'W 'W miHn^.i er DITION =B ^ i:#^ U^^""*^' )^^ '£J^ . /^ j'r /^ MoRTE D'Arthur POEMS ALFRED TENNYSON, POET LAUREATE OF ENGLAND. PHILADELPHIA : PORTER & COATES. 1$^^ TTtssso -L„ 'V--.or only for oarsolves t'le Cfod "IjCKCit Eros — Vv'^Aoevei', T[icio.s, v/as Ilis sire — | As once v;e tLonfi,lit; not' imto us the firist HavG lovely tliinf>,s sceii.ecl lovely; not to iis Mortals, wLo cannot see beyond a day; But lie, that heai't of i3rass, Ainpliitryon' s son, Vvho braved the rutliless lion, — he, tor. , loved A youth, the ^..raceiul Hylas. " "Hylas", TlLeocritus, Thiiteenth Idyl. TO THE QUEEN. Rkvkbed, beloved— O you that hold A noWer office upon earth Ihan arms, or pow^* of brain, or birtSi Could give the warrior kings of old, Victoria, — since your Royal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the brc??* Of him that uttered nothing base; And should your greatness, amd the care That yokes with empire, yield you tinie To make demand of modern rhyme If i^ught of ancient worth be there; Then— while a sweeter music wakes. And thro* wild March the throstle cxdle Where all about your palace-walls The sun lit almond-blossom shakes — fake, Madam, this poor book of seng; For tho* the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust Tour kindness. May you rule us long TO THB QUEEN. And leave U8 rulers of your blood As Hoble till the latest day I May children of our children say, " She wroufljlit her people lasting good ; " H«r eoait was pure ; her life serene ; God gave her peace ; her land reposed A thousand clakns to reverence closed 1m h&r as Mother, Wife, and Queen * "And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons when to take Occasion by the hand, and make Tlie bounds of freedom wider yet •* By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken stliL. Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the Inviolate a6A." Uabch, 18S1. CONTENTS. CLASIBBL . • t • « • • t . . . . 1 LILIAir s ISABEL 2 MABIAITA 4 TO ««■«........ 6 MADBLIKB 7 80KG. — THE OWL .......... 8 SECOND SONG. — TO THE SAME ....... 9 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE AEABL^LN NIGHTS , .... 9 DDE TO MEMORY 14 SONG . 17 ADELINE 18 A CHABACTES ........... 19 THE POET . .«......., . 20 THE POET'S HIND 22 THE SSA-FAIBIE8 .......... 23 THE DESERTED HOUSE . , S4 THE DTING SWAN . , . . 25 A DIBGE ............ 26 LOVE AND DEATH 27 THE BALLAD OF ORIANA ,28 CIRCUMSTANCB 30 THE MERMAN 31 THE MERMAID ... 32 SONNET TO J. M. K« . . . . 33 THE LADT OF 8HALOTT 34 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH ......... 39 ELEANOKB 41 THE MILLER'S DAUOHTKB .... ... 45 rATIMA «..•*..•.... 63 VI CONTENTS. (ENONE •,••.,64 THE SISTERS •••• 61 ■TO ....•••■••t«62 THE PALACE OP ART .•.•••... 62 LADY CLARA VERB DE VERB ...•••.. 72 THE MAY QUEEN 74 NEW YEAR'S EVE •••••••••. 76 CONCLUSION .< o ••»•••• . 78 THE LOTUS-EATERS !•••••••• .SO A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN . 85 MARGARET , ... 94 THE BLACKBIRD 96 THE DEATH OF THE OLD TEAB , . . . ► . - . 97 TO J. S , , 98 YOU ASK ME, WHY, THO' ILL AT EASE 100 OF OLD SAT FREEDOM ON THE HEIGHTS 101 LOVE THOU THY LAND, WITH LOVE FAR-BROUGHT . . .102 THE GOOSE .... 105 THE EPIC 106 MORTE D'ARTHUB 108 THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER; OR, THE PICTURES . . ,115 DORA 123 AUDLEY COURT .... 12fl WALKING TO THE MAIL 128 EDWIN morris; OR, THE LASS ...... 131 ST. SIMEON STYLITES z » 135 THE TALKING OAK 140 LOVE AND DUTY « . 148 THE GOLDEN YEAR ,,.•.. c .. 151 ULYSSES 153 LOCKSLEY HAIJi 154 OODIVA 164 tHB TWO VOICES ..«••«.•... 166 rHE DAY dream: — PROLOGUE , .... 179 THE SLEEPING PALACB ........ 180 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY ........ 181 THE ARRIVAL .......... 182 THB REVIVAL ...,....., 183 THE DEPARTURE ......... lUi CONTENTS. Vn THE DAT DRS-AM: — MORAL <•••... 185 L'ENVOI 185 EPILOGUB , ...» 187 AMPHION 187 ST. AGXES' EVB . . . 190 SIR GALAHAD 191 EDWARD GBAT . . . . 103 WILL WATERPROOF'S LTRBCAL MONOLOGUE ... 195 TO , AFTER READING A LIFE AJJD LETTERS . . .201 TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE . . . . , 202 LADY CLARE 203 THE LORD OF BURLEIGH . 206 SIB LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GLTNEVERB 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 , 29G IN MEMORIAM , 299 UAUD 385 rHE brook: an idyl 422 THE LETTERS 427 CHE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BEIGADS ...... i29 ENOCH ARDEN 481 aylmek's field 454 sea dreams 473 THE GRANDMOTHER 481 TITHONUS 486 THE VOYAGE 488 IK THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ 490 THE FLOWER 491 REQUIESCAT 491 THE SAILOR BOY 492 THE ISLET 493 THE RINGLET 494 VIII CONTENTS. A WKLCOME TO ALKSANDRA 495 A DEDICATION 496 BOADICEA 497 IJf QUANTITY 500 SPECIMEN OF A TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD IN BLANK VERSE . 501 THE CAPTAIN; A LEGEND OF THE NAVY 502 COME NOT, WHEK 1 AM DEAD 504 MY LIFE IS FULL OF WEARY DAYS 504 THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE 505 SONG.— "lady, let THE ROLLING DRUMS," 506 SONG. — "HOME THEY BROUGHT HIM, SLAIN WITH SPEARS," . . 506 ON A MOURNER 506 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON . . . .508 THE DAISY 514 TO THE REV. F. B. MAURICE 518 WILL 519 NORTHERN FARMER, OLD STYLE 520 NORTHERN FARMER, NEW STYLE 523 THE VICTIM 526 WAGES 528 THE HIGHER PA^STTHEISM 529 FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL 529 LUCRETIUS 530 THE GOLDEN SUPPER . ' 537 THE WINDOW, OR SONGS OF THE WREN 548 A WELCOME TO THE DUKE AND DUCHESg OF EDINBURGH . . 