POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 PRINTED AT THE PRIVATE PRESS OF 
 H. DANIEL 
 
 FBttOW OP WORCESTER CdlLEOE 
 
 OXFORD 
 1884 
 
THE Author of thefe poems if too well aware of 
 their demerits to allow them to be republijhed thus without 
 fome apology. But it happens that the Printer^ at whofe 
 retpteft this fete ftion is made^ is witting to take fo fair ajhart 
 of the blame as to make any further explanation unnecessary \ 
 
*&fca$i^ 
 
 O Hundred and fifty copies printed. 
 
 This is No. Q . 
 WW&XG^^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FROM FIRST SERIES PVBLISHED 1873 
 
 i Clear and gentle flream page i 
 
 ^ Dear lady when thou frownefl 4- 
 
 ? Poor withered rofe and dry 5 
 
 4. 1 found to-day out walking J 
 
 FROM SECOND SERIES PVBLISHED 1879 
 
 f Will Love again awake 
 
 6 Whither, O Jfilendid Jbip 10 
 
 7 1 fait} the Virgin-mother clad in green ix 
 
 8 I know not how I came 14, 
 
 9 There is a hill 1 7 
 i o Again with fleafant green ^ i 
 1 1 Behold I the radiant Spring x^ 
 ix I have loved flowers that fade 2,9 
 i g Wherefore to-night fo full of care 3 o 
 
FROM THIRD SERIES PA BUSHED 1880 
 
 14 Thou did ft delight my eyes 3X 
 
 1 5 When men 'were att ajleef 3 3 
 
 16 I ft and on the cliff 3? 
 
 17 Per f eft little body 37 
 
 FOVRTH SERIES, 1882. NoT PVBLISHED BEFORE 
 
 1 8 Jy-> faeeteft life born joy 39 
 
 19 O w/ <y#g* dfe//r*j (from PROMETHEVS ) 41 
 10 The full moon from her cloudlefs skies 43 
 xi 1 praife the tender flower 44 
 xi Awake my heart to be loved 47 
 a 3 #^0 *>k*;f >&*^ everjhot ajbaft 4<J 
 14 O ^o//^/J <whofe hope is high ya 
 
ELEGY 
 
 CLEAR and gentle ftream, 
 Known and loved fo long, 
 That haft heard the fong 
 And the idle dream 
 Of my boyiih day ; 
 While I once again 
 Down thy margin ftray, 
 In the lelfsame ftrain 
 Still my voice is fpent, 
 With my old lament, 
 And my idle dream, 
 Clear and gentle ftream ! 
 
 Where my old feat was 
 Here again I fit. 
 Where the long boughs knit 
 Over ftream and grafs 
 Thick tranflucent eaves : 
 Where back eddies play 
 A i 
 
[*] 
 
 Shipwreck with the leaves, 
 And the proud fwans ftray, 
 Sailing one by one 
 Out of ftream and fun, 
 And the fiih lie cool 
 In their chofen pool. 
 
 Many an afternoon 
 Of the fummer day 
 Dreaming here I lay ; 
 And I know how foon 
 Idly at its hour 
 Firft the deep bell hums 
 From the minfter tower, 
 And then evening comes, 
 Creeping up the glade. 
 With her lengthening fhade, 
 And the tardy boon 
 Of her brightening moon. 
 
 Clear and gentle ftream, 
 Ere again I go 
 Where thou doft not flow, 
 Well does it befeem 
 Thee to hear again 
 Once my youthful fong, 
 
[3] 
 
 That familiar ftrain 
 Silent now fo long : 
 Be as I content 
 With my old lament, 
 And my idle dream, 
 Clear and gentle ftream ! 
 
 Aa 
 
: + 
 
 DEAR lady, when thou frowncft, 
 And my true love defpifelt, 
 And all thy vows dilbwneft 
 
 That fealed my venture wilelt ; 
 I think thy pride's difpleafure 
 Neglets a matchleis treafure 
 Exceeding price and meafure. 
 
 But when again thou fmilellr, 
 
 And love for love returned, 
 And fear with joy beguileft. 
 
 And takeft truth in earneil ; 
 Then, though I molt adore thee, 
 The fum of my love for thee 
 Seems poor, fcant and unworthy, 
 
POOR withered rofe.a&d dry, 
 Skeleton of a role, 
 Rifen to teftify 
 To love's fad dole ; 
 
 Treafured for love's fweet fake, 
 
 That of joy paft 
 Thou might'ft again awake 
 
 Memory at laft : 
 
 Yet is thy perfume fweet, 
 
 Thy petals red 
 Yet tell of fummer heat, 
 
 And the gay bed : 
 
 Yet yet recall the glow 
 
 Of the gazing fun, 
 When at thy bufh we two 
 
 Joined hands in one. 
 
C*3 
 
 But, rofe, thou haft not feen, 
 
 Thou haft not wept 
 The change that pafled between 
 
 Whilft thou haft flept. 
 
 To me thou feemeft yet 
 The dead dream's thrall : 
 
 While I live and forget 
 Dream, truth and all. 
 
 Thou art more frefh than I, 
 
 Rofe, fweet and red : 
 Salt on my pale cheeks lie 
 
 The tears I flied. 
 
