : give me one kiss : My own sweet Alice, we must die. There 's somewhat in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by-and-by. There 's somewhat flows to us in life, But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife, That we may die the self-same day. 4fc THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Have I not found a happy earth ? I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth I 'd almost live my life" again. So sweet it seems with thee to walk, And once again to woo thee mine — It seems in after-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine — To be the long and listless boy Late-left an orphan of the squire. Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire : For even here, where I and you Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken thro' By some wild skylark's matin sons:. And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan ; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy play'd Before I dream'd that pleasant dreau «* Still hither thither idly sway'd Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear The milldam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers when they sprung Below the range of stepping-stones, Or those ,hree chestnuts near, that hung In masses thick with milky cones. But, Alice, what an hour was that, When after roving in the woods. ('T was April then,) I came and sat Below the chestnuts, when their buds Were glistening to the breezy blue ; And on the slope, an absent fool, I cast me down, nor thought of you, But angled in the higher pooL THE miller's daughter. 47 A love-song I had somewhere read, An echo from a measured strain, Beat time to nothing in my head From some odd corner of the brain. It haunted me, the morning long, With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song, That went and came a thousand times T'.en leapt a trout. In lazy mood I watch'd the little circles die ; They past into the level flood, And there a vision caught my eye , The reflex of a beauteous form, A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck. For you remember, you had set, That morning, on the casement's edge A long green box of mignonette, And you were leaning from the ledge : And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and bright—- Such eyes ! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. I loved, and love dispell'd the fear That I should die an early death : For love possess'd the atmosphere, And fill'd the breast with purer breath. My mother thought, What ails the boy ? For I was alter'd, and began To move about the house with joy, And with the certain step of man. I loved the brimming wave that swam Thro' quiet meadows round the mill, The sleepy pool above the dam, The pool beneath it never still, The meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor, The dark round of the dripping wheel, The very air about the door Made misty with the floating meal 48 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. And oft in ramblings on the wold, When April nights began to blov» And April's crescent glimmer'd cold, I saw the village lights below ; I knew your taper far away, And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flower'd slope. The deep brook groan'd beneath the mill , And " by. that lamp," I thought, " she sits . The white chalk-quarry from the hill Gleam'd to the flying moon by fits. " O that I were beside her now I will she answer if I call ? O would she give me vow fcr vow, Sweet Alice, if I told her all ? " Sometimes I saw you sit and spin ; And, in the pauses of the wind, Sometimes I heard you sing within ; Sometimes your shadow cross'd the blind. At last you rose and moved the light, And the long shadow of the chair Flitted across into the night, And all the casement darken'd there. But when at last I dared to speak, The lanes, you know, were white with may, Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek Flush'd like the coming of the day ; And so it was — half-sly, half-shy, You would, and would not, little one I Although I pleaded tenderly, And you and I were all alone. And slowly was my mother brought To yield consent to my desire : She wish'd me happy, but she thought 1 might have look'd a little higher ; And I was young — too young to wed : " Yet must I love her for your sake j Go fetch your Alice here," she said : Her eyelid quiver'd as she spake. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER, 49 And down I went to fetch my bride : But, Alice, you were ill at ease ; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well ; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell. I watch'd the little flutterings, The doubt my mother would not see ; She spoke at large of many things. And at the last she spoke of me; And turning look'd upon your face, As near this door you sat apart, And rose, and, with a silent grace Approaching, press'd you heart to heart Ah, well — but sing the foolish song I gave you, Alice, on the day When, arm in arm, we went along, A pensive pair, and you were gay With bridal flowers — that I may seem, As in the nights of old, to lie Beside the mill-wheel in the stream, While those full chestnuts whisper by. It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear: For hid in ringlets day and night, I 'd touch her neck so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest: And I should know if it beat right* 1 'd clasp it round so close and. tight SO THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. And I would be the necklace, And all day iong to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs, And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp' d at night. A trifle, sweet I which true love spells — True love interprets — right alone. His light upon the letter dwells, For all the spirit is his own. So. if I waste words now, in truth You must blame Love. His early rag« Had force to make me rhyme in youth, And makes me talk too much in age. And now those vivid hours are gone, Like mine own life to me thou art, Where Past and Present, wound in one, Do make a garland for the heart : 80 sing that other song I made, Half-anger'd with my happy lot, The day, when in the chestnut-shade I found the blue Forget-me-not. Love that hath us in the net, Can he pass, and we forget? Many suns arise and set. Many a chance tli s years beget Love the gift is Love the debt Even so. Love is hurt with jar and fret. Love is made a vague regret Eyes with idle tears are wet Idle fiabit links us yet. What is love '/ for we forget 1 Ah, no ! no 1 THE MILLEr'3 DAUGHTER. 5] Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife, Round my true heart thine arms entwine ; My other dearer life in life, Look thro' my very soul with thine ! Untouch'd with any shade of years, May those kind eyes forever dwell ! They have not shed a many tears, Dear eyes, since first I knew them well. Yet tears they shed : they had their part Of sorrow : for when time was ripe, The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before ; Although the loss that brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more, With farther lookings on. The kiss, The woven arms, seem but to be Weak symbols of the settled bliss, The comfort, I have found in thee : But that God bless thee, dear — who wrought Two spirits to one equal mind — With blessings beyond hope or thought, With blessings which no words can find. Arise, and let us wander forth, To yon old mill across the wolds ; For look, the sunset, south and north, Winds all the vale in rosy folds, And fires your narrow casement glass, Touching the sullen pool below: On the chalk-hill the bearded grass Is dry and dewless. Let us go. FATIMA. O Love, Love, Love ! O withering might I O sun, that from thy noonday height Shudderest when I strain my sight, Throbbing thro' all thy ! heat and light, Lo, falling from my constant mind, Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind, I whirl like leaves in roaring wind. Last night I wasted hateful hours Below the city's eastern towers : I thirsted for the brooks, the showers : I roll'd among the tender flowers : I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth : I look'd athwart the burning drouth Of that long desert to the south. Last night, when some one spoke his name, From my swift blood that went and came A thousand little shafts of flame Were shiverM in my narrow frame. O Love, O fire ! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul thro* My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. 5« Before he mounts the hill, I know He cometh quickly : from below Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow Before him, striking on my brow. In my dry brain my spirit soon, Down-deepening from swoon to swoon, Faints like a dazzled morning moon. The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire ; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight. My whole soul waiting silently, All naked in a sultry sky, Droops blinded with his shining eye : I will possess him or will die. I will grow round him in his place, Grow, live, die iwKmg u n his face, Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace. (ENONK Thkre lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian Kills. The swimming vapor slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine. And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea. Behind the valley topmost Gargarus Stands up and takes the morning : but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Dion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful CEnone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. JENONE. 50 " O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: The grasshopper is silent in the grass : The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Kests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps. The purple flowers droop : the golden bee Is lily-cradled : I alone awake. My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, And I am all aweary of my life. " O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Hear me O Earth, hear me Hills, O Caves That house the cold crown'd snake ! O mountai: brooks, I am the daughter of a River- God, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, A cloud that gather'd shape : for it may be That, while I speak of it, a little while My heart may wander from its deeper woe. " O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. I waited underneath the dawning hills, Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine : Beautiful Paris, evil-liearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hoovod, Came up from reedy Simois all alone. " mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Far off the torrent call'd me from the cleft : Far up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eye* I sat alone : white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved ; a leopard-skin Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair Cluster'd about his temples like a God's ; And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brighten* When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart •Vent farth to embrace him coming ere h ; came. 56 CENONE. " Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd And listen'd, .the full-flowing river of speech Came down upon my heart. " ' My own CEnone, Beautiful-brow'd CEnone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav"n " For the most fair," would seem to award it thine. As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace Of movement, and the charm of married brows.' " Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. He prest tfie blossom of his lips to mine, And added, ' This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus ; whereupor Rose feud, vi ith question unto whom 't were due : Hut light-foot, Iris brought it yester-eve, Delivering, that to me, by common voice, Elected umpire, Here comes to-day, Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each Thia meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave -Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard near all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.' " Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon : one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came. Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, Lotos and lilies : and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, This way and that, in many a wild festoon Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro " O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, CENONE 57 And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made Proffer of royal power, ample riile- Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue "W herewith to embellish state, ' from many a vale And rivei^sunder'd champaign clothed with corn, Or labor'd mines undrainable of ore. Honor,' she said, ' and homage, tax'and toll, From many an inland town and haven large, Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing citadel In glassy bays among her tallest towers.' " O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of powej, ' Which in all action is the end of all ; Power fitted to the season ; wisdom-bred And throned of wisdom — from all neighbor crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born, A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, . Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power Only, are litest gods, who have attain'd Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss In knowledge of their own supremacy.' " Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm'^ -length, so much the thought of power Flatter'd his spirit ; but Pallas where she stood Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear Upon hei pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her full and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply. * '" Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-controi,_. These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 58 Yet not for power, (power of herself Would come uneall'd for,) but to live by lawj Acting the law we live by without fear ; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' "Dear mother Ida^heai'ken ere I die. Again she said : ' I woo thee not with gifts. Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, So shall thou find me fairest. Yet, indeed, If gazing on divinity disrobed Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, Unbias'd by self-profit, oh 1 rest thee sure That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee, So that my vigor, wedded to thy blood, Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's, To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks, Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, Commeasure perfect freedom.' " Here she ceased. And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, ' O Paris, Give it to Pallas I ' but he heard me not, Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me 1 " O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial, golden rou id her lucid throat And shoulder : from the violets her light foot Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form F.etween the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved. " Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes. The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, ' I promise thee The fairest and most loving w ife in Gretce,' , 59 She spoke and laugh'd : I shut my sight for fear : But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, And I beheld great Here's' angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within' the bower ; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die. " Yet, mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Fairest — why fairest wife? am I not fair ? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Orouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she '/ Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois. " O mother, hear me yet before I die. They came, they cut away my tallest pines, My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge High over the blue gorge, and all between The snowy peak and snow-white cataract Foster'd the callow eaglet — from beneath Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat Low in the valley. Never, never more Shall lone (Enone see the morning mist Sweep thro' them ; never see them overlaid With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, Between the loud stream and the trembling stars. " O mother, hear me yet before I die. I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her, The Abominable, that uninvited came Into the fair Pelcian banquet-hall, And cast the golden fruit upon the board, And bred this change ; that I might speak my mind. And tell her to her face how much I J Her presence, hated both of Gods ana 600 CENONB. " O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone ? Seal'd it with kisses ? water'd it with tears ? O happy tears, and how unlike to those ! O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face ? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight V death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pass by the happy souls, that love to live : 1 pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die. " O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and more, Whereof I catch the issue, as 1 hear Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother Conjectures of the features of her child Ere it is born : her child ! — a shudder comes Across me : never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes ! " mother, hear me yet before I die. Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me Walking the told and starless road of Death Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love With the Greek woman. I will rise and go Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth Talk with the wild Cassandra, tor she says A fire dances before her, and a sound Rings ever in her ears of armed men. What this may be I know not, but I know That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day, All earth and air seem only burning fire." THE SISTERS. 