n 
 
 i 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 PLEA 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES, 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER, 
 LYCUS THE CENTAUR, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMvS 
 
 By THOMAS HOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "whims ANJ> ODDITIES," ETC. ETC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN/ 
 PATERNOSTER-KOW. 
 
 1827.
 
 London : 
 
 Prinlca by A. 5, H. Spoltiswooclc, 
 
 Ni'W-Stri'PtS<iii-''i''
 
 P7/ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 I'lIK Pi.EA OF TIIK ]Mll)SUM\IHl TaIRIKS 1 
 
 Hero and Leander bj 
 
 Lvcus, THE Centaur H'^ 
 
 The TWO Peacocks or Behiokt 139 
 
 Minor Poems. 
 
 A Retrospecrivc Review 153 
 
 Fair Ines 1>^*^ 
 
 The Departure of Summer 161 
 
 Song. Tor Music 169 
 
 Ode: Autumn 1"" 
 
 Ballad 1"4 
 
 Hymn to the Sun 1 'I'S 
 
 To a cold Beauty 1"S 
 
 Autumn '80 
 
 Ruth ISl 
 
 I'he Sea of Death. A Fragment 18:5 
 
 Ballad 1«5 
 
 I lUinenilKT, I llemcniher I?7 
 
 A '2 
 
 G259S9
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Ballad 189 
 
 The Water Lady 192 
 
 The Exile '. 194 
 
 To an Absentee 1 96 
 
 Song 197 
 
 Ode to the Moon 198 
 
 To 202 
 
 The Forsaken 204 
 
 Autumn 206 
 
 Ode to Melancholy 207 
 
 Sonnet on Mistress Nicely, a Pattern for Housekeepers 213 
 
 Sonnet. Written in a Volume of Shakspeare 214 
 
 Sonnet to Fancy 215 
 
 Sonnet to an Enthusiast 216 
 
 Sonnet 217 
 
 Sonnet 218 
 
 Sonnet on receiving a Gift 219 
 
 Sonnet 220 
 
 Sonnet 221 
 
 Sonnet. Silence 222
 
 THE 
 
 PLEA 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.
 
 TO 
 
 CHARLES LAMB, Esq. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I THANK my literary fortune that I am not 
 reduced, like many better wits, to barter dedi- 
 cations, for the hope or promise of patronage, with 
 some nominally great man ; but that where true 
 affection points, and honest respect, 1 am free to 
 gratify my head and heart by a sincere inscription. 
 An intimacy and dearness, worthy of a much 
 earlier date than our acquaintance can refer to, 
 direct me at once to your name : and with this 
 acknowledgment of your ever kind feeling towards 
 me, I desire to record a respect and admiration 
 for you as a writer, which no one accjuainted with 
 our literature, save Elia himself, will think dis- 
 proportionate or misplaced. If I had not these 
 better reasons to govern me, I should be guided 
 to the same selection by your intense yet critical 
 relish for the works of our great Dramatist, and 
 for that favourite play in particular which has 
 furnished the subject of my verses.
 
 VIII DEDICATIOX. 
 
 It is mv design, in the following Poem, to cele- 
 brate, by an allegory, that iininoitality which 
 IShakspeare has confeiTcd on the Fairv mvtbolojrv 
 by his Midsummer Night's Dream. But for him, 
 those pretty children of our childhood would 
 leave barely their names to our maturer years ; 
 they belong, as the mites upon the plumb, to the 
 bloom of fancy, a thing generally too frail and 
 beautiful to withstand the rude handline of time : 
 but the Poet has made this most perishable 
 part of the mind's creation equal to the most 
 enduring; he has so intertwined the Elfins with 
 human sympathies, and linked them by so many 
 delightful associations with the productions of 
 nature, that they are as real to the mind's eye, as 
 their green magical circles to the outer sense. 
 
 It would have been a pity for such a race to go 
 extinct, even though they were but as the but- 
 terflies that hover about the leaves and blossoms 
 of the visible world. 
 
 I am, my dear Friend, 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 T. HOOD.
 
 THE 
 
 PLEA 
 
 OF 
 
 THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 XwAS in that mellow season of the year. 
 When the hot Sun singes the yellow leaves 
 Till they be gold, — and with a broader sphere 
 The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves; 
 When more abundantly the spider weaves, 
 And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime ; 
 That forth I fared, on one of those still eves, 
 Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time, 
 To think how the bright months had spent their prime.
 
 TIIK PI.EA OF THE 
 
 11. 
 
 So that, wherever I address'd my way, 
 
 I seem'd to track the melancholy feet 
 
 Of him that is the Father of Decay, 
 
 And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet ; ■ 
 
 Wherefore regretfully I made retreat 
 
 To some unwasted regions of my brain, 
 
 Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat, 
 
 And bade that bounteous season bloom again. 
 
 And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain. 
 
 III. 
 
 It vvas a shady and sequester'd scene. 
 Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, 
 Planted with his own laurels evergreen. 
 And roses that for endless summer blow ; 
 And there were founting springs to overflow 
 Their marble basins, — and cool green arcades 
 Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw 
 Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades, - 
 With timid coneys cropping the green blades.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 IV 
 
 And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish, 
 Argent and gold ; and some of Tyrian skin, 
 Some crimson-barr'd ; — and ever at a wish 
 They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin 
 As glass upon their backs, and then dived in, 
 Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom ; 
 Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win 
 My changeable regard, — for so we doom 
 Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom. 
 
 And there were many birds of many dyes, 
 From tree to tree still faring to and fro, 
 And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes. 
 And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow, 
 Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow. 
 Besides some vocalists, without a name, 
 That oft on fairy errands come and go. 
 With accents magical ; — and all were tame, 
 And pecklcd at my hand where'er I came. 
 
 B 2
 
 THE PI>EA OF THE 
 
 VI. 
 
 And for my sylvan company, in lieu 
 
 Of Pampinea with her lively peers, 
 
 Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew, 
 
 All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears, 
 
 For she was gracious to my childish years, 
 
 And made me free of her enchanted round ; 
 
 Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears, 
 
 And plants her court upon a verdant mound, 
 
 Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Ah me," she cries, " was ever moonlight seen 
 So clear and tender for our midnight trips ? 
 Go some one forth, and with a trump convene 
 My lieges all !" — Away the goblin skips 
 A pace or two apart, and deftly strips 
 The ruddy skin from a sweet rose's cheek, 
 Then blows the shuddering leaf between his lips, 
 Making it utter forth a shrill small shriek. 
 Like a fray'd bird in the grey owlet's beak.
 
 AlIDSUMMEK FAIRIES. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And lo ! upon my fix'd delighted ken 
 Appear'd the loyal Fays. — Some by degrees 
 Crept from the primrose buds that open'd then, 
 And some from bell-sliap'd blossoms like the bees, 
 Some from the dewy meads, and rushy leas, 
 Flew up like chafers when the rustics pass ; 
 Some from the rivers, others from tall trees 
 Dropp'd, like shed blossoms, silent to the grass, 
 Spirits and elfins small, of every class. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Peri and Pixy, and quaint Puck the Antic, 
 Brought Robin Goodfellow, that merry swain ; 
 And stealthy Mab, queen of old realms romantic, 
 Came too, from distance, in her tiny wain. 
 Fresh dripping from a cloud — some bloomy rain, 
 Then circling the bright Moon, had wash'd her car. 
 And still bedew'd it with a various stain : 
 Lastly came Ariel, shooting from a star. 
 Who bears all fairy embassies afar. 
 
 B 3
 
 6 THE I'LKA OF THE 
 
 X. 
 
 But Oberon, that night elsewhere exiled, 
 
 Was absent, whether some distemper'd spleen 
 
 Kept him and his fair mate unreconciled, 
 
 Or warfare with the Gnome (whose race had been 
 
 Sometime obnoxious), kept him from his queen,. 
 
 And made her now peruse the starry skies 
 
 Prophetical with such an absent mien ; 
 
 Howbeit, the tears stole often to her eyes, 
 
 And oft the Moon was incensed with her sighs — 
 
 XI. 
 
 Which made the elves sport drearily, and soon 
 
 Their hushing dances languish'd to a stand, 
 
 Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon. 
 
 All on their drooping stems they sink unfann'd, — 
 
 So into silence droop'd the fairy band, 
 
 To see their empress dear so pale and still. 
 
 Crowding her softly round on either hand. 
 
 As pale as frosty snow-drops, and as chill. 
 
 To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill.
 
 MlD,SUiMMEU FAIRIKS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Alas," quoth she, " ye know our fairy Hves 
 Are leased upon the fickle faith of men ; 
 Not measured out against fate's mortal knives, 
 Like human gossamers, we perish when 
 We fade, and are forgot in worldly ken, — 
 Though poesy has thus prolong'd our date, 
 Thanks be to the sweet Bard's auspicious pen 
 That rescued us so long ! — howbeit of late 
 I feel some dark misgivings of our fate. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " And this dull day my melancholy sleep 
 Hath been so throng'd with images of woe, 
 That even now I cannot choose but weep 
 To think this was some sad prophetic show 
 Of future horror to befall us so, — 
 Of mortal wreck and uttermost distress, — 
 Yea, our poor empire's fall and overthrow, — 
 For this was my long vision's ch-eadful stress. 
 And when I waked my trouble was not less. 
 
 B 4
 
 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Whenever to the clouds I tried to seek, 
 Such leaden weight dragg'd these Icarian wings, 
 My faithless wand was wavering and weak. 
 And slimy toads had trespass'd in our rings — 
 The birds refused to sing for me — all things 
 Disown'd their old allegiance to our spells ; 
 The rude bees prick'd me with their rebel stings; 
 And, when I pass'd, the valley-lily's bells 
 Rang out, methought, most melancholy knells. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " And ever on the faint and flagging air 
 
 A doleful spirit with a dreary note 
 
 Cried in my fearful ear, ' Prepare ! prepare !' 
 
 Which soon I knew came from a raven's throat, 
 
 Perch'd on a cypress bough not far remote, — 
 
 A cursed bird, too crafty to be shot, 
 
 That alway cometh with his soot- black coat 
 
 To make hearts dreary : — for he is a blot 
 
 Upon the book of life, as well ye wot ! —
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Wherefore some while I bribed him to be mute, 
 
 With bitter acorns stuffing his foul maw, 
 
 Which barely I appeased, when some fresh bruit 
 
 Startled me all aheap ! — and soon I saw 
 
 The horridest shape that ever raised my awe, — 
 
 A monstrous giant, very huge and tall, 
 
 Such as in elder times, devoid of law, 
 
 With wicked might grieved the primeval ball, 
 
 And this was sure the deadliest of them all ! 
 
 XVII 
 
 " Gaunt was he as a wolf of Languedoc, 
 
 With bloody jaws, and frost upon his crown ; 
 
 So from his barren poll one hoary lock 
 
 Over his wrinkled front fell far adown. 
 
 Well nigh to where his frosty brows did frown 
 
 Like jagged icicles at cottage eaves ; 
 
 And for his coronal he wore some brown 
 
 And bristled ears gather'd from Ceres' sheaves, 
 
 Entwined with certain sere and russet leaves.
 
 10 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " And lo ! upon a mast rear'd far aloft, 
 He bore a very bright and crescent blade, 
 The which he waved so dreadfully, and oft. 
 In meditative spite, that, sore dismay 'd, 
 I crept into an acorn-cup for shade ; 
 Meanwhile the horrid effigy went by : 
 I trow his look was dreadful, for it made 
 The trembling birds betake them to the sky, 
 For every leaf was lifted by his sigh. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " And ever as he sigh'd, his foggy breath 
 Blurr'd out the landscape like a flight of smoke ; 
 Thence knew I this was either dreary Death 
 Or Time, who leads all creatures to his stroke. 
 Ah wretched me !" — Here, even as she spoke. 
 The melancholy Shape came gliding in, 
 And lean'd his back against an antique oak. 
 Folding his wings, that were so fine and thin, 
 They scarce were seen against the Dryad's skin.
 
 MIDSUi\[MEK FAIRIES. 11 
 
 XX. 
 
 Then what a fear seized all the little rout ! 
 Look how a flock of panick'd sheep will stare — 
 And huddle close — and start — and wheel about, 
 Watching the roaming mongrel here and there, — 
 So did that sudden Apparition scare 
 All close aheap those small affrighted things ; 
 Nor sought they now the safety of the air, 
 As if some leaden spell withheld their wings ; 
 But who can fly that ancientest of Kings ? 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Whom now the Queen, with a forestalling tear 
 And previous sigh, beginneth to entreat, 
 Bidding him spare, for love, her lieges dear : 
 " Alas !" quoth she, " is there no nodding wheat 
 Ripe for thy crooked weapon, and more meet, — 
 Or wither'd leaves to ravish from the tree, — 
 Or crumbling battlements for thy defeat ? 
 Think but what vaunting monuments there be 
 Buildcd in spite and mockery of thee.
 
 i'2 THE I'LEA OF THE 
 
 XXII. 
 
 *' O fret away the fabric walls of Fame, 
 And grind down marble Caesars with the dust : 
 Make tombs inscriptionless — raze each high name, 
 And waste old armours of renown with rust : 
 Do all of this, and thy revenge is just : 
 Make such decays the trophies of thy prime, 
 And check Ambition's overweening lust. 
 That dares exterminating war with Time, — 
 But we are guiltless of that lofty crime. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Frail feeble sprites ! — the children of a dream ! 
 
 Leased on the sufferance of fickle men. 
 
 Like motes dependent on the sunny beam. 
 
 Living but in the sun's indulgent ken. 
 
 And when that light withdraws, withdrawing then ; - 
 
 So do we flutter in the glance of youth 
 
 And fervid fancy, — and so perish when 
 
 The eye of faith grows aged ; — in sad truth. 
 
 Feeling thy sway, O Time ! though not thy tooth !
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 13 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 '< Where be those old divinities forlorn, 
 That dwelt in trees, or haunted in a stream ? 
 Alas ! their memories are dimm'd and torn, 
 Like the remainder tatters of a dream : 
 So will it fare with our poor thrones, I deem ; — 
 For us the same dark trench Oblivion delves, 
 That holds the wastes of every human scheme. 
 O spare us then, — and these our pretty elves, 
 We soon, alas! shall perish of ourselves !" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Now as she ended, with a sigh, to name 
 Those old Olympians, scatter'd by the whirl 
 Of fortune's giddy wheel and brought to shame, 
 Methought a scornful and malignant curl 
 Show'd on the lips of that malicious churl. 
 To think what noble havocks he had made ; 
 So that I fear'd he all at once would hurl 
 The harmless fairies into endless shade, — 
 Howbcit he stopp'd awhile to whet his blade.
 
 14 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 xxvr. 
 
 Pity it was to hear the elfins' wail 
 Rise up in concert from their mingled dread ; 
 Pity it was to see them, all so pale, 
 Gaze on the grass as for a dying bed ; — 
 But Puck was seated on a spider's thread. 
 That hung between two branches of a briar. 
 And 'gan to swing and gambol heels o'er head, 
 Like any Southwark tumbler on a wire. 
 For him no present grief could long inspire. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Meanwhile the Queen with many piteous drops, 
 
 Falling like tiny sparks full fast and free, 
 
 Bedews a pathway from her throne ; — and stops 
 
 Before the foot of her arch enemy. 
 
 And with her little arms enfolds his knee, 
 
 That shows more gristly from that fair embrace ; 
 
 But she will ne'er depart. " Alas !" quoth she, 
 
 " My painful fingers I will here enlace 
 
 Till I have gain'd your pity for our race.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIUIES. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " What have we evei* done to earn this grudge, 
 And hate — (if not too humble for thy hating ?) — 
 Look o'er our labours and our lives, and judge 
 If there be any ills of our creating ; 
 For we are very kindly creatures, dating 
 With nature's charities still sweet and bland : — 
 O think this murder worthy of debating !" — 
 Herewith she makes a signal with her hand, 
 To beckon some one from the Fairy band. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Anon I saw one of those elfin things, 
 
 Clad all in white like any chorister, 
 
 Come fluttering forth on his melodious wings. 
 
 That made soft music at each little stir, 
 
 But something louder than a bee's demur 
 
 Before he lights upon a bunch of broom. 
 
 And thus 'gan he with Saturn to confer, — 
 
 And O his voice was sweet, touch'd with the gloom 
 
 Of that sad theme that argued of his doom !
 
 10 THE I'LEA OF THE 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Quoth he, " We make all melodies our care, 
 That no false discords may offend the Sun, 
 Music's great master — tuning every where 
 All pastoral sounds and qielodies, each one 
 Duly to place and season, so that none 
 May harshly interfere. We rouse at morn 
 The shrill sweet lark ; and when the day is done, 
 Hush silent pauses for the bird forlorn. 
 That singeth with her breast against a thorn. 
 
 XXXL 
 
 " We gather in loud choirs the twittering race, 
 That make a chorus with their single note ; 
 And tend on new-fledged birds in every place, 
 That duly they may get their tunes by rote ; 
 And oft, like echoes, answering remote. 
 We hide in thickets from the feather'd throng, 
 And strain in rivalship each throbbing throat, 
 Singing in shrill responses all day long. 
 Whilst the glad truant listens to our song.
 
 MID.SUMMER FAIRIES. 17 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Wherefore, great King of Years, as thou dost love 
 The raining music from a morning cloud. 
 When vanish'd larks are carolling above. 
 To wake Apollo with their pipings loud ; — 
 If ever thou hast heard in leafy shroud 
 The sweet and plaintive Sappho of the dell, 
 Show thy sweet mercy on this little crowd, 
 And we will muffle up the sheepfold bell 
 Whene'er thou listenest to Philomel." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Then Saturn thus : — " Sweet is the merry lark, 
 That carols in man's ear so clear and strong ; 
 And youth must love to listen in the dark 
 That tuneful elegy of Tereus' wrong ; 
 But I have heard that ancient strain too long, 
 For sweet is sweet but when a little strange. 
 And I grow weary for some newer song ; 
 For wherefore had I wings, unless to range 
 Through all things mutable from change to change ? 
 
 c
 
 18 THE PLEA OF THR 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " But wouldst thou hear the melodies of Time, 
 
 Listen when sleep and drowsy darkness roll 
 
 Over hush'd cities, and the midnight chime 
 
 Sounds from their hundred clocks, and deep bells toll 
 
 Like a last knell over the dead world's soul. 
 
 Saying, Time shall be final of all things, 
 
 Whose late, last voice must elegise the whole, — 
 
 O then I clap aloft my brave broad wings, 
 
 And make the wide air tremble while it rings !" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Then next a fair Eve- Fay made meek address, 
 Saying, " We be the handmaids of the Spring, 
 In sign whereof, May, the quaint broideress. 
 Hath wrought her samplers on our gauzy wing. 
 We tend upon buds' birth and blossoming. 
 And count the leafy tributes that they owe — 
 As, so much to the earth — so much to fling 
 In showers to the brook — so much to go 
 In whirlwinds to the clouds that made them grow.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 19 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " The pastoral cowslips are our little pets, 
 And daisy stars, whose firmament is green ; 
 Pansies, and those veil'd nuns, meek violets, 
 Sighing to that warm world from which they screen ; 
 And golden daffodils, pluck'd for May's Queen ; 
 And lonely harebells, quaking on the heath ; 
 And Hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen. 
 Whose tuneful voice, turn'd fragrance in his breath, 
 Kiss'd by sad Zephyr, guilty of his death. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " The widow'd primrose weeping to the moon. 
 And saffron crocus in whose chalice bright 
 A cool libation hoarded for the noon 
 Is kept — and she that purifies the light, 
 The virgin lily, faithful to her white. 
 Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her shame ; 
 And the most dainty rose, Aurora's spright. 
 Our every godchild, by whatever name — 
 Spare us our lives, for we did nurse the same !" 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Then that old Mower stamp'd his heel, and struck 
 His hurtful scythe against the harmless ground, 
 Saying, " Ye foolish imps, when am I stuck 
 With gaudy buds, or like a wooer crown'd 
 With flow'ry chaplets, save when they are found 
 Wither'd ? — Whenever have I pluck'd a rose, 
 Except to scatter its vain leaves around? 
 For so all gloss of beauty I oppose. 
 And bring decay on every flow'r that blows. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Or when am I so wroth as when I view 
 
 The wanton pride of Summer ; — how she decks 
 
 The birth-day world with blossoms ever new, 
 
 As if Time had not lived, and heap'd great wrecks 
 
 Of years on years ? — O then I bravely vex 
 
 And catch the gay Months in their gaudy plight, 
 
 And slay them with the wreaths about their necks. 
 
 Like foolish heifers in the holy rite. 
 
 And raise great trophies to my ancient might."
 
 MIDSUMMEK FAIUIES. 21 
 
 XL. 
 
 Then saith another, " We are kindly things, 
 And hke her offspring nestle with the dove, — 
 Witness these hearts embroider'd on our wings, 
 To show our constant patronage of love : — 
 We sit at even, in sweet bow'rs above 
 Lovers, and shake rich odours on the air. 
 To mingle with their sighs ; and still remove 
 The startling owl, and bid the bat forbear 
 Their privacy, and haunt some other where. 
 