I FOUND to-day out walking 
 The flower my love loves bell. 
 What, when I ftooped to pluck it, 
 Could dare my hand arreft ? 
 
 Was it a fnake lay curling 
 About the root's thick crown ? 
 
 Or did fome hidden bramble 
 Tear my hand reaching down ? 
 
 There was no fnake uncurling, 
 And no thorn wounded me 
 
 *Twas my heart checked me, fighing 
 She is beyond the fea. 
 
[.8] 
 
 WILL Low again 
 That lies ajleep fo long ? 
 O hufli ! ye tongues that ihake 
 The drowfy night with fong. 
 
 It is a lady fair 
 
 Whom once he deigned to pratfe 9 
 That at the door doth dare 
 Her fad complaint to raife. 
 
 She muft be fair of face, 
 As bold in heart flie feems, 
 If flie would match her grace 
 With the delight of dreams. 
 
 Her beauty 'would fur f rife 
 Gazer? on Autumn eves, 
 Who watched the broad moon rife 
 Vfon thefcatteredjheaves. 
 
O fweet muft be the voice 
 He fliall defcend to hear, 
 Who doth in Heaven rejoice 
 His moft enchanted ear. 
 
 The frnile^ that refts to flay 
 Vfon her lip , foretells 
 What mufcal array 
 Tricks her fiueet fyllables. 
 
 And yet her fmiles have danced 
 In vain, if her difcourfe 
 Win not the foul entranced 
 In divine intercourfe. 
 
 She 'will encounter all 
 This trial without Jbame, 
 Her eyes men Beauty call, 
 And Wisdom is her name. 
 
 Throw back the portals then, 
 Ye guards, your watch that keep. 
 Love will awake again 
 That lay fo long afleep. 
 
 B i 
 
[10] 
 
 A PASSER BY 
 
 WHITHER, O fplendid fhip, thy white fails crowding, 
 Leaning acrofs the bofom of the urgent Weft, 
 That feareft nor fea rifing, nor sky clouding, 
 Whither away, fair rover, and what thy queft ? 
 Ah ! foon, when Winter has all our vales oppreft, 
 When skies are cold and mifty, and hail is hurling, 
 
 Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or reft 
 In a fummer haven afleep, thy white fails furling. 
 
 I there before thee, in the country fo well thou knoweft, 
 Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air : 
 
 I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goeft, 
 And anchor queen of the ftrange fhipping there, 
 Thy fails for awning fpread, thy mafts bare : 
 
 Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the fnowcapped, grandeft 
 Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair 
 
 Than thou, fo upright, fo ftately, and ftill thou ftandefl. 
 
And yet, O fplendid ihip, unhailed and namelefs, 
 
 I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine 
 That thou haft a purpofe joyful, a courage blamelefs. 
 
 Thy port affured in a happier land than mine. 
 
 But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine, 
 As thou, aflant with trim tackle and fhrouding, 
 
 From the proud noftril curve of a prow's line 
 In the offing fcattereft foam, thy white fails crowding. 
 
 B 2 
 
LATE SPRING EVENING 
 
 I SAW the Virgin- mother clad in green. 
 Walking the fprinkled meadows at fundown ; 
 While yet the moon's cold flame was hung between 
 The day and night, above the dusky town : 
 I faw her brighter than the Weftern gold. 
 Whereto flie faced in fplendour to behold. 
 
 Her drefs was greener than the tendereft leaf 
 That trembled in the funfet glare aglow : 
 Herfelf more delicate than is the brief, 
 Pink apple-bloflbm, that May fhowers lay low, 
 And more delicious than 's the earlieft ftreak 
 The blufhing rofe (hows of her crimfon cheek. 
 
 With jealous grace her idle ears to pleafe, 
 A mufic entered, making paflion fain : 
 Three nightingales fat fmging in the trees, 
 And praifed the Goddefs for the fallen rain/; 
 Which yet their unfeen motions did aroufe, 
 Or parting Zephyrs fhook out from the boughs. 
 
And o'er the treetops, fcattered in mid air, 
 The exhaufted clouds, laden with crimfon light, 
 Floated, or feemed to deep j and, higheft there, 
 One planet broke the lingering ranks of night ; 
 Daring day's company, fo he might fpy 
 The Virgin-queen once with his watchful eye. 
 
 And when I faw her, then I worfhipped her, 
 
 And faid, O bounteous Spring, O beauteous Spring, 
 
 Mother of all my years, thou who doft ftir 
 
 My heart to adore thee and my tongue to fmg, 
 
 Flower of my fruit, of my heart's blood the fire, 
 
 Of all my fatisfaftion the defire ! 
 
 How art thou every year more beautiful, 
 Younger tor all the winters thou haft caft : 
 And I, for all my love grows, grow more dull, 
 Decaying with each feafon overpaft ! 
 In vain to teach him love muft man employ thee, 
 The more he learns the lefs he can enjoy thee. 
 
WOOING 
 
 I KNOW not how I came, 
 New on my knightly journey,. 
 To win the faireft dame 
 That graced my maiden tourney. 
 
 Chivalry's lovely prize 
 With all men's gaze upon her. 
 
 Why did fhe free her eyes 
 On me, to do me honour ? 
 