61 THE SISTERS. We were two daughters of one race : She was the fairest in the face : The wind is blowing in turret and tree. They were together, and she fell ; Therefore revenge became me well. the Earl was fair to see 1 She died : she went to burning flame : She mix'd her ancient blood with shame. The wind is howling in turret and tree. Whole weeks and months, and early and late, To win his love I lay in wait : O the Earl was fair to see I I made a feast ; I bade him come ; 1 won his love, I brought him home. The wind is roaring in turret and tree. And after supper, on a bed, Upon my lap he laid his head : O the Earl was fair to see I I kiss'd his eyelids into rest : His ruddy cheek upon my breast. The wind is raging in turret and tree. I hated him with the hate of hell, But I loved his beauty passing well. O the Earl was fair to see ! I rose up in the silent night : I made my dagger sharp and bright. The wind is raving in turret and tree. As half-asleep his breath he drew, Three times I stabb'd him thro' and thro'. O the Earl was fair to see ! I curl'd and comb'd his comely head, He look'd so grand when he was dead. The wind is blowing in turret and tree. I wrapt his body in the sheet, And laid him at his mother's feet. O the Earl was fair to see I (2 THE PALACE OF ART. TO WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM. I send you here a sort of allegory, (For you will understand it,) of a soul, A sinful soul possess'd of many gifts, A spacious garden full of flowering weeds. A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain, That did love Beauty only, (Beauty seen In all varieties of mould and mind,) And Knowledge for its beauty ; or if Good, Good only for its beauty, seeing not That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge are three sister* That doat upon each other, friends to man, Living together under the same roof, And never can be sunder'd without tears. And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie Howling in outer darkness. Not for this Was common clay ta'en from the common, earth, Moulded by God, and temper'd with the tears Of angels to the perfect shape of man. THE PALACE OF ART. I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. 1 said, " O Soul, make merry and carouse, Dear soul, for all is well." A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass, I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf The rock rose clear, or winding stair. My soul would live alone unto herself In her high palace there. THE PALACE OF ABT. 63 And " while the world runs round and rouni," I said, " Reign thou apart, a quiet king, Still as, while Saturn whirls, his steadfast shade Sleeps on his luminous ring." To which my soul made answer readily : " Trust me, in bliss I shall abide In this great mansion, that is built for me, So royal-rich and wide." Four courts I made, East, West, and South and North In each a squared lawn, wherefrom The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth A flood of fountain-foam. And round the cool green courts there ran a row Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, Echoing all night to that sonorous flow Of spouted fountain-floods. And round the roofs a gilded gallery That lent broad verge to distant lands, Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky Dipt down to sea and sands. From those four jets four currents in one swell Across the mountain stream'd below In misty folds, that floating as they fell Lit up a torrent-bow. And high on every peak a Btatue seem'd To hang on tiptoe, tossing up A cloud of incense of all odor steam'd From out a golden cup. (>4>4 THE PALACE OF ART. So that she thought, "And who shall gaze upon My palace with unblinded eyes, Wliile this great bow will waver in the sun, And that sweet incense rise ? " For that sweet incense rose and never fail'd, And, while day sank or mounted higher, The light aerial gallery, golden-rail'd, Burnt like a fringe of fire. Likewise the deep-set windows, stain'd and traced. Would seem slow-flaming crimson fires From shadow'd grots of arches interlaced, And tipt with frost-like spires. Full of long-sounding corridors it was, That over-vaulted grateful gloom, Thro' which the livelong day my soul did pass, Well-pleased, from room to room. Full of great rooms and small the palace stood, All various, each a perfect whole From living Nature, fit for every mood And change of my still soul. For some were hung with arras green and blue, Showing a gaudy summer-morn, Where with puff'd cheek the belted hunter blew His wreathed bugle-horn. One seem'd all dark and red — a tract of sand, And some one pacing there alone, Who paced forever in a glimmering land, Lit with a low large moon. One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. You seem'd to hear them climb and fall And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves, Beneath the windy wall. THE PALACE OF ART. 65 And one, a full-fed river winding slow By herds upon an endless plain, The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, "With shadow-streaks of rain. And one, the reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bound the sheaves. Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind. And one, a foreground black with stones and slags, Beyond, a line of heights, and higher All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags, And highest, snow and fire. And one, an English home — gray twilight pour'd On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep — all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace. Nor these alone, but every landscape fair, As fit for every mood of mind, Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there, Not less than truth design'd. Or the maid-mother by a crucifix, In tracts of pasture sunny-warm, Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx Sa* smiling, babe in arm. Of in a clear wall'd city on the sea, Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair Wound with white roses, slept St. Cecily ; An angel look'd at her. Or thronging all one porch cf Paradise, A group of Ilouris bow'd to see The dying Islamite, with hands and a/e» That said, We wait for thee. 66 THE PALACE OF ART. Pr mythic Uther*s deeply -wounded sors In some fair spaoe o:" slooicu v 6 *" 4 " Lay, dozing in the val> - of Av!u, And watch'd lie »t ;- : .t?