 XLL 
 
 " And we are near the mother when she sits 
 Beside her infant in its wicker bed ; 
 And we are in the fairy scene that flits 
 Across its tender brain : sweet dreams we shed. 
 And whilst the tender little soul is fled 
 Away, to sport with our young elves, the while 
 We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red, 
 And tickle the soft lips until they smile, 
 So that their careful parents they beguile. 
 
 c 3
 
 22 THE I'LIiA OF THE 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " O tlien, if ever thou hast breathed a vow 
 
 At Love's dear portal, or at pale moon-rise 
 
 Crush'd the dear curl on a regardful brow 
 
 That did not frown thee from thy honey prize — 
 
 If ever thy sweet son sat on thy thighs, 
 
 And wooed thee from thy careful thoughts within 
 
 To watch the harmless beauty of his eyes, 
 
 Or glad thy fingers on his smooth soft skin, 
 
 For Love's dear sake, let us thy pity win !" 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Then Saturn fiercely thus : — " What joy have I 
 In tender babes, that have devour'd mine own, 
 Whenever to the light I heard them cry, 
 Till foolish Rhea cheated me with stone ? 
 Whereon, till now, is my great hunger shown, 
 In monstrous dints of my enormous tooth ; 
 And, — but the peopled world is too full grown 
 For hunger's edge, — I would consume all youth 
 At one great meal, without delay or ruth !
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 23 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 *' P'or I am well nigh craz'd and wild to hear 
 How boastful fathers taunt me with their breed, 
 Saying, We shall not die nor disappear, 
 But in these other selves, ourselves succeed, 
 Ev'n as ripe flowers pass into their seed 
 Only to be renew'd from prime to prime, 
 All of which boastings I am forced to read. 
 Besides a thousand challenges to Time 
 Which bragging lovers have compil'd in rhyme. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Wherefore, when they are sweetly met o" nights, 
 There will I steal, and with my hurried hand 
 Startle them suddenly from their delights 
 Before the next encounter hath been plann'd, 
 Ravishing hours in little minutes spann'd ; 
 But when they say farewell, and grieve apart. 
 Then like a leaden statue I will stand, : 
 Meanwhile their many tears encrust my dart, 
 And with a ragged edge cut heart from heart." 
 
 c 4:
 
 24- '^"li I'J.KA OF TlIC 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Then next a merry Woodsman, clad in green, 
 Stept vanward from his mates, that idly stood 
 Each at his proper ease, as they had been 
 Nursed in the hberty of old Sherwood, 
 And wore the livery of Robin Hood, 
 Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup, — 
 So came this chief right frankly, and made good 
 His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up. 
 Doffing his cap, which was an acorn's cup : — 
 
 xLvn. 
 
 " We be small foresters and gay, who tend 
 On trees, and all their furniture of green, 
 Training the young boughs airily to bend. 
 And show blue snatches of the sky between ; — 
 Or knit more close intricacies, to screen 
 Birds' crafty dwellings as may hide them best. 
 But most the timid blackbird's — she, that seen. 
 Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest, 
 Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast.
 
 iMIDSUMRIEK FAIKIKS. 25 
 
 XLVllI. 
 
 " We bend each tree in proper attitude, 
 And founting willows train in silvery falls ; 
 We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, 
 And verdant aisles leading to Dryads' halls, 
 Or deep recesses where the Echo calls ; — 
 We shape all plumy trees against the sky, 
 And carve tall elms' Corinthian capitals, — 
 When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply. 
 Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " Sometimes we scoop the squirrel's hollow cell, 
 
 And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees' rind, 
 
 That haply some lone musing wight may spell 
 
 Dainty Aminta, — Gentle Rosalind, — 
 
 Or chastest Laura, — sweetly call'd to mind 
 
 In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down ; — 
 
 And sometimes we enrich gray stems, with twined 
 
 And vagrant ivy, — or rich moss, whose brown 
 
 Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down»
 
 26 THK FLEA OF TUB 
 
 " And, lastly, for mirth's sake and Christmas cheer, 
 We bear the seedling berries, for increase, 
 To graft the Druid oaks, from year to year, 
 Careful that misletoe may never cease ; — 
 Wherefore, if thou dost prize the shady peace 
 Of sombre forests, or to see light break 
 Through sylvan cloisters, and in spring release 
 Thy spirit amongst leaves from careful ake, 
 Spare us our lives for the Green Dryad's sake.'' 
 
 LI. 
 
 Then Saturn, with a frown : — " Go forth, and fell 
 
 Oak for your coffins, and thenceforth lay by 
 
 Your axes for the rust, and bid farewell 
 
 To all sweet birds, and the blue peeps of sky 
 
 Through tangled branches, for ye shall not spy 
 
 The next green generation of the tree ; 
 
 But hence with the dead leaves, whene'er they fly, — 
 
 Which in the bleak air I would rather see, 
 
 Than flights of the most tuneful birds that be.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIKS. 27 
 
 LII. 
 
 " For I dislike all prime, and verdant pets, 
 
 Ivy except, that on the aged wall 
 
 Preys with its worm-like roots, and daily frets 
 
 The crumbled tower it seems to league withal, 
 
 King-like, worn down by its own coronal : — 
 
 Neither in forest haunts love I to won, 
 
 Before the golden plumage 'gins to fall, 
 
 And leaves the brown bleak limbs with few leaves on, 
 
 Or bare — like Nature in her skeleton. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 " For then sit I amongst the crooked boughs. 
 Wooing dull Memory with kindred sighs ; 
 And there in rustling nuptials we espouse, 
 Smit by the sadness in each other's eyes ; — 
 But Hope must have green bowers and blue skies. 
 And must be courted with the gauds of spring ; 
 Whilst Youth leans god-like on her lap, and cries, 
 What shall we always do, but love and sing ? — 
 And Time is rcckond a discarded thing."
 
 'AS THE PI.EA OF THE 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Here in my dream it made me fret to see 
 How Puck, the antic, all this dreary while 
 Had blithely jested with calamity, 
 With mistim'd mirth mocking the doleful style 
 Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile 
 To see him so reflect their grief aside, 
 Turning their solemn looks to half a smile — 
 Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide ; - 
 But soon a novel advocate I spied. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Quoth he — " We teach all natures to fulfil 
 Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet, — 
 The bee's sweet alchemy, — the spider's skill, — 
 The pismire's care to garner up his wheat, — 
 And rustic masonry to swallows fleet, — 
 The lapwing's cunning to preserve her nest, — 
 But most, that lesser pelican, the sweet 
 And shrilly ruddock, with its bleeding breast. 
 Its tender pity of poor babes distrest.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES, '29 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " Sometimes we cast our shapes, and in sleek skins 
 Delve with the timid mole, that aptly delves 
 From our example ; so the spider spins, 
 And eke the silk-worm, pattern'd by ourselves : 
 Sometimes we travail on the summer shelves 
 Of early bees, and busy toils commence, 
 Watch'd of wise men, that know not we are elves, 
 But gaze and marvel at our stretch of sense. 
 And praise our human-like intelligence. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 " Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale, 
 And plaintive dirges the late robins sing. 
 What time the leaves are scatter'd by the gale. 
 Mindful of that old forest burying ; — 
 As thou dost love to watch each tiny thing, 
 For whom our craft most curiously contrives. 
 If thou hast caught a bee upon the wing, 
 To take his honey-bag, — spare us our lives. 
 And we will pay the ransom in full hives."
 
 :iO THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " Now by my glass," quoth Time, " ye do offend 
 In teaching the brown bees that careful lore, 
 And frugal ants, whose millions would have end. 
 But they lay up for need a timely store. 
 And travail with the seasons evermore ; 
 Whereas Great Mammoth long hath pass'd away. 
 And none but I can tell what hide he wore ; 
 Whilst purblind men, the creatures of a day, 
 In riddling wonder his great bones survey." 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold, 
 Wliose coat was like a brooklet that the sun 
 Hath all embroider'd with its crooked gold. 
 It was so quaintly wrought, and overrun 
 With spangled traceries, — most meet for one 
 That was a warden of the pearly streams ; — 
 And as he stept out of the shadows dun, 
 His jewels sparkled in the })ale moon's gleams, 
 And shot into the air their pointed beams.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 31 
 
 LX. 
 
 Quoth he, — " We bear the cold and silver keys 
 Of bubbling springs and fountains, that below 
 Course thro' the veiny earth, — which when they freeze 
 Into hard crysolites, we bid to flow, 
 Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go, 
 We guide their windings to melodious falls, 
 At whose soft murmurings, so sweet and low. 
 Poets have tun'd their smoothest madrigals. 
 To sing to ladies in their banquet halls. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat 
 Parches the river god, — whose dusty urn 
 Drips miserly, till soon his crystal feet 
 Against his pebbly floor wax faint and burn, 
 And languid fish, unpois'd, grow sick and yearn, — 
 Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook. 
 And little channels dig, wherein we turn 
 The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook 
 The Naiad-lily, pining for her brook.
 
 no Tur I'l.F.A or- Tin; 
 
 LXIl. 
 
 " Wherefore, by thy dehght in cool green meads, 
 
 With Uving sapphires daintily inlaid, — 
 
 In all soft songs of waters and their reeds, — 
 
 And all reflections in a streamlet made. 
 
 Haply of thy own love, that, disarray' d. 
 
 Kills the fair lily with a livelier white, — 
 
 By silver trouts upspringing from green shade, 
 
 And winking stars reduplicate at night. 
 
 Spare us, poor ministers to such delight." 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks 
 
 Mov'd not the spiteful Shade : — Quoth he, " Your taste 
 
 Shoots wide of mine, for I despise the brooks 
 
 And slavish rivulets that run to waste 
 
 In noontide sweats, or, like poor vassals, haste 
 
 To swell the vast dominion of the sea, 
 
 In whose great presence I am held disgrac'd, 
 
 And neighbour'd with a king that rivals me 
 
 In ancient might and hoary majesty.
 
 Mrn.SUMMER FAIRIES. 33 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 ** \Vhereas I rul'd in Chaos, and still keep 
 
 The awful secrets of that ancient dearth, 
 
 Before the briny fountains of the deep 
 
 Brimm'd up the hollow cavities of earth ; — 
 
 I saw each trickling Sea-God at his birth, 
 
 Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks, 
 
 And infant Titans of enormous girth, 
 
 Wliose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks, 
 
 Stunning the early world with frequent shocks. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood, 
 That scar'd the world? — By this sharp scythe they fell, 
 And half the sky was curdled with their blood: 
 So have all primal giants sigh'd farewell. 
 No Wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell, 
 Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done 
 That strove with Time, untimely, to excel; 
 Wherefore I raz'd their progenies, and none 
 But my great shadow intercepts the sun !" 
 
 s
 
 34 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Then saith the timid Fay — " Oh, mighty Time ! 
 Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans' fall, 
 For they were stain'd with many a bloody crime : 
 Great giants work great wrongs, — but we are small, 
 For love goes lowly ; — but Oppression 's tall. 
 And with surpassing strides goes foremost still 
 Where love indeed can hardly reach at all ; 
 Like a poor dwarf o'erburthen'd with good will. 
 That labours to efface the tracks of ill. — 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 " Man even strives with Man, but we eschew 
 The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor ; 
 Nay, we are gentle as sweet heaven's dew, 
 Beside the red and horrid drops of war, 
 Weeping the cruel hates men battle for, 
 Which worldly bosoms nourish in our spite : 
 For in the gentle breast we ne'er withdraw, 
 But only when all love hath taken flight, 
 And youth's warm gracious heart is harden'd quite.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 35 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " So are our gentle natures intertwin'd 
 With sweet humanities, and closely knit 
 In kindly sympathy with human kind. 
 Witness how we befriend, with elfin wit, 
 All hopeless maids and lovers, — nor omit 
 Magical succours unto hearts forlorn : — 
 We charm man's life, and do not perish it ; — 
 So judge us by the helps we show'd this morn, 
 To one who held his wretched days in scorn. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " 'Twas nigh sweet Amwell ; — for the Queen had task'd 
 Our skill to-day amidst the silver Lea, 
 Whereon the noontide sun had not yet bask'd ; 
 Wlierefore some patient man we thought to see, 
 Planted in moss-grown rushes to the knee, 
 Beside the cloudy margin cold and dim ; — 
 Howbeit no patient fisherman was he 
 That cast his sudden shadow from the brim. 
 Making us leave our toils to gaze on him. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " His face was ashy pale, and leaden care 
 Had sunk the levell'd arches of his brow, 
 Once bridges for his joyous thoughts to fare 
 Over those melancholy springs and slow, 
 That from his piteous eyes began to flow, 
 And fell anon into the chilly stream ; 
 Which, as his mimick'd image show'd below, 
 Wrinkled his face with many a needless seam. 
 Making grief sadder in its own esteem. 
 
 LXX I. 
 
 <* And lo ! upon the air we saw him stretch 
 His passionate arms ; and, in a wayward strain, 
 He 'gan to elegize that fellow wretch 
 That with mute gestures answer'd him again, 
 Saying, ' Poor slave, how long wilt thou remain 
 Life's sad weak captive in a prison strong. 
 Hoping with tears to rust away thy chain. 
 In bitter servitude to worldly wrong ? — 
 Thou wear'st that mortal livery too long !'
 
 iMIDSUMMEU FAIRIES. .'57 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 " This, with more spleenful speeches and some tears, 
 
 When he had spent upon the imaged wave. 
 
 Speedily I conven'd my elfin peers 
 
 Under the lily-cups, that we might save 
 
 This woeful mortal from a wilful grave 
 
 By shrewd diversions of his mind's regret, 
 
 Seeing he was mere melancholy's slave. 
 
 That sank wherever a dark cloud he met, 
 
 And straight was tangled in her secret net. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 " Therefore, as still he watch'd the water's flow. 
 Daintily we transform'd, and with bright fins 
 Came glancing through the gloom ; some from below 
 Rose like dim fancies when a dream begins. 
 Snatching the light upon their purple skins ; 
 Then under the broad leaves made slow retire: 
 One like a golden galley bravely wins 
 Its radiant course, — another glows like fire, — 
 Making that wayward man our pranks admire. 
 
 D 3
 
 38 THE I'LEA OF THE 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 " And so he banish'd thought, and quite forgot 
 
 All contemplation of that wretched face ; 
 
 And so we wil'd him from that lonely spot 
 
 Along the river's brink ; till, by heaven's grace, 
 
 He met a gentle haunter of the place. 
 
 Full of sweet wisdom gather'd from the brooks, 
 
 Who there discuss'd his melancholy case 
 
 With wholesome texts learn'd from kind nature's books, 
 
 Meanwhile he newly trimm'd his lines and hooks." 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel now — 
 " Let me remember how I sav'd a man, 
 Whose fatal noose was fasten'd on a bough, 
 Intended to abridge his sad life's span ; 
 For haply I was by when he began 
 His stern soliloquy in life's dispraise, 
 And overheard his melancholy plan. 
 How he had made a vow to end his days. 
 And therefore foUow'd him in all his ways,
 
 MIDSUMiMER FAIRIES. 39 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 *' Through brake and tangled copse, for much he loath'd 
 AH populous haunts, and roam'd in forests rude, 
 To hide himself from man. But I had cloth'd 
 My dehcate Hmbs with plumes, and still pursued, 
 Where only foxes and wild cats intrude, 
 Till we were come beside an ancient tree 
 Late blasted by a storm. Here he renew'd 
 His loud complaints, — choosing that spot to be 
 The scene of his last horrid tragedy. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 " It was a wild and melancholy glen, 
 Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark, 
 Whose roots, like any bones of buried men, 
 Push'd through the rotten sod for fear's remark ; 
 A hundred horrid stems, jagged and stark, 
 Wrestled with crooked arms in hideous fray. 
 Besides sleek ashes with their dappled bark. 
 Like crafty serpents climbing for a prey. 
 With many blasted oaks moss-grown and grey. 
 
 D 4-
 
 40 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 LXXVUI. 
 
 " But liere upon his final desperate clause 
 
 Suddenly I pronounc'd so sweet a strain, 
 
 Like a pang'd nightingale, it made him pause, 
 
 Till half the frenzy of his grief was slain, 
 
 The sad remainder oozing from his brain 
 
 In timely ecstasies of healing tears, 
 
 Which through his ardent eyes began to drain ; — 
 
 Meanwhile the deadly Fates unclos'd their shears : — 
 
 So pity me and all my fated peers !" 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Thus Ariel ended, and was some time hush'd : 
 
 When with the hoary shape a fresh tongue pleads, 
 
 And red as rose the gentle Fairy blush'd 
 
 To read the record of her own good deeds : — 
 
 " It chanc'd," quoth she, " in seeking thi ough the meads 
 
 For honied cowslips, sweetest in the morn, 
 
 Whilst yet the buds were hung with dewy beads, 
 
 And Echo answer'd to the huntsman's horn. 
 
 We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn.
 
 MIOSUMMEK FAIIUE.S. 4-1 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 " A little, sorrowful, deserted thing, 
 Begot of love, and yet no love begetting ; 
 Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to wring ; 
 And too soon banish'd from a mother's petting, 
 To churlish nurture and the wide world's fretting, 
 For alien pity and unnatural care ; — 
 Alas ! to see how the cold dew kept wetting 
 His childish coats, and dabbled all his hair, 
 Like gossamers across his forehead fair. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 '• His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech, 
 Lay half-way open like a rose-lipp'd shell ; 
 And his young cheek was softer than a peach. 
 Whereon his tears, for roundness, could not dwell, 
 But quickly roll'd themselves to pearls, and fell, 
 Some on the grass, and some against his hand. 
 Or haply wander'd to the dimpled well. 
 Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plann'd, 
 Yet not for tears, but mirth and smilings bland.
 
 42 THE I'LEA OF THE 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 " Pity it was to see those frequent tears 
 Falling regardless from his friendless eyes ; 
 There was such beauty in those twin blue spheres, 
 As any mother's heart might leap to prize ; 
 Blue were they, like the zenith of the skies 
 Soften'd betwixt two clouds, both clear and mild;— 
 Just touch'd with thought, and yet not over wise, 
 They show'd the gentle spirit of a child, 
 Not yet by care or any craft defil'd. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 " Pity it was to see the ardent sun 
 
 Scorching his helpless limbs — it shone so warm ; 
 
 For kindly shade or shelter he had none, 
 
 Nor mother's gentle breast, come fair or storm. 
 
 Meanwhile I bade my pitying mates transform 
 
 Like grasshoppers, and then, with shrilly cries, 
 
 All round the infant noisily we swarm. 
 
 Haply some passing rustic to advise — 
 
 Whilst providential Heav'n our care espies,
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 43 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " And sends full soon a tender-hearted hind, 
 Who, wond'ring at our loud unusual note, 
 Strays curiously aside, and so doth find 
 The orphan child laid in the grass remote. 
 And laps the foundling in his russet coat, 
 Who thence was nurtur'd in his kindly cot : — 
 But how he prosper'd let proud London quote. 
 How wise, how rich, and how renown 'd he got, 
 And chief of all her citizens, I wot. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames, 
 Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise, 
 Jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, 
 And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies : 
 Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise, 
 The mart of merchants from the East and West ; 
 ■Whose slender summit, pointing to the skies, 
 Still bears, in token of his grateful breast. 
 The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest —
 
 44 THE T'l-EA OF THE 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " The tender grassliopper, his chosen crest. 
 
 That all the summer, with a tuneful wing, 
 
 Makes merry chirpings in its grassy nest, 
 
 Inspirited with dew to leap and sing : — 
 
 So let us also live, eternal King ! 
 
 Partakers of the green and pleasant earth : — 
 
 Pity it is to slay the meanest thing, 
 
 That, like a mote, shines in the smile of mirth : — 
 
 Enough there is of joy's decrease and dearth ! 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 ** Enough of pleasure, and delight, and beauty, 
 
 Perish'd and gone, and hasting to decay ; — 
 
 Enough to sadden even thee, whose duty 
 
 Or spite it is to havoc and to slay : 
 
 Too many a lovely race raz'd quite away, 
 
 Hath left large gaps in life and human loving : — 
 
 Here then begin thy cruel war to stay, 
 
 And spare fresh sighs, and tears, and groans, reproving 
 
 Thy desolating hand for our removing."
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 45 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Now here I heard a shrill and sudden cry, 
 And, looking up, I saw the antic Puck 
 Grappling with Time, who clutch'd him like a fly, 
 Victim of his own sport, — the jester's luck ! 
 He, whilst his fellows griev'd, poor wight, had stuck 
 His freakish gauds upon the Ancient's brow, 
 And now his ear, and now his beard, would pluck ; 
 Whereas the angry churl had snatch'd him now. 
 Crying, " Thou impish mischief, who art thou ?" 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " Alas !" quoth Puck, " a little random elf, 
 Born in the sport of nature, like a weed, 
 For simple sweet enjoyment of myself, 
 But for no other purpose, worth, or need ; 
 And yet withal of a most happy breed ; — 
 And there is Robin Goodfellow besides, 
 My partner dear in many a prankish deed 
 To make dame Laughter hold her jolly sides, 
 Like merry mummers twain on holy tides.
 
 46 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 xc. 
 
 " 'Tis we that bob the angler's idle cork, 
 
 Till e'en the patient man breathes half a curse ; 
 
 We steal the morsel from the gossip's fork, 
 
 And curdling looks with secret straws disperse, 
 
 Or stop the sneezing chanter at mid verse : 
 
 And when an infant's beauty prospers ill. 
 