 Ah ! ne'er had I my mind 
 With fuch high hope delighted, 
 
 Had fhe not firft inclined, 
 And with her eyes invited. 
 
But never doubt I knew, 
 Having their glance to cheer me, 
 
 Vntil the day joy grew 
 Too great, too Cure, too near me. 
 
 When hope a fear became, 
 And paffion, grown too tender, 
 
 Now trembled at the fliame 
 Of a defpifed furrender ; 
 
 And where my love at firft 
 Saw kindnefs in her fmiling, 
 
 I read her pride, and curfed 
 The arts of her beguiling. 
 
 Till winning lefs than won, 
 And liker wooed than wooing, 
 
 Too late I turned undone 
 Away from my undoing ; 
 
 And flood befide the door, 
 Whereto fhe followed, making 
 
 My hard leave-taking more 
 Hard by her fweet leave-taking. 
 
[*] 
 
 Her fpeech would have betrayed 
 Her thought, had mine been colder 
 
 Her eyes diftrefs had made 
 A lefler lover bolder. 
 
 But no ! Fond heart diftruft, 
 Cried Wifdom, and confider : 
 
 Go free, fince go thou muft, 
 And fo farewell I bid her. 
 
 And brisk upon my way 
 1 fmote the ftroke to fever, 
 
 And fliould have loft that day 
 My life's delight for ever 
 
 But when I faw her ftart 
 And turn afide and tremble 
 
 Ah ! fhe was true, her heart 
 I knew did not diflemble. 
 
['73 
 
 THERE is a hill befide the filver Thames, 
 Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine : 
 And brilliant underfoot with thoufand gems 
 Steeply the thickets to his floods decline. 
 Straight trees in every place 
 Their thick tops interlace. 
 And pendant branches trail their foliage fine 
 Vpon his watery face. 
 
 Swift from the fweltering pafturage he flows : 
 His ftream, alert to feek the pleafant fhade, 
 Pictures his gentle purpofe, as he goes 
 Straight to the caverned pool his toil has made. 
 
 His winter floods lay bare 
 
 The ftout roots in the air : 
 His fummer ftreams are cool, when they have played 
 
 Among their fibrous hair, 
 c i 
 
[it] 
 
 A nifty ifland guards the facred bower, 
 And hides it from the meadow, where in peace 
 The lazy cows wrench many a fcented flower, 
 Robbing the golden market of the bees : 
 
 And laden barges float 
 
 By banks of myofote ; 
 And fcented flags and golden flower-de-Iys 
 
 Delay the loitering boat. 
 
 And cm this fide the ifland, where the pool 
 Eddies away, are tangled mafs on mafs 
 The water-weeds, that net the fifhes cool 
 And fcarce allow a narrow ftream to pafe ; 
 
 Where fpreading crowfoot mars 
 
 The drowning nenuphars, 
 Waving the taflels of her filken grafs 
 
 Below her filver ftars. 
 
 But in the purple pool there nothing grows, 
 Not the white water-lily fpoked with gold j 
 Though beft (he loves the hollows, and well knows 
 On quiet ftreams her broad fhields to unfold : 
 
 Yet fhould her roots but try 
 
 Within thefe deeps to lie, 
 Not her long reaching ftalk could ever hold 
 
 Her waxen head fo high. 
 
Sometimes an angler comes, and drops his hook 
 Within its hidden depths, and 'gainft a tree 
 Leaning his rod, reads in fome pleafant book, 
 Forgetting foon his pride of fifhery ; 
 
 And dreams, or falls afleep, 
 
 While curious fifties peep 
 About his nibbled bait, or fcornfully 
 
 Dart off and rife and leap. 
 
 And fometimes by the pathway through the trees 
 An aged dame at evening trudges home : 
 And merry voices greet her, and (he fees 
 Her dear grandchildren, down the hill that come 
 
 To meet her, and to bear 
 
 Her basket home with care, 
 Divining that, of all her treafures, fome 
 
 Will be for them to fliare. 
 
 Elfe, he that wifhes folitude is fafe, 
 Whether he bathe at morning in the ftream : 
 Or lead his love there when the hot hours chafe 
 The meadows, bufy with a blurring fleam ; 
 Or watch, as fades the light, 
 The gibbous moon grow bright, 
 Vntil her magic rays dance in a dream, 
 And glorify the night. 
 
 C 2 
 
Where is this bower befide the filver Thames ? 
 
 O pool and flowery thickets, hear my vow ! 
 
 O trees of frefheft foliage and ftraight ftems, 
 
 No fliarer of my fecret I allow : 
 Left ere I come the while 
 Strange feet your fhades defile ; 
 
 Or left the burly oarfman turn his prow 
 Within your guardian ifle. 
 
[il] 
 
 SPRING 
 
 INVITATION TO THE COVNTRY 
 
 AGAIN with pleafant green 
 Has Spring renewed the wood, 
 And where the bare trunks flood 
 Are leafy arbours feen ; 
 And back on budding boughs 
 Come birds, to court and pair, 
 Whofe rival amorous vows 
 Amaze the fcented air. 
 