555 IX THE GARDEN OF SWAINSTON 556 THK VOICE AND THE PEAK 557 CLABIBEL. 1. Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall 'a But the solemn oak-tree sigheth. Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth. 2. At eve the beetle boometh AthAvart 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 swell eth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth, The callow throstle lispeth. The slumbrous wave outweUeth, The babbhng runnel crispetl*, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth. 1 LILIAN. Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love rne- 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 eyea, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks ; Then away she flies. 'Prythee weep. May Lilian I Gayety without eclipse Wearieth me, May LiUan : Thro' my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lipe Silver-treble laughter trilleth : Prythee weep. May Lihan. Praying all I can. If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I wiU crush thee, Fairy Lilian. ISABEL. 1, £yes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clear-pointed flame of chastity. Clear, witliout heat, undying, 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 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 pui-e lowlihead. 2. Tlie 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 anothai (ITio' all her fairest fonns are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finlsh'd chasten'd purity. MARIANA. %Ioriana in the moated grange."- Measure for Meamrt. l(ViTH 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 : Unllfted 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 ! " Upon the middle of the nignt, Wakinoj she heard the night-fowl cro^ 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 I " About a stone-cast from the waU 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 The level waste, the rounding gray. She only said, " My life is dreary. He Cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds w«re 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 I would that I were dead ! " AU day within the dreamy house. The doors upon their hinges creaked ; The blue fly sung in the pane ; the mouse Behind the mouldeiing wainscot shriek'd, Or from the crevice pee^-'d about. Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her fi-om without. She only said, " My life is dreary, He conieth 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 Iscui When the thlck-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then said she, " I am very drearj He will not come," she said ; She wept, " I am aweary, awearj Oh God, that I were dead ! " 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 strain The heart until it bleeds, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn Roof not a glance so keen as thiin^ . 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 tbi'o' with cunning words- MADELINE. 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 hghtning 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. MADELINE 1. Thou art not steep'd in golden languors, No tranced summer calm Is thine, Ever varying Madehne. 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. Eevealings deep and clear are thine Of wealthy smiles: but who may know Whether smile or frown be fleeter ? Whether smile or ft-own be sweeter. Who may know ? Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Light-glooming 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 ; SONG. 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 lijDS should dare to kiss Thy taper fingers amorously. Again thou blushest angerly ; And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown. SONG. — THE OWL. 1. When cats run home and light is come^ And dew is cold upon the grotmd. And the far-ofi" stream is dumb. And the whirring sail goes round. And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits, ^be white owl in the belfry sits. RECOLLECTIOXS OF THE ARABIA!^ NiGHXs 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 romidelay ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfi?y 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^wi. Wears p\ 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-oj 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 sheUs, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells High over the ftili-toned sea : O hither, come hither and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me : Hither, come hither and frohc and play ; Here it is only the mew that wails ; We will sing to you all the day : Mariner, mariner, ftu-l your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dal^. And merrily, merrily carol the gales, 28 24 THE DESERTED 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 swet't words : 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 ca a light on as happy a shore All th«? world o'er, all the world o'er? Whltbe* away ? listen and stay : mariner, mariner, fly b6 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 see The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark deserted house. Come away : no more of mirth Is here or merry-making sound. The house was bullded of the earth, And shall fall again to ground. THE DYING SWAN. 25 Come dway : 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, Wliich 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 wiUow 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-com'^es slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yeUovv 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 roli'd 26 Tliro' 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 reeds. And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, And the silvery marish-flowers that throng Tlie 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. Tliou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; Chanteth not the brooding bee Sweeter tones than calumny ? Let them rave. Tliou 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 m the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave T^et them rave. LOVE AND DEATH. 