 We change, some mothers say, the child at nurse ; 
 
 But any graver purpose to fulfil, 
 
 We have not wit enough, and scarce the will. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 *' We never let the canker melancholy 
 
 To gather on our faces like a rust, 
 
 But gloss our features with some change of folly, 
 
 Taking life's fabled miseries on trust, 
 
 But only sorrowing when sorrow must : 
 
 We ruminate no sage's solemn cud, 
 
 But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust 
 
 To frisk upon a wind, — whereas the flood 
 
 Of tears would turn us into heavy mud.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 4-7 
 
 XCII. 
 
 " Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature, 
 
 Who gloze her Uvely universal law, 
 
 As if she had not form'd our cheerful feature 
 
 To be so tickled with the slightest straw! 
 
 So let them vex their mumping mouths, and draw 
 
 The corners downward, like a wat'ry moon, 
 
 And deal in gusty sighs and rainy flaw — 
 
 We will not woo foul weather all too soon, 
 
 Or nurse November on the lap of June. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 " For ours are winging sprites, like any bird, 
 That shun all stagnant settlements of grief; 
 And even in our rest our hearts are stirr'd, 
 Like insects settled on a dancing leaf: — 
 This is our small philosophy in brief, 
 Which thus to teach hath set me all agape : 
 But dost thou relish it ? O hoary chief ! 
 Unclasp thy crooked fingers from my nape, 
 And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape."
 
 48 THE PLliA OF THE 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Then Saturn thus: — shaking his crooked bhide 
 O'erhead, which made aloft a Hghtning flash 
 Jn all the fairies' eyes, dismally fray'd ! 
 His ensuing voice came like the thunder crash — 
 Meanwhile the bolt shatters some pine or ash — 
 " Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing ! 
 Whom nought can frighten, sadden, or abash, — 
 To hope my solemn countenance to wring 
 To idiot smiles ! — but I will prune thy wing ! 
 
 xcv. 
 
 «« Lo ! this most awful handle of my scythe 
 Stood once a May-pole, with a flowery crown, 
 Which rustics danced around, and maidens blithe, 
 To wanton pipings ; — but I pluck'd it down. 
 And robed the May Queen in a churchyard gown, 
 Turning her buds to rosemary and rue ; 
 And all their merry minstrelsy did drown, 
 And laid each lusty leaper in the dew ; — 
 So thou shalt fare — and every jovial crew !"
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 49 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch 
 His mortal engine with each grisly hand, 
 Which frights the elfin progeny so much, 
 They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand 
 All round Titania, like the queen bee's band. 
 With sighs and tears and very shrieks of woe ! — 
 Meanwhile, some moving argument I plann'd, 
 To make the stern Shade merciful, — when lo ! 
 He drops his fatal scythe without a blow ! 
 
 XCVIT. 
 
 For, just at need, a timely Apparition 
 
 Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt ; 
 
 Making him change his horrible position, 
 
 To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt. 
 
 That dares Time's irresistible affront, 
 
 Whose strokes have scarr'd even the gods of old ; ■ 
 
 Whereas this seemd a mortal, at mere hunt 
 
 For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold, 
 
 Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold. 
 
 E
 
 50 THE PLEA or TIIK 
 
 XCVITI. 
 
 Who, turning to the small assembled fays, 
 Doffs to the lily queen his courteous cap, 
 And holds her beauty for a while in gaze. 
 With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap ; 
 And thence upon the fair moon's silver map, 
 As if in question of this magic chance, 
 Laid like a dream upon the green earth's lap ; 
 And then ujion old Saturn turns askance. 
 Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance : — 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 " Oh, these be Fancy's revellers by night ! 
 Stealthy companions of the downy moth — 
 Diana's motes, that flit in her pale light, 
 Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth ; — 
 These be the feasters on night's silver cloth, — 
 The gnat with shrilly trump is their convener, 
 Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth, 
 With lulling tunes to charm the air serener. 
 Or dance upon t^ie grass to make it greener.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 c. 
 
 " These be the pretty genii of the flow'rs, 
 
 Daintily fed with honey and pure dew — 
 
 Midsummer's phantoms in her dreaming hours, 
 
 King Oberon, and all his merry crew, 
 
 The darling puppets of romance's view ; 
 
 Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them, 
 
 Famous for patronage of lovers true ; — 
 
 No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them, 
 
 So do not thus with crabbed frowns appal them." 
 
 CI. 
 
 O what a cry was Saturn's then ! — it made 
 The fairies quake. " What care I for their pranks, 
 However they may lovers choose to aid, 
 Or dance their roundelays on flow'ry banks? — 
 Long must they dance before they earn my thanks, 
 So step aside, to some far safer spot, 
 Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks, 
 And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot. 
 And with the next day's sun to be forgot." > 
 
 E 2
 
 52 TIIF. PLEA OF THE 
 
 CII. 
 
 Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen ; 
 But still the gracious Shade disarm'd his aim, 
 Stepping with brave alacrity between, 
 And made his sere arm powerless and tame. 
 His be perpetual glory, for the shame 
 Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat ! — 
 But I must tell, how here Titania came 
 With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat 
 His kindly succour, in sad tones, but sweet. 
 
 cni. 
 
 Saying, " Thou seest a wretched queen before thee. 
 
 The fading power of a failing land, 
 
 Who for her kingdom kneeleth to implore thee, 
 
 Now menac'd by this tyrant's spoiling hand ; 
 
 No one but thee can hopefully withstand 
 
 That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift. 
 
 I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand, 
 
 Which only times all ruins by its drift, 
 
 Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 53 
 
 CIV. 
 
 " Or take him by that sole and grizzled tut't, 
 That hangs upon his bald and barren crown; 
 And we will sing to see him so rebuff 'd, 
 And lend our little mights to pull him down, 
 And make brave sport of his malicious frown, 
 For all his boastful mockery o'er men. 
 For thou wast born I know for this renown. 
 By my most magical and inward ken, 
 That readeth ev'n at Fate's forestalling pen. 
 
 CV. 
 
 " Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye, 
 And by thy brow's most fair and ample span, 
 Thought's glorious palace, fram'd for fancies high, 
 And by thy cheek thus passionately wan, 
 1 know the signs of an immortal man, — 
 Nature's chief darling, and illustrious mate, 
 Destin'd to foil old Death's oblivious plan. 
 And shine untarnish'd by the fogs of Fate, 
 Time's famous rival till the final date ! 
 
 E 3
 
 THE I'LEA OF THE 
 
 CVI. 
 
 " O shield us then from this usurping Time, 
 And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams ; 
 And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme, 
 And dance about thee in all midnight gleams, 
 Giving thee glimpses of our magic schemes, 
 Such as no mortal's eye hath ever seen ; 
 And, for thy love to us in our extremes, 
 Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green, 
 Such as no poet's wreath hath ever been ! 
 
 CVII. 
 
 " And we '11 distil thee aromatic dews, 
 
 To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flow'rs ; 
 
 And flavour'd syrops in thy drinks infuse, 
 
 And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bow'rs, 
 
 And with our games divert thy weariest hours. 
 
 With all that elfin wits can e'er devise. 
 
 And, this churl dead, there '11 be no hasting hours 
 
 To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies :" — 
 
 Here she was stopp'd by Saturn's furious cries.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 55 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew, 
 Saying, " Thou haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop 
 Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew, 
 Or make th' autumnal flow'rs turn pale, and droop ; 
 Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop 
 Under fat sheaves, — or blast the piny grove ; — 
 Hut here thou shalt not harm this pretty groupe, 
 Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove. 
 But leas'd on Nature's loveliness and love. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 '< 'Tis these that free the small entangled fly, 
 Caught in the venom'd spider's crafty snare ; — 
 These be the petty surgeons that apply 
 The healing balsams to the wounded hare, 
 Bedded in bloody fern, no creature's care ! — 
 These be providers for the orphan brood, 
 Whose tender mother hath been slain in air, 
 Quitting with gaping bill her darling's food, 
 Hard by the verge ol' lier domestic wood. 
 
 E 4
 
 56 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 ex. 
 
 " 'Tis these befriend the timid trembHng stag, 
 When, with a bursting heart beset with fears, 
 He feels his saving speed begin to flag ; 
 For then they quench the fatal taint with tears, 
 And prompt fresh shifts in his alarum'd ears. 
 So piteously they view all bloody morts ; 
 Or if the gunner, with his arm, appears, 
 Like noisy pyes and jays, with harsh reports. 
 They warn the wild fowl of his deadly sports. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 " For these are kindly ministers of nature, 
 To soothe all covert hurts and dumb distress ; 
 Pretty they be, and very small of stature, — 
 For mercy still consorts with littleness ; — 
 Wherefore the sum of good is still the less. 
 And mischief grossest in this world of wrong; — 
 So do these charitable dwarfs redress 
 The tenfold ravages of giants strong, 
 To whom great malice and great might belong.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 57 
 
 CXII. 
 
 " Likewise to them are Poets much beholden 
 For secret favours in the midnight glooms ; 
 Brave Spenser quafF'd out of their goblets golden, 
 And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms. 
 And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms 
 Sounding upon the air most soothing soft, 
 Like humming bees busy about the brooms, — 
 And glanc'd this fair queen's witchery full oft. 
 And in her magic wain soar'd far aloft. 
 
 CXIIL 
 
 " Nay I myself, though mortal, once was nurs'd 
 
 By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth, 
 
 And in my childish ear glib Mab rehears'd 
 
 Her breezy travefe[round our planet's girth, 
 
 Telling me wondeB^of the moon and earth ; 
 
 My gramarye at her grave lap I conn'd. 
 
 Where Puck hath been conven'd to make mc mirth ; 
 
 I have had from (iueen Titania tokens fond, 
 
 And foy'd with Oberon's permitted wand.
 
 58 THE I'LEA OF THE 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 " With figs and plums and Persian dates they fed me, 
 And dehcate cates after my sunset meal, 
 And took me by my childish hand, and led me 
 By craggy rocks crested with keeps of steel. 
 Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal, 
 Staining some dead lake with their verdant dyes : 
 And when the West sparkled at Phcebus' wheel, 
 With fairy euphrasy they purg'd mine eyes, 
 To let me see their cities in the skies. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 " 'Twas they first school'd my young imagination 
 To take its flights like any new«fledg'd bird. 
 And show'd the span of winged meditation 
 Stretch'd wider than things grossly seen or heard. 
 With sweet swift Ariel how I soar'd and stirr'd 
 The fragrant blooms of spiritual bow'rs ! 
 'Twas they endear'd what I have still preferr'd, 
 Nature's blest attributes and balmy pow'rs. 
 Her hills and vales and brooks, sweet birds and flow'rs!
 
 MIDSUMMEJl FAIRIES. 59 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 " Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty 
 
 Will I regard them in my lionouring rhyme, 
 
 With love for love, and homages to beauty, 
 
 And magic thoughts gather'd in night's cool clime, 
 
 With studious verse trancing the dragon Time, 
 
 Strong as old Merlin's necromantic spells ; 
 
 So these dear monarchs of the summer's prime 
 
 Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells, 
 
 Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery ceils." 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Look how a poison'd man turns livid black, 
 Drugg'd wath a cup of deadly hellebore, 
 That sets his horrid features all at rack, — 
 So seem'd these words into the ear to pour 
 Of ghastly Saturn, answering with a roar 
 Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage, 
 Wherewith his grisly arm he rais'd once more, 
 And bade the cluster'd sinews all engage, 
 As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age.
 
 60 THE n.EA or the 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Whereas the blade flash'd on the dinted ground, 
 Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar 
 On that immortal Shade, or death-Hke wound ; 
 But Time was long benumb'd, and stood ajar, 
 And then with baffled rage took flight afar, 
 To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom, 
 Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar, 
 Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom. 
 Whetting its edge on some old Ca;sar's tomb. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 Howbeit he vanish'd in the forest shade. 
 Distantly heard as if some grumbling paiid. 
 And, like Narcissus, to a sound decay'd ; — 
 Meanwhile the fays cluster'd the gracious Bard, 
 The darling centre of their dear regard : 
 Besides of sundry dances on the green, 
 Never was mortal man so brightly starr'd. 
 Or won such pretty homages, I ween. 
 •' Nod to him, Elves !" cries the melodious queen.
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 61 
 
 cxx. 
 
 " Nod to him, Elves, and flutter round about him, 
 And quite enclose him with your pretty crowd, 
 And touch him lovingly, for that, without him, 
 The silk-worm now had spun our dreary shroud ; — 
 But he hath all dispers'd death's tearful cloud, 
 And Tmie's dread effigy scar'd quite away : 
 Bow to him then, as though to me ye bow'd, 
 And his dear wishes prosper and obey 
 Wherever love and wit can find a way ! 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 " 'Noint him with foiry dews of magic savours, 
 Shaken from orient buds still pearly wet, 
 Roses and spicy pinks, — and, of all favours. 
 Plant in his walks the purple violet. 
 And meadow-sweet under the hedges set, 
 To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine 
 And honeysuckles sweet, — nor yet forget 
 Some pastoral flowery chaplets to entwine. 
 To vie the thoughts about his l)row benign !
 
 62 THE PLEA OF THE 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 " Let no wild things astonish him or fear him, 
 But tell them all how mild he is of heart, 
 Till e'en the timid hares go frankly near him, 
 And eke the dappled does, yet never start ; 
 Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart, 
 Nor wrens forsake their nests among the leaves, 
 Nor speckled thrushes flutter far apart ; — 
 But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves, 
 To guard his roof from lightning and from thieves. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 " Or when he goes the nimble squirrel's visitor, 
 Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts, 
 For, tell him, this is Nature's kind Inquisitor, — 
 Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience shuts. 
 
 For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts, 
 
 Nor yet shall bees imcase their jealous stings. 
 However he may watch their straw-built huts ; — 
 So let him learn the crafts of all small things, 
 Wliich he will hint most aptly when he sings."
 
 MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 63 
 
 CXXIV 
 
 Here she leaves oft", and with a graceful hand 
 Waves thrice three splendid circles round his head ; 
 Which, though deserted by the radiant wand, 
 Wears still the glory which her waving shed, 
 Such as erst crown'd the old Apostle's head, 
 To show the thoughts there harbour'd were divine, 
 And on immortal contemplations fed : — 
 Goodly it was to see that glory shine 
 Around a brow so lofty and benign ! 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Goodly it was to see the elfin brood 
 Contend for kisses of his gentle hand. 
 That had their mortal enemy withstood. 
 And stay'd their lives, fast ebbing with the sand. 
 Long while this strife engag'd the pretty band ; 
 But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm, 
 Challeng'd the dawn creeping o'er eastern land, 
 And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm. 
 Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm.
 
 64* THE Pr.EA OF THE MIDSUMNFER FAIRIES. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 And soon the rolling mist, that 'gan arise 
 From plashy mead and undiscover'd stream, 
 Earth's morning incense to the early skies. 
 Crept o'er the failing landscape of my dream. 
 Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme — 
 A shapeless shade, that fancy disavow 'd, 
 And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme. 
 Then flew Titania, — and her little crowd, 
 Like flocking linnets, vanish'd in a cloud.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER.
 
 TO 
 
 S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq. 
 
 It is not with a hope my feeble praise 
 
 Can add one moment's honour to thy own, 
 
 That with thy mighty name I grace these lays ; 
 
 I seek to glorify myself alone : 
 
 For that some precious favour thou hast shown 
 
 To my endeavour in a by-gone time, 
 
 And by this token, I would have it known 
 
 Thou art my friend, and friendly to my rhjniie ! 
 
 It is my dear ambition now to climb 
 
 Still higher in thy thought, — if my bold pen 
 
 May thrust on contemplations more sublime. — 
 
 But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when 
 
 We gain applauses from the great in name, 
 
 We seem to be partakers of their fame. 
 
 F 2
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh Bards of old ! what sorrows have ye sung, 
 And tragic stories, chronicled in stone, — 
 Sad Philomel restor'd her ravish'd tongue, 
 And transform'd Niobe in dumbness shown ; 
 Sweet Sappho on her love for ever calls, 
 And Hero on the drown'd Leander falls ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Was it that spectacles of sadder plights. 
 Should make our blisses relish the more high ? 
 Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knights, 
 Whose flourish'd fortunes prosper in Love's eye, 
 Weep here, unto a tale of ancient grief, 
 Trac'd from the course of an old bas-relief. 
 
 F 3
 
 70 HEUO AND LEANDER. 
 
 III. 
 
 There stands Abydos ! — here is Sestos' steep, 
 Hard by the gusty margm of the sea, 
 Where sprinkhng waves continually do leap ; 
 And that is where those famous lovers be, 
 A builded gloom shot up into the grey, 
 As if the first tall watch-tow'r of the day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lo ! how the lark soars upward and is gone ; 
 Turning a spirit as he nears the sky. 
 His voice is heard, though body there is none, 
 And rain-like music scatters from on high ; 
 But Love would follow with a falcon spite, 
 To pluck the minstrel from his dewy height. 
 
 V. 
 
 For Love hath fram'd a ditty of regrets, 
 Tun'd to the hollow sobbings on the shore, 
 A vexing sense, that with like music frets. 
 And chimes this dismal burthen o'er and o'er, 
 Saying, Leander's joys are past and spent. 
 Like stars extinguish'd in the firmament.
 
 HEKO AND LEANDER. 71 
 
 VI. 
 
 For ere the golden crevices of morn 
 
 Let in those regal luxuries of light, 
 
 Which all the variable east adorn, 
 
 And hang rich fringes on the skirts of night, 
 
 Leander, weaning from sweet Hero's side, 
 
 Must leave a widow where he found a bride. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Hark ! how the billows beat upon the sand ! 
 Like pawing steeds impatient of delay ; 
 Meanwhile their rider, ling'ring on the land. 
 Dallies with love, and holds farewell at bay 
 A too short span. — How tedious slow is grief! 
 But parting renders time both sad and brief. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Alas (he sigh'd), that this first glimpsing light, 
 Which makes the wide world tenderly appear, 
 Should be the burning signal for my flight, 
 From all the world's best image, which is here ; 
 Whose very shadow, in my fond compare. 
 Shines far more bright than Beauty's self elsewhere." 
 
 F 1-
 
 7'2 HERO AND LEANDEK. 
 
 Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark, 
 Whose leaves close up and show the outward pale, 
 And those fair mirrors where their joys did spark, 
 All dim and tarnish'd with a dreary veil, 
 No more to kindle till the night's return, 
 Like stars replenish'd at Joy's golden urn, 
 
 X. 
 
 Ev'n tlius they creep into the spectral grey, 
 That cramps the landscape in its narrow brim, 
 As when two shadows by old Lethe stray. 
 He clasping her, and she entwining him ; 
 Like trees wind-parted that embrace anon. 
 True love so often goes before 'tis gone. 
 
 XL 
 
 For what rich merchant but will pause in fear, 
 To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss ? 
 So Hero dotes upon her treasure here, 
 And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss, 
 Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head, 
 Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread.
 
 HERO AND LEAN'DKU. 73 
 
 XII. 
 
 She thinks how many have been sunk and drown'd, 
 And spies then- snow-white bones below the deep, 
 Then calls huge congregated monsters round, 
 And plants a rock wherever he would leap ; 
 Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream, 
 Which she interprets of that fatal stream. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Saying, " That honey'd fly I saw was thee, 
 Which lighted on a watei'-lily's cup, 
 When, lo ! the flow'r, enamour'd of my bee. 
 Closed on him suddenly and lock'd him up, 
 And he was smother'd in her drenching dew; 
 Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But next, remembering her virgin fame. 
 
 She clips him in her arms and bids him go, 
 
 But seeing him break loose, repents her shame. 
 
 And plucks him back upon her bosom's snow ; 
 
 And tears unfix her iced resolve again. 
 
 As steadfast frosts are thaw'd by show'rs of rain.
 
 74' IlEUO AND LEANDEK. 
 
 XV. 
 
 O for a type of parting ! — Love to love 
 Is like the fond attraction of two spheres, 
 Which needs a godlike effort to remove, 
 And then sink down their sunny atmospheres, 
 In rain and darkness on each ruin'd heart, 
 Nor yet their melodies will sound apart. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 So brave Leander sunders from his bride ; 
 
 The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twain; 
 
 Half stays with her, half goes towards the tide, — 
 
 And life must ache, until they join again. 
 
 Now would'st thou know the wideness of the wound, 
 
 Mete every step he takes upon the ground. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And for the agony and bosom-throe, 
 
 Let it be measur'd by the wide vast air. 
 
 For that is infinite, and so is woe. 
 
 Since parted lovers breathe it every where. 
 
 Look how it heaves Leander's labouring chest. 
 
 Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest !
 
 HERO AND LEANDEK. iO 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 From which he leaps into the scooping brine, 
 That shocks his bosom with a double chill ; 
 Because, all hours, till the slow sun's decline, 
 That cold divorcer will betwixt them still ; 
 Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide, 
 Where life grows death upon the other side. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then sadly he confronts his two-fold toil 
 Against rude waves and an unwilling mind, 
 Wishing, alas ! with the stout rower's toil, 
 That like a rower he might gaze behind, 
 And watch that lonely statue he hath left 
 On her bleak summit, weeping and bereft ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Yet turning oft, he sees her troubled locks 
 Pursue him still the furthest that they may; 
 Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks, 
 And her pale passion'd hands that seem to pray 
 In dumb petition to the gods above : 
 Love prays devoutly when it prays for love !
 