 The ftreams unbound anew 
 Refill their mofly banks, 
 The forward feafon pranks 
 With flowers of varied hue : 
 And fcattered down the meads 
 From hour to hour unfold 
 A thoufand buds and beads 
 In ftars and cups of gold. 
 
['**! 
 
 Now hear, and fee, and note, 
 The farms are all aftir, 
 And every labourer 
 Has doffed his winter coat j 
 And how with fpecks of white 
 They dot the brown hillfide, 
 Or jaunt and fmg outright 
 As by their teams they ftride. 
 
 They fmg to feel the Sun 
 Regain his wanton ftrength ; 
 To know the year at length 
 Rewards their labour done ; 
 To fee the rootlefs ftake 
 They fet bare in the ground, 
 Burft into leaf, and fhake 
 Its grateful fcent around. 
 
 Ah now an evil lot 
 Is his who toils for gain, 
 Where crowded chimneys ftain 
 "The heavens his choice forgot ; 
 'Tis on the blighted trees 
 That deck his garden dim, 
 And in the tainted breeze 
 That fweet*fpring comes to him. 
 
Far rather would I choofe 
 The grace of brutes that bask, 
 Than in an eager task, 
 My inborn honour lofe : 
 Would rather far enjoy 
 The body, than invent 
 A duty^ to deftroy 
 The eafe which nature fent ; 
 
 And country life I praife 
 And lead, becaufe I find- 
 The philofophic mind 
 Can take no middle ways ; 
 She will not leave her love 
 To mix with men, her art 
 Is all to ftrive above 
 The crowd, or ftand apart. 
 
 Thrice happy he, the rare 
 Prometheus, who can play 
 With hidden things, and lay 
 New realms of nature bare : 
 Whofe venturous ftep has trod 
 Hell underfoot, and won 
 A crown from man and God 
 For all that he has done. 
 
[H] 
 
 That higheft gift of all, 
 Since crabbed fate did flood 
 My heart with fluggifh blood, 
 I look not mine to call ; 
 But, like a truant freed, 
 Fly to the woods, and claim 
 A pleafure for the deed 
 Of my inglorious name. 
 
 And am content, denied 
 The beft, in choofing right ; 
 For Nature can delight 
 Fancies unoccupied 
 With ecftafies fo fweet 
 As none can even guefs, 
 Who walk not with the feet 
 Of joy in idlenefs. 
 
 Then leave your joylefs ways, 
 My friend, my joys to fee. 
 The day you come fhall be 
 The choice of chofen days : 
 You {hall be loft, and learn 
 New being, and forget 
 The world, till your return 
 Shall bring yourjirft regret, 
 
SPRING 
 
 REPLY 
 
 BEHOLD ! the radiant Spring, 
 In fplendour decked anew. 
 Down from her heaven of blue 
 Returns on funlit wing : 
 The zephyrs of her train 
 In fleecy clouds difport, 
 And birds to greet her reign 
 Summon their fylvan court. 
 
 For even in ftreet and fquare 
 Her tardy trees relent, 
 As fome far-travell'd fcent 
 Kindles the morning air j 
 And forth their buds provoke, 
 Forgetting winter brown, 
 And all the mire and fmoke 
 That wrapped the dingy town. 
 
 D i 
 
Now he that loves indeed 
 His pleafure rnuft awake, 
 Left any pleafure take 
 Its flight, and he not heed ; 
 For of his few fhort years 
 Another now invites 
 His hungry foul, and cheers 
 His life with new delights. 
 
 And who loves Nature more 
 Than he, whofe painful art 
 Has taught and skilled his heart 
 To read her skill and lore ? 
 Whofe fpirit leaps more high, 
 Plucking the pale primrofe, 
 Than his whofe feet muft fly 
 The pafture where it grows ? 
 
 One long in city pent 
 Forgets, or muft complain : 
 But think not I can ftain 
 My heaven with difcontent j 
 Nor wallow with that fad, 
 Backfliding herd, who cry 
 That Truth muft make man bad, 
 And pleafure is a lie. 
 
[*7] 
 
 Rather while Reafon lives 
 To mark me from the beaft, 
 Fll teach her ferve at leaft 
 To heal the wound flie gives : 
 Nor need flie ftrain her powers 
 Beyond a common flight, 
 To make the paffing hours 
 Happy from morn till night. 
 
 Since health our toil rewards, 
 And ftrength is labour's prize, 
 I hate not, nor defpife 
 The work my lot accords ; 
 Nor fret with fears unkind 
 The tender joys, that blefs 
 My hard-won peace of mind, 
 In hours of idlenefs. 
 
 Then what charm company 
 Can give, know I, if wine 
 Go round, or throats combine 
 To fet dumb mufic free. 
 Or deep in wintertide 
 When winds without make moan, 
 I love my own firefide 
 Not leaft when moft alone. 
 
 D 2 
 
[a8] 
 
 Then oft I turn the page 
 In which our country's name, 
 Spoiling the Greek of fame. 
 Shall found in every age : 
 Or fome Terentian play 
 Renew, whofe excellent 
 Adjufted folds betray 
 How once Menander went. 
 
 Or if grave ftudy fuit 
 The yet unwearied brain, 
 Plato can teach again, 
 And Socrates difpute ; 
 Till fancy in a dream 
 Confront their fouls with mine. 
 Crowning the mind fupreme, 
 And her delights divine. 
 