27 Round thee blow, self-pleaclied 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 frail bluebell peereth over Rare 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 abused Makes thy memory confused : But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear Ir '■he green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. LOVE AJSID 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 ; Wlien, 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, l)ut I shall reign forever over all." THE BALLAD OF OKIAI!irA. My heart is wasted with my 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 y-'Cw-wood black as night, Oriana, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, 28 THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. ?3 While blissful tears blinded my sight By star-shine and by moonlight, Oi'iana, I to thee my troth did plight, Orlana. She stood upon the castle-Tvali, Oriana : She watch'd my crest among them all, Oriana : She saw me fight, she heard mc car. 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 damned arrow glanced aside, And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana 1 Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana 1 Oh I 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 I 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. 30 CIRCUMSTANCE. O breaking heart tliat will not break, Oriana I 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. cursed hand 1 O cursed blow 1 Oriana I happy thou that liest low, Oriana 1 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, . I walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana. Thou liest beneath the greenwood t' as, 1 dare not die and come to thee, Oriana. I hear the roaring of the sea, Oriana. CIRCUMSTANCE. Two children in two neighbor villages Playing mad pranks along the heathy leag , Two strangers meeting at a festival ; Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall THE MERMAN. 3] Two Kves bound fast in one with golden ease ; Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower, Wash'd with still rains and daisj-blossomed ; Two children in one hamlet born and bred; So runs the round of life from hour to hour. THE MERIVIAN. 1. Who would be A merman bold, Sitting alone, Singing alone Under the sea, With 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-gTeen sea-groves straight and liigh, Chasing each other merrily. 3. 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 nlor star. We would call aloud in the dreamy dells, Call tc each other and whoop and cry All night, merrily, merrily ; ' Chey would pelt me with starry spangles and sheik, Laughing and clapping their hands between. All night, merrily, merrily : But I would throw to them back in mine. Turkis and agate and almondine : Then leaping out upon them unseen T would kiss them oftfn under the sea. 32 THE MEllMAID. And kiss them again till they kiss'd ms Laughingly, laughingly. Oh I what a happy life were mine Under the hollow-hung ocean gi-een ! Soft are the moss-beds under the sea ; We would live merrily, merrily. TPIE MERMAID. 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 myself the whole of the day ^ With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair j And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, *' Who IS it loves me ? wlio loves not me ? " I would comb my hair till my ringlets would i^ 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 Koimd the hall where I sate, and look in at the gat€ 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. 33 8. But at night I would wander away, away, I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, And lightly 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-vcids in the crimson shells, Whose silvery spikes ars nighest the sea. But if any came near I would call, and shriek, And adown the steep like a wave I would leap From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells ; For I would not be kis»'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-drawler 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. 3 34 THE LADY OF 8HAL0TT. THE LADY OF SHALOTT. On either side the river lie Long fields of barley ar. d of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot ; And up and down the people go, Gazing wh-^re the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver^ Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs fore' er By the island in the rivet- Flowing down t > Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gri y towers, Overlook a space of flowers. And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, wiUow-veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses ; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot But who hath seen her wave her hai d ? 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 bearded barley. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot And by the moon the reaper weary. Piling sheaves in uplljids airy, Listening, whispers, " 'T is the fairy Lady of Shalott/ THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 86 PART n. There she weaves hj 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 Camelot: There the river-eddy whirls, And there the surly village-chiu-ls. And the red cloaks of market-girls, Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-laa. Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot ; And sometimes thro' the miiTor blue The knights come riding two and two : She hath no loyal knight and true. The Lad>- of Shalott. But in her web she stiU delights To weave the mirror's magic sights. For 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 36 THE LADY OF SHALOTT. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro* the leave«^ 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 brld\e glitter'd free. Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung, B^ide remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame 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 brew in sunlight glow'd ; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode, From underneath 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 I-tejicelot. THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 37 She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-HIy bloom, She saw the helmet and the plmne, She look'd down to Camelot Out flew the web and floated wide ; The mirror crack'd from side to side ; " The cm-se is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. PART IV. In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over 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 seer 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 ; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. ' Lying, robed in snowy white Tbat loosely flew to left and right — The leaves upon her falling light — Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelut i 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 8HAL0TT. Heard a carol, mournful, bolj, Chanted loudly, cLanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn d to tower'd Camelot For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in hex song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming 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 Shalc^" MARIANA IN THE 8C UTH. 39 MAKIANA IN THE SOUTR With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, Close-latticed to the broodingr 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-Kghted 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 mom ; " 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 murmur'd 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 Ms praises night and morn ? And "Ah," she said, " but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn. ' iO 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 mom, 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 FeU, 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." ^n 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 I " 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. 41 And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow fi-om 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 iiung, And lean'd upon the balcony. There aU in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper ghtter'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 mora When I shaU cease to be aU alone. To live forgotten, and love forlorn." ELEANOPvE. 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 breezes fi-om 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. From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills, And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore. The choicest wealth of all the earth. Jewel or shell, or starry ore, To deck thy cradle, Eleanore. 42 ELEANORK. 2. Or the yellow-banded bees, Thro' half-open lattices Coming in the scented breeze, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in fairy gardens cull'il • 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 tlowei 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, Eleanore I 4. How may fuU-sail'd verse express. How may measured words adore The full-flowing harmgny Of thy swan-hke stateliness, Eleanore ? The luxuriant symmetry Of thy floating gracefulness, Eleanore ? Every turn and glance of thine, Every lineament divine, Eleanore, 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, ELEAJSrOKE. 45 Mingle ever. Motions flow To one another, even as the' They were modulated so To an unheard melody. Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other meUow-deep ; Who may express thee, Eleanore « 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 ! 6. Sometimes, with most intensity Gazing, I seem to see Thought folded over thought, smiling asloep, 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 gro-w To a fiiU 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 passlonlera, Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might In a silent meditation, Falling into a stiU delight, And luxury of contemplation: As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still Shadow forth the banks at wiU : Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer sea : And the self-same influence Controlleth 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 Eleanore. 8. But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined. 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, ]\Iy 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 fi^om thee ; Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore, So dying ever, Eleanore. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER I SEE the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, And who that knaw 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 sunmier 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 da/. 45 4b 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 5 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 dreaK - 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 jhree 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 timeu 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 1 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 fiird 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 meai 48 THE miller's daughter. And oft in ramblings on the wold, When April nights began to blo\Aj 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 sita . 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 ibr 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 net, 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 1 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 ; 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 heaHu Ah, weU — 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 he Beside the m ill- wheel in the stream, While those full chestnuts whisper bj> It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so defir, 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 whitft. And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist, And her heart would beat against m© In sorrow and in rest: And I should know if it beat right, i 'd clasp it roimd so close and tight. 4 50 THE miller's daughter. And I would be the necklace, And all day /ong 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 spelb — True love interprets — right aione. 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 ra^ 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 : So sing that other song I made, Half-anger'd with my happy lot. The day, when in the chestnut-shade 1 found the blue Forget-me-not, Love that bath ns in the net, Can he pass, and we forget? Many suns arise and set. Many a chance thB years beget Love the gift is Love the debt Even so. Love is hurt with jar and fVet. Love is made a vague regret. Eyes with idle tears are wet. Idle habit links us yet. What is love? for we forget t Ah, no 1 no 1 THE MILLER3 DAUGHTER. 51 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 1 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 fouad in thee : But that God bless thee, dear — who wrougb* 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 hateftil hours Below the city's eastern towers : I thirsted for the brooks, the showers : I roU'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 shiver'd 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. 52 53 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 hke 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 -b his place, Grow, live, die looking on his fac«j Die» dying cliwp'd in his embrao& There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. 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 roar» The long brook falling thro* the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea. Beliind the valley topmost Gargarus Stands up and takes the morning : but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful (Enone, 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. 54 56 " 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 O Hills, Caves That house the cold crown'd snake ! O mountai: brooki, 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 : Beautrfiil Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, 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 eyea 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 brightens When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart »\^ant f^rth to embrace him coming ere h j came. 56 " 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 ambroslally, and while I look'd And listened, the full-flowing river of speech Came down upon my heart. " ' My own (Enone, Beautlful-brow'd (Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind Ingrav'n " For the most fair," would seem to award It thina As lovelier than whatever Oread hmmt 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 the 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, with question unto whom 't were due : But light-foot Iris brought It yester-eve, Delivering, that to me, by common voice, Elected umpire. Here ooraes to-day, Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard Hear 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, lyotos 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 " mother Ida, hearken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, 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 Eise up for reverence. She to Paris made Proffer of royal power, ample rule Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue "\V herewith to embellish state, ' from many a vale And river-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.' " mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of powei, ' 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 fi-om the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, From me. Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-bom, A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born. Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power Only, are likest 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 powei 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 uncall'd for,) but to live by law, 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, hearken ere I die. Again she said : ' I woo thee not w*ith gifts. Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, So shalt thou find me fairest. Yet, indeed, If gazing on divinity disr jbed Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, Unbicis'd by self-profit, oh ! 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 wiU, 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 ! ' but he heard me not. Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me ! " 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 r.etween the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunhghts, 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 wife iu Greece/ 59 She spoke and laugh'd : I shut my sight for fear : But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, And 1 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 Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she V 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 CEnone see the morning mist Sweep tlnro' 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 Pele'ian 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 hate Her presence, hated both of Gods and men. 60 (ENONE. " 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, EVn 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 these ! O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face ? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight ? death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, 1 a^s by the happy souls, that love to live : I 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, "\^T?ereof I catch the issue, as I hear Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hillfi, I«)k3 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, ILil^lest, to vex me with his father's eyes ! " O 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 cold 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, for she says A fire dances before her, and a sound Rvi^-s 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 SISTEKS. 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. O the Earl was fair to see ! 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 ; I 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 1 loved his beauty passing well. O the Earl was fair to see I 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 62 THE PAI.ACE 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 sisteri 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 sbelf The rock rose clear, or winding stair. My soul would live alone unto herself In her high palace there. THE PALACE OF ART. 63 And "while the world runs round and round," I said, " Eeign thou apart, a quiet king, Stili 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 fhis great mansion, that is built for me, So royal-rich and wide." Pour 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, Ear 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 erery peak a statue seem'd To hang on tiptoe, tossing up A cloud of incense of all odor steam'd From out a golden cup. 64 THE PALACE OF AKT. So that she thought, "And who shall gaze upon My palace with unblinded eyes, ^Vhile 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, staln'd and traced. Would seem slow-daming 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 paas, Well-pleEised, from room to room. Full of great rooms and small the palace stood, All various, each a perfect whole From living ISJatiu-e, fit for every mood And change of my stiU soul. For some were hung with arras green and blue. Showing a gaudy summer-morn, Wliere with pufF'd cheek the belted hunter ble^t 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 faU And roar rock-thwarted imder bellowing caves, Beneath the windy wall. THE PALACE OF ART. And one, a full-fed river winding slow By herds upon an endless plain, I 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 liighest, snow and fire. And one, an English home — gray twilight pov "* 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. 65 Or the maid-mother by a crucifix, In tracts of pasture sunny-warm. Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx Sat smiling, babe in arm. Or in a clear wall'd city on the sea. Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair AVound with white roses, slept St. Cecily , An angel look'd at her. Or thronging ail one porch of Paradise, A group of Hourip bow'd to see Tlie dying Islamite, v^ith hands and eyes That said, We wait for thee. 5 66 THE PA LACF. OF ART. Or mjthic Uther's def^ply -wounded son In some fair space of sloping y^ztimf Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon, And watch'd by weeping queens. Or hollowing one hand against his ear, To list a footfall, ere he saw The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king to beu Of wisdom and of law. Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd. And many a tract of palm and rice, The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd A summer fann'd with spice. Or sweet Europa's mantle blue unclasp'd, From off her shoulder backward borne : From one hand droop'd a crocus : one hand grasp'd ; The mild bull's golden horn. Or else flushed Ganymede, his rosy thigh Half-buried in the Eagle's down, Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky Above the pillar'd town. ITor these alone : but every legend fair Which the supreme Caucasian mind Curved out of Natiiie for itself, was there, Not less than life, design'd. Tlien in the towers I placed great bells that swuc^ Mov'd of themselves, with silver sound ; And with choice paintings of wise men I hung The royal dais round. For there was IVIilton like a seraph strong, Beside him Shakspeare bland and mild ; And there the world-worn Dante grasp'd his song, And somewhat grimly smiled. THE PALACE OF ART. And there the Ionian father of the rest ; A million wrinkles carved his skin ; A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast^ From cheek and throat and chin. Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately-set Many an arch high up did lift, And angels rising and descending met With interchange of gift. Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd ( With cycles of the human tale Of this wide world, "i the times of every land So wrought, they will not fail. The people here, a beast of burden slow, Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings Here pla/d, a tiger, rolling to and fro The heads and crowns of kings ; Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind All force in bonds that might endure. And here once more like some sick man declined, And trusted any cure. But over these she trod : and those great bells Began to chime. She took her throne : She sat betwixt the shining Oriels, To sing her songs alone. V And thro' the topmost Oriels' color'd flame Two godlike faces gazed below ; Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam, The first of those who know. And all those names, that in their motion were Full-welling fountain-heads of change, Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd fair In diverse raiment strange : 68 THE PALACE OF ARj. Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blufe. Flush'd in her temples and her eyes, And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew Rivers of melodies. No nightingale delighteth to prolong Her low preamble all alone, More than my soul to hear her echo'd song Throb thro' the ribbed stone ; Singing and mm^muring in her feastful mirth Joying to feel herself alive, Lord ov^er Nature, Lord of the visible earth. Lord of the senses five ; Communing with herself: "All these are mme, And let the world have peace or wars, *Tis one to me." She — when young night divim Crown'd dying day with stars, Making sweet close of his delicious toils — Lit light in wreaths and anadems, And pure quintessences of precious oils In hollow'd moons of gems, To mimic heaven ; and clapt her hands and cried, " I marvel if my still delight In this great house so royal-rich, and wide. Be flatter'd to the height. " O all things fair to sate my various eyes ! shapes and hues that please me well ! O silent faces of the Great and Wise, My Gods, with whom I dwell I " O God-like isolation which art mine, 1 can but count thee perfect gain, VtTiat time I watch the darkening droves of s%vir,» That range on yonder plain. THE PALACE OF ART. 69 •* Tn filthy sloughs they roll a prm-Ient skin, They graze and wallow, breed and sleep ; And oft some brainless devil enters in, And 'Irives them to the deep." Then of the moral Instinct would she prate, And of the rising fi-om the dead, As hers by right of Ml-accomplish'd Fate ; And at the last she said : " 1 take possession of man's mind and deed. I care not what the sects may brawl. I sit as God holding no form of creed, But contemplating all." Full oft the riddle of the painftd earth Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone, Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth, And intellectual throne. And so she throve and prosper'd : so three years She prosper'd : on the fourth she fell, Like Herod, when the shout was in his ears, Struck thro' with pangs of hell. Lest she should fail and perish utterly, God, before whc m ever lie bare Tlie abysmal deeps of Personality, Plagued her with sore despair. When she would think, where'er she turn'd her sight The airy hand confusion wrought, W'rote " Mene, raene," and divided quite The kingdom of her thought. Deep dread and loathing of her solitude Fell on her, from which mood was born Scorn of herself; again, from out that mood Laughter at her seil-scorn. 70 THE PALACE OF ART. " What I is not this my place of strength,' she said, " My spacious mansion built for me, Whereof the strong foundation-stones were laid Since my first memory ? " But in dark corners of her palace stood Uncertain shapes ; and unawares On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of bioo^i, And horrible nightmares, And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame. And, with dim fretted foreheads all. On corpses three-months-old at noon she came, That stood against the wall. A spot of dull stagnation, without light Or power of movement, seem'd my soul, 'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite Making for one sure goal. A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of sand ; Left on the shore ; that hears all night The plunging seas draw backward fi-om the land Their moon-led waters white. A star that with the choral starry dance Join'd not, but stood, and standing saw The hollow orb of moving Circumstance Roll'd round by one fix'd law. Back on herself her serpent pride had curl'd. " No voice," she shriek'd in that lone hall, "No voice breaks thro' the stillness of this world One deep, deep silence all 1 " She, mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod Inwrapt tenfold in slothful shame, I