 76 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave, 
 That Iiangs superfluous tears upon his cheek, 
 And bans his labour like a hopeless slave, 
 That, chain'd in hostile galley, faint and weak, 
 Plies on despairing through the restless foam. 
 Thoughtful of his lost love, and far-off home. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The drowsy mist before him chill and dank. 
 
 Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea. 
 
 Where he rows on against the utter blank, 
 
 Steering as if to dim eternity, — 
 
 Like Love's frail ghost departing with the dawn ; 
 
 A failing shadow in the twilight drawn. 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 And soon is gone, — or nothing but a faint 
 And failing image in the eye of thought. 
 That mocks his model with an after-paint. 
 And stains an atom like the shape she sought ; 
 Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee, 
 The old and hoary majesty of sea.
 
 HERO AND LEAXDEK. 77 
 
 XXIV 
 
 " O King of waves, and brother of high Jove, 
 Preserve my sumless venture there afloat ; 
 A woman's heart, and its whole wealth of love. 
 Are all embark'd upon that little boat ; 
 Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate, 
 A perilous voyage for so dear a freight. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " If impious mariners be stain'd with crime, 
 Shake not in awful rage thy hoary locks ; 
 Lay by thy storms until another time. 
 Lest my frail bark be dash'd against the rocks : 
 O rather smooth thy deeps, that he may fly 
 Like Love himself, upon a seeming sky ! 
 
 XXVL 
 
 " Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath, 
 
 Nor gore him with crook'd tusks, or wreathed horns, 
 
 Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their teeth, 
 
 Nor spine-fish wound him with their venom 'd thorns : 
 
 But if he faint, and timely succour lack. 
 
 Let ruthful dolphins rest him on their back.
 
 HEKO AND LF.ANDER. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 *' Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in, 
 Nor slimy quicksands smotlier his sweet breath; 
 Let no jagg'd corals tear his tender skin, 
 Nor mountain billows bury him in death ; " — 
 And with that thought forestalling her own fears. 
 She drown'd his painted image in her tears. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 By this, the climbing sun, with rest repair'd, 
 Look'd through the gold embrasures of the sky. 
 And ask'd the drowsy world how she had far'd ; — 
 The drowsy world shone brighten'd in reply ; 
 And smiling off her fogs, his slanting beam 
 Spied young Leander in the middle stream. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 His face was pallid, but the hectic morn 
 Had hung a lying crimson on his cheeks. 
 And slanderous sparkles in his eyes forlorn ; 
 So death lies ambush'd in consumptive streaks ; 
 But inward grief was writhing o'er its task, 
 As heart-sick jesters weep behind the mask.
 
 HERO AND LEANUEH. 79 
 
 He thought of Hero and the lost delight, 
 Her last embracings, and the space between ; 
 He thought of Hero and the future night, 
 Her speechless rapture and enamour'd mien. 
 When, lo ! before him, scarce two galleys' space, 
 His thought's confronted with another face ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Her aspect's like a moon divinely fair. 
 But makes the midnight darker that it lies on ; 
 'Tis so beclouded with her coal-black hair 
 That densely skirts her luminous horizon, 
 Making her doubly fair, thus darkly set, 
 As marble lies advantag'd upon jet. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 She's all too bright, too argent, and too pale. 
 
 To be a woman ; — but a woman's double. 
 
 Reflected on the wave so faint and frail, 
 
 She tops the billows like an air-blown bubble ; 
 
 Or dim creation of a morning dream, 
 
 Fair as the wave-bleach'd lily of the stream.
 
 80 HERO AND I.KAKDER. 
 
 XXXI IL 
 
 The very rumour strikes liis seeing dead : 
 
 Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense : 
 
 He knows not if her lips be blue or red, 
 
 Nor of her eyes can give true evidence: 
 
 Like murder's witness swooning in the court, 
 
 His sight falls senseless by its own report. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Anon resuming, it declares her eyes 
 
 Are tinct with azure, like two crystal wells 
 
 That drink the blue complexion of the skies, 
 
 Or pearls outpeeping from their silvery shells : 
 
 Her polish'd brow, it is an ample plain. 
 
 To lodge vast contemplations of the main. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Her lips might corals seem, but corals near, 
 Stray through her hair like blossoms on a bower ; 
 And o'er the weaker red still domineer, 
 And make it pale by tribute to more power ; 
 Her rounded cheeks are of still paler hue, 
 Touch'd by the bloom of water, tender blue.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 81 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Thus he beholds her rocking on the water, 
 Under the glossy umbrage of her hair, 
 Like pearly Amphitrite's fairest daughter 
 Naiad, or Nereid, — or Syren fair, 
 Mislodging music in her pitiless breast, 
 A nightingale within a falcon's nest. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 They say there be such maidens in the deep. 
 Charming poor mariners, that all too near 
 By mortal lullabies fall dead asleep, 
 As drowsy men are poison'd through the ear ; 
 Therefore Leander's fears begin to urge. 
 This snowy swan is come to sing his dirge. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 At which he falls into a deadly chill, 
 And strains his eyes upon her lips apart ; 
 Fearing each breath to feel that prelude shrill, 
 Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart 
 Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane. 
 With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain. 
 
 G
 
 82 HERO AND r,EANDEK. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Here then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd 
 A thousand thoughts within a pulse's space ; 
 There seem'd so brief a pause of hfe allow'd, 
 His mind stretch'd universal, to embrace 
 The whole wide world, in an extreme farewell, — 
 . A moment's musing — but an age to tell. 
 
 XL. 
 
 For there stood Hero, widow'd at a glance, 
 
 The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact, 
 
 Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and wither'd countenance, 
 
 A wasted ruin that no wasting lack'd ; 
 
 Time's tragic consequents ere time began, 
 
 A world of sorrow in a tear-drop's span. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 A moment's thinking, is an hour in words, — 
 An hour of words is little for some woes ; 
 Too little breathing a long life affords. 
 For love to paint itself by perfect shows ; 
 Then let his love and grief unwrong'd lie dumb, 
 Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER, S3 
 
 XLII. 
 
 As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape, 
 Struck pale and panick'd by the billows' roar, 
 Lay by all timely measures of escape, 
 And let their bark go driving on the shore ; 
 So fray'd Leander, drifting to his wreck, 
 Gazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 For he hath all forgot the swimmer's art, 
 The rower's cunning, and the pilot's skill, 
 Letting his arms fall down in languid part, 
 Sway'd by the waves, and nothing by his will, 
 Till soon he jars against that glossy skin. 
 Solid like glass, though seemingly as thin, 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Lo ! how she startles at the warning shock, 
 And straightway girds him to her radiant breast, 
 More like his safe smooth harbour than his rock ; 
 Poor wretch, he is so faint and toil-opprest, 
 He cannot loose him from his grappling foe, 
 Whether for love or hate, she lets not go. 
 
 G 2
 
 84' HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine, 
 His ears are deafen'd with the wildering noise ; 
 He asks the purpose of her fell design, 
 But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice ; 
 Under the ponderous sea his body dips, 
 And Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Look how a man is lower'd to his grave ; 
 A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap ; 
 So he is sunk into the yawning wave, 
 The plunging sea fills up the watery gap ; 
 Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen, 
 But likeness of green turf and hillocks green. 
 
 xLvn. 
 
 And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping. 
 Over the verdant plain that makes his bed ; 
 And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping. 
 Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead ; 
 The light in vain keeps looking for his face, 
 Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 85 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Yet weep and watch for him though all in vain ! 
 Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander ! 
 Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again ! 
 Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander ! 
 Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, 
 Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 She says 'tis love hath bribed her to this deed, 
 The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her, 
 O bootless theft ! unprofitable meed ! 
 Love's treasury is sack'd, but she no richer ; 
 The sparkles of his eyes are cold and dead, 
 And all his golden looks are turn'd to lead ! 
 
 L. 
 
 She holds the casket, but her simple hand 
 Hath spilld its dearest jewel by the way ; 
 She hath life's empty garment at command, 
 But her own death lies covert in the prey ; 
 As if a thief should steal a tainted vest. 
 Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest. 
 
 G 3
 
 86 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Now she compels him to her deeps below, 
 
 Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair, 
 
 Which jealously she shakes all round her brow, 
 
 For dread of envy, though no eyes are there 
 
 But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep, 
 
 Which heedless through the wave their journeys keep. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Down and still downward through the dusky green 
 
 She bore him, murmuring with joyous haste 
 
 In too rash ignorance, as he had been 
 
 Born to the texture of that watery waste ; 
 
 That which she breath'd and sigh'd, the emerald wave. 
 
 How could her pleasant home become his grave ! 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Down and still downward through the dusky green 
 She bore her treasure, with a face too nigh 
 To mark how life was alter'd in its mien. 
 Or how the light grew torpid in his eye. 
 Or how his pearly breath unprison'd there, 
 Flew up to join the universal air.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 87 
 
 LIV. 
 
 She could not miss the throbbings of his heart, 
 Whilst her own pulse so wanton'cl in its joy ; 
 She could not guess he struggled to depart, 
 And when he strove no more, the hapless boy ! 
 She read his mortal stillness for content, 
 Feeling no fear where only love was meant. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Soon she alights upon her ocean-floor, 
 
 And straight unyokes her arms from her fair prize ; 
 
 Then on his lovely face begins to pore, 
 
 As if to glut her soul ; — her hungry eyes 
 
 Have grown so jealous of her arms' delight; 
 
 It seems, she hath no other sense but sight. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 But O sad marvel ! O most bitter strange ! 
 What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale, 
 Wliy will he not embrace, — why not exchange 
 Her kindly kisses ; — wherefore not exhale 
 Some odorous message from life's ruby gates, 
 Where she his first sweet embassy awaits ? 
 
 G 4
 
 88 HKHO AND LEANDEK. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Her eyes, poor watchers, fix'd upon his looks. 
 Are grappled with a wonder near to grief, ' 
 
 As one, who pores on undecypher'd books. 
 Strains vain surmise, and dodges with beHef ; 
 So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought. 
 Framing a thousand doubts that end in nought. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Too stern inscription for a page so young, 
 The dark translation of his look was death ! 
 But death was written in an alien tongue, 
 And learning was not by to give it breath ; 
 So one deep woe sleeps buried in its seal, 
 Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Meanwhile she sits unconscious of her hap, 
 Nursing Death's marble effigy, which thece 
 With heavy head lies pillow'd in her lap. 
 And elbows all unhinged ; — his sleeking hair 
 Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand 
 Leans with lax fingers crook'd against the sand ;
 
 HEKO AND LEANDEK. 89 
 
 LX. 
 
 And there lies spread in many an oozy trail, 
 Like glossy weeds hung from a chalky base, 
 That shows no whiter than his brow is pale ; 
 So soon the wintry death had bleach'd his face 
 Into cold marble, — with blue chilly shades, 
 Showing wherein the freezy blood pervades. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrow'd pain 
 Hath set, and stiffen'd like a storm in ice, 
 Showing by drooping lines the deadly strain 
 Of mortal anguish ; — yet you might gaze twice 
 Ere Death it seem'd, and not his cousin. Sleep, 
 That through those creviced lids did underpeep. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 But all that tender bloom about his eyes, 
 
 Is death's own vi'lets, which his utmost rite 
 
 It is to scatter when the red rose dies ; 
 
 For blue is chilly, and akin to white : 
 
 Also he leaves some tinges on his lips. 
 
 Which he hath kissd with such cold frosty nips.
 
 90 HERO AND LEANDKR. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " Surely," quoth she, " he sleeps, the senseless thing, 
 Oppress'd and faint with toiling in the stream !" 
 Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing 
 So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; 
 Meanwhile, her lily fingers tasks to twine 
 His uncrispt locks uncurling in the brine. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " O lovely boy !" — thus she attun'd her voice, — 
 '•' Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home, 
 My love-mate thou shalt be, and true heart's choice ; 
 How have I long'd such a twin-self should come, — 
 A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befel, 
 My heart kept sighing like a hollow shell. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " Here thou shalt live, beneath this secret dome, 
 An ocean bow'r, defended by the shade 
 Of quiet waters ; a cool emerald gloom 
 To lap thee all about. Nay, be not fray'd, 
 Those are but shady fishes that sail by 
 Like antic clouds across my liquid sky I
 
 HERO AND LEANDEK. 91 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales, 
 And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skins, 
 They flash small lightnings from their vigorous tails, 
 And winking stars are kindled at their fins ; 
 These shall divert thee in thy weariest mood, 
 And seek thy hand for gamesomeness and food. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 " Lo ! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells. 
 My flowrets those, that never pine for drowth ; 
 Myself did plant them in the dappled shells, 
 That drink the wave with such a rosy mouth, — 
 Pearls wouldst thou have beside ? crystals to shine ? 
 I had such treasures once, — now they are thine. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Now, lay thine ear against this golden sand. 
 And thou shalt hear the music of the sea. 
 Those hollow tunes it plays against the land, — 
 Is't not a rich and wondrous melody ? 
 I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone 
 I heard the languages of ages gone !
 
 92 HEKO AND LEANDEK. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 " I too can sing when it shall please thy choice, 
 And breathe soft tunes through a melodious shell. 
 Though heretofore I have but set my voice 
 To some long sighs, grief harmonized, to tell 
 How desolate I fared ; — but this sweet change 
 Will add new notes of gladness to my range ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " Or bid me speak and I will tell thee tales, 
 Which I have framed out of the noise of waves ; 
 Ere now, I have commun'd with senseless gales, 
 And held vain colloquies with barren caves; 
 But I could talk to thee whole days and days, 
 Only to word my love a thousand ways. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 " But if thy lips will bless me with their speech, 
 Then ope, sweet oracles ! and I'll be mute ; 
 I was born ignorant for thee to teach. 
 Nay all love's lore to thy dear looks impute ; 
 Then ope thine eyes, fair teachers, by whose light 
 I saw to give away my heart aright ! "
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 93 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 But cold and deaf the sullen creature lies, 
 Over her knees, and with concealing clay, 
 Like hoarding Avarice locks up his eyes, 
 And leaves her world impoverish'd of day ; 
 Then at his cruel lips she bends to plead. 
 But there the door is closed against her need. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Surely he sleeps, — so her false wits infer ! 
 Alas ! poor sluggard, ne'er to wake again ! 
 Surely he sleeps, yet without any stir 
 That might denote a vision in his brain ; 
 Or if he does not sleep, he feigns too long, 
 Twice she hath reach'd the ending of her song. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Therefore 'tis time she tells him to uncover 
 Those radiant jesters, and disperse her fears. 
 Whereby her April face is shaded over. 
 Like rainy clouds just ripe for showering tears ; 
 Nay, if he will not wake, so poor she gets. 
 Herself must rob those lock'd up cabinets.
 
 94 itf.ro and lkander. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 With that she stoops above his brow, and bids 
 Her busy hands forsake his tangled hair, 
 And tenderly lift up those cofFer-lids, 
 That she may gaze upon the jewels there, 
 Like babes that pluck an early bud apart, 
 To know the dainty colour of its heart. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Now, picture one, soft creeping to a bed. 
 Who slowly parts the fi-inge-hung canopies, 
 And then starts back to find the sleeper dead ; 
 So she looks in on his imcover'd eyes, 
 And seeing all within so drear and dark, 
 Her own bright soul dies in her like a spark. 
 
 Lxxvn. 
 
 Backward she falls, like a pale prophetess. 
 Under the swoon of holy divination : 
 And what had all surpass'd her simple guess. 
 She now resolves in this dark revelation ; 
 Death's very mystery, — oblivious death ; — 
 Long sleep, — deep night, and an entranced breath.
 
 HERO AND I.EANOER. 9.5 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Yet life, though wounded sore, not wholly slain, 
 Merely obscur'd, and not extinguish'd, lies ; 
 Her breath that stood at ebb, soon flows again, 
 Heaving her hollow breast with heavy sighs, 
 And light comes in and kindles up the gloom, 
 To light her spirit from its transient tomb. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Then like the sun, awaken'd at new dawn, 
 With pale bewilder'd face she peers about, 
 And spies blurr'd images obscurely drawn. 
 Uncertain shadows in a haze of doubt ; 
 But her true grief grows shapely by degrees, 
 A perish'd creature lying on her knees. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And now she knows how that old Murther preys. 
 Whose quarry on her lap lies newly slain ; 
 How he roams all abroad and grimly slays. 
 Like a lean tiger in Love's own domain ; 
 Parting fond mates, — and oft in flowery lawns 
 Bereaves mild mothers of their milky fawns.
 
 96 IIEHO AND LEANDER. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 O too dear knowledge ! O pernicious earning ! 
 Foul curse engraven upon beauty's page ! 
 Ev'n now the sorrow of that deadly learning 
 Ploughs up her brow, like an untimely age, 
 And on her cheek stamps verdict of death's truth, 
 By canker blights upon the bud of youth ! 
 
 LXXXIl. 
 
 For as unwholesome winds decay the leaf, 
 So her cheeks' rose is perish'd by her sighs. 
 And withers in the sickly breath of grief; 
 Wliilst unacquainted rheum bedims her eyes, 
 Tears, virgin tears, the first that ever leapt 
 From those young lids, now plentifully wept. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Whence being shed, the liquid crystalline 
 Drops straightway down, refusing to partake 
 In gross admixture with the baser brine. 
 But shrinks and hardens into pearls opaque. 
 Hereafter to be worn on arms and ears ; 
 So one maid's trophy is another's tears !
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. *^»7 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 " O foul Arch-Shadow, thou old cloud of Night, 
 (Thus in her frenzy she began to wail,) 
 Thou blank oblivion — blotter out of light, 
 Life's ruthless murderer, and dear love's bale ! 
 Why hast thou left thy havoc incomplete, 
 Leaving me here, and slaying the more sweet? 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 " Lo ! what a lovely ruin thou hast made, 
 Alas ! alas ! thou hast no eyes to see. 
 And blindly slew'st him in misguided shade. 
 Would I had lent my doting sense to thee ! 
 But now I turn to thee, a willing mark, 
 Thine arrows miss me in the aimless dark ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 " O doubly cruel ! — twice misdoing spite, 
 
 But I will guide thee with my helping eyes. 
 
 Or walk the wide world through, devoid of sight, 
 
 Yet thou shalt know me by my many sighs, 
 
 Nay, then thou should'st have spared my rose, false Death 
 
 And known Love's flow'r by smelling his sweet breath ; 
 
 H
 
 98 HERO AND LKANDER. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 " Or, when thy furious rage was round him deahng, 
 Love should have grown from touching of his skin, 
 But like cold marble thou art all unfeeling, 
 And hast no ruddy springs of warmth within, 
 And being but a shape of freezing bone, 
 Thy touching only turn'd my love to stone ! 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 " And here, alas ! he lies across my knees, 
 With cheeks still colder than the stilly wave, 
 The light beneath his eyelids seems to freeze, 
 Here then, since Love is dead and lacks a grave, 
 O come and dig it in my sad heart's core — 
 That wound will bring a balsam for its sore ! 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 " For art thou not a sleep where sense of ill, 
 Lies stingless, like a sense benumb'd with cold. 
 Healing all hurts only with sleep's good will, 
 So shall I slumber, and perchance behold 
 My living love in dreams, — O happy night. 
 That lets me company his banish'd spright !
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 99 
 
 xc. 
 
 " O poppy Death ! — sweet poisoner of sleep ! 
 Where shall I seek for thee, oblivious drug, 
 That I may steep thee in my drink, and creep 
 Out of life's coil. Look, Idol ! how I hug 
 Thy dainty image in this strict embrace, 
 And kiss this clay-cold model of thy face ! 
 
 XCI. 
 
 " Put out, put out these sun-consuming lamps, 
 I do but read my sorrows by their shine, 
 O come apd quench them with thy oozy damps, 
 And let my darkness intermix with thine ; 
 Since love is blinded, wherefore should I see, 
 Now love is death, — death will be love to me ! 
 
 XCII. 
 
 " Away, away, this vain complaining breath, 
 It does but stir the troubles that I weep, 
 Let it be hush'd and quieted, sweet Death, 
 The wind must settle ere the wave can sleep, — 
 Since love is silent, I would fain be mute, 
 O Death, be gracious to my dying suit !" 
 
 H 2
 
 100 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Thus far she pleads, but pleading nought avails her, 
 For Death, her sullen burthen, deigns no heed, 
 Then with dumb craving arms, since darkness fails her, 
 She prays to heav'n's fair light, as if her need 
 Inspir'd her there were Gods to pity pain, 
 Or end it, — but she lifts her arms in vain ! 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Poor gilded Grief! the subtle light by this 
 With mazy gold creeps through her watery mine. 
 And, diving downward through the green abyss. 
 Lights up her palace with an amber shine ; 
 There, falling on her arms, — the crystal skin 
 Reveals the ruby tide that fares within. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Look how the fulsome beam would hang a glory 
 On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it ; 
 Look how the perjur'd glow suborns a story 
 On her pale lips, but lips refuse to tell it ; 
 Grief will not swerve from grief, however told 
 On coral lips, or character'd in gold ;
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 101 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Or else, thou n\aid ! safe anchor'd on Love's neck, 
 Listing the hapless doom of young Leander, 
 Thou would'st not shed a tear for that old wreck, 
 Sitting secure where no wild surges wander; 
 Wliereas the woe moves on with tragic pace, 
 And shows its sad reflection in thy face. 
 
 xcvn. 
 
