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 IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
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POEMS 
 
 IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED p.NNYSON, 
 
 POET LAUREATE. 
 
 ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLEE & CO. 
 
 1865. 
 
^(^S 
 
 Gift 
 Dr. H- N. Fowler 
 May 16 1934 
 
 \ 
 
ADYERTISEMENT. 
 
 Alfeed Tennyson, like Lis great predecessor on the 
 Laureate's tlirone, claims no title but that of poet. His 
 pen has never stooped even to "numerous prose." 
 
 In Lotos-eating dreams he murmurs melodious verse. 
 Life with him is a pageant of the Muses. Love rejoices 
 in rhyme, or renders its despair in moaning refrains. 
 Death calls for poetic grief, and inscribes noble verses 
 In Memoriam on the urn of the lost. 
 
 Such devotion to his art would in itself produce excel- 
 lence ; but his gifts far exceed his acquisitions. He is 
 the most harmonious of the English Poets. We cannot 
 say simply that he adapts the sweet words to the 
 thoughts ; — the words are the thoughts : they are instinct 
 with life ; paraphrase them and the spell is broken. 
 
 Apart from this his descriptive powers are also very 
 great. 
 
 (ix) 
 
X ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Who but Tennysou could, in this age of the real and 
 useful, have so re-inspired the mythic history of Arthur, 
 as to charm every reader, awakening our admiration and 
 pity as though the magnificent prince really armed and 
 mounted in our presence, and the sinning and repentant 
 Guinevere stood in her speechless and tearful beauty 
 before our very eyes? 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication to the Queen 13 
 
 Lilian 14 
 
 Isabel 16 
 
 Madeline 17 
 
 A Character 19 
 
 The Poet 20 
 
 The Poet's Mind 23 
 
 The Lady of Shalott 24 
 
 Songs from " The Miller's Daughter" 31 
 
 The Sisters 32 
 
 Lady Clara Verb de Verb 33 
 
 The Talking Oak 36 
 
 The May Queen 48 
 
 New Year's Eve 50 
 
 Conclusion 52 
 
 Break, Break, Break 55 
 
 The Death of the Old Year 55 
 
 The Brook 58 
 
 The Lotos-Eaters 66 
 
 Choric Song 68 
 
 To Garibaldi 73 
 
 (xi) 
 
XU CONTENTS. 
 
 PAQE 
 
 Charge of the Light Brigade 74 
 
 MoRTE D'Arthur 76 
 
 The Sea-Fairies 86 
 
 GODITA 87 
 
 Sir Galahad 90 
 
 The Lord op Burleigh 93 
 
 "As through the land" 97 
 
 Sweet and Low 98 
 
 Home they brought heu Warrior dead 98 
 
 The Bugle Song 99 
 
 Ask me no more 100 
 
 AVhat does Little Birdie say 101 
 
 To the Queen 101 
 
 LocKSLEY Hall 104 
 
 The Islet 114 
 
 The Sleeping Beauty 116 
 
 The Ringlet 117 
 
 A Welcome to Alexandra 119 
 
 Ode . 120 
 
 The Sailor-Boy 122 
 
 In the Valley of Cauteretz 123 
 
 The Flower 123 
 
POEMS 
 
 IMAGINA.TION AND FANCY. 
 
 DEDICATION TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 Revered, beloved, — you that hold 
 
 A nobler office upon earth 
 
 Than arms, or power of brain, or birth, 
 Could give the warrior kings of old, 
 
 Victoria, — since your Royal grace 
 To one of less desert allows 
 This laurel greener from the brows 
 
 Of him that uttered nothing base ; 
 
 And should your greatness, and the care 
 That yokes with empire, yield you time 
 To make demand of modern rhyme. 
 
 If aught of ancient worth be there ; 
 
 Then — while a sweeter music wakes. 
 
 And through wild March the throstle calls, 
 Where, all about your palace-walls. 
 
 The sunlit almond-blossom shakes — 
 
 (13) 
 
14 rOEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 Take, Madam, this poor book of song; 
 For, though the faults were thick as dust 
 In vacant chambers, I could trust 
 
 Your kindness. May you rule us long, 
 
 And leave us rulers of your 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 deci'ee, 
 
 Which kept her throne unshaken still 
 Broad -based upon her people's will, 
 
 And compassed by the inviolate sea." 
 
 LILIAN. 
 
 Airy, fairy Lilian, 
 Flitting, fairy Lilian, 
 
LILIAN. ]:, 
 
 When I ask lier if she lovo me, 
 Clasps lier tiuy liands above mo, 
 
 Laughing all she can ; 
 She'll not tell me if she love me, 
 
 Cruel little Lilian. 
 
 When my passion seeks 
 
 Pleasance in love-sighs, 
 She, looking through and through me 
 Thoroughly to undo me, 
 
 Smiling, never speaks : 
 So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, 
 From beneath her gathered wimple 
 Glancing with black-beaded eyes, 
 Till the lightning laughters dimple 
 
 The baby-roses in her checks ; 
 
 Then away she flies. 
 
 Prithee weep, May Lilian ! 
 Gayety without eclipse 
 
 Wearieth me. May Lilian : 
 Through my very heart it thrilleth 
 
 When from crimson-threaded lips 
 Silver-treble laughter trilleth : 
 
 Prithee 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. 
 
16 POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 ISABEL. 
 
 Eyks not down-dropt nor ovev-briglit, but fed 
 With the clear-pointed flame of chastity, 
 Clear without 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, 
 
 Kevered Isabel, the crown and head, 
 The stately flower of female fortitude. 
 
 Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. 
 
 The intuitive decision of a bright 
 ■ And thorough-edged intellect to part 
 
 Error from crime ; a prudence to withhold; 
 
 The laws of m:irriage charactered 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, though undescried, 
 
 Winning its way with extreme gentleness 
 Through all the outworks of suspicious pride ; 
 A courage to endure and to obey ; 
 A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, 
 
MADELINE. 17 
 
 Crowned Isabel, througli all her placid life, 
 The queeu of marriage, a mos^ perfect wife. 
 
 The mellowed 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 j)urcr light 
 The vexed eddies of its wayward brother. 
 
 A leaning and upbearing parasite, 
 
 Clothing the stem, whicli else had fallen quite, 
 
 With clustered flower-bells and ambrosial orbs 
 Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other — 
 Shadow forth thee : — the world hath not another 
 
 (Though all her fairest forms are types of thee, 
 
 And thou of God in thy great charity,) 
 
 Of such a finished chastened purity. 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 Thou art not steeped in golden languors. 
 No tranced summer calm is thine. 
 
 Ever-varying Madeline. 
 Through light and shadow thou dost range. 
 Sudden glances, sweet and strange, 
 
 Delicious spites, and darling angers. 
 And airy forms'.of flitting change. 
 
 Smiling, frowning, evermore, 
 
 Thou art perfect in love-lore. 
 
18 1' U E M 8 OF I :M A ( ; I N A T 1 U N A N 1) F A N C Y. 
 
 Revealings deep and clear are thine 
 Of wealthy smiles : but who may know 
 Whether smile or iVown be fleeter? 
 Whether .smile or frowu 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; 
 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. 
 
 A subtle, sudden flame, 
 
 By veering passion fanned, 
 
 About thee breaks and dances. 
 
 When I would kiss thy hand, 
 The flush of angered shame 
 
 O'erflows thy calmer glances, 
 And o'er black brows drops doMMi 
 A sudden-curved frown : 
 But when I turn away. 
 Thou, willing me to strty, 
 
A CHAUACTER. \\) 
 
 Wooe.st nnt, nor vainly wrariLilcst, 
 ]iut, 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 blushest angerly; 
 And o'er black brows drops down 
 A sudden-curved frown. 
 
 A CHARACTER. 
 
 With a hall-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 : tliat the dull 
 
 Saw no divinity in grass, 
 
 Life in dead stones, or spirit in air ; 
 
 Then looking as 'twere in a glass, 
 
 He smoothed his chin and sleeked his iiair, 
 
 And said the earth was beautiful. 
 
 He spake of virtue : not tlie gods 
 More purely, when they wish to charm 
 
•J) I'dlOlS OV 1 M A(J 1 N ATI UN A N Jl> FANCY, 
 
 I'allas and J 11110 sitting hy : 
 And with a sweeping of tho arm, 
 And a lack-lustro drad-Miie oyo, 
 Pi'volved liis roundcMl pcrinds. 
 
 Most dolicatoly hour I)y Imur 
 He canvassed liunian mystorii'S, 
 And trod on silk, as if tho winds 
 1)K'W liis own praises in liis oyos, 
 And stood aloof from other minds 
 Tn iiii]ioteiiee of fancied power. 
 
 With lips depressed as he were meek, 
 TTimself unto himself he sold : 
 Upon himself himself did feed : 
 Quiet, dispassionate, and cold. 
 And other than* his form of creed, 
 With chiselled i'eatures clear and sleek. 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 TiiK jMiet in a golden clime was horn, 
 
 With golden stars above; 
 Powered with the hate of liate, tlie scorn of scorn, 
 The love of love. 
 
 He saw through life and death, through good and ill. 
 
 He saw through his own soul. 
 The marvel of the everlasting will, 
 An opt'ii scroll, 
 
TIIK I'OKT. 21 
 
 Before liiiii lay : with eclioii)^ I'eet lie tliifuded 
 
 "J'he secretewt walk of fame: 
 The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed 
 And winged with flame, 
 
 Like Indian n^eds Mown from his silver tongue, 
 
 And of so fierce a flight, 
 From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung. 
 Filling with light 
 
 And vagrant melodies the winds'wiiieh bore 
 
 Them earthwanl till tliey 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 furnished all abroad to fling 
 
 The winged shafts of truth, 
 To throng with stately bloorns the breathing spring 
 Of Hope and Youth, 
 
 So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, 
 
 Thouj-h one did flin^ the fire. 
 Heaven flowed upon the soul in many dreams 
 Of high desire. 
 
 Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world 
 Like one great garden showed, 
 
roE:\rs of imaui nation a n i> ia.ncv. 
 
 And through the wreaths of floating dark upcurlcd 
 Hare sunrise flowed. 
 
 And Freedom reared 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 
 
 Sunned 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, 
 
 So was their meaning to her words. No sword 
 
 Of wrath her right arm whirled. 
 But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word 
 She shook the world. 
 
THE POET S iMlND. 
 
 THE POET'S MIND. 
 
 Vex not thou the poet's mind 
 
 Witli thy shallow wit : 
 Vex not thou the poet's miud; 
 
 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. 
 
 • 
 II. 
 
 Dark-browed sophist, come not anearj 
 
 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 ai-ound. 
 
 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. 
 
24 POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 In the middle leaps a fountain 
 Like sheet lightning, 
 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, though 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 LADY OF SHALOTT. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 On either side the river lie 
 Long fields of barley and of rye, 
 That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; 
 And through the fieM the road runs by 
 
 To many-towered Camelot ; 
 And uy and down the people go, 
 Gazing where the lilies blow 
 Round an island there below, 
 
 The island of Shalott. 
 
THE LADY OP SUA LOTT. -^5 
 
 Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
 Little breezes dusk and shiver 
 Through the wave that runs for ever 
 By the island in the river 
 
 Flowing down to Camelot. 
 Four gray Avails, and four gray towers, 
 Overlook a space of flowers. 
 And the silent isle embowers 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 By the margin, willow-veiled. 
 Slide the heavy barges trailed 
 By slow horses ; and unbailed. 
 The shallop flitteth silken-sailed, 
 
 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 bearded barley, 
 Hear a song that echoes cheerly 
 From the river winding clearly, 
 
 Down to towered Camelot : 
 And by the moon the reaper weaiy, 
 Piling sheaves in uplands airy. 
 Listening, whispei-s " 'Tis the fairy 
 
 Lady (if Sbalott." 
 
'Z6 VOT.MS OF IMAGINATION AND F A N C f 
 
 r.VRT 11. 
 
 There she weaves by uight and duy 
 A magic web with colors gay. 
 »She has heard a whisper say, 
 A curse is on her if she stay 
 
 To look down to Caiuelot. 
 She knows jiot what the curse may be, 
 And so she weaveth steadily, 
 And little other care hath she, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 And moving through a mirror clear 
 That hangs before her all the year, 
 Shadow of the world appear. 
 There she sees the highway near 
 
 Winding down to Camelot; 
 There the river eddy whirls, 
 x\nd there the surly village-churls, 
 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-lad, 
 Or long-haired page in crimson clad, 
 
 Goes by to towered Camelot; 
 And sometimes through the mirror blue 
 The knights come riding two and two: 
 She hath no loyal knight and true, 
 
 The Ludy of Shalott. 
 
THE LADY Oh- S II A L i ) l' T. 27 
 
 But in her web she still dcliglits 
 To weave the mirror's magic sights, 
 For often through the silent nights 
 A funeral, with plumes and lights, 
 
 And music, went to Camel(jt : 
 Or when the moon was overhead, 
 Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
 "1 am half-sick of shadows," said 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 
 He rode between the barley sheaves. 
 The sun came dazzling through the leaves. 
 And flamed upon the brazen greaves 
 
 Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
 A redci'oss knight for ever kneeled 
 To a lady in his shield, 
 That sjjarkled on the yellow field, 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 
 
 The gemmy bridle glittered free. 
 Like to some branch of stars we see 
 Hung in the golden Gralaxy. 
 The bridle bells rang merrily 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot : 
 And from his blazoned baldric slung 
 A mighty silver bugle hung, 
 And as he rode his armor rung. 
 
 Beside remote 8halott. 
 
iJH IMiKJlS OK I .M A<i I N ATJ ON A .N I) FANCY 
 
 All ill tlic Iiliic unclouded weather 
 Tliiek-jewelled sliuiic the .^addle-leather, 
 The heluict aud the hehuet-feather 
 Hurned like one burning flame together, 
 
 As he rode down to Canielot. 
 As often through the purple night, 
 Below the starry clusters bright, 
 Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 
 
 Moves over still Shalott. 
 
 His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed ; 
 On burnished hooves his war-horse trodc; 
 From underneatli his hemlet flowed 
 His coal-black curls as on he rode, 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot. 
 From the bank and from the river 
 He flashed into the crystal mirror, 
 '' Tirra lirra," by the river 
 
 Sang Sir Lancelot. 
 
 She left the web, she left the loom. 
 She made three paces througli the room. 
 She saw the water-lily bloom, 
 She saw the helmet and the plume, 
 
 She looked down to Camelot. 
 Out flew the web and floated wide; 
 The mirror cracked from side to side ; 
 '•The curse is come upon me," cried 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
3* 
 
 THE LADY OF SUA LOT T. 29 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Ill the stormy east-wind straining, 
 The pale yellow woods were waning, 
 The broad stream in his banks complaining. 
 Heavily the low sky raining 
 
 Over towered Camelot ; 
 Down she came and found a boat 
 Beneath a willow left afloat, 
 And round about the prow she wrote 
 
 The Lady of Slialutt. 
 