 While pleafure yet can be 
 Pleafant, and fancy fweet, 
 I bid all care retreat 
 From my philofophy ; 
 Which, when I come to try 
 Your fimpler life, will find, 
 I doubt not, joys to vie 
 With thofe I leave behind. 
 
I HAVE loved flowers that fade, 
 Within whofe magic tents 
 Rich hues have marriage made 
 With fweet unmemoried fcents : 
 A honeymoon delight, 
 A joy of love at fight, 
 That ages in an hour : 
 My fong be like a flower ! 
 
 I have loved airs, that die 
 Before their charm is writ 
 Vpon the liquid sky 
 Trembling to welcome it. 
 Notes, that with pulfe of fire 
 Proclaim the fpirit's defire, 
 Then die, and are nowhere : 
 My fong be like an air ! 
 
 Die, fong, die like a breath, 
 And wither as a bloom : 
 Fear not a flowery death, 
 Dread not an airy tomb ! 
 Fly with delight, fly hence ! 
 3 Twas thine love's tender fenfe 
 To feaft, now on thy bier 
 Beauty fhall flied a tear. 
 
WHEREFORE to-night fo foil of care, 
 My foul, revolving hopelefs ftrife, 
 Pointing at hindrance, and the bare 
 Painful efcapes of fitful life ? 
 
 Shaping the doom that may befall 
 By precedent of terror paft : 
 By love difhonoured, and the call 
 Of friendfhip flighted at the laft ? 
 
 By treafured names, the little ftore 
 That memory out of wreck could fave 
 Of loving hearts, that gone before 
 Call their old comrade to the grave ? 
 
 O foul be patient : thou {halt find 
 A little matter mend all this - y 
 Some ftrain of mufic to thy mind, 
 Some praife for skill not fpent amifs. 
 
Again ftiall pleafure overflow 
 Thy cup with fweetnefs, thou flialt tafte 
 Nothing but fweetnefs, and flialt grow 
 Half lad for fweetnefs run to wafte. 
 
 Q happy life ! 1 hear thee fing, 
 
 rare delight of mortal fluff ! 
 
 1 praiie my days for all they bring, 
 Yet are they only not enough. 
 
THOV didft delight my eyes : 
 Yet who am I ? nor firft 
 Nor laft nor beft that durft 
 Once dream of thee for prize ; 
 Nor this the only time 
 Thou flialt fet love to rhyme. 
 
 Thou didft delight my ear : 
 Ah ! little praife ; thy voice 
 Makes other hearts rejoice, 
 Makes all ears glad that hear 
 And fhort my joy : but yet 3 
 O fong, do not forget. 
 
 For what wert thou to me ? 
 How (hall I fay ? The moon, 
 That poured her midnight noon 
 Vpon his wrecking fea ; 
 A fail, that for a day 
 Has cheered the caftaway. 
 
CH3 
 
 WHEN men were all afleep the fnow came flying, 
 In large white flakes falling on the city brown. 
 Stealthily and perpetually fettling and loofely lying, 
 
 Hulhing the lateft traffic of the drowfy town 
 Deadening, muffling, ftifling its murmurs failing ; 
 Lazily and inceflantly floating down and down : 
 
 Silently fifting and veiling road, roof and railing ; 
 Hiding difference, making unevennefs even, 
 Into angles and crevices foftly drifting and failing. 
 
 All night it fell, and when full inches feven 
 It lay in the depth of its uncompaded lightnefs, 
 Its clouds blew off from a high and frofty heaven ; 
 
 And all woke earlier for the unaccuftomed brightnefs 
 Of the winter dawning, the ftrange unheavenly glare : 
 The eye marvelled marvelled at the dazzling whitenefs j 
 
 The ear hearkened to the ftillnefs of the folemn air 
 No found of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, 
 And the bufy morning cries came thin and fpare. 
 
 Ei 
 
[34-] 
 
 Then boys I heard, as they went to fchool, calling, 
 They gathered up the cryftal manna to freeze 
 Their tongues with tailing, their hands with fnow-balling ; 
 
 Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees j 
 Or peering up from under the white-moffed wonder, 
 " O look at the trees ! " they cried, " O look at the trees ! " 
 
 With leflened load a few carts creak and blunder, 
 Following along the white deferted way, 
 A country company long difperfed afunder : 
 
 When now already the fun, in pale difplay 
 Standing by Paul's high dome, fpread forth below 
 His fparkling beams, and awoke the ftir of the day. 
 
 For now doors open and war is waged with the fnow 
 And trains of fombre men, paft tale of number, 
 Tread long brown paths as towards their toil they go : 
 
 But even for them no cares awhile encumber 
 Their minds diverted ; the daily word unfpoken, 
 The daily thoughts of labour and forrow (lumber 
 At the fight of the beauty that greets them, for the charm they 
 have broken. 
 
1ST AND on the cliff and watch the veiled fun paling 
 A filver field afar in the mournful fea, 
 The fcourge of the furf, and plaintive gulls failing 
 At eafe on the gale that fmites the fhuddering lea : 
 
 Whofe fmile fevere and chafte 
 June never hath ftirred to vanity, nor age defaced. 
 In lofty thought ftrive, O fpirit, for ever : 
 In courage and ftrength purfue thine own endeavour. 
 