 Thus having travell'd on, and track'd the tale. 
 Like the due course of an old bas-relief, 
 Where Tragedy pursues her progress pale, 
 Brood here awhile upon that sea-maid's grief. 
 And take a deeper imprint from the frieze 
 Of that young Fate, with Death upon her knees. 
 
 XCVIIL 
 
 Then whilst the melancholy muse withal 
 Resumes her music in a sadder tone. 
 Meanwhile, the sunbeam strikes upon the wall. 
 Conceive that lovely siren to live on, 
 Ev'n as Hope whisperd, the Promethean light 
 Would kindle up the dead Leander's spright. 
 
 H 3
 
 102 IIEKO AND LEANDEK. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 " 'Tis light," she says, " that feeds the glittering stars, 
 And those were stars set in his heavenly brow, 
 But this salt cloud, this cold sea-vapour, mars 
 Their radiant breathing, and obscures them now. 
 Therefore I'll lay him in the clear blue air, 
 And see how these dull orbs will kindle there." 
 
 C. 
 
 Swiftly as dolphins glide, or swifter yet. 
 With dead Leander in her fond arms' fold, 
 She cleaves the meshes of that radiant net. 
 The sun hath twin'd above of liquid gold. 
 Nor slacks, till on the margin of the land, 
 She lays his body on the glowing sand. 
 
 CI. 
 
 There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach 
 Of foamy billows he lies cast. Just then. 
 Some listless fishers, straying down the beach, 
 Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, 
 Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake. 
 And watch her doings till their rude hearts ache.
 
 HERO AND LEANDEK. 103 
 
 CII. 
 
 First she begins to chafe him till she faints, 
 Then falls upon his mouth with kisses many, 
 And sometimes pauses in her own complaints 
 To list his breathing, but there is not any, — 
 Then looks into his eyes where no light dwells, 
 Light makes no pictures in such muddy wells. 
 
 cm. 
 
 The hot sun parches his discover'd eyes, 
 
 The hot sun beats on his discolour'd limbs. 
 
 The sand is oozy whereupon he lies. 
 
 Soiling his fairness ; — then away she swims. 
 
 Meaning to gather him a daintier bed. 
 
 Plucking the cool fresh weeds, brown, green, and red. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 But, simple-witted thief, while she dives under, 
 Another robs her of her amorous theft ; 
 The ambush'd fishermen creep forth to plunder, 
 And steal the unwatch'd treasure she has left ; 
 Only his void impression dints the sands ; 
 Leander is purloin'd by stealthy hands ! 
 
 H 4
 
 104 HERO AND LEANDEK. 
 
 CV. 
 
 Lo ! how she shudders off the beaded wave ! 
 Like Grief all over tears, and senseless falls, 
 His void imprint seems hollow'd for her grave, 
 Then, rising on her knees, looks round and calls 
 On Hero ! Hero ! having learn'd this name 
 Of his last breath, she calls him by the same. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Then with her frantic hands she rends her hairs, 
 And casts them forth, sad keepsakes to the wind. 
 As if in plucking those she pluck'd her cares ; 
 But grief lies deeper, and remains behind 
 Like a barb'd arrow, rankling in her brain, 
 Turning her very thoughts to throbs of pain. 
 
 cvn. 
 
 Anon her tangled locks are left alone. 
 And down upon the sand she meekly sits, 
 Hard by the foam as humble as a stone, 
 Like an enchanted maid beside her wits, 
 That ponders with a look serene and tragic, 
 Stunn'd by the mighty mystery of magic.
 
 HEKO ANU LEANDER. 105 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Or think of Ariadne's utter trance, 
 ' Craz'd by the flight of that disloyal traitor, 
 Who left her gazing on the green expanse 
 That swallow'd up his track, — yet this would mate her, 
 Ev'n in the cloudy summit of her woe, 
 When o'er the far sea-brim she saw him go. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 For even so she bows, and bends her gaze 
 O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum 
 Its waves by weary thousands all her days, 
 i Dismally doom'd ! meanwhile the billows come, 
 
 And coldly dabble with her quiet feet. 
 Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet. 
 
 ex. 
 
 And thence into her lap have boldly sprung, 
 
 Washing her weedy tresses to and fro, 
 
 That round her crouching knees have darkly hung, 
 
 But she sits careless of waves' ebb and flow, 
 
 Like a lone beacon on a desert coast. 
 
 Showing where all her hope was wreck'd and lost.
 
 lOG HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Yet whether in the sea or vaulted sky, 
 
 She knoweth not lier love's abrupt resort, 
 
 So like a shape of dreams he left her eye. 
 
 Winking with doubt. Meanwhile, the churl's report 
 
 Has throng'd the beach with many a curious face, 
 
 That peeps upon her from its hiding place. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 And here a head, and there a brow half seen. 
 Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands, 
 A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean 
 Over a rugged crest. Another stands. 
 Holding his harmful arrow at the head. 
 Still check'd by human caution and strange dread. 
 
 cxni. 
 
 One stops his ears, — another close beholder 
 
 Whispers unto the next his grave surmise ; 
 
 This crouches down, — and just above his shoulder, 
 
 A woman's pity saddens in her eyes. 
 
 And prompts her to befriend that lonely grief. 
 
 With all sweet helps of sisterly relief.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. I07 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 And down the sunny beach she paces slowly, 
 With many doubtful pauses by the way ; 
 Grief hath an influence so hush'd and holy, — 
 Making her twice attempt, ere she can lay 
 Her hand upon that sea-maid's shoulder white, 
 Which makes her startle up in wild affright. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 And, like a seal, she leaps into the wave 
 That drowns the shrill remainder of her scream ; 
 Anon the sea fills up the watery cave, 
 And seals her exit with a foamy seam, — 
 Leaving those baffled gazers on the beach, 
 Turning in uncouth wonder each to each. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge, 
 Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam ; 
 Some point to white eruptions of the surge : — 
 But she is vanish'd to her shady home, 
 Under the deep, inscrutable, — and there 
 Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair.
 
 108 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Now here, the sighing winds, before unheard, 
 Forth from their cloudy caves begin to blow, 
 Till all the surface of the deep is stirr'd, 
 Like to the panting grief it hides below ; 
 And heav'n is cover'd with a stormy rack. 
 Soiling the waters with its inky black. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey, 
 And labours shoreward with a bending wing, 
 Rowing against the wind her toilsome way ; 
 Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling 
 Their dewy frost still further on the stones, 
 That answer to the wind with hollow groans. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 And here and there a fisher's far-off bark 
 Flies with the sun's last glimpse upon its sail, 
 Like a bright flame amid the waters dark, 
 Watch'd with the hope and fear of maidens pale ; 
 And anxious mothers that upturn their broM's, 
 Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows,
 
 HERO AND LEANDEK. 109 
 
 cxx. 
 
 For that the horrid deep has no sure track 
 To guide love safe into his homely haven. 
 And lo ! the storm grows blacker in its wrath, 
 O'er the dark billow brooding like a raven, 
 That bodes of death and widow's sorrowing, 
 Under the dusky covert of his wing. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 And so day ended. But no vesper spark 
 Hung forth its heavenly sign ; but sheets of flame 
 Play'd round the savage features of the dark. 
 Making night horrible. That night, there came 
 A weeping maiden to high Sestos' steep, 
 And tore her hair and gaz'd upon the deep. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 And wav'd aloft her bright and ruddy torch, 
 Whose flame the boastful wind so rudely fann'd. 
 That oft it would recoil, and basely scorch 
 The tender covert of her sheltering hand ; 
 Which yet, for love's dear sake, disdain'd retire. 
 And, like a glorying martyr, brav'd the fire.
 
 110 MEUO AND LEANDER. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 For that was love's own sign and beacon guide 
 Across the Hellespont's wide weary space, 
 Wherein he nightly struggled with the tide ; 
 Look what a red it forges on her face, 
 As if she blush'd at holding such a light, 
 Ev'ii in the unseen presence of the night ! 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 Whereas her tragic cheek is truly pale, 
 
 And colder than the rude and ruffian air 
 
 That howls into her ear a horrid tale 
 
 Of storm, and wreck, and uttermost despair. 
 
 Saying, " Leander floats amid the surge. 
 
 And those are dismal waves that sing his dirge." 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 And hark ! — a grieving voice, trembling and faint, 
 Blends with the hollow sobbings of the sea ; 
 Like the sad music of a siren's plaint, 
 But shriller than Leander's voice should be, 
 Unless the wintry death had changed its tone, — 
 Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moan.
 
 HERO AND l.EANDEH. 1 H 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 For now, upon each brief and breathless pause, 
 Made by the raging winds, it plainly calls, 
 On Hero ! Hero ! — whereupon she draws 
 Close to the dizzy brink, that ne'er appals 
 Her brave and constant spirit to recoil. 
 However the wild billows toss and toil. 
 
 CXXVH. 
 
 '< Oh ! dost thou live under the deep deep sea ? 
 I thought such love as thine could never die ; 
 If thou hast gain'd an immortality. 
 From the kind pitying sea-god, so will I ; 
 And this false cruel tide that used to sever 
 Our hearts, shall be our common home for ever ! 
 
 cxxvni. 
 
 " There we will sit and sport upon one billow, 
 And sing our ocean ditties all the day, 
 And lie together on the same green pillow, 
 That curls above us with its dewy spray ; 
 And ever in one presence live and dwell. 
 Like two twin pearls within the selfsame shell.
 
 11^2 HEUO AND LEANDKH. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 One moment then, upon the dizzy verge 
 
 She stands ; — with face upturn'd against the sky ; 
 
 A moment more, upon the foamy surge 
 
 She gazes, with a calm despairing eye ; 
 
 FeeHng that awful pause of blood and breath 
 
 Which life endures when it confronts with death ; — 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 Then from the giddy steep she madly springs, 
 
 Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept 
 
 Panting abroad, like unavailing wings. 
 
 To save her from her death. — The sea-maid wept, 
 
 And in a crystal cave her corse enshrin'd, 
 
 No meaner sepulchre should Hero find !
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR.
 
 I
 
 TO 
 
 J. H. REYNOLDS, Esq. 
 
 My dear Reynolds, 
 You will remember "Lyons." — It was written 
 in the pleasant spring-time of our friendship, and 
 I am glad to maintain that association, by con- 
 necting your name with the Poem. It will gratify 
 me to find that you regard it with the old par- 
 tiality for the writings of each other, which pre- 
 vailed in those days. For my own sake, I must 
 regret that your pen goes now into far other 
 records than those which used to delight me. 
 
 Your true Friend and Brother, 
 
 T. HOOD. 
 
 I 2
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 FROM AN ITNROLI.ED MANUSCRIl'T OF APOI.LONIUS CURIUS. 
 
 THE ARGUMEKT. 
 
 Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved 
 by a Water Nymph, who desiring to render him immortal, has 
 recourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to 
 pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse ; but the 
 horrible effect of the charm causing her to break ofl" in the 
 midst, he becomes a Centaur, 
 
 Who hath ever been lured and bound by a spell 
 To wander, fore-doom'd, in that circle of hell 
 Where Witchery works with her will like a god, 
 Works more than the wonders of time at a nod, — 
 At a word, — at a touch, — at a flash of the eye, 
 But each form is a cheat, and each sound is a lie. 
 Things born of a wish — to endure for a thought, 
 Or last for long ages — to vanish to nought, 
 
 I 3
 
 118 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Or put on new semblance ? O Jove, I had given 
 The throne of a kingdom to know if that heaven, 
 And the earth and its streams were of Circe, or whether 
 They kept the world's birth-day and brighten'd to- 
 gether ! 
 For I lov'd them in terror, and constantly dreaded 
 That the earth where I trod, and the cave where I bedded, 
 The face I might dote on, should live out the lease 
 Of the charm that created, and suddenly cease : 
 And I gave me to slumber, as if fi'om one dream 
 To another — each horrid — and drank of the stream 
 Like a first taste of blood, lest as water I quaff'd 
 Swift poison, and never should breathe from the 
 
 draught, — 
 Such drink as her own monarch husband drain'd up 
 When he pledg'd her, and Fate clos'd his eyes in the 
 
 cup. 
 And I pluck'd of the fruit with held breath, and a fear 
 That the branch would start back and scream out in 
 
 my ear ; 
 For once, at my suppering, I pluck'd in the dusk 
 An ap])lc, juice-gushing and fragrant of musk ;
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 119 
 
 But by daylight my fingers were crimson'd with gore. 
 And the half-eaten fragment was flesh at the core ; 
 And once — only once — for the love of its blush, 
 I broke a bloom bough, but there came such a gush 
 On my hand, that it fainted away in weak fright, 
 While the leaf-hidden woodpecker shriek'd at the 
 
 sight ; 
 And oh ! such an agony thrill'd in that note, 
 That my soul, startling up, beat its wings in my throat. 
 As it long'd to be free of a body whose hand 
 Was doom'd to work torments a Fury had plann'd ! 
 
 There I stood without stir, yet how willing to flee, 
 As if rooted and horror-turnd into a tree, — 
 Oh ! for innocent death, — and to suddenly win it, 
 I drank of the stream, but no poison was in it ; 
 I plung'd in its waters, but ere I could sink, 
 Some invisible fate puU'd me back to the brink ; 
 I sprang from the rock, from its pinnacle height, 
 But fell on the grass with a grasshopper's flight ; 
 I ran at my fears — they were fears and no more. 
 For the bear would not mangle my limbs, nor the boar, 
 
 I 4
 
 120 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 But moan'd, — all their brutaliz'd flesh could not smother 
 The horrible truth, — we were kin to each other ! 
 
 They were mournfully gentle, and group'd for relief. 
 All foes in their skin, but all friends in their grief: 
 The leopard was there, — baby-mild in its feature ; 
 And the tiger, black barr'd, with the gaze of a creature 
 That knew gentle pity ; the bristle-back'd boar, 
 His innocent tusks stain'd with mulberry gore ; 
 And the laughing hyena — but laughing no more ; 
 And the snake, not with magical orbs to devise 
 Strange death, but with woman's attraction of eyes ; 
 The tall ugly ape, that still bore a dim shine 
 Through his hairy eclipse of a manhood divine ; 
 And the elephant stately, with more than its reason, 
 How thoughtful in sadness ! but this is no season 
 To reckon them up from the lag-bellied toad 
 To the mammoth, whose sobs shook his ponderous load. 
 There were woes of all shapes, wretched forms, when 
 
 I came, 
 That hung down their heads with a human-like shame ; 
 The elephant hid in the boughs, and the bear 
 Shed over his eyes the dark veil of his hair ;
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 121 
 
 And the womanly soul turning sick with disgust, 
 Ti'ied to vomit herself from her serpentine crust ; 
 While all groan'd their groans into one at their lot, 
 As I brought them the image of what they were not. 
 
 Then rose a wild sound of the human voice choking 
 Through vile brutal organs — low tremulous croaking ; 
 Cries swallow'd abruptly — deep animal tones 
 Attun'd to strange passion, and full-utter'd groans ; 
 All shuddering weaker, till hush'd in a pause 
 Of tongues in mute motion and wide-yearning jaws ; 
 And I guess'd that those horrors were meant to tell o'er 
 The tale of their woes ; but the silence told more 
 That writhed on their tongues ; and I knelt on the sod, 
 And pray'd with my voice to the cloud-stirring God, 
 For the sad congregation of supplicants there, 
 That upturn'd to his heaven brute faces of prayer ; 
 And I ceased, and they utter'd a moaning so deep, 
 That I wept for my heart-case, — but they could not 
 
 weep, 
 And gazed with red eye-balls, all wistfully dry. 
 At the comfort of tears in a stag's human eye.
 
 122 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Then I motion'd tliem round, and, to soothn their distress, 
 I caress'd, and they bent them to meet my caress, 
 Their necks to my arm, and their heads to my palm. 
 And with poor grateful eyes sufFer'd meekly and calm 
 Those tokens of kindness, withheld by hard fate 
 From returns that might chill the warm pity to hate ; 
 So they passively bow'd — save the serpent, that leapt 
 To my breast like a sister, and pressingly crept 
 In embrace of my neck, and with close kisses blister'd 
 My lips in rash love, — then drew backward, and glister'd 
 Her eyes in my face, and loud hissing affright, 
 Dropt down, and swift started away from my sight ! 
 
 This sorrow was theirs, but thrice wretched my lot, 
 Turn'd brute in my soul, though my body was not 
 When I fled from the sorrow of womanly faces, 
 That shrouded their woe in the shade of lone places. 
 And dash'd oflP bright tears, till their fingers were wet. 
 And then wiped their lids with long tresses of jet : 
 But I fled — though they stretch'd out their hands, all 
 
 entangled 
 With hair, and blood-stain'd of the breasts they had 
 
 mangled, —
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUH. 12^ 
 
 Though they call'd — and perchance but to ask, had 1 
 
 seen 
 Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had been : 
 But I stay'd not to hear, lest the story should hold 
 Some hell-form of words, some enchantment once told, 
 Might translate me in flesh to a brute ; and I dreaded 
 To gaze on their charms, lest my faith should be wedded 
 With some pity, — and love in that pity perchance — 
 To a thing not all lovely ; for once at a glance 
 Methought, where one sat, I descried a bright wonder 
 That flow'd like a long silver rivulet under 
 The long fenny grass, with so lovely a breast. 
 Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the rest ? 
 
 So I roam'd in that circle of horrors, and Fear 
 Walk'd with me, by hills, and in valleys, and near 
 Cluster'd trees for their gloom — not to shelter from 
 
 heat — 
 But lest a brute-shadow should grow at my feet ; 
 And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place, 
 Dark shadows would gather like clouds on its face, 
 In the horrible likeness of demons, (that none 
 Could sec, like invisible flames in the sun ;)
 
 124 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 But grew to one monster that seized on the hght, 
 Like the ckagon that strangles the moon in the night ; 
 Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the South ; 
 Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that drouth 
 Engenders of slime in the land of the pest, 
 Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the West, 
 Bringing Night on their wings ; and the bodies wherein 
 Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin, 
 Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight 
 Like a Titan, and threatfully warr'd with the light ; 
 I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to close, 
 When they rush'd on that shadowy Python of foes, 
 That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of jaws. 
 With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of claws, 
 And whix-ls of long tails: — I have seen the quick flutter 
 Of fragments dissever'd,' — and necks stretch'd to utter 
 Long screamings of pain, — the swift motion of blows, 
 And wrestling of arms — to the flight at the close, 
 When the dust of the earth startled upward in rings, 
 And flew on the whirlwind that follow'd their wings. 
 
 Thus they fled — not forgotten — but often to grow 
 Like fears in my eyes, when I walk'd to and fro
 
 LYOUS, THE CENTAUR. i -io 
 
 In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen 
 The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean 
 I knew not, nor whether the love I had won 
 Was of heaven or hell — till one day in the sun, 
 In its very noon-blaze, I could fancy a thing 
 Of beauty, but faint as the cloud-mirrors fling 
 On the gaze of the shepherd that watches the sky. 
 Half-seen and half-dream'd in the soul of his eye. 
 And when in my musings I gaz'd on the stream, 
 In motionless trances af thought, there would seem 
 A face like that face, looking upward through mine ; 
 With its eyes full of love, and the dim-drowned shine 
 Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue 
 Serene : — there I stood for long hours but to view 
 Those fond earnest eyes that were ever uplifted 
 Towards me, and wink'd as the water-weed drifted 
 Between ; but the fish knew that presence, and plied 
 Their long curvy tails, and swift darted aside. 
 
 riiere I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the things 
 That once had been wonders — the fishes with wings, 
 And the glimmer of magnified eyes that look'd up 
 From the glooms of the bottom like pearls in a cup,
 
 126 LVCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 And the luige endless serpent of silvery gleam, 
 Slow winding along like a tide in the stream. 
 Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought 
 Held me dear in the pearl of her eye — and I brought 
 My wish to that fancy ; and often I dash'd 
 My limbs in the water, and suddenly splash'd 
 The cool drops around me, yet clung to the brink, 
 Chill'd by watery fears, how that Beauty might sink 
 With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind me 
 With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me 
 In some eddy to hum out my life in her ear, 
 Like a spider-caught bee, — and in aid of that fear 
 Came the tardy remembrance — Oh falsest of men ! 
 Why was not that beauty remember'd till then ? 
 My love, my safe love, whose glad life would have run 
 Into mine — like a drop — that our fate might be one, 
 That now, even now, — may -be, — clasp'd in a dream. 
 That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream, 
 And gaz'd with fond eyes that her tears tried to smother 
 On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another ! 
 
 Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my mind, 
 Still full of the tem|)ter, kept gazing behind
 
 LYCUS, THE CENT A UK. 127 
 
 On her crystalline face, while 1 painfully leapt 
 To the bank, and shook off the curst waters, and wept 
 With my brow in the reeds ; and the reeds to my ear 
 Bow'd, bent by no wind, and in whispers of fear, 
 Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of one 
 That loved me, — but oh to fly from her, and shun 
 Her love like a pest — though her love was as true 
 To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue ; 
 For why should I love her with love that would bring 
 All misfortune, like Hate, on so joyous a thing ? 
 Because of her rival, — even Her whose witch-face 
 I had slighted, and therefore was doom'd in that place 
 To roam, and had roam'd, where all horrors grew rank, 
 Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank ; 
 Her name be not named, but her spite would not fail 
 To our love like a blight ; and they told me the tale 
 Of Scylla, and Picus, imprison'd to speak 
 His shrill-screaming woe through a woodpecker's beak. 
 
 Then they ceased — I had heard as the voice of my star 
 That told me the truth of my fortunes — thus far 
 I had reail of my sorrow, and lay in the hush 
 Of deep meditation, — when lo ! a light crush
 
 128 LYCUS, THE CENT A UK. 
 
 Of the reeds, and I turn'd and look'd round in the night 
 Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipp'd of the hght 
 Narrow-winking, the reahzed nymph of the stream, 
 Rising up fi-om the wave with the bend and the gleam 
 Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept throwing 
 Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing 
 In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roU'd 
 Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold, 
 Sun-spangled, gold-broider'd, and fled far behind, 
 Like an infinite train. So she came and reclin'd 
 In the reeds, and I hunger'd to see her unseal 
 The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal 
 The blue that was in them ; and they ope'd, and she 
 
 rais'd 
 Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed 
 With her eyes on my eyes ; but their colour and shine 
 Was of that which they look'd on, and mostly of 
 
 mine — 
 For she loved me, — except when she blush'd, and they 
 
 sank, 
 Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank. 
 Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me 
 How she put on her veil, and in love to behold me,
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUll. 129 
 
 Would wing through the sun till she fainted away 
 Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay 
 In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes 
 In watching for mine 'gainst the midsummer skies. 
 But now they were heal'd, — O my heart, it still dances 
 When I think of the charm of her changeable glances, 
 And my image how small when it sank in the deep 
 Of her eyes where her soul was, — Alas ! now they 
 
 weep, 
 And none knoweth where. In what stream do her eyes 
 Shed invisible tears ? W^ho beholds where her sighs 
 Flow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf 
 She has pluck'd with her tresses ? Who listens her grief 
 Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet 
 Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat 
 Them together ? Ah ! surely her flowers float adown 
 To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown 
 For need of her mercy, — even he whose twin-brother 
 Will miss him for ever ; and the sorrowful mother 
 Imploreth in vain for his body to kiss 
 And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is, 
 Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain f 
 We loved, — how we loved ! — for I thought not again 
 
 K
 
 ISO LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Of the woes that were whisper'd Uke fears in that place 
 If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face 
 Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were drown'd 
 For my absence, — her arms were the arms that 
 
 sought round, 
 And clasp'd me to nought ;- for I gazed and became 
 Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name 
 For two loves, and call'd ever on ^gle, sweet maid 
 Of the sky -loving waters, — and was not afraid 
 Of the sight of her skin ; — for it never could be, 
 Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me ! 
 
 Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten'd space, 
 Like a day made of three, and the smile of her face 
 Had been with me for jo)^, — when she told me indeed 
 Her love was self-task'd with a work that would need 
 Some short hours, for hi truth 'twas the veriest pity 
 Omv love should not last, and then sang me a ditty. 
 Of one with warm lips that should love her, and love her 
 When suns were burnt dim .and long ages past over. 
 So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested 
 My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUK. 131 
 
 Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep 
 Of dreams, — but their meaning was hidden too deep 
 To be read what their woe was ; — but still it was woe 
 That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro 
 In that river of night ; — and the gaze of their eyes 
 Was sad, — and the bend of their brows, — and their cries 
 Were seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of tears 
 Travell'd down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears 
 Awaked me, and lo ! I was couch'd in a bower, 
 The growth of long summers rear'd up in an hour ! 
 Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly 
 From this magic, but could not, because that my eye 
 Grew love-idle among the rich blooms ; and the earth 
 Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth 
 Of some bird was above me, — who, even in fear, 
 Wouldstartle the thrush ? and methought there drew near 
 A. form as of iEgle, — but it was not the face 
 Hope made, and I knew the witch-Queen of that place, 
 Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death 
 Wliich I fear'd, and yet fled not, for want of my breath. 
 There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not 
 
 raised 
 From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed, 
 
 K 2
 
 J32 LYCUS, THE CENTAUn. 
 
 Her spite — and her countenance changed with her 
 
 mind 
 As she plann'd how to thrall me w^ith beauty, and bind 
 My soul to her charms, — and her long tresses play'd 
 From shade into shine and from shine into shade, 
 Like a day in mid-autumn, — first fair, O how fair ! 
 With long snaky locks of the adderblack hair 
 That clung round her neck, — those dark locks that I 
 
 prize, 
 For the sake of a maid that once loved me with eyes 
 Of that fathomless hue , — but they changed as they 
 
 roird. 
 And brighten'd, and suddenly blazed into gold 
 That she comb'd into flames, and the locks that fell down 
 Turn'd dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown. 
 Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild, 
 That innocence wears when she is but a child ; 
 And her eyes, — O I ne'er had been witch'd with their 
 
 shine. 
 Had they been any other, my ^gle, than thine ! 
 
 Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden'd 
 In the full of their light.— but I sadden'd andsadden'd
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 1S3 
 
 The deeper I lookd, — till I sank on the snow 
 Of her bosoin, a thing made of terror and woe, 
 And answer'd its throb with the shudder of fears, 
 And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears, 
 And strain'd her white arms with the still languid weight 
 Of a fainting distress. Thei'e she sat like the Fate 
 That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame 
 To hide me from her — the true jEgle — that came 
 With the words on her lips the false witch had foregiv'n 
 To make me immortal — for now I was even 
 At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush 
 Of world-sounds in my ear to cry welcome, and rush 
 With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river. 
 O would it had flown from my body for ever, 
 Ere I listen'd those words, when I felt with a start, 
 The life blood rush back in one throb to my heart, 
 And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell 
 Had perish'd in horror — and heard the farewell 
 Of that voice that was drown'd in the dash of the stream ! 
 How fain had I follow'd, and plunged with that scream 
 Into death, but my being indignantly lagg'd 
 Through the brutaliz'd flesh that I painfully dragg'd 
 
 K 3
 
 134 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Behind me : — " O Circe ! O mother of Spite ! 
 Speak the last of that curse ! and imprison me quite 
 In the husk of a brute, — that no pity may name 
 The man that I was, — that no kindred may claim 
 The monster I am ! Let me utterly be 
 Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonour with me 
 Uninscribed !" — But she listen'd my prayer, that was 
 
 praise 
 To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze 
 On the river for love, — and perchance she would make 
 In pity a maid without eyes for my sake. 
 And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask'd of the wave, 
 "What monster I was, and it trembled and gave 
 The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my face 
 From all waters for ever, and fled through that place. 
 Till with horror more strong than all magic I pass'd 
 Its bounds, and the world was before me at last. 
 
 There I wander'd in sorrow, and shunn'd the abodes 
 Of men, that stood up in the likeness of Gods, 
 But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun 
 On their cities, where man M'as a niillion, not one ;
 
 LYCUS, THE CENTAUU. 135 
 
 And I saw the white smoke of then- altars ascending, 
 That show'd where the hearts of the many were 
 
 blending, 
 And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that 
 
 came 
 From the trumpets that gather'd whole bands in one 
 
 fame 
 As a chorus of man, — and they stream'd from the gates 
 Like a dusky libation pour'd out to the Fates. 
 But at times there were gentler processions of peace 
 That I watch'd with my soul in my eyes till their cease, 
 There were women ! there men ! but to me a third sex 
 I saw them all dots — yet I loved them as specks : 
 And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes 
 1 stole near the city, but stole covert-wise 
 Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten 
 By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten ! 
 Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother 
 Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother 
 Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep 
 Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep 
 In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks 
 That murnuu'd between us and kiss'd them with looks; 
 
 K 4-
 
 136 LTfCUS, THE CENTAUli. 
 
 But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never 
 I return'd to a spot I had startled for ever, 
 Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of none, 
 Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son ? 
 
 For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by 
 
 flight; 
 
 The men in their horror, the women in fright ; 
 None ever remain'd save a child once that sported 
 Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted 
 The breeze ; and beside him a speckled snake lay 
 Tight strangled, because it had hiss'd him away 
 From the flow'r at his finger ; he rose and drew near 
 Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear. 
 But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure 
 
 bright '^ 
 
 To grow to large manhood of merciful might. 
 He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel 
 The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel. 
 And question'd my face with wide eyes; but when under 
 My lids he saw tears, — for I wept at his wjonder. 
 He stroked me, and utter'd such kindliness then. 
 That the once love of women, the friendship of men
 
 LYCUS, THE CENT AUK. 137 
 
 In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss 
 
 On my heart in its desolate day such as this ! 
 
 And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down bent, 
 
 And lifted him up in my arms with intent 
 
 To kiss him, — but he cruel- kindly, alas ! 
 
 Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass ! 
 
 Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled 
 
 The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head, 
 
 That dissever'd my ear, — but I felt not, whose fate 
 
 Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate ! 
 
 Thus I wander' d, companion'd of grief and forlorn. 
 Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born, 
 But what was that land with its love, where my home 
 Was self-shut against me ; for why should I come 
 Like an after-distress to my grey-bearded father, 
 With a blight to the last of his sight?— let him rather 
 Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn 
 Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn 
 To his son even such as he left him. Oh, how 
 Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now 
 Like Gods to my humbled estate ? — or how bear 
 The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care
 
 138 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 
 
 Of my hands? Then I turn'd me self-banish'd, and came 
 Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same 
 As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream 
 In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream 
 That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild 
 
 eyes 
 Against heav'n, and so vanish'd. — The gentle and wise 
 Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill 
 In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.
 
 THE 
 
 TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.
 
 THE 
 
 TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Alas ! that breathing Vanity should go 
 
 Where Pride is buried, — Hke its very ghost, 
 
 Uprisen from the naked bones below, 
 In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 
 
 Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, 
 Shedding its chilling superstition most 
 
 On young and ignorant natures — as it wont 
 
 To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer. 
 Behold two maidens, up the quiet green 
 
 Shining, far distant, in the summer air 
 That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between 
 
 Their downy plumes, — sailing as if they were 
 Two far-off ships, — until they brush between 
 
 The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait 
 
 On either side of the wide open'd gate.
 
 142 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 III. 
 
 And there they stand — with haughty necks before 
 God's holy house, that points towards the skies — 
 
 Frowning reluctant duty from the poor, 
 
 And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes : 
 
 And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, 
 Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs, 
 
 With pouting lips, — forgetful of the grace, 
 
 Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face ; — 
 
 IV. 
 
 Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, 
 May wear the happiness of rich attire ; 
 
 And those two sisters, in their silly pride. 
 
 May change the soul's warm glances for the fire 
 
 Of lifeless diamonds ; — and for health deny'd, — 
 With art, that blushes at itself, inspire 
 
 Their languid cheeks — and flourish in a glory 
 
 That has no life in life, nor after-story. 
 
 V. 
 
 The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair 
 In meekest censuring, and turns his eye 
 
 Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r. 
 And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by. 
 
 Good-hearted man ! what sullen soul would wear 
 Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly 
 
 Put on thy censure, that might win the praise 
 
 Of one so grey in goodness and in days ?
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. IV6 
 
 VI. 
 
 Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame 
 
 Of this ungodly shine of human pride, 
 And sadly blends his reverence and blame 
 
 In one grave bow, and passes with a stride 
 Impatient : — many a red-hooded dame 
 
 Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside 
 From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again, 
 That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " I have a lily in the bloom at home," 
 
 Quoth one, " and by the blessed Sabbath day 
 
 I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come 
 And read a lesson upon vain array ; — 
 
 And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some 
 Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes and say — 
 
 Making my reverence, — ' Ladies, an you please, 
 
 King Solomon's not half so fine as these.' " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then her meek partner, who has nearly run 
 
 His earthly course, — " Nay, Goody, let your text 
 
 Grow in the garden. — We have only one — 
 
 Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next ? 
 
 Summer will come again, and summer sun, 
 And lilies too, — but I were sorely vext 
 
 To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 
 
 Of the last lily I may live to grow."
 
 Hi THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " The last ! " quoth she, " and though tlie last it were — 
 Lo ! those two wantons, where they stand so proud 
 
 With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, 
 And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd 
 
 And curtsey'd to ! — last Sabbath after pray'r, 
 I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud 
 
 If they were angels — but I made him know 
 
 God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow ! " 
 
 X. 
 
 So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk 
 That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng. 
 
 Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk, 
 
 And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 
 
 And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk, 
 And gold-bedizen'd beadle flames along, 
 
 And gentle peasant clad in buff and green. 
 
 Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene ; 
 
 XI. 
 
 And blushing maiden — modestly array'd 
 
 In spotless white, — still conscious of the glass ; 
 
 And she, the lonely widow, that hath made 
 A sable covenant with grief, — alas ! 
 
 She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade. 
 While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass. 
 
 Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress 
 
 Her boy, — so rosy ! — and so fatherless !
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 145 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near 
 The fair white temple, to the timely call 
 
 Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. — 
 
 Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl 
 
 Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere 
 
 Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all, 
 
 — Saving those two, that turn aside and pass, 
 
 In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Ah me ! to see their silken manors trail'd 
 In purple luxuries — with restless gold, — 
 
 Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd 
 In blotted black, — over the heapy mould 
 
 Panting wave-wantonly ! They never quail'd 
 How the warm vanity abused the cold ; 
 
 Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone 
 
 Sadly uplooking through transparent stone : . 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, 
 Shocking the awful presence of the dead ; 
 
 Where gracious natures would their eyes benight. 
 Nor wear their being with a lip too red, 
 
 Nor move too rudely in the summer bright 
 Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread, 
 
 Meting it into steps, with inward breath, 
 
 In very pity to bereaved death. 
 
 h
 
 146 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Now in the church, time-sober'd minds resign 
 
 To solemn pray'r, and the loud chaunted hymn, — 
 
 With glowing picturings of joys divine 
 
 Painting the mistlight where the roof is dim ; 
 
 But youth looks upward to the window shine, 
 Warming with rose and purple and the swim 
 
 Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains 
 
 Of gorgeous light through many-colour'd panes ; 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 
 Enrobed his angels, — and with absent eyes 
 
 Hearing of Heav'n, and its directed path. 
 
 Thoughtful of slippers, — and the glorious skies 
 
 Clouding with satin, — till the preacher's wrath 
 Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries 
 
 With a deep voice that trembles in its might, 
 
 And earnest eyes grown eloquent in light : 
 
 XVII. 
 
 *• O that the vacant eye would learn to look 
 On very beauty, and the heart embrace 
 
 True loveliness, and from this holy book 
 
 Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace 
 
 Of love indeed ! O that the young soul took 
 Its virgin passion from the glorious face 
 
 Of fair religion, and address'd its strife. 
 
 To win the riches of eternal life !
 
 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 147 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ' Doth the vaia heart love glory that is none, 
 
 And the poor excellence of vam attire ? 
 O go, and drown your eyes against the sun, 
 
 The visible ruler of the starry quire, 
 Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run. 
 
 Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire ; 
 And the faint soul down darkens into night, 
 And dies a burning martyrdom to light. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " O go, and gaze, — when the low winds of ev'n 
 Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod 
 
 Their gold-crown'd heads ; and the rich blooms of heav'n 
 Sun-ripen'd give their blushes up to God ; 
 
 And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv'n 
 By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod 
 
 Of heavenly Moses, — that your thirsty sense 
 
 May quench its longings of magnificence ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Yet suns shall perish — stars shall fade away — 
 Day into darkness — darkness into death — 
 
 Death into silence ; the warm light of day, 
 
 The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath 
 
 Of even — all shall wither and decay, 
 
 Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 
 
 The touch of morn — or bubbles of rich dyes 
 
 That break and vanish in the aching eyes." 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed 
 
 Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour 
 
 Their sin to earth, — and with low drooping head 
 Receive the solemn blessing, and implore 
 
 Its grace — then soberly with chasten'd tread, 
 They meekly press towards the gusty door. 
 
 With humbled eyes that go to graze upon 
 
 The lowly grass — like him of Babylon. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The lowly grass ! — O water-constant mind ! 
 
 Fast-ebbing holiness ! — soon-fading grace 
 Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind 
 
 Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face 
 For ever ! — How they lift their eyes to find 
 
 Old vanities. — Pride wins the very place 
 Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now 
 With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And lo ! with eager looks they seek the way 
 
 Of old temptation at the lowly gate ; 
 To feast on feathers, and on vain array. 
 
 And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state 
 Of jewel-sprinkled locks. — But where are they, 
 
 The graceless haughty ones that used to wait 
 With lofty neck, and nods, and stifFen'd eye ? — 
 None challenge the old homage bending by.
 
 TIJK TWO PKACOCKS OF 15EUFONT. 14'9 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 In vain they look lor the ungracious bloom 
 Of rich apparel w here it glow'd before, — 
 
 For Vanity has faded all to gloom, 
 
 And lofty Pride has stifFen'd to the core, 
 
 For impious Life to tremble at its doom, — 
 Set for a warning token evermore. 
 
 Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise 
 
 Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond'ring eyes. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The aged priest goes on each sabbath morn. 
 But shakes not sorrow under his grey hair ; 
 
 The solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn, 
 Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair ; — 
 
 And ancient lips that pucker'd up in scorn. 
 Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray'r ; 
 
 And in the garden-plof, from day to day, 
 
 The lily blooms its long white life away. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And where two haughty maidens used to be, 
 
 In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod. 
 
 Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly, 
 Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ; — 
 
 There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see 
 
 Two sombre Peacocks. Age, with sapient nod 
 
 Marking the spot, still tarries to declare 
 
 How they once lived, and wherefore they are there. 
 
 L 3
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 L 4 
 
 Iti.I -
 
 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 
 
 Oh, when I was a tiny boy 
 
 My days and nights were full of'joy, 
 
 My mates were blithe and kind ! — 
 No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
 And dash the tear-drop from my eye, 
 
 To cast a look behind ! 
 
 A hoop was an eternal round 
 
 Of pleasure. In those days I found 
 
 A top a joyous thing ; — 
 But now those past delights I drop. 
 My head, alas ! is all my top, 
 
 And careful thoughts the string ! 
 
 My marbles — once my bag was stor'd,- 
 Now I must play with Elgin's lord, 
 
 With Theseus for a taw ! 
 My playful horse has slipt his string, 
 Forgotten all his capering, 
 
 And harness'd to the law !
 
 151' A RETUOSPECTIVE llEVIEW. 
 
 My kite — how fast and tar it flew ! 
 Whilst I, a sort of Frankhn, drew 
 
 My pleasure from the sky ! 
 'Twas paper'd o'er with studious themes, 
 The tasks I wrote — my present dreams 
 
 Will never soar so high ! 
 
 My joys are wingless all and dead ; 
 My dumps are made of more than lead ; 
 
 My flights soon find a fall ; 
 My fears prevail, my fancies droop, 
 Joy never cometh with a hoop, 
 
 And seldom with a call ! 
 
 My football 's laid upon the shelf ; 
 I am a shuttlecock myself 
 
 The world knocks to and fro ; — 
 My archery is all unlearn'd, 
 And grief against myself has turn'd 
 
 My arrows and my bow ! 
 
 No more in noontide sun I bask ; 
 My authorship 's an endless task, 
 
 My head 's ne'er out of school : 
 My heart is pain'd with scorn and slight, 
 I have too many foes to fight, 
 
 And friends grown strangely cool !
 
 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 155 
 
 The very chum that shared my cake 
 
 Holds out so cold a hand to shake, 
 It makes me shrink and sigh : — 
 
 On this I will not dwell and hang, 
 
 The changeling would not feel a pang- 
 Though these should meet his eye ! 
 
 No skies so blue or so serene 
 
 As then ; — no leaves look half so green 
 
 As cloth'd the play-ground tree ! 
 All things I lov'd are alter'd so, 
 Nor does it ease my heart to know 
 
 That change resides in me ! 
 
 O, for the garb that mark'd the boy, 
 The trowsers made of corduroy, 
 
 Well ink'd with black and red ; 
 The crownless hat, ne'er deem'd an ill — 
 It only let the sunshine still 
 
 Repose upon my head ! 
 
 O, for the riband round the neck ! 
 The careless dog's-cars apt to deck 
 
 My book and collar both ! 
 How can this formal man be styled 
 Merely an Alexandrine child, 
 
 A boy of larger growth ?
 
 156 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 
 
 O for that small, small beer anew ! 
 
 And (heaven's own type) that mild sky-blue 
 
 That wash'd my sweet meals down ; 
 The master even ! — and that small Turk 
 That t'agg'd me ! — worse is now my work — 
 
 A fag for all the town ! 
 
 for the lessons learn'd by heart ! 
 Ay, though the very birch's smart 
 
 Should mark those hours again ; 
 
 1 'd " kiss the rod," and be resigned 
 Beneath the stroke, and even find 
 
 Some sugar in the cane ! 
 
 The Arabian Nights rehears'd in bed ! 
 The Fairy Tales in school-time read. 
 
 By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun ! 
 The angel form that always walk'd 
 In all my dreams, and look'd and talk'd 
 
 Exactly like Miss Brown ! 
 