 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 
 That loosely flew to left and right — 
 The leaves upon her falling light — 
 Through the noises of the night 
 
 She floated down to Camelot : 
 And as the boat-head wound anion"- 
 The willowy hills and fields alono-, 
 They heard her singing her last song, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
30 r O E M S OF J M A ( ! 1 N A J' 1 O N AND FANCY 
 
 Heard a carol, luouriiful, lioly, 
 Chanted loudly, chanted lowly. 
 Till her blood was frozen slowly, 
 A "id her eyes were darkened wholly, 
 
 Turned to towered Camelot ; 
 For ere she reached upon the tide 
 The lirst 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 gleaming shape she floated by. 
 
 Dead-pale between the houses high, 
 
 Silent into Camelot. 
 Out upon the wharves they came. 
 Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 
 A nd round the prow they read her name, 
 
 The Lmhj of Shalott. 
 
 Who is this ? and what is here ? 
 And in tlie lighted palace near 
 Died the sound of royal cheer; 
 And they crossed themselves for fear, 
 
 All the knights at Camelot: 
 l>ut Lancelot mused a little space ; 
 He said, "She has a lovely face; 
 God in his mercy lend her grace, 
 The Lady of Shalott." 
 
SONGS. yi 
 
 SONGS FROM "THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER." 
 
 I. 
 
 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 v, hite. 
 
 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, 
 I'd clasp it round so close and tight. 
 
 And I would be the necklace. 
 
 And all day long to fall and rise 
 Upon her balmy bosom, 
 
 With her laughter or her sigh&. 
 And I would lie so light, so light, 
 I scarce should be unclasped at night. 
 
 II. 
 Love that hath us in the net. 
 Can he pass, and we forget ? 
 Many suns arise and set. 
 Many a chance the years beget. 
 Love the gift is Love the debt. 
 Even so. 
 
32 P E M S OF 1 M A ( i 1 N A T JON AND F A N C Y. 
 
 Love is luirt with jar and fret. 
 Love is made a vague regret. 
 Ejes with idle tears are wet. 
 Idle habit links us yet. 
 What is love ? for we forget : 
 Ah, no ! no! 
 
 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 j 
 Therefore revenge became me well. 
 
 O the Earl was fair to sec ! 
 
 She died : she went to burning flame : 
 She mixed 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. 
 
 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, in a bed, 
 Upon my lap he laid his head 
 
 the Earl was fair to see ! 
 
I- A D Y C L A K A V E R E ] ) E VERB. 33 
 
 I ki.s,sc3d his eyelids into rest : 
 His ruddy cheek uj^ou 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. 
 
 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 stabbed him through and through. 
 
 the Earl was fair to see ! 
 
 I curled and combed his comely head. 
 He looked 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. 
 
 the Earl was fair to see ! 
 
 LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 Of me you shall not win renown ; 
 
 You thought to break a country heart 
 For pastime, ere you went to town. 
 
 At me you smiled, but nnbeguiled 
 I saw the snare, and I retired : 
 
y4 I' o E M s or 1 M A ( ; I N A r U) N and fancy. 
 
 The (laughter of a hundred Earls, 
 You are not one to be desired. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 I know you proud to bear your name ; 
 Your pride is yet no mate for mine, 
 
 Too proud to care from whence 1 came. 
 Nor would I break for your sweet sake 
 * A heart that dotes on truer charms. 
 
 A simple maiden in her flower 
 
 Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 Some meeker pupil you must find, 
 For were you queen of all that is, 
 
 I could not stoop to such a mind. 
 You sought to prove how I could love, 
 
 And my disdain is my reply. 
 The lion on your old stone gates 
 
 Is not more cold to you than I. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 You put strange memories in my head. 
 Not thrice your branching limes have blown 
 
 Since I beheld young Laurence dead. 
 your sweet eyea , your low replies : 
 
 A great enchantress you may be ; 
 But there was that across his throat 
 
 Which you had hardly cared to see. 
 
LADY CLARA VERB DE VERE. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 When thus he met his mother's view, 
 She had the passions of her kind, 
 
 She spake some certain truths of you. 
 Indeed, I heard one bitter word 
 
 That scarce is fit for you to hear • 
 Her manners had not that repose 
 
 Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 There stands a spectre in your hall : 
 The guilt of blood is at your door : 
 
 You changed a wholesome heart to gall. 
 You held your course without remorse, 
 
 To make him trust his modest worth, 
 And, last, you fixed a vacant stare, 
 
 And slew him with your noble birth. 
 
 Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 From yon blue heavens above us bent 
 The grand old gardener and his wife 
 
 Smile at the claims of long descent. 
 Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 
 
 'Tis only noble to be good. 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets. 
 
 And simple faith than Norman blood. 
 
 T know you, Clara Vere de Vere : 
 
 You pine among your halls and towers, 
 
 The languid light of your proud eyes 
 Is M'earied of the rolling hoqrs. 
 
3G POEJIS OF I M ACiI N AT 1 ON AND FANCY. 
 
 In glowing health, with boundless wealth, 
 But sickening of a vague disease, 
 
 You know so ill to deal with time, 
 
 You needs must play such pranks as these. 
 
 Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 If Time be heavy on your hands, 
 Are there no beggars at your gate, 
 
 Nor any poor about your lands ? 
 ! teach the orphan-boy to read, 
 
 Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, 
 Pray Heaven fur a human heart, 
 
 And let the foolish yeoman go. 
 
 THE TALKING OAK. 
 
 Once more the gate behind me falls; 
 
 Once more before my face 
 I see the mouldered Abbey-walls, 
 
 That stand within the chase. 
 
 Beyond the lodge the city lies, 
 Beneath its drift of smoke ; 
 
 And all! with what delighted eyes 
 I turn to yon ler oak ! 
 
 For when my passion first liegan. 
 
 Ere that which in me burned, 
 The love that makes me thrice a man, 
 
 Could hope itself returned ; 
 
^^:^ -^^^^^ 
 
THE TALKING OAK. 37 
 
 To yonder oak within the field 
 
 I f^poke without restraint, 
 And with a hxrger f'-iith appealed 
 
 Thau Papist unto Saint. 
 
 For oft I talked with hiui apart, 
 
 And told him of my choice, 
 Until he plagiarized a heart, 
 
 And answered with a voice. 
 
 Though what he whispered under Heaven 
 
 None else could understand; 
 I found him garrulously given, 
 
 A babbler in the land. 
 
 But since I heard him make reply 
 
 Is many a weary hour j 
 'Twere well to question him, and try 
 
 If yet he keeps the power. 
 
 Hail, hidden to the knees in fern, 
 
 Broad oak of Sumner-chase, 
 Whose topmost branches can discern 
 
 The roofs of Sumner-place I 
 
 Say thou, whereon I carved her name, 
 
 If ever maid oi spouse, 
 As fair as my Olivia, came 
 
 To rest beneath thy boughs ? 
 
 " O Walter, I have sheltered here 
 Whatever maiden grace 
 
 4 
 
SB POEMS OP IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 The good old Summei's, year by year, 
 Made ripe in Sumuer-cliase : 
 
 "Old Summers, when the monk was fat, 
 
 And, issuing shoi'n and sleek, 
 Would twist liis girdle tight, and pat 
 
 The girls upon the cheek, 
 
 "Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence, 
 And numbered bead, and shrift, 
 
 Bluff Harry broke into the spence, 
 And turned the cowls adrift : 
 
 " And I have seen some score of those 
 Fresh faces, that would thrive 
 
 When his man-minded offset rose 
 To chase the deer at five ; 
 
 " And all that from the town would stroll, 
 Till that wild wind made work. 
 
 In which the gloomy brewer's soul 
 Went by me, like a stork : 
 
 " The sligl t she-slips of loyal bluod, 
 
 And others, passing praise, 
 Strait-laced, but all-too-full in bud 
 
 For puritanic stays : 
 
 " And I have shadowed many a gruup 
 
 Of beauties, that were born 
 In teacup-times of hood and hoop, 
 
 Or while the patch was worn ; 
 
THE TALKING OAK. og 
 
 ' And, leg- and arm with love-knots gay, 
 
 About me leaped and lauj^hed 
 The modish Cupid of the day. 
 
 And shrilled his tinsel shaft. 
 
 " I swear (and else may insects prick 
 
 Each leaf into a gall) 
 This girl, for whom your heart is sick, 
 
 Is three times worth them all ; 
 
 " For those and theirs, by Nature's law, 
 
 Have faded long ago ; 
 But in these later springs 1 saw 
 
 Your own Olivia blow, 
 
 " From when she gambolled on the greens, 
 
 A baby-germ, to when 
 The maiden blossoms of her teens 
 
 Could number five from ten. 
 
 " I swear, by leaf, and wind and rain, 
 
 (And hear me with thine ears,) 
 That, though I circle in the grain 
 
 Five hundred rings of years — 
 
 " Yet, since I first could cast a shade. 
 
 Did never creature pass 
 So slightly, musically made. 
 
 So light upon the grass : 
 
 " For as to fairies, that will flit 
 To make the greensward fresh, 
 
4U POEMS OF IM A<i I N A r I ON AND F A N C VT. 
 
 I hold them exquisitely knit, 
 But fur too spare of flesh." 
 
 O, hide thy knotted knees in fern, 
 
 And overlook the chase ; 
 And from thy topmost branch discern 
 
 The roofs of Sumner-place. 
 
 But thou, whereon I carved her name, 
 
 That oft hast heard my vows, 
 Declare when last Olivia came 
 
 To sport beneath thy boughs. 
 
 "0 yesterday, you know, the fair 
 
 Was holden at the town; 
 Her father left his good arm-chair, 
 
 And rode his hunter down. 
 
 "And with him Albert came on his. 
 
 I looked at him with joy : 
 As cowslip unto oxlip is. 
 
 So seems she to the boy. 
 
 " An hour had passed — and, sitting straight 
 Within the low-wheeled chaise. 
 
 Her mother trundled to the gate 
 Behind the dappled grays. 
 
 '■'But, as for her, she stayed at home. 
 
 And on the roof she went, 
 \.nd down the way you use to come 
 
 She looked with discontent. 
 
THE TALKINCJ OAK. 41 
 
 " She left the novel half-uncut 
 
 Upon the rosewood shelf; 
 She left the new piano shut : 
 
 She could not plef.se herself. 
 
 " Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, 
 
 And livelier than a lark 
 She sent her voice through all the holt 
 
 Before her, and the park. 
 
 " A light wind chased her on the wing, 
 
 And in the chase grew wild. 
 As close as might be would he cling 
 
 About the darling child : 
 
 "But light as any wind that blows 
 
 So fleetly did she stir, 
 The flower, she touched on, dipped and rose, 
 
 And turned to look at her. 
 
 "And here she came, and round me played, 
 
 And sang to me the whole 
 Of those three stanzas that you made 
 
 About my ' giant bole / 
 
 "And in a fit of frolic mirth 
 
 She strove to span my waist : 
 Alas, I was so broad of girth, 
 
 I could not be embraced. 
 
 "I wished myself the fair young beech 
 
 That here beside me stands, 
 4* 
 
42 P O E M S O b' I M A (i 1 N A r I O N AND FANCY. 
 
 That round nie, clasping cacli in cach^ 
 She might havo locked her hands. 
 
 " Yet seemed the pressure thrice as sweet 
 
 As woodbine's fragile hold, 
 Or when I feci about my feet 
 
 The berried briony fold." 
 
 muffle round thy knees with fern, 
 
 And shadow Sumncr-chase ! 
 Long may thy toj)most branch discern 
 
 The roofs of Sumner-pluce ! 
 
 But tell me, did she read the name 
 
 I carved with many vows, 
 When last with throbbing heart I came 
 
 To rest beneath thy boughs ? 
 
 "0 yes, she wandered round and round 
 These knotted knees of mine, 
 
 And found, and kissed the name she found. 
 And sweetly murmured thine. 
 
 " A tear-drop trembled from its source. 
 
 And down my surface crept. 
 My sense of touch is something coarse. 
 
 But I believe she wept. 
 
 " Then flushed her cheek with rosy light, 
 She glanced across the plain ; 
 
 But not a creature was in sight : 
 She kissed me once again. 
 
THE TALKING OAK. 43 
 
 "Her kisses were so close and kind, 
 
 That, trust me on my word, 
 Hard wood I am, and wrinkled riud. 
 
 But yet my sap was stirred : 
 
 *'And even into my inmost ring 
 
 A pleasure I discerned. 
 Like those blind motions of the Spring, 
 
 That show the year is turned. 
 
 "Thrice-happy he that may caress 
 
 The ringlet's waving balm — 
 The cushions of whose touch may press 
 
 The maiden's tender palm. 
 
 "I, rooted here among the groves, 
 
 But languidly adjust 
 My vapid vegetable loves 
 
 With anthers and with dust : 
 
 "For ah ! my friend, the days were brief 
 
 Whereof the poets talk, 
 When that, which breathes within the leaf. 
 
 Could slip its bark and walk. 
 
 "But could I, as in times foregone, 
 
 From spray, and branch, and stem 
 Have sucked and gathered into one 
 
 The life that spreads in them, 
 
 "She had not found me so remiss ; 
 But lightly issuing through, 
 
44 rOElNIS DF I MA'il NATION AND FANCY. 
 
 I would have paid her kiss for kiss 
 With usury thereto." 
 
 flourish high, with leafy towers, 
 
 Aud overlook the lea, 
 Pursue thy loves among the bowers, 
 
 But leave thou mine to me. 
 
 flourish, hidden deep in fern. 
 
 Old oak, I love thee well; 
 A thousand thanks for what I learn 
 
 And what remains to tell. 
 
 " 'Tis little more : the day was warm ; 
 
 At last, tired out with play, 
 She sank her head upon her arm. 
 
 And at my feet she lay. 
 
 " Her eyelids dropped their silken eaves } 
 
 I breathed upon her eyes 
 Through all the summer of my leaves 
 
 A welcome mixed with sighs. 
 
 "I took the swarming sound of life — 
 
 The music from the town — 
 The murmurs of the drum aud fife. 
 
 And lulled them in my own. 
 
 "Sometimes I let a sunbeam slip, 
 
 To light her shaded eye ; 
 A second fluttered round her lip 
 
 Like a golden butterfly ; 
 
THE TALKING OAK. 45 
 
 "A thu'l would glimmer on her neck 
 
 To make the necklace shine; 
 Another slid, a sunny fleck, 
 
 From head to ankle tine. 
 
 "Then close and dark my arms I spread, 
 
 And shadowed all her rest — 
 Dropped dews upon her golden head, 
 
 An acorn in her breast. 
 
 " But in a pet she started up, 
 
 And plucked it out, and drew 
 My little oakling from the cup. 
 
 And flung him in the dew. 
 
 " And yet it was a graceful gift — 
 
 I felt a pang within 
 As when I see the woodman lift 
 
 His axe to slay my kin. 
 