 Ah ! if it were only for thee, thou reftlefs ocean 
 
 Of waves that follow and roar, the fweep of the tides ; 
 
 Were't only for thee, impetuous wind, whofe motion 
 Precipitate all o'errides, and turns, nor abides : 
 
 For you fad birds and fair, 
 Or only for thee, bleak cliff, eret in the air ; 
 
 Then well could I read wifdom in every feature, 
 
 O well Ihould I underftand the voice of Nature. 
 
 E2 
 
But far away, I think, in the Thames valley, 
 
 The filent river glides by flowery banks : 
 And birds fmg fweetly in branches that arch an alley 
 
 Of cloiftered trees, mofs-grown in their ancient ranks : 
 Where if a light air ftray, 
 
 'Tis laden with hum of bees and fcent of may. 
 Love and peace be thine, O fpirit, for ever : 
 Serve thy fweet defire : defpife endeavour. 
 
 And if it were only for thee, entranced river, 
 That fcarce doft rock the lily on her airy ftem, 
 
 Or ftir a wave to murmur, or a rufli to quiver ; 
 Were't but for the woods, and fummer afleep in them : 
 
 For you my bowers green, 
 My hedges of rofe and woodbine, with walks between, 
 
 Then well could I read wifdom in every feature, 
 
 O well fhould I understand the voice of Nature. 
 
 
 
[37] 
 
 PERFECT little body, without fault or ftain on thee, 
 With promife of ftrength and manhood full and fair ! 
 
 Though cold and ftark and bare. 
 The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. 
 
 Thy mother's treafure wert thou j alas ! no longer 
 To vifit her heart with wonderous joy ; to be 
 
 Thy father's pride ah, he 
 Muft gather his faith together, and his ftrength make ftronger. 
 
 To me, as I move thee now in the laft duty, 
 
 Doft thou with a turn or a gefture anon refpond j 
 
 Startling my fancy fond 
 With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. 
 
 Thy hand clafps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it : 
 But the grafp is the clafp of Death, heartbreaking and ft iff; 
 
 Yet feels to my hand as if 
 'Twas ftill thy will, thy pleafure and truft that enfolds it. 
 
So I lay thee there, thy funken eyelids clofing, 
 Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy laft little bed ! 
 
 Propping thy wife, fad head. 
 Thy firm, pale hands acrofs thy cheft difpofing. 
 
 So quiet ! doth the change content thee ? Death, whither hath 
 
 he taken thee ? 
 To a world, do I think, that rights the difafter of this ? 
 
 The vifion of which I mifs, 
 
 Who weep for the body, and wifh but to warm thee and awaken 
 thee? 
 
 Ah ! little at beft can all our hopes avail us 
 
 To lift this forrow, or cheer us, when in the dark, 
 
 Vnwilling, alone we embark, 
 
 And the things we have feen and have known and have heard 
 of, fail us. 
 
JOY, fweeteft lifeborn joy, where doft thou dwell ? 
 Vpon the formlefs moments of our being 
 Flitting, to mock the ear that heareth well, 
 To efcape the trained eye that ftrains in feeing, 
 Doft thou fly with us whither we are fleeing ; 
 Or home in our creations, to withftand 
 Blackwinged death, that flays the making hand ? 
 
 The making mind, that muft untimely perifh 
 
 Amidft its work which time may not deftroy, 
 
 The beauteous forms which man fhall love to cherifh, 
 
 The glorious fongs that combat earth's annoy ? 
 
 Thou doft dwell here, I know, divineft Joy : 
 
 But they who build thy towers fair and ftrong, 
 
 Of all that toil, feel moft of care and wrong. 
 
 Senfe is fo tender, O and hope fo high, 
 
 That common pleafures mock their hope and fenfe ; 
 
 And fwifter than doth lightning from the sky 
 
 The ecftafy they pine for flafhes hence, 
 
 Leaving the darknefs and the woe immenfe, 
 
Wherewith it feems no thread of light was woven. 
 Nor doth the track remain where once 'twas cloven. 
 
 And heaven and all the ftable elements 
 
 That guard God's purpofe mock us, though the mind 
 
 Be fpent in Searching : for his old intents 
 
 We fee were never for our joy defigned : 
 
 They fliine as doth the bright fun on the blind, 
 
 Or like his penfioned ftars, that hymn above 
 
 His praife, but not toward us, that God is Love. 
 
 For who fo well hath wooed the maiden hours 
 
 As quite to have won the worth of their rich fhow, 
 
 To rob the night of myftery, or the flowers 
 
 Of their fweet delicacy ere they go ? 
 
 Nay, even the dear occafion when we know 
 
 We mifs the joy, and on the gliding day 
 
 The fpecial glories float and pafs away, 
 
 Only life's common plod : ftill to repair 
 
 The body and the thing which perifheth : 
 
 The foil, the fmutch, the toil and ache and wear, 
 
 The grinding enginry of blood and breath, 
 
 Pain's random darts, the heartlefs fpade of death : 
 
 All is but grief, and heavily we call 
 
 On the laft terror for the end of all. 
 