 The omtw bene — Christmas come ! 
 The prize of merit, won for home — 
 
 Merit had prizes then ! 
 But now I write for days and days, 
 For fame — a deal of empty praise, 
 
 Without the silver pen !
 
 A REXnOSPECTIVE REVIEW. 157 
 
 Then home, sweet home! the crowded coach — 
 The joyous shout — the loud approach — 
 
 The winding horns hke rams' ! 
 The meeting sweet that made me thrill, 
 The sweetmeats almost sweeter still, 
 
 No ' satis ' to the 'jams !' — 
 
 Wlien that I was a tiny boy 
 
 My days and nights were full of joy, 
 
 My mates were blithe and kind ! 
 No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
 And dash the tear-drop from my eye, 
 
 To cast a look behind !
 
 FAIR INES. 
 
 I. 
 
 O saw ye not fair Ines ? 
 
 She 's gone into the West, 
 
 To dazzle when the sun is down, 
 
 And rob the world of rest : 
 
 She took our daylight with her, 
 
 The smiles that we love best, 
 
 With morning blushes on her cheek, 
 
 And pearls upon her breast. 
 
 II. 
 
 turn again, fair Ines, 
 Before the fall of night, 
 
 For fear the Moon should shine alone, 
 
 And stars unrivall'd bright ; 
 
 And blessed will the lover be 
 
 That walks beneath their light, 
 
 And breathes the love against thy cheek 
 
 1 dare not even write !
 
 FAIR INES. 159 
 
 III. 
 
 Would I had been, fair Ines, 
 That gallant cavalier, 
 Who rode so gaily by thy side, 
 And whisper'd thee so near ! — 
 
 W^ere there no bonny dames at home, 
 Or no true lovers here, 
 That he should cross the seas to win 
 The dearest of the dear ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 I saw thee, lovely Ines, 
 
 Descend along the shore, 
 
 With bands of noble gentlemen. 
 
 And banners wav'd before ; 
 
 And gentle youth and maidens gay. 
 
 And snowy plumes they wore ; — 
 
 It would have been a beauteous dream, 
 
 — If it had been no more ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Alas, alas, fair Ines, 
 
 She went away with song, 
 
 With Music waiting on her steps, 
 
 And shoutings of the throng ; 
 
 But some were sad, and felt no mirth. 
 
 But only Music's wrong, 
 
 In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, 
 
 To her you *ve lov'd so long.
 
 IGO PAIR INES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, 
 
 That vessel never bore 
 
 So fair a lady on its deck. 
 
 Nor danc'd so light before, — 
 
 Alas for pleasure on the sea, 
 
 And sorrow on the shore ! 
 
 The smile that blest one lover's heart 
 
 Has broken many more !
 
 161 
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 
 
 Summer is gone on swallows' wings, 
 And Earth has buried all her flowers : 
 No more the lark, the linnet sings, 
 But Silence sits in faded bowers. 
 There is a shadow on the plain 
 Of Winter ere he comes again, — 
 There is in woods a solemn sound 
 Of hollow warnings whisper'd round, 
 As Echo in her deep recess 
 For once had turn'd a prophetess. 
 Shuddering Autumn stops to list. 
 And breathes his fear in sudden sighs. 
 With clouded face, and hazel eyes 
 That quench themselves, and hide in mist. 
 
 M
 
 162 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 
 
 Yes, Summer 's gone like pageant bright ; 
 Its glorious days of golden light 
 Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver, 
 Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river. 
 Gone the sweetly-scented breeze 
 That spoke in music to the trees ; 
 Gone for damp and chilly breath, 
 As if fresh blown o'er marble seas, 
 Or newly from the lungs of Death. — 
 Gone its virgin roses' blushes, 
 Warm as when Aurora rushes 
 Freshly from the god's embrace. 
 With all her shame upon her face. 
 Old Time hath laid them in the mould ; 
 Sure he is blind as well as old, 
 Whose hand relentless never spares 
 Young cheeks so beauty -bright as theirs ! 
 Gone are the flame-ey'd lovers now 
 From where so blushing-blest they tarried 
 Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough. 
 Gone ; for Day and Night arc married. 
 All the light of love is fled : — 
 Alas ! that negro breasts should hide
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 163 
 
 The lips that were so rosy red, 
 At morning and at even-tide ! 
 
 Dehghtful Summer ! then adieu 
 Till thou shalt visit us anew : 
 But who without regretful sigh 
 Can say, adieu, and see thee fly ? 
 Not he that e'er hath felt thy pow'r, 
 His joy expanding like a flow'r 
 That Cometh after rain and snow, 
 Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow : — 
 Not he that fled from Babel-strife 
 To the green sabbath-land of life, 
 To dodge dull Care 'mid cluster'd trees. 
 And cool his forehead in the breeze, — 
 Whose spirit, weary-worn perchance, 
 Shook from its wings a weight of grief, 
 And perch'd upon an aspen leaf, 
 For every breath to make it dance. 
 
 Farewell ! — on wings of sombre stain, 
 That blacken in the last blue skies, 
 Thou fly'st ; but thou wilt come again 
 On the gay wings of butterflies. 
 M 2
 
 164? THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 
 
 Spring at thy approach will sprout 
 
 Her new Corinthian beauties out, 
 
 Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words 
 
 Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds ; 
 
 Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers. 
 
 And April smiles to sunny hours. 
 
 Bright days shall be, and gentle nights 
 
 Full of soft breath and echo-lights, 
 
 As if the god of sun-time kept 
 
 His eyes half-open while he slept. 
 
 Roses shall be where roses were, 
 
 Not shadows, but reality ; 
 
 As if they never perish'd there. 
 
 But slept in immortality : 
 
 Nature shall thrill with new delight. 
 
 And Time's relumin'd river run 
 
 Warm as young blood, and dazzling bright, 
 
 As if its source were in the sun ! 
 
 But say, hath Winter then no charms ? 
 Is there no joy, no gladness warms 
 His aged heart ? no happy wiles 
 To cheat the hoary one to smiles ?
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 1()5 
 
 Onward he comes — the cruel North 
 Pours his furious whirlwind forth 
 Before him — and we breathe the breath 
 Of famish'd bears that howl to death. 
 Onward he comes from rocks that blanch 
 O'er solid streams that never flow, 
 His tears all ice, his locks all snow, 
 Just crept from some huge avalanche — 
 A thing half-breathing and half-warm, 
 As if one spark began to glow 
 Within some statue's marble form, 
 Or pilgrim stiffen'd in the storm. 
 O ! will not Mirth's light arrows fail 
 To pierce that frozen coat of mail ? 
 O ! will not Joy but strive in vain 
 To light up those glaz'd eyes again ? 
 
 No ! take him in, and blaze the oak, 
 And pour the wine, and warm the ale ; 
 His sides shall shake to many a joke, 
 His tongue shall thaw in many a tale, 
 His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay, 
 And even his palsy charm'd away. 
 M 3
 
 166 THE DEPARTURE OF .SUM\fER. 
 
 What heeds he then the boisterous shout 
 Of angry winds that scold without, 
 Like shrewish wives at tavern door ? 
 What heeds he then the wild uproar 
 Of billows bursting on the shore ? 
 In dashing waves, in howling breeze, 
 There is a music that can charm him ; 
 When safe, and shelter'd, and at ease, 
 He hears the storm that cannot harm him. 
 
 But hark ! those shouts ! that sudden din 
 Of little hearts that laugh within. 
 O ! take him where the youngsters play, 
 And he will grow as young as they ! 
 They come ! they come ! each blue-ey'd Sport, 
 
 The Twelfth-Night King and all his court — 
 'Tis Mirth fresh crown'd with misletoe ! 
 Music with her merry fiddles, 
 Joy " on light fantastic toe," 
 
 Wit with all his jests and riddles, 
 
 Singing and dancing as they go. 
 
 And Love, young Love, among the rest, 
 
 A welcome — nor unbidden guest.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 167 
 
 But Still for Summer dost thou grieve? 
 Then read our Poets — they shall weave 
 A garden of green fancies still, 
 Where thy wish may rove at will. 
 They have kept for after treats 
 The essences of summer sweets, 
 And echoes of its songs that wind 
 In endless music through the mind : 
 They have stamp'd in visible traces 
 The " thoughts that breathe," in words that shine • 
 The flights of soul in sunny places — 
 To greet and company with thine. 
 These shall wing thee on to flow'rs — 
 The past or future, that shall seem 
 All the brighter in thy dream 
 For blowing in such desert hours. 
 The summer never shines so bright 
 As thought of in a winter's night ; 
 And the sweetest loveliest rose 
 Is in the bud before it blows. 
 The dear one of the lover's heart 
 Is painted to his longing eyes. 
 In charms she ne'er can realize — 
 But when she turns again to part. 
 M 4-
 
 168 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 
 
 Dream thou then, and bind thy brow 
 
 With wreath of fancy roses now, 
 
 And drink of Summer in the cup 
 
 Where the Muse hath mix'd it up ; 
 
 The " dance, and song, and sun-burnt mirth," 
 
 With the warm nectar of the earth : 
 
 Drink ! 'twill glow in every vein. 
 
 And thou shalt dream the winter through : 
 
 Then waken to the sun again, 
 
 And find thy Summer Vision true !
 
 169 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 A LAKE and a fairy boat 
 
 To sail in the moonlight clear, — 
 
 And merrily we would float 
 
 From the dragons that watch us here ! 
 
 Thy gown should be snow-white silk, 
 And strings of orient pearls, 
 Like gossamers dipp'd in milk, 
 Should twine with thy raven curls ! 
 
 Red rubies should deck thy hands, 
 And diamonds should be thy dowV — 
 But Fairies have broke their wands, 
 And wishing has lost its pow'r !
 
 170 
 
 ODE: 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 I. 
 
 I SAW old Autumn in the misty morn 
 Stand shadowless like Silence, listening 
 To silence, for no lonely bird would sing 
 Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, 
 Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; — 
 Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright 
 With tangled gossamer that fell by night, 
 Pearling his coronet of golden corn. 
 
 II. 
 
 Where are the songs of Summer ? — With the sun, 
 
 Oping the dusky eyelids of the south, 
 
 Till shade and silence waken up as one, 
 
 And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
 
 ode: AUTUNfN. 171 
 
 Where are the meny birds ? — Away, away, 
 On panthig wings through the inclement skies, 
 
 Lest owls should prey 
 
 Undazzled at noon-day, 
 And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where are the blooms of Summer ? — In the west, 
 Blushing their last to the last sunny hours, 
 When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest 
 Like tearful Proserpine, snatch'd from her flow'rs 
 
 To a most gloomy breast. 
 Where is the pride of Summer, — the green prime, — 
 The many, many leaves all twinkling ? — Three 
 On the moss'd elm ; three on the naked lime 
 Trembling, — and one upon the old oak tree ! 
 
 Where is the Dryad's immortality ? — 
 Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew, 
 Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through 
 
 In the smooth holly's green eternity. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The squirrel gloats on his accomplish'd hoard, 
 
 The ants have brimm'd their garners with ripe grain,
 
 172 ode: autumn. 
 
 And honey bees have stor'd 
 The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells ; 
 The swallows all have wing'd across the main ; 
 But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, 
 
 And sighs her tearful spells 
 Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. 
 Alone, alone, 
 Upon a mossy stone, 
 She sits and reckons up the dead and gone 
 With the last leaves for a love-rosary, 
 Whilst all the wither'd world looks drearily. 
 Like a dim picture of the drowned past 
 In the hush'd mind's mysterious far away. 
 Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last 
 Into that distance, grey upon the grey. 
 
 V. 
 
 O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded 
 Under the languid downfal of her hair : 
 She wears a coronal of flowers faded 
 Upon her forehead, and a face of care ; — 
 There is enough of wither'd every where 
 To make her bower, — and enough of gloom ;
 
 ODE : AUTUMN, 173 
 
 There is enough of sadness to invite, 
 If only for the rose that died, — whose doom 
 Is Beauty's, — she that with the Uving bloom 
 Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light ; — 
 There is enough of sorrowing, and quite 
 Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear, — 
 Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl ; 
 Enough of fear and shadowy despair, 
 To frame her cloudy prison for the soul !
 
 174- 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 Spring it is cheery, 
 
 Winter is dreary, 
 Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly ; 
 
 Wlien he 's forsaken, 
 
 Wither'd and shaken, 
 What can an old man do but die ? 
 
 Love will not clip him. 
 
 Maids will not lip him, 
 Maud and Marian pass him by ; 
 
 Youth it is sunny, 
 
 Age has no honey, — 
 What can an old man do but die ?
 
 BALLAD. 175 
 
 June it was jolly, 
 
 O for its folly ! 
 A dancing leg and a laughing eye : 
 
 Youth may be silly, 
 
 Wisdom is chilly, — 
 What can an old man do but die ? 
 
 Friends, they are scanty, 
 Beggars are plenty. 
 
 If he has followers, I know why ; 
 Gold's in his clutches, 
 (Buying him crutches !) — 
 
 What can an old man do but die '^
 
 J7(> 
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 Giver of glowing light ! 
 Though but a god of other days, 
 
 The kings and sages 
 
 Of wiser ages 
 Still live and gladden in thy genial rays ! 
 
 King of the tuneful lyre, 
 Still poets' hymns to thee belong; 
 
 Though lips are cold 
 
 Whereon of old 
 Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song ! 
 
 Lord of the dreadful bow, 
 None triumph now for Python's death ; 
 
 But thou dost save 
 
 From hungry grave 
 The life that hangs upon a summer breath.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 177 
 
 Father of rosy day, 
 No more thy clouds of incense rise ; 
 
 But waking flow'rs 
 
 At morning hours, 
 Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies. 
 
 God of the Delphic fane. 
 No more thou listenest to hymns sublime ; 
 
 But they will leave 
 
 On winds at eve, 
 A solemn echo to the end of time. 
 
 ^
 
 178 
 
 TO A COLD BEAUTY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Lady, wouldst thou heiress be 
 To Winter's cold and cruel part ? 
 
 Wlien he sets the rivers free, 
 
 Thou dost still lock up thy heart ; — 
 
 Thou that shouldst outlast the snow. 
 
 But in the whiteness of thy brow ? 
 
 IL 
 
 Scorn and cold neglect are made 
 For winter gloom and winter wind. 
 
 But thou wilt wrong the summer air. 
 Breathing it to words unkind, — 
 
 Breath which only should belong 
 
 To love, to sunlight, and to song !
 
 TO A COLD BEAUTYv * 179 
 
 III. 
 
 When the Httle buds unclose, 
 
 Red, and white, and pied, and bkie, 
 
 And that virgin flow'r, the rose, 
 Opes her heart to hokl the dew, 
 
 Wilt thou lock thy bosom up 
 
 With no jewel in its cup? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let not cold December sit 
 
 Thus in Love's peculiar throne ; — 
 
 Brooklets are not prison'd now. 
 But crystal frosts are all agone. 
 
 And that which hangs upon the spray, 
 
 It is no snow, but flow'r of May ! 
 
 N 2
 
 180 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Autumn skies are flush'd witli gold, 
 And fair and bright the rivers run ; 
 These are but streams of winter cold, 
 And painted mists that quench the sun. 
 
 II. 
 
 In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, 
 In secret boughs no bird can shroud ; 
 These are but leaves that take to wing, 
 And wintry winds that pipe so loud. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms 
 That on the cheerless vallies fall, 
 The flowers are in their grassy tombs. 
 And tears of dew are on them all.
 
 181 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 She stood breast high amid the corn, 
 Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, 
 Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush, 
 Deeply ripened ; — such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born. 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell, 
 Which were blackest none could tell, 
 But long lashes veil'd a light, 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
 N 3
 
 182 RUTH. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim, 
 Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
 Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
 Praising God with sweetest looks : — 
 
 Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean, 
 Where I reap thou should'st but glean, 
 Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
 Share my harvest and my home.
 
 183 
 
 THE SEA OF DEATH. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Metliouglit I saw 
 
 Life swiftly treading over endless space ; 
 And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace, 
 The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave, 
 Swallow'd her steps like a pursuing grave. 
 
 Sad were my thoughts that anchor'd silently 
 On the dead waters of that passionless sea, 
 Unstirr'd by any touch of living breath : 
 Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death, 
 Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings 
 On crowded carcases — sad passive things 
 That wore the thin grey surface, like a veil 
 Over the calmness of their features pale. 
 
 And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep 
 Like water-lilies on that motionless deep, 
 
 N 4-
 
 184 THE SEA OF DEATH. 
 
 How beautiful ! with bright unruffled hair 
 
 On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were 
 
 Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse ! 
 
 And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips, 
 
 Meekly apart, as if the soul intense 
 
 Spake out in dreams, of its own innocence : 
 
 And so they lay in loveliness, and kept 
 
 The birth-night of their peace, that Life e'en wept 
 
 With very envy of their happy fronts ; 
 
 For there were neighbour brows scarr'd by the brunts 
 
 t)f strife and sorrowing — where Care had set 
 
 His crooked autograph, and marr'd the jet 
 
 Of glossy locks, with hollow eyes forlorn, 
 
 And lips that curl'd in bitterness and scorn — 
 
 Wretched, — as they had breathed of this world's pain, 
 
 And so bequeath'd it to the world again 
 
 Through the beholder's heart in heavy sighs. 
 
 So lay they garmented in torpid light. 
 Under the pall of a transparent night, 
 Like solemn apparitions lull'd sublime 
 To everlasting rest, — and with them Time 
 Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face 
 Of a dark dial in a sunless place.
 
 185 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 She's up and gone, the graceless Girl ! 
 
 And robb'd my failing years ; 
 My blood before was thin and cold 
 
 But now 'tis turn'd to tears ; — 
 My shadow falls upon my grave, 
 
 So near the brink I stand. 
 She might have staid a little yet, 
 
 And led me by the hand ! 
 
 Aye, call her on the barren moor, 
 
 And call her on the hill, 
 'Tis nothing but the heron's cry. 
 
 And plovers answer shrill ; 
 My child is flown on wilder wings, 
 
 Than they have ever spread, 
 And I may even walk a waste 
 
 That widtn'd wlicn she fled.
 
 186 BALLAD. 
 
 Full many a thankless child has been, 
 
 But never one like mine ; 
 Her meat was served on plates of gold, 
 
 Her drink was rosy wine ; 
 But now she'll share the robin's food, 
 
 And sup the common rill, 
 Before her feet will turn again 
 
 To meet her father's will !
 
 187 
 
 I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 
 
 I. 
 
 I remember, I remember, 
 The house where I was born, 
 The Httle window where the sun 
 Came peeping in at morn; 
 He never came a wink too soon. 
 Nor brought too long a day, 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away ! 
 
 11. 
 
 I remember, 1 remember, 
 The roses, red and white, 
 The vi'lets, and the lily-cups, 
 Those flowers made of light ! 
 The lilacs where the robin built, 
 And where my brother set 
 The liburnam on his birth-day, — 
 The tree is living yet !
 
 188 
 
 III, 
 I remember, I remember 
 Where I was used to swing, 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 To swallows on the wing ; 
 My spirit flew in feathers then, 
 That is so heavy now, 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 The fever on my brow ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The fir trees dark and high : 
 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 
 It was a childish ignorance, 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 
 To know I'm farther off from heav'n 
 
 Than when I was a boy.
 
 189 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 Sigh on sad heart, for Love's eclipse, 
 
 And Beauty's fairest queen, 
 Tho' 'tis not for my peasant lips 
 
 To soil her name between : 
 A king might lay his sceptre down, 
 
 But I am poor and nought, 
 The brow should wear a golden crown 
 
 That wears her in its thought. 
 
 The diamonds glancing in her hair. 
 
 Whose sudden beams surprise. 
 Might bid such humble hopes beware 
 
 The glancing of her eyes ; 
 Yet looking once, I look'd too long. 
 
 And if my love is sin, 
 Death follows on the heels of wrong, 
 
 And kills the crime within.
 
 J 90 BALLAU. 
 
 Her dress seeni'd wove of lily leaves, 
 
 It was so pure and fine, 
 O lofty wears, and lowly weaves, 
 
 But hoddan grey is mine ; 
 And homely hose must step apart, 
 
 Where garter'd princes stand, 
 But may he wear my love at heart 
 
 That wins her lily hand ! 
 
 Alas ! there's far from russet frize 
 
 To silks and satin gowns, 
 But I doubt if God made like degrees, 
 
 In courtly hearts and clowns. 
 My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth. 
 
 And brought her cheeks to blame, 
 And all that's lordly of my birth, 
 
 Is my reproach and shame ! 
 
 'Tis vain to weep, — 'tis vain to sigh, 
 
 'Tis vain this idle speech, 
 For where her happy pearls do lie, 
 
 My tears may never reach ;
 
 BALLAD. 191 
 
 Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride 
 
 May say of what has been, 
 His love was nobly born and died, 
 
 Tho' all the rest was mean ! 
 
 My speech is rude, — but speech is weak 
 
 Such love as mine to tell, 
 Yet had I words, I dare not speak, 
 
 So, Lady, fare thee well ; 
 I will not wish thy better state 
 
 Was one of low degree, 
 But I must weep that partial fate 
 
 Made such a churl of me.
 
 192 
 
 THE WATER LADY. 
 