 " I shook him down because he was 
 
 The finest on tlie tree. 
 He lies beside thee on the grass. 
 
 kiss him once for me 1 
 
 " kiss him twice and thrice for me, 
 
 That have no lips to kiss, 
 For never yet was oak on lea 
 
 Shall grow so fair as this." 
 
 Step deeper yet in herb and fern, 
 Look further through the chase, 
 
4t» POEMS OF J IM Aii I N ATlON AND FANCT. 
 
 Spread upward till thy boughs discern 
 The front of Sunincr-place. 
 
 This fruit of thine by Love is blest,. 
 
 That but a nioment lay 
 Where fairer fruit of Love may rest 
 
 Some happy future day. 
 
 I kiss it twice, I kiss it thrice, 
 The warmth it thence shall win 
 
 To riper life may magnetize 
 The baby-oak within. 
 
 But thou, while kingdoms overset, 
 
 Or lapse from hand to hand. 
 Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet 
 
 Thine acorn in the land. 
 
 May never saw dismember thee, 
 
 Nor wielded axe disjoint; 
 That art the fiiirest spoken tree 
 
 From here to Lizard-point. 
 
 rock upon thy towery top 
 All throats that gurgle sweet ! 
 
 All starry culmination drop 
 Balm-dews to bathe thy feet ! 
 
 All grass of silky feather grow — 
 
 And while he sinks or swells 
 The full south-breeze around thee blow 
 
 The sound of minster bells. 
 
THE TALKING OAK. - 47 
 
 The fat earth feed thy braiicliy root, 
 
 That uuder deeply strikes ! 
 The northern morning o'er thee shoot, 
 
 High up, in silver spikes ! 
 
 Nor ever lightning char thy grain, 
 
 But, rolling as in sleep. 
 Low thunders bring the mellow rain, 
 
 That makes thee broad and deep ! 
 
 And hear me swear a solemn oath, 
 
 That only by thy side 
 Will I to Olive plight my troth, 
 
 And gain her for my bride. 
 
 And when my marriage-morn may fall, 
 
 She, Dryad-like, shall wear 
 Alternate leaf .and acorn-ball 
 
 In wreath about her hair. 
 
 And T will work in prose and rhyme, 
 
 And praise thee more in both 
 Than bard has honored beech or lime. 
 
 Or that Thessalian growth 
 
 In which the swarthy ringdove sat, 
 
 And mystic sentence spoke ; 
 And more than England honors that, 
 
 Thy famous brother-oak, 
 
 Wherein tli^ younger Charles abode 
 Till all the paths were dim, 
 
48 IH) E M S OF IMAGINATION AND F A X C i". 
 
 Ami far l)clow the Rouiullieail rode. 
 And hummed a surly h3Miui. 
 
 THE MAY QUEEN. 
 
 You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; 
 To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year ; 
 Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest, merriest day ; 
 For I'm to be Queeu o' the 3Iay, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 May. 
 
 There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as 
 
 mine; 
 There's Margaret and 3Iary, there's Kate and Caroline : 
 But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say : 
 So I'm to bo Queeu o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 
 May. 
 
 I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, 
 If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : 
 But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay. 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the iMay, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 May. 
 
 As I came up the valley, whom think ye should t see, 
 But Ivobin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree 'i* 
 He thought of that sharp look, uuither, 1 gave him yesterday, — 
 Mill I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 May. 
 
THE MAY QUKKN. 49 
 
 lie tli(uii^ht I was a gliost, mothor, for 1 was all in white, 
 And I rail by him witliout speaking, like a flash of light. 
 They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 • May. 
 
 They saj he's dying all for love, but that can never bo : 
 They say his heart is breaking, mother — what is that to me? 
 There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day. 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' 
 the May. 
 
 Little EflSe shall go with me to-morrow to the green, 
 And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen : 
 For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away, 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' 
 the May. 
 
 The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers. 
 And by the meadow-trenclies blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers; 
 And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamjis and 
 
 hollows gray. 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' 
 
 the May. 
 
 The night-winds come and go, niotlier, upon the meadow grass, 
 And the hap])y stars above them seem to brighten as they pass; 
 There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day. 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' 
 the May. 
 
f )0 I' OEMS O F 1 M A ( i 1 N A T 1 O .\ AND F A i\ ( ■ V 
 
 All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, 
 And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, 
 Vnd the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and jilay, 
 .'or I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 May. 
 
 So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, 
 To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year : 
 To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest, merriest day. 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the 
 May. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 If you're waking call mo early, call me early, mother dear, 
 
 For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year. 
 
 It is the last New-year that I shall ever see, 
 
 Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me. 
 
 To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind 
 The good olil year, the dear old time, and all my jteace of mind; 
 And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall ii^ever see 
 The bliissoni on the blacktiiorn, the leaf upon the tree. 
 
 Last May we made a crown of flowers : we had a merry day ; • 
 Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of IMayj 
 
 And we danced al»oiit the IMay-jiole and in the hazel copse, 
 Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white (diimney-tops. 
 
 There's not a flower on all the liills: the frost is on the pane : 
 I only wish to live till the snowdrops com(> again : 
 
N I : \V V !■: A II S E V K. 51 
 
 I wisli tlic siKiw wiiulil iiKilt and the .suu C(jiiic out on lii^li: 
 I lotiy ti» sec a liovvcr .so before tlie day I di*. 
 
 Tlie buildihii' rook 'ill eaw fi-om tlie windy tall ehii-tree, 
 
 And the tnl'hid plover pipe aloiii;- the I'alluw lea, 
 
 And the swallow 'ill come back a^ain with .siiinmer o'er the wave. 
 
 l>ut 1 shall lie alone, mother, within the uioiilderinn' grave. 
 
 Upon the ehaneel-easenient, and upon that grave of mine, 
 In the early early morning the summer sun 'ill shine. 
 Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill. 
 When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still. 
 
 When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waniu^ light 
 You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; 
 When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool 
 On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. 
 
 You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, 
 And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid. 
 I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear 3'ou when you pass, 
 With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. 
 
 I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now ; 
 You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go : 
 Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, 
 You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. 
 
 If I car. I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; 
 Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face ; 
 Though I cannot speak a WMrd, I sliall barken what you say, 
 And be often, oftiMi with you when y(Hi think I'm far away. 
 
5J r O i: M S u F 1 M A ^i I N » I I u N \ \ I > I' A N (■ V . 
 
 (u)O(l-niiiht, liooil-niglit, whoii 1 havosaulmiodiiiiiht (or ovonuore, 
 Ami you soo me carrioil out tVoui tho thivsliolil ol' tlio door ; 
 Dou't let Effic c'duio to f^ee uie till uiy urave be iirowiiiii' green : 
 She'll be a better eliilil to vou than ever 1 have been. 
 
 She'll Huil my garden-tools ujton the granary flour: 
 IjCt her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never ganleu more: 
 l^ut toll her. when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that 1 set 
 About the parlor-window and the box of mignonette. 
 
 (u)od-iiight, sweet mother : eall me before the day is born. 
 All night 1 lie awake, but 1 fall asleep at morn ; 
 J*'it 1 would see the sun rise njion the glad Xew-year, 
 So, if you're waking, eall nu\ eall me early, mother dear. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I TiioiiiTlT to jniss away before, aiul yet alive 1 am ; 
 
 And in the fields all round 1 hear the bleating of the lamb. 
 
 How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year I 
 
 To die before the snowdrop eamo, and now the violet's here. 
 
 sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies. 
 And sweeter is the ytnuig lamb's voiec to me that cannot rise. 
 And sweet is all the laiul about, and all the flowers that blow, 
 And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go. 
 
 It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, 
 And now it seems as hard to say ; and yet. Ills will bo done ! 
 l>ut still I think it can't be long before I find release j 
 And that good man, the elergynian. has told me words of peace. 
 
• (»N t'l-u s I M N. 5;j 
 
 () lil('ssiiii;s (III Ills kiiiilly vitici' .iml mi liis .•<ilvcr liiiir! 
 
 Ami lil(\'^,siiii;s im liis wlinh; lil'c loiii;', iiiilil Ik' iihh!!- iiks (Jiorc I 
 
 () lilossiiii^n (III liis kindly luijirt iiiid (iii his silvijr lioail ! 
 
 A tlumsand times 1 blessed biui, us lie knelt beside my lu^d. 
 
 lie laii^lit me all the merey, for be showed me all the sin. 
 Now, (-h(iui;Ii my lamp was lii^bted late, tberii's Ont; will let me in : 
 JVor Wdiild I imw Ik; Well, mother, aii,:iiii, if that eoiild be, 
 lAir my dcsin; is but to pass to iliiii (bat died lor me 
 
 1 dill not bear the doj;' bowl, mother, or tin; d(^■ltll\val(dl luiat, 
 'J'li(;rt! (;am(! a, swtn^tcr tolvcn wIkmi t1u( iiit;lit and iikiiiiIiiu, meet: 
 ]>iit sit b(!sid(! my bed, mother, and jmt your hand in mine, 
 And I'iilio on the other side, and I will tell the si^ii. 
 
 All in the wild IMarch-niorninj^ I lieard the angels (^•llI ; 
 It was when the moon was S(!ttin,t;', and (he dark was over all; 
 TIk; (r(U'S be^an to whisper, and tin; wind b(!^aii to roll, 
 And in the wild iMarcdi-mornini;- 1 beard tli(!iii call my sdiil. 
 
 For lyini;- broad awake I (•ho^I^ht of you and hlHic d(!ar; 
 
 I saw you sittini;' in the house, and 1 no loiiL^cr ben;; 
 
 With all my strength I prayeil for both, and so I lelt resi^iuid, 
 
 And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. 
 
 r thouf^bt that it \vas fancy, and 1 listcMied in my Ixid, 
 And then did sonuitbint;' sp(!ak. to me — I know not what was said; 
 For ^reat delii^bt and slmdderiiiii; took hold of all my mind, 
 And up the valley caiiK; a;^aiii tlu; music on the wind. 
 
51 I'OEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 But you were sleeping ; aud I said, '• It's not for them ; it's uiiue." 
 And if it comes three times, I thouglit, I take it for a sign. 
 And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, 
 Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die among tlie stars. 
 
 So now I think iny time is near. I trust it is. I know 
 The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go. 
 And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day. 
 But, Effie, you must comfort lier when I am passed away. 
 
 And say to Robin a kind word, aud tell him not to fret; 
 There's many worthier than I would make him happy yet. 
 If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have been his wife; 
 But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life. 
 
 look ! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; 
 He shines upon a hundred fields, aud all of them T know. 
 And there I move no longer now, and there liis light may shine — 
 ^,Vild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. 
 
 sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done 
 The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun — 
 For ever and for ever with those just souls and true — 
 And what is life, that we should moan ? why make we such ado ? 
 
 For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home — 
 And there to wait a little while till you aud Kffie come — 
 To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast — 
 And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. 
 
THE DEATH O F T H E O L D Y E A R. 55 
 
 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, oh Sea ! 
 And I would that my tongue could utter ' 
 The thouglits that arise in me. 
 
 O well for the fisherman's boy, 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at play ! 
 
 O well for the sailor lad, 
 
 That he sings in his boat on the ba}' ! 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill ; 
 But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still ! 
 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, oh Sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 Full knee-deep lies the winter snow. 
 And the winter winds are wearily sighing: 
 Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, 
 And tread softly and speak low, 
 For the old year lies a-dying\ 
 
5<i IMtKMS UF I .M Ad 1 N ATI t»N AND 1' A .N C V. 
 
 01(1 ye;ir, you must imt dio; 
 You cauie to us so readily. 
 You lived with us so steadily, 
 Old year, you shall not die. 
 
 lie lietli still: lie doth not move : 
 
 lie will not see the dawn of day. 
 
 Ue hath no other life ahove. 
 
 He uave me a friend, and a true, true-love. 
 
 And the New-year will take 'em away. 
 
 Old year, you must not go ; 
 
 So long as you have been with us, 
 
 Such joy as you have seen with us, 
 
 Old year, you shall not go. 
 
 He frothed his bumpers to the brim; 
 ■ A jollier year we shall not sec. 
 
 ]>ut though his eyes arc waxing dim, 
 And though his foes speak ill of him, 
 He was a friend to me. 
 
 Old year, you shall not die ; 
 
 We did so laugh and cry with you, 
 
 I've half a mind to die with you, 
 
 Old year, if you must die. 
 
 He was full of joke and jest, 
 But all his merry quips are o'er. 
 To see him die, across the waste 
 His son and heir doth ride post-haste, 
 But he'll be dec\d before. 
 
THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 57 
 
 Every one for his own. 
 
 The night is starry and cold, my friend, 
 
 And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend, 
 
 Comes up to take his own. 
 
 How hard he breathes ! over the snow 
 I heard just now the crowing cock 
 The shadows flicker to and fro : 
 The cricket chirps : the light burns low : 
 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. 
 
 Shake hands, before you die. 
 
 Old year, we'll dearly rue for you : 
 
 What is it we can do for you ? 
 
 Speak out before you die. 
 
 His face is growing sharp and thin. 
 Alack I our friend is gone. 
 Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : 
 Step from the corpse, and let him in 
 That standeth there alone, 
 
 And waiteth at the door. 
 
 There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, 
 
 And a new face at the door, my friend, 
 
 A new face at the door. 
 
58 1' O J' J' « ^> 1" ' -^l A ( i I N A T 1 O N AND F A N C Y. 
 
 THE BROOK. 
 
 AN IDYL. 
 
 '■Ukrk, V)y tliis linidk, we partt'il • I tu the Ea.st, 
 And lie fur Italy — too late — tuo lale : 
 Oin! wliuiu the stroni;- sons of tlio world dospisoj 
 Fur lucky rhymes to him were scri]) aiul snare; 
 And mellow metres more than cent, for cent.; 
 Nor could he understand how money hrccds, 
 Thought it a dead thing ; yet himself could make 
 The thing that is not as the thing it is. 
 
 had he lived ! In our school-books we say, 
 Of those that held their heads above the crowd, 
 They flourished then or then ; but life in him 
 Could scarce be said to flourish, only touched 
 On such a time as goes before the leaf, 
 
 When all the wood stands in a mist of green, 
 And nothing perfect: yet the brook he loved, 
 For which, in branding summers of Bengal, 
 Or even the sweet half-English Neilgherry air, 
 
 1 panted, seems, as I redisten to it, 
 Prattling the primrose fancies of the boy, 
 
 To me that loved him; for *0 brook,' he says, 
 
 'O babbling brook,' says Edmund in his rliymc, 
 
 ' Whence come you ?' and the brook, why not? replies. 
 
 I come from haunts of coot and hern. 
 
 I make a sudden sally 
 And sparkle out auinuj;- tlio frrn, 
 
 'I'm lilckcr dnwii a vallcs . 
 

TIJE HROOK. 59 
 
 By tliirty hills I hurry down, 
 
 Or slip between the ridges, 
 By twenty thorps, a little town, 
 
 And half a hundred bridges. 
 
 Tin last by Philip's farm I flow 
 
 To join the brimming river, 
 Fur men may come and men may go, 
 
 But I go on for ever, 
 
 "Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out, 
 Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge. 
 It has more ivy ; there the river ; and there 
 Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet. 
 