Then comes the happy moment : not a ftir 
 In any tree, no portent in the sky : 
 The morn doth neither haften nor defer, 
 The morrow hath no name to call it by, 
 But life and joy are one, we know not why, 
 As though our very blood long breathlefs lain 
 Had tafted of the breath of God again. 
 
 And having tafted it I fpeak of it, 
 And praife him telling how I trembled then 
 When his touch ftrengthened me, as now I fit 
 In wonder, reaching out beyond my ken, 
 Reaching to turn the day back, and my pen 
 Vrging to tell a tale which told would feem 
 The witlefs phantafy of them that dream. 
 
 But O moft blefled truth, for truth thou art, 
 
 Abide thou with me till my life (hall end. 
 
 Divinity hath furely touched my heart $ 
 
 I have poffefied more joy than earth can lend : 
 
 I may attain what time (hall never fpend. 
 
 Only let not my duller days deftroy 
 
 The memory of thy witnefs and my joy. 
 
 F i 
 
[*] 
 
 OMY vague defires ! 
 Ye lambent flames of the foul, her offspring fires : 
 That are my foul herfelf in pangs fublime 
 Rifing and flying to heaven before her time : 
 
 What doth tempt you forth 
 
 To drown in the fouth or fliiver in the frofty north ? 
 What feek ye or find ye in your random flying, 
 Ever foaring aloft, foaring and dying ? 
 
 Joy, the joy of flight ! 
 
 They hide in the fun, they flare and dance in the night j 
 
 Gone up, gone out of fight : and ever again 
 
 Follow frefh tongues of fire, frefli pangs of pain. 
 
 Ah ! they burn my foul, 
 
 The fires, devour my foul that once was whole : 
 She is fcattered in fiery phantoms day by day, 
 But whither, whither ? ay whither ? away, away ! 
 
 Could I but control 
 
 Thefe vague defires, thefe leaping flames of the foul : 
 Could I but quench the fire : ah ! could I ftay 
 My foul that flieth, alas, and dieth away ! 
 
THE full moon from her cloudlefs skies 
 Turneth her face, I think, on me ; 
 And from the hour when fhe doth rife 
 Till when fhe fets, none elfe will fee. 
 
 One only other ray fhe hath, 
 That makes an angle clofe with mine, 
 And glancing down its happy path 
 Vpon another fpot doth fhine. 
 
 But that ray too is fent to me, 
 
 For where it lights there dwells my heart : 
 
 And if 1 were where I would be, 
 
 Both rays would fhine, love, where thou art. 
 
 F 2 
 
[44-] 
 
 I 
 
 PRAISE the tender flower, 
 
 That on a mournful day 
 Bloomed in my garden bower 
 And made the winter gay. 
 Its lovelinefs contented 
 My heart tormented. 
 
 I praife the gentle maid 
 Whofe happy voice and fmile 
 To confidence betrayed 
 My doleful heart awhile : 
 And gave my fpirit deploring 
 Frefh wings for foaring. 
 
 The maid for very fear 
 Of love Idurft not tell : 
 The rofe could never hear. 
 Though I befpake her well : 
 So in my fong I bind them 
 For all to find them. 
 
AWAKE my heart to be loved, awake, awake ! 
 The darknefs filvers away, the morn doth break, 
 It leaps in the sky : unrifen luftres flake 
 The overtaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake ! 
 
 She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee : 
 Her eyes already have fped the fliades that flee, 
 Already they watch the path thy feet fliall take : 
 Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake ! 
 
 And if thou tarry from her, if this could be, 
 She cometh herfelf, O heart, to be loved, to thee ; 
 For thee would unafliamed herfelf forfake : 
 Awake to be loved, my heart, awake, awake ! 
 
 Awake, the land is fcattered with light, and fee, 
 Vncanopied fleep is flying from field and tree : 
 And bloflbming boughs of April in laughter (hake ; 
 Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake ! 
 
 Lo all things wake and tarry and look for thee : 
 She looketh and faith, CC O fun now bring him to me. 
 Come more adored, O adored, for his coming's fake, 
 And awake my heart to be loved : awake, awake ! " 
 
[4*3 
 
 WHO that hath ever fhot a fliaft at heaven 
 Whether of wonder, praife or humble prayer. 
 But hath not ftraight received his anfwer given. 
 
 And been made ftrong with comforting, ^ware 
 Of ftrength and beauty for his pufpofe meant, 
 Whether it were a lark's fong or a fcent 
 
 That wanders on the quavering paths of the air ? 
 
 The fweeteft of all birds, that fed my (lumber 
 With mufic through the thought- exalt ing night, 
 
 Among forgotten fancies without number 
 Transfigured forrow to a heart's delight. 
 
 And uninvited memories, that ftole 
 
 With haunting trouble to their flaved foul 
 
 Were turned to wondrous joys and afpedts bright. 
 
 So intimate a part are we of Nature 
 
 That even to call us beft part doth us wrong, 
 
 Being her mind, the meaning of her feature, 
 To whom her varied forms wholly belong. 
 
 So that what were not ours were worthlefs quite, 
 
[47] - 
 
 And thus to me it happened on that night 
 To be the love and joy of this bird's fong. 
 