 Alas, the moon should ever beam 
 To show what man should never see ! 
 I saw a maiden on a stream, 
 And fair was she ! 
 
 I staid awhile, to see her throw 
 Her tresses back, that all beset 
 The fair horizon of her brow 
 With clouds of jet. 
 
 I staid a little while to view 
 Her cheek, that wore in place of red 
 The bloom of water, tender blue, 
 Daintily spread.
 
 THE WATER LADY. 193 
 
 I Staid to watch, a little space, 
 Her parted lips if she would sing ; 
 The waters closed above her face 
 With many a ring. 
 
 And still I stay'd a little more, 
 Alas ! she never comes again ; 
 I throw my flow'rs from the shore, 
 And watch in vain. 
 
 I know my life will fade away, 
 I know that I must vainly pine, 
 For I am made of mortal clay, 
 But she s divine !
 
 19 1< 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 The swallow with summer 
 
 Will wing o'er the seas, 
 The wind that I sigh to 
 
 Will visit thy trees, 
 The ship that it hastens 
 
 Thy ports will contain. 
 But me — 1 must never 
 
 See England again ! 
 
 There 's many that weep there. 
 
 But one weeps alone, 
 For the tears that are falling 
 
 So far from her own ; 
 So far from thy own, love. 
 
 We know not our pain ; 
 If death is between us. 
 
 Or only the main.
 
 THE liXILE. 195 
 
 When the white cloud reclines 
 
 On the verge of the sea, 
 I fancy the white cliffs, 
 
 And dream upon thee ; 
 But the cloud spreads its wings 
 
 To the blue heav'n and flies. 
 We never shall meet, love, 
 
 Except in the skies ! 
 
 o 2
 
 W(5 
 
 TO AN ABSENTEE. 
 
 O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea, 
 Through all the miles that stretch between, 
 My thought must fly to rest on thee, 
 And would, though worlds should intervene. 
 
 Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks 
 The farther we are forc'd apart, 
 Affection's firm elastic links 
 But bind the closer round the heart. 
 
 For now we sever each from each, 
 I learn what I have lost in thee ; 
 Alas, that nothing less could teach. 
 How great indeed my love should be ! 
 
 Farewell ! I did not know thy worth. 
 But thou art gone, and now 'tis priz'd: 
 So angels walk'd unknown on earth. 
 But when they flew were recogniz'd !
 
 J97 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 The stars are with the voyager 
 
 Wherever he may sail ; 
 The moon is constant to her time ; 
 
 The sun will never fail ; 
 But follow, follow round the world, 
 
 The green earth and the sea ; 
 So love is with the lover's heart, 
 
 Wherever he may be. 
 
 II. 
 
 Wherever he may be, the stars 
 
 Must daily lose their light ; 
 The moon will veil her in the shade ; 
 
 The sun will set at night. 
 The sun may set, but constant love 
 
 Will shine when he 's away ; 
 So that dull night is never night, 
 
 And day is brighter day. 
 o 3
 
 198 
 
 ODE TO THE MOON. 
 
 Mother of light ! how fairly dost thou go 
 Over those hoary crests, divinely led ! — 
 Art thou that huntress of the silver bow 
 Fabled of old ? Or rather dost thou tread 
 Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, 
 Like the wild Chamois from her Alpine snow, 
 Where hunter never climb'd, — secure from dread ? 
 How many antique fancies have I read 
 Of that mild presence ! and how many wrought ! 
 
 Wondrous and bright, 
 
 Upon the silver light, 
 Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought !
 
 ODE TO THE MOON. 199 
 
 II. 
 
 What art thou Uke ? — Sometimes I see thee ride 
 
 A far-bound galley on its perilous way, 
 
 Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray ; — 
 
 Sometimes behold thee gUde, 
 Cluster'd by all thy family of stars, 
 Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide, 
 Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars ; — 
 Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep, 
 Timidly lighted by thy vestal torch, 
 Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, 
 To catch the young Endymion asleep, — 
 Leaving thy splendour at the jagged porch ! — 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh, thou art beautiful, howe'er it be ! 
 Huntress, or Dian, or whatever nam'd ; 
 And he, the veriest Pagan, that first fram'd 
 A silver idol, and ne'er worshlp{)'d thee ! — 
 It is too late, or thou should'st have my knee ; 
 Too late now for the old Ephesian vows, 
 And not divine the crescent on thy brows ! — 
 Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild Moon, 
 
 Behind those chesnut boughs, 
 Casting their dappled shadows at my feet ; 
 I will be grateful for that simple boon, 
 In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
 And bless thy dainty face whene'er vvc meet. 
 
 o 4
 
 200 ODE TO THE MOOX. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In nights far gone, — ay, far away and dead, — 
 
 Before Care-fretted with a lidless eye, — 
 
 I was thy wooer on my little bed, 
 
 Letting the early hours of rest go by. 
 
 To see thee flood the heaven with milky light, 
 
 And feed thy snow-white swans, before I slept ; 
 
 For thou wert then purveyor of my dreams, — 
 
 Thou wert the fairies' armourer, that kept 
 
 Their burnish'd helms, and crowns, and corslets bright, 
 
 Their spears, and glittering mails ; 
 And ever thou didst spill in winding streams 
 
 Sparkles and midnight gleams, 
 For hshes to new gloss their argent scales ! — 
 
 V. 
 
 Why sighs? — why creeping tears? — why clasped hands ?- 
 
 Is it to count the boy's expended dow'r ? 
 
 That fairies since have broke their gifted wands ? 
 
 That young Delight, like any o'erblown flow'r, 
 
 Gave, one by one, its sweet leaves to the ground ? — 
 
 Why then, fair Moon, for all thou mark'st no hour, 
 
 Thou art a sadder dial to old Time 
 
 Than ever I have found 
 On sunny garden-plot, or moss-grown tow'r, 
 Motto'd with stern and melancholy rhyme.
 
 ODK TO THE MOON. '20i 
 
 VI. 
 
 Why should 1 grieve for this ? • — 1 must yearn. 
 
 Whilst Time, conspirator with Memory, 
 
 Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn, 
 
 Richly emboss'd with childhood's revelry, 
 
 With Jeaves and cluster'd fruits, and flow'rs eterne, 
 
 (Eternal to the world, though not to me,) 
 
 Aye there will those brave sports and blossoms be, 
 
 The deathless wreath, and undecay'd festoon. 
 
 When I am hears'd within, — 
 Less than the pallid primrose to the Moon, 
 That now she watches through a vapour thin. 
 
 VII. 
 
 So let it be : — Before I liv'd to sigh. 
 Thou wcrt in Avon, and a thousand rills. 
 Beautiful Orb ! and so, whene'er I lie 
 Trodden, thou wilt be gazing from thy hills. 
 Blest be thy loving light, where'er it spills, 
 And blessed thy fair face, O Mother mild ! 
 Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run. 
 Still lend thy lonely lamp to lovers fond. 
 And blend their plighted shadoAvs into one : 
 Still smile at even on the bedded child. 
 And close his eyelids with thy silver wand !
 
 ( 
 
 202 
 
 TO 
 
 Welconf E, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow ; 
 The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine : — 
 Flow'rs I have none to give thee, but I borrow 
 Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine. 
 
 Here are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks, — 
 The white were all too happy to look white : 
 For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks ; 
 It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright ! 
 
 Dost love sweet Hyacinth ? Its scented leaf 
 Curls manifold, — all love's delights blow double: 
 'Tis said this flow 'ret is inscribed with grief, — 
 But let that hint of a forgotten trouble. 
 
 I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon ; 
 Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night; — 
 'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon ! 
 And here arc Sun-flowers, amorous of light !
 
 TO 
 
 203 
 
 These golden Ikittercups are April's seal, — 
 The Daisy stars her constellations be : 
 These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, 
 Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee ! 
 
 Here 's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom, 
 Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours : — 
 A wight once made a dial of their bloom, — 
 So may thy life be measur'd out by flow'rs !
 
 2()i 
 
 THE FORSAKEN. 
 
 Thk dead are in their silent graves, 
 And the dew is cold above, 
 And the living weep and sigh, 
 Over dust that once was love. 
 
 Once I only wept the dead, 
 
 But now the living caufee my pain : 
 
 How couldst thou steal me from my tears, 
 
 To leave me to my tears again ? 
 
 My Mother rests beneath the sod, — 
 Her rest is calm and very deep : 
 I wish'd that she could see our loves, — 
 But now I gladden in her sleep.
 
 THE FORSAKEN. '205 
 
 Last night unbound my raven locks, 
 f The morning saw them turn'd to gray, 
 
 f Once they were black and well belov'd, 
 
 But thou art chang'd, — and so are they ! 
 
 The useless lock I gave thee once, 
 t To gaze upon and think of me, 
 
 Was ta'en with smiles, — but this was torn 
 In sorrow that I send to thee !
 
 I 
 
 '20G 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 The Autumn is old, 
 The sere leaves are flying ; — 
 He hath gather'd up gold, 
 And now he is dying ; — 
 Old age, begin sighing ! 
 
 The vintage is ripe. 
 The harvest is heaping ; — 
 But some that have sow'd 
 Have no riches for reaping ; — 
 Poor wretch, fall a weeping ! 
 
 The year 's in the wane, 
 There is nothing adorning, 
 The night has no eve, 
 And the day has no morning ; — 
 Cold winter gives warning. 
 
 The rivers run chill, 
 
 The red sun is sinking. 
 
 And I am grown old. 
 
 And life is fast shrinking ; — 
 
 Here 's enow for sad thinking !
 
 WJ 
 
 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Come, let us set our careful breasts, 
 Like Philomel, against the thorn, 
 To aggravate the inward grief, 
 That makes her accents so forlorn ; 
 The world has many cruel points, 
 Whereby our bosoms have been torn, 
 And there are dainty themes of grief, 
 In sadness to outlast the morn, — 
 True honour's dearth, affection's death. 
 Neglectful pride, and cankering scorn. 
 With all the piteous tales that tears 
 Have watcr'd since the world was born. 
 
 The world ! — it is a wilderness, 
 Where tears are hung on ever}^ tree ; 
 For thus my gloomy phantasy 
 Makes all things weep with mo !
 
 'MS DDK TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Come let us sit and watcli the sky, 
 And fancy clouds, where no clouds be ; 
 Grief is enough to blot the eye. 
 And make heav'n black with misery. 
 Why should birds sing such merry notes, 
 Unless they were more blest than we ? 
 No sorrow ever chokes their throats. 
 Except sweet nightingale ; for she 
 Was born to pain our hearts the more 
 With her sad melody. 
 Why shines the sun, except that he 
 Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide, 
 And pensive shades for Melancholy, 
 When all the earth is bright beside? 
 Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave, 
 Mirth shall not win us back again, 
 Whilst man is made of his own grave, 
 And fairest clouds but gilded rain ! 
 
 I saw my mother in her shroud. 
 Her cheek was cold and very pale ; 
 And ever since I've look'd on all 
 As creatures doom'd to fail !
 
 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 209 
 
 Why do buds ope, except to die ? 
 
 Ay, let us watch the roses wither, 
 
 And think of our loves' cheeks ; 
 
 And oh, how quickly time doth fly 
 
 To bring death's winter hither ! 
 
 Minutes, hours, days, and weeks, 
 
 Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought ; 
 
 An age past is but a thought ! 
 
 Ay, let us think of Him a while, 
 That, with a coffin for a boat, 
 Rows daily o'er the Stygian moat. 
 And for our table choose a tomb : 
 There's dark enough in any skull 
 To charge with black a raven plume ; 
 And for the saddest funeral thoughts 
 A winding sheet hath ample room, 
 Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, 
 
 Hath writ the common doom. 
 
 How wide the yew tree spreads its gloom, 
 
 And o'er the dead lets fall its dew, 
 
 As if in tears it wept for them. 
 
 The many human families 
 
 Tliat sleep around its stem ! 
 
 p
 
 210 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 How cold the dead have made these stones, 
 • With natural drops kept ever wet ! 
 Lo ! here the best, the worst, the world 
 Doth now remember or forget, 
 Are in one common ruin hurl'd. 
 And love and hate are calmly met; 
 The loveliest eyes that ever shone. 
 The fairest hands, and locks of jet. 
 Is't not enough to vex our souls, 
 And fill our eyes, that we have set 
 Our love upon a rose's leaf. 
 Our hearts upon a violet ? 
 Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ; 
 And, sometimes, at their swift decay 
 Beforehand we must fret : 
 The roses bud and bloom again ; 
 But love may haunt the grave of love, 
 And watch the mould in vain. 
 
 O clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine. 
 And do not take my tears amiss ; 
 For tears must flow to wash away 
 A thought that shows so stern as this :
 
 ODE TO MELAXCHOLY. 211 
 
 Forgive, if somewhile I forget, 
 In woe to come, the present bliss. 
 As frighted Proserpine let fall 
 Her flowers at the sight of Dis, 
 Ev'n so the dark and bright will kiss. 
 The sunniest things throw sternest shade, 
 And there is ev'n a happiness 
 That makes the heart afraid ' 
 
 Now let us with a spell invoke 
 The fuU-orb'd moon to grieve our eyes ; 
 Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud 
 Lapp'd all about her, let her rise 
 All pale and dim, as if from rest 
 The ghost of the late buried sun 
 Had crept into the skies. 
 The Moon ! she is the source of sighs, 
 The very face to make us sad ; 
 If but to think in other times 
 The same calm quiet look she had, 
 As if the world held nothing base, 
 Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad; 
 
 p 2
 
 212 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 The same fair light that shone in streams, 
 
 The fairy lamp that charm'd the lad ; 
 
 For SO it is, with spent delights 
 
 She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad. 
 
 All things are touch'd with Melancholy, 
 Born of the secret soul's mistrust. 
 To feel her fair ethereal wings 
 Weigh'd down with vile degraded dust ; 
 Even the bright extremes of joy 
 Bring on conclusions of disgust, 
 Like the sweet blossoms of the May, 
 Whose fragrance ends in must. 
 O give her, then, her tribute just, 
 Her sighs and tears, and musings holy ! 
 There is no music in the life 
 That sounds with idiot laughter solely; 
 There's not a string attun'd to mirth, 
 But has its chord in Melancholy.
 
 213 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON MISTRESS NICELY, A PATTERN FOR 
 HOUSEKEEPERS. 
 
 Written after seeing Mrs. Davenport in the character, at 
 Covent Garden. 
 
 She was a woman peerless in her station. 
 
 With houseliold virtues wedded to her name ; 
 
 Spotless in linen, grass-bleach'd in her fame, 
 And pure and clear-starch'd in her conversation ; — 
 Thence in my Castle of Imagination 
 
 She dwells for evermore, the dainty dame, 
 
 To keep all airy draperies from shame, 
 And all dream furnitures in preservation : 
 
 There walketh she with keys quite silver bright, 
 In perfect hose, and shoes of seemly black. 
 
 Apron and stomacher of lily-white. 
 And decent order follows in her track : 
 
 The burnish'd plate grows lustrous in her sight, 
 And polish'd floors and tables shine her back. 
 
 r 3
 
 214. 
 
 I 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky 
 
 The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled ! 
 
 Hues of all flow'rs that in their ashes lie, 
 
 Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed, 
 
 Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red, — 
 
 Like exhalations from the leafy mould. 
 
 Look here how honour glorifies the dead, 
 
 And warms their scutcheons with a glance of gold 
 
 Such is the memory of poets old, 
 
 Who on Parnassus' hill have bloom'd elate ; 
 
 Now they are laid under their marbles cold, 
 
 And turn'd to clay, whereof they were create ; 
 
 But God Apollo hath them all enroll'd, 
 
 And bkiisond on the very clouds of fate !
 
 21.5 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO FANCY. 
 
 Most delicate Ariel ! submissive thing, 
 Won by the mind's high magic to its hest, — 
 Invisible embassy, or secret guest, — 
 Weighing the light air on a lighter wing ; — 
 Whether into the midnight moon, to bring 
 Illuminate visions to the eye of rest, — 
 Or rich romances from the florid West, — 
 Or to the sea, for mystic Avhispering, — 
 Still by thy charm'd allegiance to the will, 
 The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain, 
 As by the fingering of fairy skill, — 
 Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain, 
 Odours, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile, 
 Making this dull world an cncluuitcd isle. 
 
 r 4
 
 216 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Young ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's truth, 
 
 Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind, 
 
 And still a large late love of all thy kind. 
 
 Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth, — 
 
 For all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth, 
 
 Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind 
 
 Thine eyes with tears, — that thou hast not resign'd 
 
 The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth : 
 
 For as the current of thy life shall flow, 
 
 Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stain'd. 
 
 Through flow'ry valley or unwholesome fen, 
 
 Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy woe 
 
 Thrice cursed of thy race, — tliou art ordain'd 
 
 To bhart bc} ond the lot of common men.
 
 217 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 It is not death, that sometime in a sigh 
 
 This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight ; 
 
 That sometime these bright stars, that now reply 
 
 In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night ; 
 
 That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite, 
 
 And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow ; 
 
 That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spright 
 
 Be lapp'd in alien clay and laid below ; 
 
 It is not death to know this, — but to know 
 
 That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves 
 
 In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go 
 
 So duly and so oft, — and when grass waves 
 
 Over tlie past-away, there may be then 
 
 No resurrection in the minds of men.
 
 218 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 By ev'ry sweet tradition of true hearts, 
 Graven by Time, in love with his own lore ; 
 By all old martyrdoms and antique smarts, 
 Wherein Love died to be alive the more ; 
 Yea, by the sad impression on the shore. 
 Left by the drown'd Leander, to endear 
 That coast for ever, where the billow's roar 
 Moaneth for pity in the Poet's ear ; 
 By Hero's faith, and the foreboding tear 
 That quench'd her brand's last twinkle in its fall ; 
 By Sappho's leap, and the low rustling fear 
 That sigh'd around her flight ; I swear by all, 
 The world shall find such pattern in my act, 
 As if Love's great examples still were lack'd.
 
 219 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON HECEIVINC; A GIFT, 
 
 Look how the golden ocean shines above 
 
 Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth ; 
 
 vSo does the bright and blessed light of love 
 
 Its own things glorify, and raise their worth. 
 
 As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine. 
 
 And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed, 
 
 Ev'n so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine 
 
 Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ; 
 
 For where be ocean waves but half so clear. 
 
 So calmly constant, and so kindly warm. 
 
 As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere, 
 
 That hath no dregs to be upturn'd by storm ? 
 
 Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of jirice, 
 
 And more llian gold to doting Avarice.
 
 220 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 The curse of Adam, the old curse of all, 
 
 Though I inherit in this feverish Hfe 
 
 Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and hard strife, 
 
 And fruitless thought, in Care's eternal thrall, 
 
 Yet more sweet honey than of bitter gall 
 
 I taste, through thee, my Eva, my sweet wife. 
 
 Then what was Man's lost Paradise ! — how rife 
 
 Of bliss, since love is with him in his fall ! 
 
 Such as our own pure passion still might frame. 
 
 Of this fair earth, and its delightful bow'rs, 
 
 If no fell sorrow, like the serpent, came 
 
 To trail its venom o'er the sweetest flow'rs ; — 
 
 IJut oh ! as many and such tears are ours. 
 
 As only should be shed for guilt and shame !
 
 221 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak, 
 Lives not within the humour of the eye ; — 
 Not being but an outward phantasy. 
 That skims the surface of a tinted cheek, — 
 Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak, 
 As if the rose made summer, — and so lie 
 Amongst the perishable things that die. 
 Unlike the love which I would give and seek : 
 Whose health is of no hue — to feel decay 
 With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime. 
 Love is its own great loveliness alway. 
 And takes new lustre from the touch of time ; 
 Its bough owns no December and no May, 
 But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.
 
 '222 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 SILENCE. 
 
 There is a silence where hath been no sound, 
 There is a silence where no sound may be, 
 In the cold grave — under the deep deep sea, 
 
 Or in wide desert where no lite is found, 
 
 Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound; 
 No voice is hush'd — no life treads silently, 
 But clouds and cloudy shadows wander fi-ee, 
 
 That never spoke, over the idle ground : 
 
 But in green ruins, in the desolate walls 
 Of antique palaces, where Man hath been, 
 
 Though the dun fox, or wild hyena, calls, 
 And owls, that flit continually between, 
 
 Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan, 
 
 There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone. 
 
 THE END.
 
 By the same Author. 
 Price Is. 6d. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CANT. 
 
 An extremely clever and amusing production, full of humour 
 and pleasant strokes of satire. Cant is presented in an infinite 
 variety of shapes, and very droll shapes they arc. — Alorning Cliron. 
 
 It is full of fun and fancy. Since Gilray's famous Union, we 
 have not seen a sheet so cleverly filled up. — Literary Gazette. 
 
 It has been said, that Hogarth's pictures we read; and the same 
 may be truly said of the print before us. — London Magazine. 
 
 A humorous caricature, in which the watchwords of the differ- 
 ent sects and parties are displayed with great effect and impartiality. 
 In fertility and ingenuity it reminds us (which is the highest praise 
 that can be bestowed on such a work) of Hogarth. — Globe ^ Trav. 
 
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 AND DICKINSON, OLD BOND STREET. 
 
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 WHIMS AND ODDITIES: 
 
 IN PROSE AND VERSE: 
 With Forty Original Designs by the Author.
 
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