 I chatter over stony waJ^'<, 
 
 In little sharps and treljlos, 
 I bubble into eddying bays, 
 
 I babble on the pebbles. 
 
 With many a curve my banks I fret 
 
 By many a field and fallow, 
 And many a fairy foreland sot 
 
 With willow-weed and mallow. 
 
 I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
 
 To join the brimming riv(>r, 
 • For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 "But Philip chattered more than brook or bird; 
 Old Philip; all about the fields you caught 
 His weary daylong chirjiing, like the dry 
 High-elbowed grigs that leap in summer grass. 
 
DO r o r. M s u 1' I \i \ ( ; I N A r 1 o .N a n n i' a n c y 
 
 I wind alunit. ami in and out. 
 
 AVitli luM'o a lilossoni sailinj^. 
 Ami lu'ii> aiul ilicrc a liistv trout, 
 
 And luMo and tluTO a ^ravliujx. 
 
 And iicro and tlioro a loauiv tlako 
 
 Upon nu>, as I travtd, 
 ^\'itll nianv a sil\i>r_v watiM'Iiroak 
 
 Aliovo the iioldi'ii i;-ra\(d, 
 
 And draw tluMu all aloni^, and tlow 
 
 To join tlio briinniiuii- riviM-. 
 For nuMi may rt>ni(> and nion nuiy ji'O, 
 
 But I <;o on ("or o\ im'. 
 
 ''() darlinL; Katio AVillows, his one idiild ! 
 A niaidon of onr I'oiituiy, yot most mook ; 
 A dau>;htor of our luoadows, yot not (.'oai"so j 
 Straight, but as lissouio as a hazol wand; 
 llor oyos a bashful azuro, and hor liair 
 In uloss ami huo tlu> clu'stniit, whon tho slioU 
 J)ividos throofold to show tho fruit witiiin. 
 
 ''Swoot Katie, onoo T did her a srood turn, 
 llor and hor far-otV oousiu and hotrothod, 
 Janios \\'illo\vs. id' ono nanio and hoart with hor. 
 For horo 1 oanio, twonty years haek — tho wook 
 Hoforo 1 parted with |>oor Kduuiml ; erossoil 
 Ky that old briduo whitdi, lialf in ruins then, 
 Still makes a loary eyebrow for the <:leam 
 Hevonil it, where the waters marry — erossed. 
 
I' II !■; ItROO K. 61 
 
 VVIiiHlliii;^' a ruiHloiii bar of linniiy I)ooii, 
 And pUHlunl at, I'liilip'H gardon-Kat,*!. TIk! ^atc, 
 Jlair-))arl(;(l Iroiii a woak and KCMldiii^r liiii^c;, 
 Sliiok; aii(] In; claiiicrod f'ruiM a CMKciiiciif,, 'run,' 
 'I'll Katie Hoincwiicr* in Uk; waikn hclow, 
 ' Knn, Katie!' Katie ii(!V<;r ran : kIh; moved 
 'I'o nie(;l, nii:, \vin<Jin^ nnil(;r woodbine liowefH, 
 A little f!ntl,(!re(l, with lier oyelidH down, 
 Fresli af)ple-}dos,soin, hlu.sliing lor a boon. 
 
 "What was li'f 1(;h,s of" Keiitinnint than hcwihc 
 ll;id Katio; not illiterate ; neither one 
 Who dahldin^ in the fonnt of lietive tearn. 
 And iinrHed hy inealy-inoiithed j)Iiilanthro)iieH, 
 Divoree the J*\;elin^' from Inir niate the Deed. 
 
 "She tcjld me. SIhs and daine.H had qiiarrelled. 
 What cause of (luarreli:' Norn;, hIio .said, no caune; 
 .lames liad no <;anse : hut when I pressed the, eauso, 
 I hiarnt that dannis had fliekering jealon.sies 
 VVhieh an;:(;red lier. Who angered Jarntfs';' I said. 
 Hilt Kiltie siiatehed her eyes at once ("rom mine, 
 And sketfliing with her Hlen(](!r pointed foot 
 Some figure like; a wizard's penlagnini 
 On garden gravel, let my (piery pass 
 I Inelaimed, in flushing silenec;, till I asked 
 If d;inies wer(! corning. 'Coming every d;iy,' 
 She answercid, 'ever longing to explain, 
 Jiut evermore licr father came across 
 
 
 
POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY'. 
 
 With some long-winJed tale, antl broke him slidit; 
 
 And James departed vexed with him and her.' • 
 
 How could I help her ? ' Would I — was it wrong '/' 
 
 (Clasped hands and that petitionary grace 
 
 Of sweet seventeen subdued me ere she spoke) 
 
 ' would I take her father for one hour, 
 
 For one half-hour, and let him talk to me !' 
 
 And even while she spoke, I saw where James 
 
 Made toward us, like a wader in the surf. 
 
 Beyond the brook, waist-deep in meadow-sweet. 
 
 "0 Katie, what I suffered for your sake ! 
 For in I went, and called old Philip out 
 To show the farm : full willingly he rose : 
 He led me through the short sweet-smelling lanes 
 Of his wheat-suburb, babbling as he went 
 He praised his land, his horses, his machines ; 
 He praised his ploughs, his cows, his hogs, his dogs ; 
 He pi'aised his hens, his geese, his guinea-hens ; 
 His pigeons, who in session on their roofs 
 Approved him, bowing at their own deserts : 
 Tlien from the plaintive mother's teat he took 
 Her blind and shuddering puppies, naming cadi, 
 And naming those, his friends, for whom they wore : 
 Then crossed the common into Darnley chase 
 To show Sir Arthur's deer. In copse and fern 
 Twinkled the innumerable ear and tail. 
 Then, seated on a serpent-rnoted beech, 
 
THE KlKXtK. G.i 
 
 He pointed out a pasturing eolt, ami said : 
 
 ' That waa the fouv-year-old I sold the Squire.' 
 
 And there he told a Ions; lonir-winded tale 
 
 Of how the Squire had seen the colt at grass, 
 
 And how it was the thing his daughter wished, 
 
 And how he sent the bailiff to the farm 
 
 To learn the price, and what the price he asked, 
 
 And how the bailiff swore that he was mad, 
 
 But he stood firm ; and so the matter hung ; 
 
 He gave them line : and five days after that 
 
 He met the bailiff at the Golden Fleece, 
 
 Who then and there had offered something more. 
 
 But he stood firm ; and so the matter huns: ; 
 
 He knew the man ; the colt would fetch its price ; 
 
 He gave them line : and how by chance at last 
 
 (It might be May or April, he forgot. 
 
 The last of April or the first of May) 
 
 He found the bailiff riding by the farm. 
 
 And, talking from the point, he drew him in, 
 
 And there he mellowed all his heart with ale, 
 
 Until they closed a bargain, hand in hand. 
 
 " Then, while I breathed in sight of haven, he, 
 Poor fellow, could he help it? recommenced. 
 And ran through all the coltish chronicle, 
 Wild Will, Black Bess, Tantivy, Tallyho, 
 Beform, White Kose, Bellerophon, the Jilt, 
 Arbaces, and Phenomenon, and the rest, 
 
64 I'OEiM.S Ol' 1 M AOl N ATION AND i" A N C Y. 
 
 Till, not to die a listeuor, I arose, 
 And with me Philip, talking' still ^ and so 
 AVe turned our foreheads from the falling sun, 
 And following" our own shadows thrice as long 
 As when they followed us from Philip's door, 
 Arrived, and found the sun of sweet content 
 lie-risen in Katie's eyes, and all things well. 
 
 I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
 
 I slide by hazel covers ; 
 I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
 
 That grow for happy lovers. 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
 Among my skimming swallows ; 
 
 I make the netted sunbeam dance 
 Against my sandy shallows. 
 
 I murmur under moon and stars 
 
 In bramljly wildernesses ; 
 I linger by my shingly bars ; 
 
 I loiter round my cresses ; 
 
 And out again I curve and flow 
 
 To join the Ijrimming river, 
 For mou may come and men nniy go, 
 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 Yes, nien may come again and go ; and these are gone, 
 All gone. My dearest, brother Edmund, sleeps. 
 Not by the well-known stream and rustic spire, 
 But unftimiliar Arno, and the dome 
 
THEBROOK. 65 
 
 Of Brunelleschi; sleeps in pe;ice : and he, 
 
 Poor Philip, of all his lavish waste of words 
 
 Kemains the lean P. W. on his tomb : 
 
 I scraped the lichen from it : Katie walks 
 
 By the long wash of Australasian seas 
 
 Far off, and holds her head to other stars, 
 
 And breathes in convei-se seasons. All are o-one. 
 
 So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a stile 
 In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind • 
 Old waifs of rhyme, and bowing o'er the brook 
 A tonsored head in middle age forlorn, 
 Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath 
 Of tender air made tremble in the hedge 
 The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings; 
 And he looked up. There stood a maiden near, 
 Waiting to pass. In much amaze he stared 
 On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair 
 In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell 
 Divides threefold to show the fruit within : 
 Then, wondering, asked her, "Are you from the farm ?"— 
 "Yes," answered she.— "Pray stay a little : pardon me ; 
 What do they call you ?"—" Katie."— "That were strange. 
 What surname ?"—" Willows."— " No !"—" Xliat is my 
 
 name." — 
 " Indeed !" and here h( looked so self-perplexed, 
 That Katie laughed, and laughing blushed, till he 
 Laughed also, but as one before he wakes, 
 
 Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream. 
 (3* 
 
66 P O E IVl S OF IMAGINATION AND F A N C Y. 
 
 Then looking at her; ' Too happy, frcKh and fair, 
 Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom, 
 To be the ghost of one who bore your name 
 About these meadows, twenty years ago." 
 
 " Have you not heard ?" said Katie, " We came back. 
 We bought the farm we tenanted before. 
 Am I so like her ? so they »iiid on board. 
 8ir, if you knew her in her English tiays, 
 My mother, as it seems you did, the days 
 That most she loves to talk of, come with me. 
 My brother James is in the harvest-field : 
 But she — you will be welcome — 0, come in ! 
 
 THE LOTOS-EATERS. 
 
 " Courage !" he said, and pointed toward the land ; 
 "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." 
 In the afternoon they came unto a land, 
 In which it seemed always afternoon. 
 All round the coast the languil air did swoon, 
 Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 
 Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 
 And like a downward smoke, the slender stream 
 Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. 
 
 A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, 
 Slow-drooping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; 
 
T ri E L O T O S - E A T E R S. (]7 
 
 And some tlirougli wavering lights and shadows broke 
 
 Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. 
 
 They saw the gleaming river seaward flow 
 
 From the inner land : far-off, three mountain-tops, 
 
 Three silent pinnacles of aged snow. 
 
 Stood sunset-flushed : and, dewed with showery drops, 
 
 Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven cojise. 
 
 The charmed sunset lingered low adown 
 
 In the red West : through mountain clefts the dale 
 
 Was seen far inland, and the yellow down 
 
 Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale 
 
 And meadow, set with slender galingale ; 
 
 A land where all things always seemed the same ! 
 
 And round about the keel with faces pale, 
 
 Dark faces pale against that rosy flame. 
 
 The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. 
 
 Branches they bore of that enchanted stem. 
 Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave 
 To each, but whoso did receive of them, 
 And taste, to him the gushing of the wave 
 Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave 
 On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake. 
 His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ; 
 And deep-asleep he seemed, yet all awake. 
 And music in his ears his beating heart did make. 
 
 They sat them down upon the yellow sand. 
 Between the sun and moon upon the shore ; 
 
68 POEMS OF 1 MA(i 1 N AT I ON AND FANCY. 
 
 And sweet t was to dream of Fatlior-land, 
 Of eliild, and wife, aud slave; but evoriiioro 
 IMost weary seemed the sea, weary the oar, 
 Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
 Then some one said, "We will return no more; 
 And all at once they sang, "Our island Imme 
 Is far beyond the wave; we will no lunger roam." 
 
 CIIORIC SOXG. 
 
 There is sweet music here that softer falls 
 
 Than petals IVom blown roses on the grass, 
 
 Or night-dews on still watere between walls 
 
 Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 
 
 Music that gentlier on the spirit lies 
 
 Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes ; 
 
 IMusic that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. 
 
 Here are cool mosses deep. 
 
 And through the moss the ivies creep, 
 
 And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
 
 And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 
 
 Why are wc weighed upon with heaviness, 
 And utterly consumed with sharp distress. 
 While all things else have rest from weariness? 
 All things have rest : why should we toil alone, 
 We only toil, who are the first of things, 
 And make perpetual moan, 
 Still from one sorrow to another thrown : 
 
THE li O T O S - E A T K R S. ('.) 
 
 Nor ever fulil uiir wings, 
 
 And cease I'nirii wunderings, 
 
 JVor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 
 
 Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings, 
 
 "There is no joy but calm !" 
 
 AN'hy should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?- 
 
 Lo! in the middle of the wood, 
 
 ^J'he folded leaf is wooed from out the bud 
 
 With winds upon the branch, and there 
 
 Crows green and broad, and takes no care. 
 
 Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon 
 
 Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow 
 
 Falls and floats adown the air. 
 
 Lo! sweetened with the summer light, 
 
 The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, 
 
 Drops in a silent autumn night. 
 
 All its allotted length of days. 
 
 The flower ripens in its place, 
 
 Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil. 
 
 Fast-rooted in the fru'tful soil. 
 
 Hateful is the dark-blue sky, 
 
 Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. 
 
 Death is the end of life; ah, why 
 
 Should life all labor be ? 
 
 Let us alone. Time drivcth onward fast, 
 
 And in a little while our lips are dumb. 
 
V (I K M S (.) F 1 M A (i I N A T 1 O N A N l> 1' A N »' Y. 
 
 Let us :iloiu\ AVhal i- it tliat will last 'f 
 \11 tliinus are takon rnnii lis, and bocunie 
 I'ortiuus ami pai-fols of the dreadiul Past. 
 Ijot us alone. What ]iloasuro cau wo liavo 
 'I'o war with ovil ? Is tlu'vo any jn'aco 
 In ever eliuibiug up the climbing wave? 
 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 
 In sileuee ; ripen, fall and cease : 
 (live us long rest or death, dark death or dreaniiul ease! 
 
 How sweet it were, hearing the downward streanj 
 
 With haU-sluit eyes ever to seem 
 
 Falling asleep in a halt-dream ! 
 
 To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 
 
 Which will not Icj^ve the myrrh-bush on the height 
 
 To liear each other's whispered speech; 
 
 Eating the Lotos, day by day, 
 
 To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, 
 
 And tender-curving lines of creamy spray : 
 
 To lend our hearts and spirits win illy 
 
 To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 
 
 To muse and brool and live again in memory. 
 
 With those old faces of our infancy 
 
 Heaped over with a mound of grass. 
 
 Two handt'uls- of white dust, shut in an urn of brass ! 
 