 As it came leaping on the dark unguarded 
 Silence of midnight to the door of the ear : 
 
 And finding the warm paflages unwarded 
 Sped up the fpiral ftair, and mounted near 
 
 To where in unfeen rooms the delicate fprite 
 
 That never fleeps fat watching through the night 
 Weaving the time in fancies ftrange and drear. 
 
 Nor was it that the heavenly mufic fluttered 
 
 The quick ele&ric atoms rarer far, 
 The melody this bird of pailion uttered 
 
 Coloured the firmament where all thoughts are : 
 As in the characters a poet's hand 
 Has traced, there lie for poets underftand 
 
 Heart-thrills that (hoot through blacknefs like a (tar. 
 
 And fo, as fummer eve will fweetly foften 
 
 The wayward thoughts of all who forth may fare. 
 
 To me there came the fpirit who haunts not often 
 My heart for forrow of the fadnefs there : 
 
 But now her face was lit with joy, her eyes 
 
 Were eager meffengers of her furprife 
 That (he was quit of her profound defpair. 
 
[+*] 
 
 Clothed was fhe like a nun, and yet her vefture 
 Did fad defpite unto her merry grace, 
 
 As gaily fhe came forward with a gefture 
 As gamefome as the childhood in her face, 
 
 That I had feen fo long downcaft and fad, 
 
 Robbed of the happy birthright which fhe had, 
 Which earth may fteal away but not replace. 
 
 There is no forrow like the flow heart-fearing, 
 When phantoms bred of earth fpring up between 
 
 Two loving hearts, who grew to their endearing, 
 When all their pufhing tendrils yet were green : 
 
 No time-ftruck ruin is fo fad to fee 
 
 As youth's difeafe : than thus, O Love, to be, 
 "Twere better for thy honour not to have been. 
 
 Had I not feen the fervitude of folly, 
 
 The minute-meafuring of days and nights, 
 
 With fuperftition preaching melancholy 
 
 And pleafure counterfeiting her own rights j 
 
 Afraid to turn again and look behind, 
 
 Left truth fhould flame and overwhelm the mind, 
 Fanning her red regret of old delights. 
 
 The mimicry of woe that is a trouble 
 
 To them that pradife it, but which to thofe 
 
To whom the joy is owed makes forrow double 
 
 Seeing the debtor deftitute that owes. 
 The tinfelling of cruel bars, to blind 
 The caged bird to think the hand is kind 
 Which liberty denies and food beftows. 
 
 From which I hurried as a beaft from burning. 
 Nor cared in flying where my terror led , 
 
 Only beyond recall and paft returning, 
 Nor now repent if then too far I fled. 
 
 So long, dear life, as in my flefh thou reign'ft 
 
 I will fin with thee rather than againft, 
 Let me die living rather than live dead. 
 
 But neither is there human pleafure rarer 
 Than love's renewal after long difdain, 
 
 Nor any touching tale for telling fairer 
 Than that wherein loft lovers meet again : 
 
 Such joy muft happy fouls beyond the grave, 
 
 If once again they meet, in Heaven have, 
 
 Without which all the joys of Heaven were vain. 
 
 5 Twas even thus ilie came and in my dreaming, 
 
 My pleafure was not lefs than Heaven's may be : 
 The fpiritual and unearthly feeming 
 
 Gi 
 
[yo] 
 
 So far outdid a touched reality : 
 As glances fent in love do more than tell 
 What words can never phrafe or utter well, 
 
 And which 'tis fhame and blindnefs not to fee. 
 
 But now the joy was mine, for gentle pity 
 
 Of her who wearily lived long alone 
 With mopes and mummers in a fenfuous city 
 
 That held no paflion equal to her own. 
 For gentle pity, I fay, conftrained me well, 
 As pains thofe feparated fouls they tell 
 
 Prepare for Heaven, and mould their hearts of ftone. 
 
 But their fweet ecftafy is all abiding 
 
 And cannot pall with time nor tire nor fade, 
 
 Nor any more can day of death, dividing 
 
 Their earthborn loves, thofe happy haunts invade. 
 
 But joy for ever if that joy compare 
 
 With my beft joy on earth, may I be there ! 
 Though even from that I fhrink and am afraid. 
 
 Now when I woke and thought upon this vifion, 
 Wherein fhe fmiled on me and I on her, 
 
 I could not quite be clear of all mifprifion 
 Who of us moft was changed : or if it were 
 
[53 
 
 The fong I heard not fleeping as I heard 
 That fliaped our empty dream, while fang the bird 
 Regardlefs of his fond interpreter. 
 
 G2 
 
OYOVTH whofe hope is high, 
 Who doft to Truth afpire, 
 Whether thou live or die, 
 O look not back nor tire. 
 
 Thou that art bold to fly 
 Through tempeft, flood and fire, 
 Nor doft not fhrink to try 
 Thy heart in torments dire : 
 
 If thou canft Death defy, 
 If thy Faith is entire, 
 Prefs onward, for thine eye 
 Shall fee thy heart's defire. 
 
 Beauty and love are nigh, 
 And with their deathlefs quire 
 Soon fhall their eager cry 
 Be numbered and expire.