 Pear i^ the memory of our wedded lives, 
 And dear the last embraces of our wives 
 
'I" II !■: I, (IT OS- 1: A 'J' r, lis. 71 
 
 Ami lli(;Ir warm t(;ars : but all liafli f-iifl'dv-d cliarigc; 
 
 For Hurely now our hou.selioli] li(;ailli.s an; rjihl : 
 
 Our sons inherit us: our l(jok,s aro straii;^c : 
 
 And wo should come like ghosts to trouble joy. 
 
 Or else the island jirinces, ovci--li()ld 
 
 Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings 
 
 Before them of the ten-years' war in 'JVoy, 
 
 And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. 
 
 Is lliore confusifMi in the little isle r' 
 
 Let what is broken so remain. 
 
 The (/ods are hard to reconcile : 
 
 'Tis hard to settle order once again. 
 
 'J'borc is confusion worse tlian il('atli, 
 
 Trtjuble on trouble, pain on pain, 
 
 liong labor unto aged breath, 
 
 Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars, 
 
 And eyes grown dim with gazing on tlie pilot-stars. 
 
 l>ut, jiropped on beds of amarantli ami moly, 
 
 Jlow sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lnwly.) 
 
 With half-dropped eyelids still, 
 
 Beneath a heaven dark and holy. 
 
 To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
 
 His waters from tli(; |)urplc hill — 
 
 'J"o hear the dewy echoes calling 
 
 From cave to cave through the thick-twined vine — 
 
 To watch the emerald-colored water falling 
 
 Through many ;i woven acan(hiis-v,re;it|i iliviiie ! 
 
73 r E M S O F I iNI A ( 1 1 N A T I O N AN D V A N C Y. 
 
 Only to hear and see tlie f'ar-ufT sparkliiit;' brine, 
 
 Only to hear were sweet, stretclied ont bencatli the pine. 
 
 The Lotos blooms below the barren peak : 
 The Lotos blows by every windinu- creek : 
 All day tlie wind breathes low with mellower tone ; 
 Throui:,h every liollow cave and alley lone 
 
 Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. 
 We have had enough of action, and ol' motion we. 
 Rolled to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was seeth- 
 ing free, 
 Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the 
 
 sea. 
 Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, 
 In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 
 On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. 
 For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled 
 Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled 
 Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world : 
 Where they smile in secret, hxjking over wasted lands, 
 Rlight and famine, plague and cartlnpuike, roaring deejts and fiery 
 
 sands, 
 Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and ]iiay- 
 
 ing hands. 
 But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song 
 Steaming up. a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong. 
 Like a tale of little meaning, though the words are strong- 
 Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, 
 
T O G A R T B A L I) 1 . 73 
 
 Sow the seed, and reap tlic liarvcst witli cmluriiiL;- toil, 
 
 Storing yearly little duos of wheat, and wine; and oil; 
 
 Til! they perish and they suffer — some, 'tis whisjiercd — down in 
 
 hell 
 Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, 
 Refuting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. 
 Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore 
 Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oiir ; 
 rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. 
 
 TO GARIBALDI. 
 
 True thinker and true worker, hand in hand. 
 Unlike, but yet how like each bears his part ; 
 Hero and poet with the same great heart. 
 
 In one the life-blood of the southern land 
 Pulses with sudden thnjb, as beat the waves 
 Where the blue sea his rocky islet laves; 
 
 The other, master of the mighty rhyme, 
 
 Had pierced the dusky mantle of ])ast time, 
 And seen the shadows of the noble dead. 
 The knightly throng, with Arthur at their head, 
 
 Writing their Idyls in a deathless song : 
 
 Deeming, pcrchunce, such life a, dim ideal — 
 
 Its gentle strength, its fearless scoi'n of wrong — 
 On Caribaldi gazed, and found it real. 
 
74 roKMS or imagination and fancy. 
 
 THB 
 
 CHARGE OF TIIK \AC,\VV r>lUr,ADE. 
 
 Half a lenguc, hall'ii loamio, 
 Half a loatiue oiiwanl. 
 
 All in tlio valley of Poatli 
 Ivode the six liumlred. 
 
 "Forward, the l/i-lit Kri-ado ! 
 
 " Charge 1'or the gmis I" he said : 
 
 Into the valley of Death 
 llode the six Iniiidred. 
 
 " Forward, the Light lirigadc !" 
 "Was there a man dismayed ? 
 Not though the soldier knew 
 
 Some one had blundered : 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die, 
 Into the valley of Peath 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right oi' them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 Boldly they rode and well. 
 

 >'^'-J '-. 
 
CHARGE OF THE LKillT EKIGADE. 75 
 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flashed all their sabres bare, 
 Flashed as they turned in air, 
 Sabring the gunners there, 
 Charging an army, while 
 
 All the world wondered : 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke 
 Right through the line they broke; 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the sabre-stroke 
 
 Shattered and sundered. 
 * Then they rode back, but not 
 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them. 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon behind them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell. 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came through the jaws of Death 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them, 
 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
7(3 POK.MS OK I M A<i I N A rid N AND FANCY, 
 
 AVhcii (.ail their v;\ory fade? 
 tlio wild charge they made ! 
 
 All the world wondered. 
 Honor the charge they made ! 
 llniior the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble .six hniidred ! 
 
 MOllTE 1)' ARTHUR. 
 
 S(( all day lung the noise oi' battle rolled 
 
 Among the mountains by the Avinter sea ; 
 
 Until King Arthur's table, man by man, 
 
 Had i'allen in Ijyonness about their Lord, 
 
 King Arthur: then, because his wound was Heep, 
 
 The bold Sir Inulivere uplifted him, 
 
 Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, 
 
 And bore him to a chapel nigh the tield, 
 
 A broken chancel with a broken cross, 
 
 That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 
 
 On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 
 
 Lay a great water, and the moon was lull. 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
 *' The sequel of to-day unsolders all 
 The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
 Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
 They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 
 Shall never more, at any future time, 
 
MoiiTE d'authur. 77 
 
 r)i'lii;ht our souls with talk ol' Uui^litly deeds, 
 
 Walking ab>)ut the gardens and the halls 
 
 Of Cauielot, as in the days that were. 
 
 I perish by this people which I niifde, — 
 
 Though Merlin swarc that T should eouie again 
 
 To rule once more — but let what will be, be, 
 
 I am so deeply smitten through the helm 
 
 That without help I cannot last till morn. 
 
 Thou therefore take my brand Hxealibur, 
 
 Which w;is my pride : for thou reniendjcrest how 
 
 In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
 
 liose up from out the bosom of the lake. 
 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
 
 Holding the sword — and how I rowed across 
 
 And took it. and have worn it, like a king : 
 
 And, wheresoever I am sung or told 
 
 In after time this also shall be known : 
 
 But now delay not : take Kxcalibur, 
 
 And fling him far into the middle meer : 
 
 "Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." 
 
 To him replied the bold .Sir ])edivere : 
 " It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, 
 Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm. 
 A little thing may harm a wounded man. 
 Yet I thy best will all perform at full. 
 Watch what I see, an 1 lightly bring thee word." 
 
 So saying, from the ruined shrine he stepped, 
 And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, 
 
 7* 
 
7-! 
 
 I'd I'. M S (• I' I \1 A i; I .\ A lid N A .\ I) I' A N V V. 
 
 WIlt'lT l.l\ till' lliiL;lll\ linlU'S 111' llllciclll llll'll, 
 
 (M(l kiiiL;li(s, ami hvit llicm llu' .sim-wiimI .sjiuil;' 
 Shrill, c-liill, willi llakf.s dl' Inaiii. lie, stt'|>|iiii;j ilnwii 
 My zin'zai;' pal lis, and juts dl' iMiinlcd lock, 
 ('aiuc (111 llic sliiiiiiiL; Icvrls lA' llif lake. 
 
 Thcrr drew In' Inrlli llic liraii.l lv\calil)iir, 
 And (p'cr liiin, diawiiiL; il, llir wiiilrr iiinnn, 
 nrinliliMiiiii;' tlu" skills id' a loiii;' (dmid, ran Inilli 
 And sparkled kern with iVusl against ihc liill : 
 Imu' all llu- lial'l twiiikU'd willi diainniid sparks, 
 iMyriails nl" lopa/. Iii;lits, and jaciiitli-\V(tik 
 or siilillcst jcwidld'y. Ilo tiazi'd so Imii;' 
 'I'liat liolli his I'vos were da/./.lcd, as he stund 
 'This way and that dividiiiL:; the swii't mind, 
 In acl lo lliniw ; hiil al llio last it st'iMiicd 
 In'tliT lo leave Mxcalilnir foneeale(l 
 'I'lieri' in Ihe inaiivdvimlted walerllai^'s, 
 'J^liat whistled still' and dry ahnul the niai'Lie. 
 So strudti lie l>a(dv sldW d) the wnnnded KIiil;'. 
 
 'riieii spaki' Kiiii; Aitluir In Sir l!edi\('re: 
 " Nasi thun I erftirnied my missieii wirndi I uave ':' 
 What is it tlmii hast seen 'r* or what hast heard'/" 
 
 And answer made the hold Sir IJedivero : 
 •• 1 heard the ripple washing; in the reeds. 
 And the wild water lappiiii;- on the ora!^." 
 
 'To whom re|died iviiii;' Arthur, I'ainl and pale: 
 '• Thon hast helrayed thy nature and I liy iiamo, 
 Not renderini;' true answer, as heseeiiu'd 
 
M (t U ,1' K II A U r II II II, 
 
 7i» 
 
 'I'liy rcilly, nur like ;i i,,,|,|„ kni-lil : 
 Vov siirci' si^ii li:i(l lullowcd, (iillicr li;iii<l 
 Or Vdicci, or i'.hv, a iiintJiiii u\' iIk^ iiKici-. 
 Tliis is a .sliaiiioriil (liin^' lor iiini (o lie. ' 
 
 ^'t•l, imw, I cli.ii^f; lJi('(i, (|iiickly jjo .•i^aiii 
 7\s lliiHi ;irl lief ami dear, ami do llir (liinv 
 
 I li.nlf llicc, \v;i(cli, aii<l li^lilly lil'iii^' inc \vni<|.'' 
 Tliiii wciir Sir I'cdivcro liio KiJi'ond (iijic 
 
 Acniss lii(i riduc, mikI paced hi'sido I Ik; iihtc, 
 ('<iiiii(iii;4 llnr dewy |i(dtl)li'S, li\c(| in IIkhioIi); 
 |{iit, wlicii li(i s.'iw (li(! vvniiildl' nl' tli(! liill, 
 lidW cui'idiisly and st,r;iiiL;('ly (diascd, lie siimiIc 
 
 I I is |),iliiis lip'jcl her, and lie cried aloud. 
 
 '• And if llideeil I e;ist, I lie lirjiiid aw.'iy, 
 Siircdy n |ii-ccioiis tliiii;^", iiik; worUiy iioh', 
 Sliiiiild l.liiis ])(! IohI, Tor ever fVoiii iJu; eartli, 
 \\'lii(di iiii'^lil, li.-ive |ile;ised t,li<! eycis of iii.iiiy men. 
 \\'li;il. ;^(ii)d .sliiiii|(f I'iiIIdw tJiis, iC litis were done I* 
 \\'li;il. Iiiiriii, nmlone'^ deep li;iriii lo disoliey, 
 Seeiiiij' oliedieiice is fin! bond of riilc. 
 \\'er<' it, Well to olicy I lien, il' ;i k i 11 'j deimiml 
 >\n ;icl miprolil;d(l(!, a^iiiinst, Iiiniscdl";:' 
 'I'lie Ivin;4 is si(d<, iind knoWH not, what. In; does, 
 Wli.it, record, or wlnit ndic of my lord 
 Sliunld Im' til al'lcrlime, liiit, empty lireiitli 
 And rumors ol'.a, doulit, ? Ijiit, were; lliis kept,, 
 StoHMJ in some tniiisurcslioiise of mi'jiily kiniiH, 
 Some one nii^Iit. show it, at, a joiist of arms, 
 
80 I'OKMS OF IMAdT NATION A N 1> FANCY. 
 
 Saying', '-Kiiig Arthur's swoid, Kxcalilmr, 
 
 Wrouii'lit by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 
 
 Nine years she wroujrht it, sitting in the deeps 
 
 Upon the hidden bases of the hills." 
 
 So niii;ht some old man speak in (he aftevtime 
 
 To all the people, winning reverence. 
 
 But now much honor and much fame were lost." 
 
 So spake he, clouded with his own conceit, 
 And hill K.Kcalihui' the serond time. 
 And HO strode back slow to the wounded King. 
 
 Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily : 
 " What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ?" 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
 " I heard the water lapping on the crag. 
 And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 
 
 ■To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : 
 " Ah. miserable and unkind, untrue, 
 TTnkiiightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me! 
 Authority forgets a dying king, 
 Laid widowed of the power in his eye 
 That bowed the will. T see thee what thou art. 
 For thou, the latest left of all my knights, 
 In whom should meet the offices of all, 
 Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt; 
 Kilher IVom lust of gold, or like a girl 
 Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
 Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, 
 And the third time may prosper, get thee hence: 
 
M <»I!,TK I) All Til II U. 
 
 81 
 
 Hill, if llioii ,s|iai'(: lo fliii^' l^iXcalihiif, 
 
 I will ;ii'is(! and .«Iay thcc with my liaiids." 
 
 'I'licii (|iii(dvly ruse Hir Bcdivcr*;, :uid ran, 
 And, kiapiii;^' down the ridges lightly, |)lnng(!d 
 Aniong tin; Imlrnsli-hcils, and <diit(di('(| tlu; sword, 
 And Ktrongly whocded and (hrcw il. 'I'iu( grc^at lirand 
 Made lightnings in the sjdendur of th(; moon, 
 And flashing round and round, and whirled in an ar(di, 
 Shot lilv(! a streamer ol' tli(! north(!rn morn. 
 Seen where the moving isles ol' winter shock 
 My night, with noises of the northern sea. 
 80 flashed and lell the brand Kxcalibur : 
 Hut en! ]w. dijipcd the surface, rose an arm 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderl'nl, 
 And caught him hy the hilt, and brandished him 
 Three times, and drew him under in the meer. 
 And lightly wcMit the otluir to the King. 
 
 Then s{)oke King Arthur, drawing thicken- breath.':" 
 " Now see T by thine eyes that tljis is done. 
 Speak out : what is it tliou hast heard, or seen 
 
 And answer madc! the bold Sir IJccIivere: 
 "Sir King, I closed nunc eyelids, lest the gems 
 Should blind my purpose, for I n(!ver saw, 
 Nor shall see, hvvc or (dsmvhere, till 1 di(,', 
 Not thonuh T live tlirci; lives of mortal men. 
 So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
 Then with both hands 1 flung him, wheeling him; 
 But when I lonke(l again, behold an aim, 
 Clothed in wiiite samite, mystic, wonderful, 
 
ftj I'OHMS OV 1 M A(i 1 N ATI UN AN1> lANt'V. 
 
 Thai caiiulit him by tlic liill, ami I)raii(lish('(| him 
 Tlirec! times, iiiul tlrew liim iiiulcr in the nicer." 
 
 vViul answer matle Kinj:,' Arthur, breathing liard : 
 •' My end draws nigli ; 'tis time that, 1 were gone. 
 l\lake Itniad thy sliuuhh'rs to receive my weight 
 And bear nie to the margin; yet I fear 
 My wiiund hath taken coUl, and I shall die." 
 
 So saying, from the pa\emi^nt he half ruse, 
 SK)wly, with pain, reclining on his arm, 
 And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
 As in a ]>icturc. Ilim Sir IJedivere 
 llemorsel'uUy regardeil through his tears, 
 And would have spoken, but he found not words, 
 Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, 
 O'er both his shoidders di-ew the languid hands, 
 And rising bore him through the ]daee oi" tondis. 
 
 Hut, as he walked. King Arthur panted hard, 
 Jjike one that feels a nightmare on his bed 
 When all the house is mute. So sighed the King, 
 Muttering and murmuring at his ear, ''Quick, (piick ! 
 I fear it is too late, and 1 shall (.lie." 
 But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridgi', 
 (Molhcd with his breath, and looking, as he walked, 
 Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
 He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 
 Before. His own thouglit drove him like a goad, 
 Dry clashed his hariu'ss in the icy caves 
 Ami barren chasms, and all to lcl"t and right 
 
I\l ORI' K I) A HI' II II IT. 83 
 
 The harc! black dill' claiigiMl round liiiii, as In; liascMJ 
 His ivvA, on jilts of slij)i)cry cv.vj; (hat raiij:,' 
 Sharp-sniitton with the dint of unned liocls — 
 And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake, 
 And the long glories of the winter moon. 
 
 Then saw tlioy how there hove a dusky barge, 
 Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 
 Beneath them; and descending they were ware 
 That all the decks were dense with stately forms 
 Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dr(!am — by these 
 Three Queens with crowns of gold — and IV(nii th(!iii rose 
 A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, 
 And, as it were one voice, an agony 
 Of lamentation, like a wiixl, that shrills 
 All night in a waste land, where no one comes, 
 Or hath come, since the making of the world. 
 Then murmured Arthur, " Place mr, in the barge. 
 And to the barge they came. There those three Queens 
 Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept 
 JJut she that rose the tallest of them all 
 And fairest, laid his head upon her laj), 
 And loosed the shattered cas<|U(!, and chafed his liands, 
 And called him by his nami^, complaining loud, 
 And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
 Striped with dark blood: f(jr all his face was white 
 And colorless, and like the withered moon 
 8mote by the fresh beam of the springing east; 
 And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops 
 
84 POE^rs ov i m aoin ation and fancy. 
 
 Of onset: :iii<l llio li^lit and lustnius curls — 
 
 1'liat iiiailr his inrolicail liko a risiiit!,' sun 
 
 llit^h I'niin the diiis-throne — were parcliod witli dust; 
 
 Or, clotted into jmints and hantiinu' loose, 
 
 Mixed with the knii^htly urowth that iVini^cd his lips. 
 
 80 like a shattered eoluniu lay the King; 
 
 Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, 
 
 From spur to plume a star of tournament, 
 
 Shot through the lists at ('amelot, and charged 
 
 liefore the eyes of ladies and of kings. 
 
 Then loudly cried the bold Sir Uedivere, 
 " Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? 
 AVIiere sliall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 
 For now I see the true old times are dead, 
 When every morning brought a noble chance, 
 And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
 Such tinu'S have been not since the light that led 
 The holy Elders with tlie gift of myrrh. 
 But now the whole Round Tahi,k is dissolved 
 Which was an image of the mighty world; 
 And 1, the last, go forth companionless. 
 And the days darken round me, and the years, 
 Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 
 
 And slowly answered Arthur IVoni the barge : 
 ''The old order (diangeth, yielding ))lace to new, 
 And God fulfils himself in many ways, 
 Lest one good custom should corru])t the world. 
 Comfort thyself: what comlort is in me? 
 
M OUT K II 'a I! r II u u. (35 
 
 I h\ivc lived my lile, ;iii(l IliaL wliicdi I have (Idhc 
 
 May lie witliiii liiiuscH' make ])ure ! but thou, 
 
 If" thou shouldst never :,ec my face at;!iiii, 
 
 Pray for my kouI. More things are wrou>i,ht by jiraycr 
 
 Thau tlii.s world dreams of. Wherefore, let, thy voiee 
 
 IW.se like a fountain for me night and day. 
 
 For what arc men better than .sheep or goats 
 
 That nourish a blind life within the brain, - 
 
 If, knowing (jod, they lift not hands of prayer 
 
 Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? 
 
 For so the whole round earth is every way 
 
 ]}ound by gold chains about the feet of (!od. 
 
 But now fariiwell. I am going a long way 
 
 With these thou seest — if indcuid I go 
 
 (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
 
 To the island-valley of Av-ilion ; 
 
 Where fills not- hail, or rain, or any snow, 
 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies 
 
 Deep-meadowed, happy, fair witli orchard-lawns 
 
 And bowery hollows crowned witli sunnner sea. 
 
 When; I will heal nie of my grievous wound." 
 
 So said he, and the barge witli oar and sail 
 Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan, 
 That, fluting a wild carol, (re her d(!ath, 
 liufflcs her pun; cold jduine, and takes the flood 
 With swarthy webs, jjoiig stood Sir Beilivere 
 Revolving many memories, till the hull 
 Looked one black dot against the verge of <Ia\vn, 
 And on the nicer the wailing died away. 
 
86 POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCr. 
 
 THE SEA-FAIRIES. 
 
 Slow sailed the weary mariners, and saw, 
 Betwixt the green brink and the running foam. 
 Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms pressed 
 To little harps of gold ; and, while they mused, 
 Whispering to each other half in fear, 
 Shrill music reached them on the middle sea. 
 
 Whither away, whither away, whither away ? fly no more. 
 Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossom- 
 ing 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 : 
 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, 
 And the spangle dances in bight and bay, 
 
G O D I V A . 87 
 
 And the rainbow forms and flies on the hind 
 
 Over the islands free ; 
 
 And the rainbow livis in the curve of the sand; 
 
 Hither, come hithei and see ; 
 
 And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, 
 
 And sweet k the color of cove and cave, 
 
 And sweet shall your welcome be ; 
 
 hither, come hither, and be our lords, 
 
 For merry brides are we ! 
 
 We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet 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 ridgM sea ! 
 
 Who can light on as happy a shore 
 
 All the world o'er, all the world o'er ? 
 
 Whither away ? listen and stay : mariner, mariner, fly no more. 
 
 GODIVA. 
 
 I waited /or the train at Coventry; 
 I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, 
 To togtch the three tall ftp ires ; and there I shajjed 
 The city^s ancient legend into this: — 
 
 Not only we, the latest seed of Time, 
 New men, thai in the flying of a wheel 
 
SS r \> K >J S tU' t M A ^n N A r \ O N A N O K A N O Y. 
 
 Crv »io\vn t)>o pst. not only wo. th:>t |^^^^o 
 
 (>r riill^tj* juul \v»\M«ji^» h;»vo lovovl tho |>ooplo woU. 
 
 Aiui U>juhovJ to J500 thorn o\orts»xo<l ; l>ut sl»o 
 
 Pivl moiv. snvl un^lonvont. ami ovorx\u»u\ 
 
 Tho \vo»«an of a thousauvl suwiuors l\nok, 
 
 lunliva, wifo of that nriu\ Karl, who r«lo>l 
 
 In iVxoutry : IW whon ho lai\l a tax 
 
 r{>ou lus town. a«il all tho uu>t1loi's h\»Uiih(. 
 
 Thoir oh\Khv«> ola»u>rl«!k»v *' \f wo |\hy. wo st^rvo!'' 
 
 8ho sv>«iiht hor K>»\1, a»»\l Touiul hi»«. whoiv ho !«;»>Hio 
 
 AhvMU tho hall, aiuousj his «K\ii-s> aK>«o, 
 
 Uls hoa\\l a t\H>t hotvMV hn«, atui his hair 
 
 A y;\r\l hohiud, 8ho toKi him of thoir toars, 
 
 An»l pravoil l»im, " It' thov ivw this t«x. thoy stavvo *' 
 
 \Vho»vat ho stiuvvl. \vpKinji- halt',>u«asov1. 
 
 ♦* You wouUl MOt lot yoxir littlo linsivr aoho 
 
 For v>»«oh as ^Aa<v,^" — " l^U I wouKJ dio," sai<i sho. 
 
 Ilo lauiiliotl, a«ui sw\m\» hv IVtor and hv l*a«l : 
 
 Thon liUipovl at tho liiaiuoml i« hor oar ; 
 
 '' l> ay, ay> ay, yvm talk I" — " Alas !" sho sai\l. 
 
 " l>nt ^^\wo n»o what it is I wouUl «ot vlo."' 
 
 Au\l t\\Mn a heart as ivujih as Ksau's )\anvl. 
 
 Ho auswotvvl, " Ui'lo you uakoii thtvujjh tho town. 
 
 A»\vl I >vp«\al it ;'* an*i Uv>»ldius», as in sivru. 
 
 \lo |\artovl. with jjrwat strivW amoutf his ilogs. 
 
 J^o lort alouo. tho jvassious ot' hor \uiu»l. 
 As winds t\\>n> all tho wu>|v\ss shit> anvl hlow, 
 Maxlo war njv>n oaoh othor t\>r an hour. 
 
(ionivA. v*<n 
 
 Till |>itv woi\. Sho stMit a hrralil I'lUtli, 
 Aiul lnulo liiiii rry, with soiuul i>f tnuiipot, all 
 'riu' lianl I'oiulition ; Im; that sho \vt>iiUl louso 
 'I'lu- proplo : thoroloro, as thov lovril lu-r wi-ll. 
 From thou till noon iu> loot shi>uhl paro tlu> stroot, 
 No ovo look iU)\vi>, sho passing; but tltat all 
 ShouKl kooj> within, iK>or shut, aiul window liartvd. 
 
 'riion tli>il sho to hor inmost bowi-r, and thoro 
 Uiu'laspod tho wo(UKm1 oaulos of hor bolt, 
 Tho urim Karl's gift; but ovor at a broath 
 Sho lingorod, loi>king liko a sumnior nunm 
 llalt'-dippod in cloud : anon sho shook hor lu>ad, 
 Ami showorod tho ripplod ringlots to hor knot', 
 rnolad horsoir in basto ; jutown tho stair 
 Stolo on ; and, liko a oroo]nng sunboam, slid 
 Vvom pillar unto jiillar, until slu> roaohod 
 Tlio gatowav ; thovo sho found hor palfroy trappod 
 In purplo bla/.t>nod with armorial gold. 
 
 Thou sho rodo forth, (dothod on with ob.-istitv : 
 Tho (loop air listonod round hor as ,sln> rodt>. 
 And all tho low winti hardly lu'oathod for i'oar. 
 Tho littU> widoinouthod hoads upon tho spout 
 Had ouuning ovos to soo : tho barking our 
 Mado hor ohook ilanio : hor palfrov's footfall shot 
 liight horrm's through hor pulsos : tlu^ blind walls 
 ^Voro full of ohinks and holos ; ami ovorhoard 
 Kantastio gablos, orowding, starod : but sho 
 Not loss through all boro up, till, last, sho saw 
 
 8* 
 
90 POEMS OF I JNI A G 1 N A T 1 O N AND FANCY. 
 
 The whi*^: flowered elder thicket from the field 
 Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. 
 Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity. 
 And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, 
 The fatal byword of all years to come, 
 Boring a little augei'-hole in fear, 
 Peeped — but his eyes, before they had their will, 
 Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, 
 And dropped before him. So the Powers, who wait 
 On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; 
 And she, that knew not, passed : and all at once, 
 With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon 
 Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, 
 One after one : but even then she gained 
 Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crowned. 
 To meet her lord, she took the tax away. 
 And built herself an everlasting name. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 My good blade carves the casques of men. 
 
 My tough lance thrusteth sure, 
 My strength is as the strength of ten, 
 
 Because my heart is pure. 
 The shattering trumpet shrillcth high, 
 
 The hard brands shiver on the steel, 
 The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly, 
 
 The horse and rider reel : 
 
SIR GALAHAD. 91 
 
 Ihey reel, they roll iu clanging lists, 
 
 And when the tide of combat stands, 
 Perfume and flowers fall in showers, 
 
 That lightly rain from ladle's hands. 
 
 How sweet are looks that ladies bend 
 
 On whom their favors fill ! 
 For them I battle till the end. 
 
 To save from shame and thrall : 
 But all my heart is drawn above, 
 
 My knees are bowed iu crypt and shrine : 
 I never felt the kiss of love, 
 
 Nor maiden's hand in mine. 
 More bounteous aspects on me beam, 
 
 Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 
 So keep I fair through faith and prayer 
 
 A virgin heart in work and will. 
 
 When down the the stormy crescent goes, 
 
 A light before me swims, 
 Between dark stems the forest glows, 
 
 I hear a noise of hymns : 
 Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 
 
 I hefj- a voice, but none are there ; 
 The stalls are void, the doors are wide. 
 
 The tapers burning fair. 
 Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth. 
 
 The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
 The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 
 
 And solemn chants resound between. 
 
92 P O K MS OF 1 M A O I N A T 1 O N A N O F A N C Y. 
 
 Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 
 
 I find a magic bark ; 
 I leap on board : no helmsman steers : 
 
 I float till all is dark. 
 A gentle sound, an awful light ! 
 
 Three angels bear tlie holy Grail : 
 With folded feet, in stoles of white, 
 
 On sleeping wings they sail. 
 Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 
 
 My spirit beats her mortal bars, 
 As down dark tides the glory slides, 
 
 And star-light mingles with the stars. 
 
 When on my goodly charger borne 
 
 Through dreaming towns I go, 
 Tlie cock crows ere the Christmas morn. 
 
 The streets arc dumb with snow. 
 The tempest crackles on the leads, 
 
 And, ringing, spins from brand and mall • 
 But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 
 
 And gilds the driving hail. 
 I leave the plain, T climb the height; 
 
 No branchy thicket shelter yields ; 
 Uut blessed forms in whistling storms 
 
 Fly o'er waste fens and wind}^ fields. 
 
 A maiden knight — to me is given 
 
 Such hope, T know not fear ; 
 I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 
 
 That often meet me here. 
 
TiiH I. Oil I) Oi' j; u H 1,1; J (J H. 93 
 
 I muse on joy thiit will not cease, 
 
 Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
 Pure lilies of eternal peace, 
 
 Whose odors haunt my dreams; 
 And, stricken by an angel's hand. 
 
 This mortal armor that I wear, 
 This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 
 
 Are touched, are turned to finest air.- * 
 
 The clouds are broken iu the sky, 
 
 And through the mountain-walls 
 A rolling organ-harmony 
 
 Swells up, and shakes and falls. 
 Then move the trees, the copses nod, 
 
 Wings flutter, voices hover clear : 
 " just and faithful knight of God ! 
 
 Hide on ! the prize is near." 
 So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; 
 
 By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
 All-armed I ride, whate'er betide, 
 
 Until I find the holy Grail. 
 
 THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. 
 
 In her ear he whispers gayly, 
 " If my heart by signs can tell, 
 
 Maiden, I have watched thee daily. 
 And I think thou lov'st me well." 
 
«J4 P () K MS OK I >1 A ( ! I N A T I < ) N A N I) 1' A N (' Y 
 
 8I10 replies, in accents fainter, 
 
 " There is none I love like thee." 
 He is but a landscape-painter, 
 
 Aud a village maiden she. 
 He to lips, that i'ondlj falter, 
 
 Presses his without reproof; 
 Leads her to the village altar, 
 
 And they leave her father's roof. 
 "I can make no marriage present; 
 
 Little can I give my wife. 
 Love will make our cottage pleasant, 
 
 And I love thee more than life." 
 They by parks and lodges going 
 
 See tlie lordly castles stand : 
 Summer woods, about them blowing. 
 
 Made a murmur iu the land. 
 From deep thought himself he rouses, 
 
 Sajfs to her that loves him well, 
 " Let us see these handsome houses 
 
 Where the wealthy nobles dwell." 
 So she goes by him attended, 
 
 Hears him lovingly converse, 
 Sees whatever fair and splendid 
 
 Jiay betwixt his home and hers j 
 Parks with oak and chestnut shady, 
 
 Parks and ordered gardens great. 
 Ancient homes of lord and lady, 
 
 Built for pleasure and for state. 
 
T II E L O R I) () V BUR L K l( i II. 95 
 
 All lie shows her makes him dearer : 
 
 Evermore she seems to gaze 
 On that cottage growing near(}r, 
 
 Where they twain will spend their days. 
 but she will love him truly ! 
 
 He shall have a cheerful home; 
 She will order all things duly, 
 
 Wlien beneath his roof they come. - 
 Thus her heart rejoices greatly, 
 
 Till a gateway she discerns 
 With aruKjrial bearings stately, 
 
 And beneath the gate she turns ; 
 Sees a mansion more majestic 
 
 Than all those she saw before ; 
 Many a gallant gay domestic 
 
 ]>ows before liim at the door. 
 And they s[>eak in gentle miirnnir, 
 
 When tlioy answer to his call, 
 While he treads with footstep firmer, 
 
 liCading on from hall to hall. 
 And, M'hih; now she wonders jjlindly, 
 
 Nor the meaning can divine, 
 Proudly turns he round and kindly, 
 
 " All of this is mine and thine." 
 Here he lives in state and bounty. 
 
 Lord of IJurleigh, fair and free. 
 Not a loi'd in all the county 
 
 Is so great a lord as he. 
 
POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 All at once the color flushes 
 
 Her sweet face from brow to chin : 
 As it were with shame she blushes, 
 
 And her spirit changed within. 
 Then her countenance all over 
 
 Pale again as death did prove : 
 But he clasped her like a lover, 
 
 And he cheered her soul with love. 
 So she strove against her weakness, 
 
 Though at times her spirit sank : 
 Shaped her heart with woman's meekness 
 
 To all duties of her rank : 
 And a gentle consort made he, 
 
 And her gentle mind was such 
 That she grew a noble lady, 
 
 And the people loved her much. 
 But a trouble weighed upon her. 
 
 And perplexed her, night and morn, 
 With the burthen of an honor 
 
 Unto which she was not born. 
 Faint she grew, and ever fainter, 
 
 As she murmured, " O, that he 
 Were once more that landscape-iiaiuter 
 
 Which did win my heart from me !" 
 So she drooped and drooped before him, 
 
 Fading slowly from his side : 
 Three fair children first she bore him, 
 
 Then before her time she died. 
 
"as THROUGH THE LAND. G7 
 
 Weeping, wcepiug late and eavly, 
 
 Walking up and pacing down, 
 Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh, 
 
 Burleigh-house by Stamford town. 
 And he came to look upon her, 
 
 And he looked at her and said, 
 " Bring the dress, and put it on her 
 
 That she wore when she was wed." 
 Then her people, softly treading, 
 
 Bore to earth her body, dre.^sed 
 In the dress that she was wed in, 
 
 That her sjjirit might have rest. 
 
 "AS THROUGH THE LAND." 
 
 As through the land at eve we went, 
 
 And plucked the ripened ears. 
 We fell out, my wife and I, 
 0, we fell out, I know not why. 
 And kissed again with tears. 
 
 For when we came where lies the child 
 
 We lost in other years, 
 There above the little grave, 
 0, there above the little grave, 
 
 We kissed arain with tears. 
 
98 POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY, 
 
 SWEET AND LOW. 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low, 
 
 Wind of the western sea, 
 Low, low, breathe and blow, 
 
 Wind of the western sea ! 
 Over the rolling waters go, 
 Come from the dying moon, and blow. 
 
 Blow him again to me ; 
 While my little one, while my pretty one, slccpsf. 
 
 Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 
 Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 
 Father will come to his babe in the nest. 
 Silver sails all ont of the west, 
 
 Un<ler the silver moon ■ 
 Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 
 
 HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD 
 
 Home they brought her warrior dead : 
 
 She nor swooned, nor uttered cry : 
 All her maidens, watching, said, 
 " She must weep or she will die.'' 
 
THE BUOLK SUNO. 99 
 
 Then they j^raised him, soft and low, 
 
 Called him worthy to be loved, 
 Truest frieud aud noblest foe ; 
 
 Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 Stole a maiden from her place, 
 
 Lightly to the warrior stepped, 
 Took the foce-cloth from the face : 
 
 Yet she neither moved nor we^jt. 
 
 Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
 
 Set his child upon her knee — 
 Like summer tempest came her tears — 
 
 " Sweet my child, I live for thee." 
 
 THE BUGLE SONG. 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls 
 
 And snowy summits old in story; 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 O hark, hear! how thin and clear, 
 
 Aud thinner, clearer, fltrther going ; 
 O sweet and far, from cliff and scar. 
 The horns of Elfland ftiintly blowing ! 
 Blow, let us hear the pixrple glens replying : 
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
KX) I'oKMS dK I m a c 1 n a r I o n a n n i'a.ncy. 
 
 O lovo, tlii'V till' ill voM rirli sky, 
 
 They liiiiit on hill or tieUl or river: 
 Our eehoes roll IVom stnil to soul, 
 Ami ji'row for ever and I'or e\er. 
 Blow, huule, blow, set the wild eehoes tlyini;', 
 Ami answer, echoes, answer, dyinu', dyinu', dyiuir. 
 
 •> ASK MK NO MOUH." 
 
 Ask me no more: the niium may draw the sea; 
 
 The eloud may stoop I'rom heaven and take the shape 
 With fold to fold, of luonntain or of eape ; 
 
 But, O too tond, when have I answered thee? 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 AsV me no more: what answer should I give? 
 1 love not hollow id\eek or laded eye : 
 Yet, O my friend, 1 will not have tlux> die ! 
 
 Ask me no nuwo, lest 1 shouhl bid thee live ! 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 Ask me no more : thy late and mine an- sealed : 
 1 strove auainst the stream and all in vain : 
 Let the great river tuko me to the main : 
 
 No UK^re. dear love, for at a toueh 1 yield; 
 Ask me no more. 
 
TU TUK UUKKN. 101 
 
 WHAT DOES LITTLE lUllDlL SAY. 
 
 What docs little liirdio say 
 In lior nost at poop of «lay '( 
 Lot nio fly, says littlo binlic, 
 IMothor, let mo fly away, 
 liirdio, rest a littlo loiiu'i'f, 
 Till tiio littlo willies aro stronger. 
 So slio rests a littlo longer 
 Then she flies away. 
 
 What does littlo haby say, 
 III luT 1)0(1 at poop of day? 
 ]>al»y says, like Jittle birdie, 
 Let nie rise and fly away. 
 T^aby, sloop «x littlo longer, 
 Till tbo littlo lind)s aro stronger 
 If she sleeps a little longer 
 Baby too shall fly away. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 FUOM ''THE IDYI.L.S OK TlIK KINO." 
 
 TlIKSK to his iiioniory — sinoo ho led thorn dear. 
 IVrohanot* as liiiding thoro unconsciously 
 8onio imago of himsolf — I dodioate, 
 I dedicate, I consecrate with tears — 
 These Idylls. 
 
102 1' O V. M S OF 1 M A CI 1 N A T 1 O N A N I > F A N V 
 
 And iiulcoil lie seems to uio 
 Scarce other than my own ideal knight, 
 " Who reverenced his couscieucc as his king ; 
 Whose glory was, redressing humar. wroug; 
 Who spake no slander, no, uor listened to it; 
 Who loved one only and who clave to her" — 
 Ilei" — over all whose realms to their last isle, 
 Commingled with the gloom of imminent war 
 The shadow of his loss moved like eclipse, 
 Darkening the world. AVe have lost him : he is gone 
 We know him now : all narrow jealousies 
 Are sileut ; and w^e see him as he moved, 
 How modest, kindly, all accomplished, wise. 
 With what sublime repression of himself. 
 And in what limits, and how tenderly ; 
 , Not swaying to this foction or to that ; 
 Not making his high place the lawless perch 
 Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage ground 
 For pleasure ; but through all this tract of years 
 Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, 
 Before a thousand peering littlenesses, 
 In that fierce light which beats upon a throne. 
 And blackens every blot : for where is he, 
 Who dare" foreshadow for an only son 
 A lovelier life, a more unstained, than his ? 
 Or how should England dreaming of his sons 
 Hope more for these than* some inheritance 
 Of such a life, a heart a mind as thine. 
 
T O T U K Q U E K N 1U;{ 
 
 Thou noble Father of her Kings to be, 
 Laborious for her people and her poor — 
 Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day — 
 Far-sighted summouer of war aud waste 
 To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace — 
 Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam 
 Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, 
 Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed. 
 Beyond all titles, and a household name, 
 Hereafter, through all times, Albert the (jiood. 
 
 Dreak not, woman's heart, but still endure; 
 Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure, 
 Remembering all the beauty of that star 
 Which shone so close beside thee, that ye made 
 One light together, but has past and left 
 The Crown a lonely splendor. 
 
 May all love. 
 His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow thee. 
 The love of all thy sons encompass thee. 
 The love of all thy daughters cherish thee, 
 The love of all thy people comfort thee, 
 Till God's love set thee at his side again ! 
 
1(J1 !• U K .M S O i 1 V A ( i I N A T 1 O N AND F A N C Y. 
 
 LOCKSLEY HALL. 
 
 Comrades, leave mo here a little, while as yet 'tis early luuni : 
 Leave me here, aud wheu you want me, suuud upou the hiigle- 
 huru. 
 
 'Tis the place, aud all around it, as of old, the curlews call. 
 Dreary yleams about the moorland flying over Locksley ilall ; 
 
 Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sai\dy tracts, 
 And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts. 
 
 Many a niglit from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, 
 Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West. 
 
 Many- a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the mellow shade, 
 (i litter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid. 
 
 Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime 
 With the fairy tales of science, aud the long result of Time ; 
 
 When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed ; 
 When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed : 
 
 ^\\lon I dipped into the future far as human eye could sec ; 
 Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be. — 
 
 In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the Robin's breast j 
 Tu the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest; 
 
LOCKSLEY HALL. 105 
 
 In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove; 
 In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of 
 love. 
 
 Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so 
 
 young, 
 And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. 
 
 And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, 
 Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." 
 
 On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and a light. 
 As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night. 
 
 And she turned — her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of 
 
 sighs — 
 All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes — 
 
 Saying, " I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me 
 
 wrong;" 
 Saying, " Dost thou love me, cousin ?" weeping, " I have loved 
 
 thee long." 
 
 Love took up the glass ■)f Time, and turned it in his glowing 
 
 hands ; 
 Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. 
 
 Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with 
 
 might ; 
 Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of 
 
 sig-ht. 
 
106 rOKMS OV IMAOINATIUN A N h» FANCY. 
 
 Many a morning on tlie moorland did \vc heai" the copses ving, 
 And her wliisjicr thronged my pnlses with the fulness of the 
 Spring. 
 
 3Iany an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, 
 And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips. 
 
 O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! my Amy, mine no more ! 
 the dreary, dreary moorland ! the barren, barren shore ! 
 
 Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, 
 Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue ! 
 
 Is it well to wish thee happy ? — having known me — to decline 
 On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine ! 
 
 t 
 Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level day by day, 
 What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with chiy. 
 
 As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, 
 And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee 
 down. 
 
 ITe will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel 
 
 force. 
 Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. 
 
 What is this ? his eyes are heavy : think not they are glazed with 
 
 wine. 
 Go to him : it is thy duty : kiss him : take his hand in thine. 
 
LOOKS LEY HALL. 107 
 
 It may be my lord is weaiy, that his braiu is over \vroiii;ht : 
 Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lii^liler 
 thought. 
 
 He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand — 
 Better thou wert dead before me, though I slew thee with my 
 hand ! 
 
 Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace. 
 Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace. 
 
 Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth ! 
 Cursed be the social lies that warj) us from the living truth ! 
 
 Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule ! 
 Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened forehead of the fool ! 
 
 Well, — 'tis well that I should bluster ! — Iladst thou less unworthy 
 
 proved — 
 "Would to God — for I had loved thee more than ever wife was 
 
 loved. 
 
 Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit ? 
 I will pluck it from my bosom, though piy heart be at the root. 
 
 Never, though my mortal summers to such length of years should 
 
 come 
 As the many-wintered crow that leads the clanging rookcry-homc. 
 
 "Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind? 
 Can I part her from herself and Jove her, as I knew her, kind ? 
 
108 POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 T remember one that perished : sweetly did she speak and move : 
 Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love. 
 
 Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore ? 
 No — she never loved me truly : love is love for evermore. 
 
 Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is truth the poet sings, 
 That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. 
 
 Drug tliy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to 
 
 proof, 
 In the dead, unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof. 
 
 Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, 
 Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and 
 fall. 
 
 Then a hand would pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep. 
 To thy widowed marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep. 
 
 Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whispered by the jiliantoTii 
 
 years. 
 And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears. 
 
 And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy jjaiu. 
 Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again. 
 
 Nay, but Nature brings thee solace ; for a tender voice will cry. 
 'Tis a purer life than thine ; a lip to drain thy trouble dry. 
 
 ]>aby lips will laugh me down : my latest rival brings thee rest. 
 Baby fingers, waxen ti inches, press me from the niutlier's breast 
 
L O C K S L E Y H A L L. 109 
 
 0, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. 
 Half is thine and half is his : it will be worthy of the two. 
 
 0, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, 
 
 With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart 
 
 "They were dangerous guides the feelings — she herself was not 
 
 exempt — 
 Truly, she hei'self had suffered" — Perish in thy self-contempt ! 
 
 Overlive it — lower yet — be happy ! wherefore should I care ? 
 I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. 
 
 What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like 
 
 these ? 
 Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys. 
 
 Every gate is thronged with suitors, all the markets overflow. 
 I have but an angry fancy : what is that which I should do ? 
 
 I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground. 
 When the ranks are rolled in vapor, and the winds are laid with 
 sound. 
 
 But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels, 
 And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels. 
 
 Can I but relive in sadness ? I will turn that earlier page. 
 Hide me from my deep emotion, oh thou wondrous Mother-Age ! 
 
 Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, 
 Wher I heard my d:iys before me, and the tumult of my life ; 
 10 - 
 
110 POEMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 reaming- for the large excitement that the t-oiuing years wuuhl 
 
 yield, 
 Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field, 
 
 And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, 
 Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn ; 
 
 And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, 
 Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men ; 
 
 Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new : 
 That which they have done but earnest of the things that they 
 shall do ; 
 
 For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see. 
 
 Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ; 
 
 Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, 
 Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales ; 
 
 Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly 
 
 dew 
 From the nations' airy n%vies grappling in the central Mu(>; 
 
 Far along the world-wide whisper of the south- wind rushing wjinii, 
 With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thun^ler- 
 storm ; 
 
 Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-fl;igs were 
 
 furled 
 In the I'arliauient of man. the Federation nf the world ; 
 
, LOCKSLEY HALL. HI 
 
 There the couiinuu sense of most shall hold u fretful realm in awe, 
 And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped in universal law. 
 
 So I triumphed, ere my passion sweeping through me left mc dry, 
 Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced 
 eye; 
 
 Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint, 
 Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point : 
 
 Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, 
 Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying tire. 
 
 Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs. 
 And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the 
 suns. 
 
 What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, 
 Though the deep heart :f existence beat for ever like a boy's ? 
 
 Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, 
 An 1 the individual withers, and the world is more and more. 
 
 Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden 
 
 breast. 
 Full of sad experience moving toward the stillness of his rest. 
 
 Hark, my merry comrades call me. sounding on the bugle-horn, 
 They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn : 
 
 Shall it not be scorn to mc to harp on such a mouldered string ? 
 1 am shalned through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing. 
 
112 ritKMS O I' I .Al Ali I .N AT I UN A N It KANCV. 
 
 Weakness to be \m<. tli with woaknos.s ! wouian's pleasure, wonian'a 
 
 pain — 
 Nature made tlieui blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain : 
 
 Woman is the lesser man. and all thy passions, matched Avith 
 
 mine, 
 Are as moonliglit unto sunlight, and as water unto wine — 
 
 Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some re- 
 treat 
 Deep in yonder shining Orient, wliere my liie began to beat; 
 
 Where in wild 3Iahratta-battle fell my father evil-starred ; 
 1 was left a trampled orjdian, and a selfish uncle's ward. 
 
 Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away, 
 On from island ixuto island at the gateways of the day. 
 
 Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, 
 Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise. 
 
 Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag. 
 Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the 
 crag ; 
 
 Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree ; 
 Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. 
 
 There methinks wo ild be enjoyment more than in this march of 
 mind. 
 
 In the steamship, in the railway, in the thouglits that shake man- 
 kind. 
 
LOCKSLEY HALL. 113 
 
 There the passions, cramj ed uo longer, shall have scope and 
 
 breathing-space ; 
 I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. 
 
 Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive, and they shall run, 
 Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun ; 
 
 Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks, 
 Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books — 
 
 Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I Icnoxv uiy words are wild. 
 But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child. 
 
 /, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains. 
 Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains ! 
 
 Mated with a squalid savage — what to me were sun or clime ? 
 I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time — 
 
 I that rather held it better men should perish one by one. 
 Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in 
 Ajalon ! 
 
 Not in vain the distance b paeons. Forward, forward let us range. 
 Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of 
 change 
 
 Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day : 
 Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. • 
 10* 
 
114 rOEMS Of I M A *; 1 N AT Ut N AND FANCY. 
 
 Mothcr-ajio, (for luiini I knew iiut,) lielj) iiio as when life begun : 
 llift tlic liills, and roll tlie waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the 
 Sun— 
 
 0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. 
 Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my fancy yet. 
 
 Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksloy Hall I 
 Now for uie the woods may wither, now ibr mo the roof-tree fall. 
 
 Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, 
 Cramming all the blast before it, iu its breast a thunderbolt. 
 
 Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; 
 For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. 
 
 THE ISLET. 
 
 " ^Y HITHER, whither, love, shall we go, 
 For a score of sweet little summers or so ?" 
 The sweet little wife of the singer said, 
 On the day that followed the day she was wed, 
 " Whither whither, love, shall we go?" 
 And the singer shaking his curly head 
 Turned as he sat, and struck the keys 
 There at his right with a sudden crash, 
 Ringing, "and shall it be over the seas 
 With a crew that is neither rude nor rash. 
 
THB ISLET. 115 
 
 But a bevy of Eroses apple-cheeked, 
 In a shallop of crystal ivory-beaked, 
 With a satiu sail of a ruby glow, 
 To a sweet little Eden on earth that I know, 
 A mountain islet pointed and peaked ; 
 Waves on a diamond shingle dash, 
 Cataract brooks to the ocean run, 
 Fairily-delicate palaces shine 
 Mixed with myrtle and clad with vine, 
 And overstreamed and silvery-streaked 
 With many a rivulet high against the Sun 
 The facets of the glorious mountain flash 
 Above the valleys of palm and pine." 
 
 " Thither, thither, love, let us go." 
 
 " No, no, no ! 
 
 For in all that exquisite isle, my dear, 
 There is but one bird with a musical throat, 
 And his compass is but of a single note, 
 That it makes one weary to hear." 
 
 " Mock me not ! mock me not ! love, let us go." 
 
 " No, love, no. 
 
 For the bud ever breaks into bloom on the tree, 
 And a storm never wakes on the lonely sea. 
 And a worm is there in the lonely wood, 
 That pierces the liver and blackens the blood. 
 And makes it a sorrow to be." 
 
IIG POEMS OF IMAtilNATJON AND FANCY. 
 
 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 
 
 Year after year unto her feet, 
 
 She lying on her couch alone, 
 Across the purple coverlet. 
 
 The maiden's jet-black hair has grown, 
 On either side her tranced form 
 
 Forth streaming from a Imiid of |icarl : 
 The slumbi'ous light is rich and warm, 
 
 And moves not on the rounded curl. 
 
 The silk star-broidercd coverlid 
 
 Unto her limbs itself doth mould 
 Languidly ever; and, amid 
 
 Her full black ringlets downward rolled, 
 Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm 
 
 With bracelets of the diamond bright : 
 Her constant beauty doth inform 
 
 Stillness with love, and day with light. 
 
 She sleeps : her breathings are not heard 
 
 In palace chambers fiir apart. 
 The fragrant tre.-iscs arc not stirred 
 
 That lie upon her charmed heart. 
 She sleeps : on either hand upswclls 
 
 The gold-fringed pillow lightly pressed : 
 She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 
 
 A perfect form in perfect rest. 
 
THE KINtiLKT. 117 
 
 THE RINGLET. 
 
 " Your ringlets, your ringlets, 
 
 That look so golden-gay, 
 If you will give me one, but one, 
 
 To kiss it night and day, 
 Then never chilling touch of Time 
 
 Will turn it silver-gray; 
 And tlicn shall I know it is all true gold 
 To flame and sparkle and stream as of old, 
 Till all the comets in heaven are cold, 
 
 And all her stars decay." 
 " Then take it, love, and put it by; 
 This cannot change, nor yet can I." 
 
 " My ringlet, my ringlet, 
 
 That art so golden-gay, 
 Now never chilling touch of Time 
 
 Can turn thee silver-gray ; 
 And a lad may wink, and a girl may hint, 
 
 And a fool may say his say ; 
 For my doubts and fears were all amiss, 
 And I swear henceforth by this and this, 
 That a doubt will only come for a kiss, 
 
 And a fear to be kissed away." 
 " Then kiss it, love, and put it by : 
 If this can change, why so can I." 
 
 O Ringlet, Ringlet, 
 
 I kissed you night and day, 
 
118 rOIOMS Oi" 1 >l At; I N ATJ ON AN1> FANtlY. 
 
 Ami Rin-rlct, O Ringlet, 
 
 You still arc goklcn-gay, 
 But Rino-let, Ringlet, 
 
 You should be silver-gray : 
 For what is this which now I'm tuM, 
 I that took you for true gokl. 
 She that gave you's bought and .sold, 
 Sold, sold. 
 
 Ringlet, () Ringlet, 
 
 She blushed a rosy red. 
 When Ringlet, Ringlet, 
 
 She clipped you from her head. 
 And Ringlet, Ringlet, 
 
 She gave you me, and said, 
 " Come, kiss it, love, and put it by : 
 
 If this can change, why so can I." 
 O fie, you golden nothing, fie 
 You golden lie. 
 
 O Ringlet, Ringlet, 
 
 I count you much to blame. 
 For Ringlet, Ringlet, 
 
 You put me much to shame, 
 So Ringlet, O Ringlet, 
 
 I doom you to the flame. 
 For what is this which now T h^arn. 
 
 Has given all my faith a turn ? 
 Burn, you glossy heretic, burn, 
 J]iirn, burn. 
 
WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. 1 lU 
 
 A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. 
 
 March 1, 18CS. 
 
 Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea, 
 
 A lex ami ra ! 
 
 Saxon and Norman and Dane arc we, 
 
 But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, 
 
 Alexandra ! 
 
 Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet ! 
 
 Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street ! 
 
 Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, 
 
 Scatter the blossom under her feet ! 
 
 Break, happy laud, into earlier flowers ! 
 
 Make music, bird, in the new-budded bowers ! 
 
 Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer ! 
 
 Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours ! 
 
 Warble, bugle, and trumpet, blare ! 
 
 Flags, flutter out upon tun-ets and towers ! 
 
 Flames, on the windy headland flare ! 
 
 Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire ! 
 
 Clash, yc bells, in the merry March air ! 
 
 Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire ! 
 
 Bush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher 
 
 Melt int) stars for the land's desire ! 
 
 Boll and rejoice, jubilant voice. 
 
 Boll as a ground-swell dashed on the strand. 
 
 Boar as the sea wben he wclcnmes the laiul, 
 
 And welciinie lier, welconie I in- laiii's desire, 
 
1:20 r o E M s OF i yi a o i n a t i o n and f a n c y. 
 
 Tlio sea-kings' dam fr as happy as fair, 
 Blissful bride of a blissful heir, 
 Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea — 
 joy to the people and joy to the throne, 
 Come to us, love us, and make us your own : 
 For Saxon or Dane or Normau we. 
 Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be. 
 We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee, 
 
 Alexandra ! 
 
 ODE 
 
 SUNG AT THE OPENING OF THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION. 
 
 Uplift a thousand voices full and sweet, 
 
 In this wide hall with earth's inventions stored, 
 And praise the invisible universal Ijord, 
 
 Who lets once move in peace the nations moot, 
 Where Science, Art, ami Labor have outpoured 
 
 Their myriad horns of ]>lcnty at our foot. 
 
 silent lather of our Kings to bo 
 Mourned in this golden hour ol' jubilee. 
 For this, for all, we weej) our thanks to thee ! 
 
 The world-compelling plan was thine, 
 And, lo ! the loug laborious miles 
 Of Palace ; lo ! the giant aisles, 
 Rich in model and design : 
 
ODE. 121 
 
 FTiu'vest-tool and husbandry, 
 
 Loom and wheel and enginery, 
 
 Secrets of the sullen mine, 
 
 8teel and gold, and corn and wine, 
 
 Fabric rough, or Fairy line. 
 
 Sunny tokens of the Line, 
 
 Polar marvels, and a feast 
 
 Of wonder, out of West and East, 
 
 And shapes and hues of part divine ! 
 
 All of beauty, all of use, 
 
 That one fair planet can pi-oduce. 
 
 Brought from under every star, 
 Blown from over every main, 
 And mixed, as life is mixed with pain. 
 
 The works of peace with works of war. 
 
 O yc, the wise who think, the wise who reign, 
 From growing commerce loose her latest chain, 
 And let the fair white-winged peacemaker fly 
 To happy havens under all the sky, 
 And mix the seasons and the golden hours. 
 Till each man finds his own in all men's good, 
 And all men work in noble brotherhood, 
 Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers. 
 And ruling by obeying Nature's powers, 
 
 And gathering all the fruits of peace and crowned with all her 
 flowers. 
 11 
 
I2.i ■ POElMS OF IMAGINATION AND FANCY. 
 
 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, 
 Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar, 
 
 And reached the ship and caught the rope, 
 And whistled to the morning star. 
 
 And while he whistled long and loud 
 He heard a fierce mermaiden cry, 
 
 " boy, though thou art young and proud, 
 I see the place where thou wilt lie. 
 
 " The sands and yeasty surges mix 
 In caves about the dreary bay, 
 
 And on thy ribs the limpet sticks. 
 
 And in thy heart the scrawl shall play." 
 
 '• Fool," he answered, '' death is sure 
 To those that stay and those that roam, 
 
 But I will nevermore endure 
 
 To sit with empty hands at home. 
 
 " IMy mother clings about my neck, 
 My sisters crying ' stay for shame ;' 
 
 My father raves of death and wreck, 
 
 They are all to blame, they are all tn blame. 
 
 " God help me ! save I take my part 
 
 Of danger on the roaring sea, 
 A devil rises in my heart, 
 
 Far worse than any death to me." 
 
THE FLOWER. 123 
 
 IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ. 
 
 All along the valley, stream that flashest white 
 
 Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night, 
 
 All along the valley, where thy waters flow, 
 
 I walked with one I loved two-and-thirty years ago. 
 
 All along the valley while I walked to-day. 
 
 The two-and-thirty years were a mist that rolls away ; 
 
 For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed 
 
 Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead, 
 
 And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree, 
 
 The voice of the dead was a livino- voice to me. 
 
 THE FLOWER. 
 
 Once in a golden hour 
 I cast to earth a seed. 
 
 Up there came a flower, 
 The people said, a weed. 
 
 To and fro they went 
 
 Through my garden-bower, 
 And muttering discontent 
 
 Cursed me and my flower. 
 
 Then it grew so tall 
 
 It wore a crown of liiiht. 
 
IJ I 1- o K M S u F 1 M A C 1 N A l' 1 U N A N 1) F A N C Y 
 
 llii) lliifvi's IVuin o'or tlio wall 
 8t(ilc the soi'd liy iiiuht. 
 
 8o\vo(l it far ami wiile 
 
 l>y every tt>\vn ami tower, 
 
 Till all the people cried 
 " Splendid is the flower." 
 
 Head my little laMe : 
 
 He that runs may road. 
 IMost ean raise the flowers now, 
 
 For all have got the seed. 
 
 And some are pretty enouiih, 
 And some are pocn- indeed; 
 
 And now ai;ain the people 
 Call it but a weed. 
 
 TIIK END. 
 
 IM.INTKK BY I. ASII.MEAD. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS