LQi 
 
 The Dream of Eugene Aram 
 Autumn TheRomanceof Cologne 
 
 The Flower THEPLEAOFTHEMlOSUMIVIERFAIRiES 
 
 TheElmTree , The Mermaid OF Margate ^ 
 
 TheLay OFTHE Labourer Hero andLeander 
 TheHaunted House A Legend of Navarre 
 
 A Storm at Hastings Our Ladies' Chapel 
 
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 .J
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 AGAIN ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 BIRKET FOSTER. 
 
 '~.-j LONDON : 
 
 E. MOXON, SON & CO., DOVER STREET; 
 
 AND 
 
 I, AMEN CORNER, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 1872.
 
 FOOT I 
 LIBRARY 1 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SWirT AND CO., RECENT PRESS, KING STREET. 
 
 REGENT STREET, \V.
 
 ^796 
 
 f.IBRARY 
 
 liAllVEHSii i Ol- CAUFORNU 
 
 SAi>TA BARBARA 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Dream of Eugene Aram . . . . i 
 
 Autumn . . . . . . . . . 1 1 
 
 The Flower . . . . . . . -13 
 
 The Elm Tree 15 
 
 The Lay of the Labourer 37 
 
 The Haunted House 42 
 
 A Storm at Hastings 62 
 
 The Romance of Cologne 73 
 
 The Plea of Midsummer Fairies .... 76 
 
 The Mermaid of Margate 127 
 
 Hero and Leander 134 
 
 A Legend of Navarre ...... 168 
 
 Our Ladies' Chapel 176 

 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Dream of Eugene Aram. 
 
 " Pleasantly shone the setting Sun 
 Over the town of Lynn." P^s^ 
 
 Autumn. 
 
 " The Autumn is old. 
 The harvest is heaping." Pa^e 1 1 
 
 The Flower. 
 
 " Lawl< a daisy." ^"^.T* 1 4 
 
 The Elm Tree. 
 
 " 'Twas in a shady avenue. 
 Where lofty Elms abound." Page 15 
 
 ' I wander'd down the dappled path 
 Of mingled light and shade — " P^g^ *° 
 
 ' In all its giant bulk and length 
 It lies along the sod." Pt^ge 28
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 A Storm at Hastings. 
 
 The Lay of the Labourer. 
 
 "To lay the swathe on the sultry field.'" -P",?^ 37 
 
 The Haunted House. 
 
 " An old deserted mansion." Pn^e 41 
 
 'And in the weedy moat the heron, fond 
 Of solitude, alighted." Page 45 
 
 • So fierce the lightning flashed. In all their days 
 The oldest smugglers had not seen such flashing." Page 66 
 
 " The seamen widely drew 
 
 The Neptune rather higher on the l)each." Page 67 
 
 " A boiling ocean of mixed black and green." Page 71 
 
 The Romance of Cologne. 
 
 " 'Ti« even^.on the pleasant banks of Rhine."' Page 73 
 
 ' "Tis midnight — and the moonbeam, cold and wan. 
 On bower and river quietly is sleeping." ^'"JT' 74
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Vll 
 
 The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies. 
 
 " Thanks to the sweet Bard's auspicious pen 
 That rescued us so long." Pt^gt^ 8 1 
 
 "'Twas nigh sweet Amwell." Page 103 
 
 The Mermaid of Margate. 
 
 " On Margate beach." PageUp 
 
 ' He was saved from the hungry deep by a boat 
 Of Deal — (but builded of oak). Page 133 
 
 Hero and Leander. 
 
 " Sestos and Abydos." Pig^ '^4 
 
 " Sestos and Abydos." P<^g^ 164 
 
 A Legend of Navarre. 
 
 "The old chateau." Page 171 
 
 Our Ladies' Chapel. 
 
 "The Mosel Bridge." Page lyS
 
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 Ct)e Bream of Ctigene ^vam. 
 
 WAS in the prime of summer time, 
 An evening calm and cool, 
 And four-and-tvventy happy boys 
 Came bounding out of school : 
 There were some that ran and some that leapt, 
 Like troutlets in a pool. 
 
 Away they sped with gamesome minds. 
 
 And souls untouch'd by sin ; 
 To a level mead they came, and there 
 
 They drave the wickets in : 
 Pleasantly shone the setting sun 
 
 Over the town of Lynn. 
 
 Like sportive deer they coursed about, 
 
 And shouted as they ran, — 
 Turning to mirth all things of earth, 
 
 As only boyhood can ; 
 But the Usher sat remote from all 
 
 A melancholy man !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 His hat was off, his vest apart, 
 To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 
 
 For a burning thought was in his brow. 
 And his bosom ill at ease : 
 
 So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read 
 The book between his knees ! 
 
 Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er. 
 
 Nor ever glanced aside, 
 For the peace of his soul he read that book 
 
 In the golden eventide : 
 Much study had made him very lean, 
 
 And pale, and leaden-eyed. 
 
 At last he shut the ponderous tome. 
 
 With a fast and fervent grasp 
 He strain'd the dusky covers close, 
 
 And fix'd the brazen hasp : 
 "Oh, God ! could I so close my mind, 
 
 And clasp it with a clasp I" 
 
 Then leaping on his feet upright, 
 
 Some moody turns he took, — 
 Now up the mead, then down the mead, 
 
 And past a shady nook, — 
 And, lo ! he saw a little boy 
 
 That purcd upon a book !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 " My gentle lad, what is't you read — 
 
 Romance or fairy fable ? 
 Or is it some historic page, 
 
 Of kings and crowns unstable ? " 
 The young boy gave an upward glance, — 
 
 " It is 'The Death of Abel.'" 
 
 The Usher took six hasty strides. 
 
 As smit with sudden pain, — 
 Six hasty strides beyond the place. 
 
 Then slowly back again ; 
 And down he sat beside the lad, 
 
 And talk'd with him of Cain ; 
 
 And, long since then, of bloody men, 
 
 Whose deeds tradition saves ; 
 Of lonely folk cut off unseen, 
 
 And hid in sudden graves ; 
 Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn. 
 
 And murders done in caves ; 
 
 And how the sprites of injured men 
 
 Shriek upward from the sod, — 
 Aye, how the ghostly hand will point 
 
 To show the burial clod ; 
 And unknown facts of guilty acts 
 
 Are seen in dreams from God ! 
 
 B 2
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 He told how murderers walk the earth 
 
 Beneath the curse of Cain, — 
 With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
 
 And flames about their brain : 
 For blood has left upon their souls 
 
 Its everlasting stain ! 
 
 " And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth, 
 Their pangs must be extreme, — 
 
 Woe, woe, unutterable woe, — 
 Who spill life's sacred stream ! 
 
 For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought 
 A murder, in my dream ! 
 
 " One that had never done me wrong — 
 
 A feeble man, and old ; 
 I led him to a lonely field, — 
 
 The moon shone clear and cold : 
 Now here, said I, this man shall die, 
 
 And I will have his gold ! 
 
 " Two sudden blows with a ragged stick. 
 
 And one with a heavy stone, 
 One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — 
 
 And then the deed was done : 
 There was nothing lying at my foot 
 
 But lifeless flesh and bone !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 " Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 
 
 That could not do me ill ; 
 And yet I fear'd him all the more, 
 
 For lying there so still : 
 There was a manhood in his look, 
 
 That murder could not kill 1 
 
 " And, lo ! the universal air 
 
 Seem'd lit with ghastly flame ; — 
 
 Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 
 Were looking down in blame : 
 
 I took the dead man by his hand, 
 And call'd upon his name! 
 
 " Oh, God ! it made me quake to see 
 Such sense within the slain ! 
 
 But when I touch'd the lifeless clay, 
 The blood gush'd out amain ! 
 
 For every clot, a burning spot 
 Was scorching in my brain ! 
 
 " My head was like an ardent coal, 
 
 My heart as solid ice; 
 My wretched, wretched soul, I knew. 
 
 Was at the Devil's price ; 
 A dozen times I groan'd ; the dead 
 
 Had never groan'd but twice !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 "And now, from forth the frowning sky, 
 From the heaven's topmost height, 
 
 I heard a voice — the awful voice 
 Of the blood-avenging Sprite: — 
 
 ' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead 
 And hide it from my sight ! ' 
 
 " I took the dreary body up, 
 
 And cast it in a stream, — 
 A sluggish water, black as ink, 
 
 The depth was so extreme: — 
 My gentle boy, remember this 
 
 Is nothing but a dream ! 
 
 " Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, 
 
 And vanish'd in the pool ! 
 Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 
 
 And wash'd my forehead cool. 
 And sat among the urchins young, 
 
 That evening in the school. 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! to think of their white souls, 
 
 And mine so black and grim ! 
 I could not share in childish prayer, 
 
 Nor join in Evening Hymn : 
 Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd 
 
 'Mid holy Cherubim !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 "And peace went with them, one and all, 
 And each calm pillow spread ; 
 
 But Guilt was my grim chamberlain 
 That lighted me to bed ; 
 
 And drew my midnight curtains round, 
 With fingers bloody red ! 
 
 "All night I lay in agony. 
 
 In anguish dark and deep ; 
 My fever'd eyes I dared not close, 
 
 But stared aghast at Sleep : 
 For Sin had render'd unto her 
 
 The keys of Hell to keep ! 
 
 " All night I lay in agony, 
 
 From weary chime to chime, 
 With one besetting horrid hint, 
 
 That rack'd me all the time ; 
 A mighty yearning, like the first 
 
 Fierce impulse unto crime ! 
 
 "One stern tyrannic thought, that made 
 
 All other thoughts its slave ; 
 Stronger and stronger every pulse 
 
 Did that temptation crave, — 
 Still urging me to go and see 
 
 The Dead Man in his grave !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 " Heavily I rose up, as soon 
 
 As light was in the sky, 
 And sought the black accursed pool 
 
 With a wild misgiving eye ; 
 And I saw the Dead in the river bed. 
 
 For the faithless stream was dry 
 
 " Merrily rose the lark, and shook 
 
 The dew-drop from its wing : 
 But I never marked its morning flight, 
 
 I never heard it sing : 
 For I was stooping once again 
 
 Under the horrid thing. 
 
 " With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 
 
 I took him up and ran ; — 
 There was no time to dig a grave 
 
 Before the day began : 
 In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 
 
 I hid the murdcr'd man ! 
 
 " And all that day I read in school, 
 But my thought was other-where. 
 
 As soon as the mid-day task was done. 
 In secret I was there : 
 
 And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
 And still the corse was bare !
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 " Then down I cast me on my face, 
 
 And first began to weep, 
 For I knew my secret then was one 
 
 That earth refused to keep : 
 Or land or sea, though he should be 
 
 Ten thousand fathoms deep. 
 
 " So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 
 
 Till blood for blood atones ! 
 Ay, though he's buried in a cave. 
 
 And trodden down with stones, 
 And years have rotted off his flesh, — 
 
 The world shall see his bones ! 
 
 "Oh, God ! that horrid, horrid dream 
 
 Besets me now awake ! 
 Again — again, with dizzy brain, 
 
 The human life I take ; 
 And my red right hand grows raging hot. 
 
 Like Cranmer's at the stake. 
 
 "And still no peace for the restless clay. 
 
 Will wave or mould allow; 
 The horrid thing pursues my soul, — 
 
 It stands before me now ! " 
 The fearful Boy look'd up and saw 
 
 Huge drops upon his brow.
 
 lO 
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 That very night, while gentle sleep 
 
 The urchin eyelids kiss'd, 
 Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 
 
 Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
 And Eugene Aram walk'd between, 
 
 With gyves upon his wrist.
 
 ••'■£, 
 
 €^-'! 
 
 ■M\"^'>^''''
 
 Autumn* 
 
 HE 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 I 
 
 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. 
 
 C 2
 
 12 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 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.
 
 
 LONE, across a foreign plain, 
 The Exile slowly wanders, 
 And on his Isle beyond the main 
 With sadden'd spirit ponders : 
 
 This lovely Isle beyond the sea. 
 With all its household treasures ; 
 
 Its cottage homes, its merry birds, 
 And all its rural pleasures. 
 
 Its leafy woods, its shady vales, 
 Its moors, and purple heather; 
 
 Its verdant fields bedeck'd with stars 
 His childhood loved to gather: 
 
 When lo ! he starts, with glad surprise, 
 Home-joys come rushing o'er him. 
 
 For " modest, wee, and crimson-tipp'd," 
 He spies the flower before him ! 
 
 13
 
 14 THE FLOWER. 
 
 With eager haste he stoops him down, 
 His ej-es with moisture hazy, 
 
 And as he plucks the simple bloom, 
 He murmurs, " Lawk-a-daisy I"
 
 "ife^ 
 
 •ij'"' "' w, 

 
 r^"ft - - ?
 
 C!)e eim Cree. 
 
 A DREAM IN THE WOODS. 
 
 WAS in a shady Avenue, 
 Where lofty Elms abound — 
 And from a Tree 
 There came to me 
 A sad and solemn sound, 
 That sometimes murmur'd overhead, 
 And sometimes underground. 
 
 Amongst the leaves it seem'd to sigh. 
 Amid the boughs to moan ; 
 
 It mutter'd in the stem, and then 
 The roots took up the tone ; 
 
 As if beneath the dewy grass 
 The dead began to groan.
 
 l6 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 No breeze there was to stir the leaves ; 
 
 No bolts that tempests launch, 
 To rend the trunk or rugged bark ; 
 
 No gale to bend the branch ; 
 No quake of earth to heave the roots, 
 
 That stood so stiff and staunch. 
 
 No bird was preening up aloft, 
 
 To rustle with its wing ; 
 No squirrel, in its sport or fear, 
 From bough to bough to spring ; 
 The solid bole 
 Had ne'er a hole 
 To hide a living thing I 
 
 No scooping hollow cell to lodge 
 A furtive beast or fowl, 
 The martin, bat. 
 Or forest cat 
 That nightly loves to prowl. 
 Nor ivy nook so apt to shroud 
 The moping, snoring owl. 
 
 But still the sound was in my ear, 
 A sad and solemn sound,
 
 THE ELM TREE. 17 
 
 That sometimes murmur'd overhead, 
 And sometimes underground — • 
 
 'Twas in a shady Avenue 
 Where lofty Elms abound. 
 
 O hath the Dryad still a tongue 
 
 In this ungenial clime ? 
 Have Sylvan Spirits still a voice 
 
 As in the classic prime — 
 To make the forest voluble, 
 
 As in the olden time ? 
 
 The olden time is dead and gone ; 
 
 Its years have fill'd their sum — 
 And e'en in Greece — her native Greece — 
 
 The Sylvan Nymph is dumb — 
 From ash, and beech, and aged oak, 
 
 No classic whispers come. 
 
 From Poplar, Pine, and drooping Birch, 
 And fragrant Linden Trees, 
 No living sound 
 E'er hovers round. 
 Unless the vagrant breeze, 
 The music of the merry bird, 
 Or hum of busy bees.
 
 l8 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 But busy bees forsake the Elm 
 That bears no bloom aloft — 
 
 The Finch was in the hawthorn-bush, 
 The Blackbird in the croft ; 
 
 And among the firs the brooding Dove, 
 That else might murmur soft. 
 
 Yet still I heard that solemn sound. 
 
 And sad it w^as to boot. 
 From cv'ry overhanging bough, 
 
 And each minuter shoot ; 
 From rugged trunk and mossy rind. 
 
 And from the twisted root. 
 
 From these, — a melancholy moan ; 
 
 From those, — a dreary sigh ; 
 As if the boughs were wintrj' bare, 
 
 And wild winds sweeping by — 
 Whereas the smallest fleecy cloud 
 
 Was stedfast in the skj-. 
 
 No sign or touch of stirring air 
 Could either sense observe — 
 
 The zephyr had not breath enough 
 The thistle down to swerve 
 
 Or force the filmy gossamers 
 To take another curve.
 
 THE ELM TREE. 19 
 
 In still and silent slumber hush'd 
 
 All Nature seem'd to be : 
 From heaven above, or earth beneath, 
 
 No whisper came to me — 
 Except the solemn sound and sad 
 
 From that Mysterious Tree ! 
 
 A hollow, hollow, hollow sound. 
 
 As is that dreamy roar 
 When distant billows boil and bound 
 
 Along a shingly shore — 
 But the ocean brim was far aloof, 
 
 A hundred miles or more. 
 
 No murmur of the gusty sea, 
 
 No tumult of the beach. 
 However they may foam and fret, 
 
 The bounded sense could reach — 
 Methought the trees in mystic tongue 
 
 Were talking each to each ! — 
 
 Mayhap, rehearsing ancient tales 
 Of greenwood love or guilt. 
 Of whlsper'd vows 
 Beneath their boughs ; 
 Or blood obscurely spilt ; 
 Or of that near-hand Mansion House 
 A Royal Tudor built.
 
 20 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 Perchance, of booty won or shared 
 
 Beneath the starry cope — 
 Or where the suicidal wretch 
 
 Hung up the fatal rope ; 
 Or Beauty kept an evil tryste, 
 
 Insnared by Love and Hope. 
 
 Of graves, perchance, untimely scoop'd 
 
 At midnight dark and dank — 
 And what is underneath the sod 
 Whereon the grass is rank — 
 Of old intrigues, 
 And privy leagues, 
 Tradition leaves in blank. 
 
 Of traitor lips that mutter'd plots — 
 Of Kin who fought and fell — 
 
 God knows the undiscovered schemes, 
 The arts and acts of Hell, 
 
 Perform'd long generations since, 
 If trees had tongues to tell ! 
 
 With wary eyes, and ears alert. 
 
 As one who walks afraid, 
 I wander'd down the dappled path 
 
 Of mingled light and shade — 
 How sweetly gleam'd that arch of blue 
 
 Beyond the green arcade I
 
 THE ELM TREE. 21 
 
 How cheerly shone the ghmpse of Heav'n 
 
 Beyond that verdant aisle ! 
 All overarch'd with lofty elms, 
 
 That quench'd the light, the while, 
 As dim and chill 
 As serves to fill 
 Some old Cathedral pile ! 
 
 And many a gnarled trunk was there, 
 
 That ages long had stood, 
 Till Time had wrought them into shapes 
 
 Like Pan's fantastic brood ; 
 Or still more foul and hideous forms 
 
 That Pagans carve in wood ! 
 
 A crouching Satyr lurking here — ■ 
 
 And there a Goblin grim — 
 As staring full of demon life 
 
 As Gothic Sculptor's whim — 
 A marvel it had scarcely been 
 
 To hear a voice from him ! 
 
 Some whisper from that horrid mouth 
 
 Of strange, unearthly tone ; 
 Or wild infernal laugh, to chill 
 
 One's marrow in the bone.
 
 22 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 But no it grins like rigid Death, 
 
 And silent as a stone ! 
 
 As silent as its fellows be, 
 
 For all is mute with them — 
 The branch that climbs the leafy roof- 
 The rough and mossy stem— 
 The crooked root. 
 And tender shoot, 
 Where hangs the dewy gem. 
 
 One mystic Tree alone there is, 
 Of sad and solemn sound — 
 
 That sometimes murmurs overhead. 
 And sometimes underground — 
 
 In all that shady Avenue, 
 Where lofty Elms abound.
 
 THE ELM TREE. 23 
 
 Part II. 
 
 The Scene is changed I No green Arcade, 
 
 No Trees all ranged a-row — 
 But scatter'd like a beaten host, 
 
 Dispersing to and fro ; 
 With here and there a sylvan corse. 
 
 That fell before the foe. 
 
 The Foe that down in yonder dell 
 
 Pursues his daily toil ; 
 As witness many a prostrate trunk 
 
 Bereft of leafy spoil, 
 Hard by its wooden stump, whereon 
 
 The adder loves to coil. 
 
 Alone he works — his ringing blows 
 Have banish'd bird and beast ; 
 
 The Hind and Fawn have canter'd off 
 A hundred yards at least : 
 
 And on the maple's lofty top, 
 The linnet's song has ceased. 
 
 No eye his labour overlooks. 
 Or when he takes his rest;
 
 24 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 Except the timid thrush that peeps 
 
 Above her secret nest, 
 Forbid by love to leave the young 
 
 Beneath her speckled breast. 
 
 The Woodman's heart is in his work, 
 
 His axe is sharp and good : 
 With sturdy arm and steady aim 
 He smites the gaping wood ; 
 From distant rocks 
 His lusty knocks 
 Re-echo many a rood. 
 
 His axe is keen, his arm is strong ; 
 
 The muscles serve him well ; 
 His years have reach'd an extra span, 
 
 The number none can tell ; 
 But still his lifelong task has been 
 
 The Timber Tree to fell. 
 
 Through Summer's parching sultriness, 
 And Winter's freezing cold, 
 From sapling youth 
 To virile growth, 
 And Age's rigid mould, 
 His energetic axe hath rung 
 Within that Forest old.
 
 THE ELM TREE. 25 
 
 Aloft, upon his poising steel 
 
 The vivid sunbeams glance — 
 About his head and round his feet 
 
 The forest shadows dance ; 
 And bounding from his russet coat 
 
 The acorn drops askance. 
 
 His face is like a Druid's face, 
 
 With wrinkles furrow'd deep, 
 And tann'd by scorching suns as brown 
 
 As corn, that's ripe to reap ; 
 But the hair on brow, and cheek, and chin, 
 
 Is white as wool of sheep. 
 
 His frame is like a giant's frame; 
 
 His legs are long and stark ; 
 His arms like limbs of knotted yew ; 
 His hands like rugged bark ; 
 So he felleth still 
 With right good will. 
 As if to build an Ark ! 
 
 Oh ! well within His fatal path 
 
 The fearful Tree might quake 
 Through every fibre, twig, and leaf, 
 
 With aspen tremor shake ;
 
 26 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 Through trunk and root, 
 And branch and shoot, 
 A low complaining make ! 
 
 Oh ! well to Him the Tree might breathe 
 
 A sad and solemn sound, 
 A sigh that murmur'd overhead. 
 
 And groans from underground ; 
 As in that shady Avenue 
 
 Where lofty Elms abound ! 
 
 But calm and mute the Maple stands. 
 
 The Plane, the Ash, the Fir, 
 The Elm, the Beech, the drooping Birch, 
 
 Without the least demur ; 
 And e'en the Aspen's hoary leaf 
 
 Makes no unusual stir. 
 
 The Pines — those old gigantic Pines, 
 
 That writhe — recalling soon 
 The famous Human Group that writhes 
 
 With Snakes in wild festoon — 
 In ramous wrestlings interlaced 
 
 A Forest Liiocoon — 
 
 Like Titans of primeval girth 
 By tortures overcome,
 
 THE ELM TREE. 27 
 
 Their brown enormous limbs they twine, 
 
 Bedew'd with tears of gum — 
 Fierce agonies that ought to yell, 
 
 But, like the marble, dumb. 
 
 Nay, yonder blasted Elm that stands 
 
 So like a man of sin. 
 Who, frantic, flings his arms abroad 
 
 To feel the Worm within — ■ 
 For all that gesture, so intense. 
 
 It makes no sort of din ! 
 
 An universal silence reigns 
 
 In rugged bark or peel, 
 Except that very trunk which rings 
 
 Beneath the biting steel — 
 Meanwhile the Woodman plies his axe 
 
 With unrelenting zeal ! 
 
 No rustic song is on his tongue, 
 
 No whistle on his lips ; 
 But with a quiet thoughtfulness 
 
 His trusty tool he grips. 
 And, stroke on stroke, keeps hacking out 
 
 The bright and flying chips. 
 
 Stroke after stroke, with frequent dint 
 He spreads the fatal gash ; 
 
 E 2
 
 28 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 Till, lo ! the remnant fibres rend, 
 With harsh and sudden crash, 
 
 And on the dull resounding turf 
 The jarring branches lash ! 
 
 Oh ! now the Forest Trees maj' sigh, 
 
 The Ash, the Poplar tall, 
 The Elm, the Beech, the drooping Birch, 
 The Aspens — one and all, 
 With solemn groan 
 And hollow moan 
 Lament a comrade's fall ! 
 
 A goodly Elm, of noble girth, 
 
 That, thrice the human span- 
 While on their variegated course 
 
 The constant Seasons ran — 
 Through gale, and hail, and fiery bolt, 
 Had stood erect as Man. 
 
 But now, like mortal Man himself, 
 Struck down by hand of God, 
 
 Or heathen Idol tumbled prone 
 Beneath th' Eternal's nod. 
 
 In all its giant bulk and length 
 It lies along the sod I —
 
 '-*s^i,»aj>3BL6?A<.
 
 THE ELM TREE. 2g 
 
 Ay, now the Forest Trees may grieve 
 And make a common moan 
 
 Around that patriarchal trunk 
 So newly overthrown ; 
 
 And with a murmur recognise 
 A doom to be their own ! 
 
 The Echo sleeps : the idle axe, 
 
 A disregarded tool. 
 Lies crushing with its passive weight 
 
 The toad's reputed stool — 
 The Woodman wipes his dewy brow 
 
 Within the shadows cool. 
 
 No Zephyr stirs : the ear may catch 
 
 The smallest insect-hum ; 
 But on the disappointed sense 
 
 No mystic whispers come ; 
 No tone of sylvan sympathy, 
 
 The Forest Trees are dumb. 
 
 No leafy noise, nor inward voice, 
 No sad and solemn sound. 
 
 That sometimes murmurs overhead, 
 And sometimes underground ; 
 
 As in that shady Avenue, 
 Where lofty Elms abound !
 
 30 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 The deed is done : the Tree is low 
 
 That stood so long and firm : 
 The Woodman and his axe are gone, 
 
 His toil has found its term ; 
 And where he wrought the speckled Thrush 
 
 Securely hunts the worm. 
 
 The Cony from the sandy bank 
 
 Has run a rapid race, 
 Through thistle, bent, and tangled fern. 
 
 To seek the open space ; 
 And on its haunches sits erect 
 
 To clean its furry face. 
 
 The dappled Fawn is close at hand. 
 
 The Hind is browsing near,— 
 And on the Larch's lowest bough 
 The Ousel whistles clear; 
 But checks the note 
 Within its throat, 
 As choked with sudden fear! 
 
 With sudden fear her wormy quest 
 The Thrush abruptly quits —
 
 THE ELM TREE. 3' 
 
 Through thistle, hent, and tangled fern 
 
 The startled Cony flits ; 
 And on the Larch's lowest bough 
 
 No more the Ousel sits. 
 
 With sudden fear 
 The dappled Deer 
 Effect a swift escape : 
 But well might bolder creatures start, 
 
 And fly, or stand agape, 
 With rising hair, and curdled blood. 
 To see so grim a Shape ! 
 
 The very sky turns pale above ; 
 
 The earth grows dark beneath ; 
 The human Terror thrills with cold 
 
 And draws a shorter breath — 
 An universal panic owns 
 
 The dread approach of Death ! 
 
 With silent pace, as shadows come, 
 
 And dark as shadows be, 
 The grisly Phantom takes his stand 
 
 Beside the fallen Tree, 
 And scans it with his gloomy eyes, 
 
 And laughs with horrid glee —
 
 32 
 
 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 A dreary laugh and desolate, 
 Where mirth is void and null, 
 
 As hollow as its echo sounds 
 Within the hollow skull — 
 
 " Whoever laid this tree along, 
 His hatchet was not dull ! 
 
 " The human arm and human tool 
 
 Have done their duty well ! 
 But after sound of ringing axe 
 Must sound the ringing knell; 
 When Elm or Oak 
 Have felt the stroke. 
 My turn it is to fell ! 
 
 " No passive unregarded tree, 
 
 A senseless thing of wood. 
 Wherein the sluggish sap ascends 
 
 To swell the vernal bud — 
 But conscious, moving, breathing trunks 
 
 That throb with living blood ! 
 
 " No forest Monarch yearly clad 
 
 In mantle green or brown ; 
 That unrecorded lives, and falls 
 
 By hand of rustic clown —
 
 THE ELM TREE. 33 
 
 But Kings who don the purple robe, 
 And wear the jewell'd crown. 
 
 " Ah ! little recks the Royal mind, 
 
 Within his Banquet Hall, 
 While tapers shine and Music breathes 
 
 And beauty leaves the Ball, — 
 He little recks the oaken plank 
 
 Shall be his palace wall ! 
 
 " Ah, little dreams the haughty Peer, 
 The while his Falcon flies — 
 
 Or on the blood-bedabbled turf 
 The antler'd quarry dies — - 
 
 That in his own ancestral Park 
 The narrow dwelling lies ! 
 
 " But haughty Peer and mighty King 
 One doom shall overwhelm ! 
 The oaken cell 
 Shall lodge him well 
 Whose sceptre ruled a realm — 
 While he, who never knew a home. 
 Shall find it in the Elm ! 
 
 " The tatter'd, lean, dejected wretch, 
 Who begs from door to door,
 
 34 
 
 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 And dies within tlie cressy ditch, 
 
 Or on the barren moor, 
 The friendly Elm shall lodge and clothe 
 
 That houseless man and poor ! 
 
 " Yea, this recumbent rugged trunk. 
 That lies so long and prone, 
 
 With many a fallen acorn-cup. 
 And mast, and firry cone — 
 
 This rugged trunk shall hold its share 
 Of mortal flesh and bone ! 
 
 " A Miser hoarding heaps of gold, 
 
 But pale with ague-fears — 
 A Wife lamenting love's decay, 
 
 With secret cruel tears. 
 Distilling bitter, bitter drops 
 
 From sweets of former years — 
 
 " A Man within whose gloomy mind 
 
 Oflcncc had deeply sunk. 
 Who out of fierce Revenge's cup 
 
 Hath madly, darkly drunk — 
 Grief, Avarice, and Hate shall sleep 
 
 Within this very trunk ! 
 
 " This massy trunk that lies along, 
 And many more must fall —
 
 THE ELM TREE. 35 
 
 For the very knave 
 
 Who digs the grave, 
 The man who spreads the pall, 
 And he who tolls the funeral bell, 
 The Elm shall have them all ! 
 
 " The tall abounding Elm that grows 
 In hedgerows up and down ; 
 
 In field and forest, copse and park. 
 And in the peopled town. 
 
 With colonies of noisy rooks 
 That nestle on its crown. 
 
 " And well th' abounding Elm may grow 
 
 In field and hedge so rife. 
 In forest, copse, and wooded park, 
 
 And 'mid the city's strife. 
 For, every hour that passes by 
 
 Shall end a human life !" 
 
 The Phantom ends : the shade is gone ; 
 
 The sky is clear and bright ; 
 On turf, and moss, and fallen Tree, 
 
 There glows a ruddy light ; 
 And bounding through the golden fern 
 
 The Rabbit comes to bite. 
 
 F 2
 
 36 THE ELM TREE. 
 
 The Thrush's mate beside her sits 
 
 And pipes a merry lay ; 
 The Dove is in the evergreens ; 
 
 And on the Larch's spray 
 The Fly-bird flutters up and down, 
 
 To catch its tiny prey. 
 
 The gentle Hind and dappled Fawn 
 
 Are coming up the glade ; 
 Each harmless furr'd and feather'd thing 
 
 Is glad, and not afraid — 
 But on my sadden'd spirit still 
 
 The Shadow leaves a shade. 
 
 A secret, vague, prophetic gloom. 
 As though by certain mark 
 
 I knew the fore-appointed Tree, 
 Within whose rugged bark 
 
 This warm and living frame shall find 
 Its narrow house and dark. 
 
 That mystic Tree which breathed to nie 
 
 A sad and solemn sound. 
 That sometimes murmur'd overhead, 
 
 And sometimes underground ; 
 Within that shady Avenue 
 
 Where lofty Elms abound.
 
 Clje ilap of tije ^labourer. 
 
 SPADE ! a rake ! a hoe ! 
 A pickaxe, or a bill ! 
 A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 
 A flail, or what ye will — 
 And here's a ready hand 
 
 To ply the needful tool, 
 And skill'd enough, by lessons rough. 
 In Labour's rugged school. 
 
 To hedge, or dig the ditch. 
 
 To lop, or fell the tree, 
 To lay the swathe on the sultry field. 
 
 Or plough the stubborn lea : 
 The harvest stack to bind, 
 
 The wheaten rick to thatch. 
 And never fear in my pouch to find 
 
 The tinder or the match. 
 
 37
 
 jS THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. 
 
 To a flaming barn or farm 
 
 My fancies never roam ; 
 The fire I yearn to kindle and burn 
 
 Is on the hearth of Home ; 
 Where children huddle and crouch 
 
 Through dark long wintry days, 
 Where starving children huddle and crouch, 
 
 To see the cheerful rays, 
 A-glowing on the haggard cheek. 
 
 And not in the haggard's blaze! 
 
 To Him who sends a drought 
 
 To parch the fields forlorn, 
 The rain to flood the meadows with mud 
 
 The blight to blast the corn. 
 To Him I leave to guide 
 
 The bolt in its crooked path. 
 To strike the miser's rick, and show 
 
 The skies blood-red with wrath. 
 
 A spade I a rake I a hoe ! 
 
 A pickaxe, or a bill I 
 A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 
 
 A flail, or what ye will — 
 The corn to thrash, or the hedge to plash. 
 
 The market-team to drive,
 
 THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. 39 
 
 Or mend the fence by the cover side, 
 And leave the game alive. 
 
 Ay, only give me work. 
 
 And then you need not fear 
 That I shall snare his Worship's hare, 
 
 Or kill his Grace's deer; 
 Break into his lordship's house, 
 
 To steal the plate so rich ; 
 Or leave the yeoman that had a purse 
 
 To welter in a ditch. 
 
 Wherever Nature needs, 
 
 Wherever Labour calls, 
 No job I'll shirk of the hardest work. 
 
 To shun the workhouse walls ; 
 Where savage laws begrudge 
 
 The pauper babe its breath. 
 And doom a wife to a widow's life. 
 
 Before her partner's death. 
 
 My only claim is this, 
 
 With labour stiff and stark, 
 By lawful turn, my living to earn. 
 
 Between the light and dark ; 
 My daily bread, and nightly bed. 
 
 My bacon, and drop of beer — •
 
 40 THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. 
 
 But all from the hand that holds the land, 
 And none from the overseer ! 
 
 No parish money, or loaf, 
 
 No pauper badges for me, 
 A son of the soil, by right of toil 
 
 Entitled to my fee. 
 No alms I ask, give me my task ; 
 
 Here are the arm, the leg, 
 The strength, the sinews of a Man, 
 
 To work, and not to beg. 
 
 Still one of Adam's heirs. 
 
 Though doom'd by chance of birth 
 To dress so mean, and to eat the lean 
 
 Instead of the fat of the earth ; 
 To make such humble meals 
 
 As honest labour can, 
 A bone and a crust, with a grace to God, 
 
 And little thanks to man ! 
 
 A spade ! a rake ! a hoe ! 
 
 A pickaxe, or a bill ! 
 A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 
 
 A Hail, or what ye will — 
 Whatever the tool to ply, 
 
 Here is a willing drudge.
 
 THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. 
 
 41 
 
 With muscle and limb, and woe to him 
 Who does their pay begrudge ! 
 
 Who every weekly score 
 
 Docks labour's little mite. 
 Bestows on the poor at the temple door, 
 
 But robb'd them over night. 
 The very shilling he hoped to save, 
 
 As health and morals fail. 
 Shall visit me in the New Bastille, 
 
 The Spital, or the Gaol 1
 
 L r If n I I II II I ■' 'I r 
 
 3x: 
 
 ' 'I ■■ " " " '■ ■■ »■ 'I " " n 11-^ 
 
 %\)t f)auutcti f)oufic< 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 OME dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, 
 Unnatural, and full of contradictions ; 
 Yet others of our most romantic schemes 
 Are somethinsr more than fictions. 
 
 It might be only on enchanted ground ; 
 
 It might be merely by a tliought's expansion ; 
 
 But, in the spirit or the flesh, I found 
 
 An old deserted Mansion. 
 
 A residence for woman, child, and man, 
 A dwelling place, — and yet no habitation ; 
 A House, — but under some prodigious ban 
 Of Excommunication. 
 
 42
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 43 
 
 Unhinged the iron gates half open hung, 
 Jarr'd by the gusty gales of many winters, 
 That from its crumbled pedestal had flung 
 One marble globe in splinters. 
 
 No dog was at the threshold, great or small ; 
 No pigeon on the roof — no household creature — 
 No cat demurely dozing on the wall — 
 Not one domestic feature. 
 
 No human figure stirr'd, to go or come, 
 No face look'd forth from shut or open casement ; 
 No chimney smoked — there was no sign of Home 
 From parapet to basement. 
 
 With shatter'd panes the grassy court was starr'd ; 
 The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after ! 
 And thro' the ragged roof the sky shone, barr'd 
 With naked beam and rafter. 
 
 O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear; 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear 
 The place is Haunted ! 
 
 G 2
 
 44 
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 The flow'r grew wild and rankly as the weed, 
 Roses with thistles struggled for espial, 
 And vagrant plants of parasitic breed 
 Had overgrown the Dial. 
 
 But gay or gloomy, steadfast or infirm. 
 No heart was there to heed the hour's duration ; 
 All times and tides were lost in one long term 
 Of stagnant desolation. 
 
 The wren had built within the Porch, she found 
 Its quiet loneliness so sure and thorough ; 
 And on the lawn, — within its turfy mound, — 
 The rabbit made his burrow. 
 
 The rabbit wild and grey, that flitted thro" 
 
 The shrubby clumps, and frisk'd, and sat, and vanishetl 
 
 But leisurely and bold, as if he knew 
 
 His enemy was banish'd. 
 
 The wary crow, — the pheasant from the woods, — 
 Lull'd by the still and everlasting sameness. 
 Close to the mansion, like domestic broods, 
 Fed with a " shocking lameness."
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 45 
 
 The coot was swimming in the reedy pond, 
 Beside the water-hen, so soon affrighted ; 
 And in the weedy moat the heron, fond 
 Of solitude, alighted. 
 
 The moping heron, motionless and stiff. 
 That on a stone, as silently and stilly, 
 Stood, an apparent sentinel, as if 
 To guard the water-lily. 
 
 No sound was heard except, from far away, 
 The ringing of the witwall's shrilly laughter. 
 Or, now and then, the chatter of the jay. 
 That Echo murmur'd after. 
 
 But Echo never mock'd the human tongue ; 
 Some weighty crime, that Heaven could not pardon, 
 A secret curse on that old Building hung 
 And its deserted Garden. 
 
 The beds were all untouch'd by hand or tool ; 
 No footstep marked the damp and mossy gravel, 
 Each walk as green as is the mantled pool. 
 For want of human travel.
 
 46 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 The vine unpruned, and the neglected peach, 
 Droop'd from the wall with which they used to grapple : 
 And on the kanker'd tree, in easy reach, 
 Rotted the golden apple. 
 
 But awfully the truant shunn'd the ground, 
 The vagrant kept aloof, and daring Poacher, 
 In spite of gaps that thro' the fences round 
 Invited the encroacher. 
 
 For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. 
 The place is Haunted ! 
 
 The pear and quince lay squander'd on the grass : 
 The mould was purple with unheeded showers 
 Of bloomy plums — a Wilderness it was 
 Of fruits, and weeds, and flowers ! 
 
 The marigold amidst the nettles blew, 
 
 The gourd embraced the rose bush in its ramble, 
 
 The thistle and the stock together grew, 
 
 The holly-hock and bramble.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 47 
 
 The bear-bine with the lilac interlaced, 
 
 The sturdy bur-dock choked its slender neighbour, 
 
 The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced 
 
 Of human care and labour. 
 
 The very yew Formality had train'd 
 To such a rigid pyramidal stature. 
 For want of trimming had almost regain'd 
 The raggedness of nature. 
 
 The Fountain was a-dr}' — neglect and time 
 Had marr'd the work of artisan and mason, 
 And efts and croaking frogs, begot of slime, 
 Sprawl'd in the ruin'd bason. 
 
 The Statue, fallen from its marble base. 
 Amidst the refuse leaves, and herbage rotten. 
 Lay like the Idol of some by-gone race. 
 Its name and rites forgotten. 
 
 On ev'ry side the aspect was the same, 
 All ruin'd, desolate, forlorn and savage : 
 No hand or foot within the precinct came 
 To rectify or ravage.
 
 4^ THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
 The place is Haunted !
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 49 
 
 Part II. 
 
 O, very gloomy is the House of Woe, 
 Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling, 
 With all the dark solemnities which show 
 That Death is in the dwelling. 
 
 O very, very dreary is the room 
 Where Love, domestic Love, no longer nestles. 
 But, smitten by the common stroke of doom. 
 The Corpse lies on the trestles ! 
 
 But House of Woe, and hearse, artd sable pall. 
 The narrow home of the departed mortal, 
 Ne'er look'd so gloomy as that Ghostly Hall, 
 With its deserted portal ! 
 
 The centipede along the threshold crept, 
 The cobweb hung across in mazy tangle. 
 And in its winding sheet the maggot slept. 
 At every nook and angle. 
 
 The keyhole lodged the earwig and her brood. 
 The emmets of the steps had old possession, 
 And marched in search of their diurnal food 
 In undisturbed procession.
 
 50 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 As undisturb'd as the prehensile cell 
 Of moth or maggot, or the spider's tissue, 
 For never foot upon that threshold fell, 
 To enter or to issue. 
 
 O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
 The place is Haunted 1 
 
 Howbeit, the door I push'd — or so I dream'd — 
 Which slowly, slowly gap'd, — the hinges creaking 
 With such a rusty eloquence, it seem'd 
 That Time himself was speaking. 
 
 But Time was dumb within that Mansion old. 
 Or left his tale to the heraldic banners. 
 That hung from the corroded walls, and told 
 Of former men and manners : — 
 
 Those tatter'd flags, that with the open'd door, 
 Seem'd the old wave of battle to remember. 
 While fallen fragments danced upon the floor, 
 Like dead leaves in December.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 5I 
 
 The startled bats flew out, — bird after bird, 
 The screech-owl overhead began to flutter, 
 And seemed to mock the cry that she had heard 
 Some dying victim utter ! 
 
 A shriek that echo'd from the joisted roof, 
 And up the stair, and further still and further, 
 Till in some ringing chamber far aloof 
 It ceased its tale of murther ! 
 
 Meanwhile the rusty armour rattled round, 
 The banner shudder'd, and the ragged streamer; 
 All things the horrid tenor of the sound 
 Acknowledged with a tremor. 
 
 The antlers, where the helmet hung, and belt, 
 Stirr'd as the tempest stirs the forest branches. 
 Or as the stag had trembled when he felt 
 The blood-hound at his haunches. 
 
 The window jingled in its crumbled frame, 
 And thro' its many gaps of destitution 
 Dolorous moans and hollow sighings came, 
 Like those of dissolution. 
 
 H 2
 
 52 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 The wood-louse dropp'd, and rolled into a ball, 
 Touch'd by some impulse occult or mechanic ; 
 And nameless beetles ran along the wall 
 In universal panic. 
 
 The subtle spider, that from overhead 
 Hung like a spy on human guilt and error, 
 Suddenly turn'd and up its slender thread 
 Ran with a nimble terror. 
 
 The very stains and fractures on the wall 
 Assuming features solemn and terrific, 
 Hinted some Tragedy of that old Hall, 
 Lock'd up in hieroglyphic. 
 
 Some tale that might, perchance, have solved the doubt, 
 Wherefore amongst those flags so dull and livid. 
 The banner of the Bloody Hand shone out 
 So ominously vivid. 
 
 Some key to that inscrutable appeal, 
 Which made the very frame of Nature quiver ; 
 And every thrilling nerve and fibre feel 
 So ague-like a shiver.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 53 
 
 For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ; 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. 
 The place is Haunted ! 
 
 If but a rat had linger'd in the house. 
 To lure the thought into a social channel ! 
 But not a rat remain'd, or tiny mouse. 
 To squeak behind the panel. 
 
 Huge drops roll'd down the walls, as if they wept ; 
 And where the cricket used to chirp so shrilly. 
 The toad was squatting, and the lizard crept 
 On that damp hearth and chilly. 
 
 For years no cheerful blaze had sparkled there. 
 Or glanced on coat of buff or knightly metal ; 
 The slug was crawling on the vacant chair, — ■ 
 The snail upon the settle. 
 
 The floor was redolent of mould and must. 
 The fungus in the rotten seams had quicken'd, 
 While on the oaken table coats of dust 
 Perennially had thicken'd.
 
 54 
 
 THE HAVNTED HOUSE. 
 
 No mark of leathern jack or metal can, 
 No cup — no horn — no hospitable token, — 
 All social ties between that board and Man 
 Had long ago been broken. 
 
 There was so foul a rumour in the air. 
 The shadow of a presence so atrocious ; 
 No human creature could have feasted there. 
 Even the most ferocious. 
 
 For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
 The place is Haunted !
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 55 
 
 Part III. 
 
 'Tis hard for human actions to account, 
 Whether from reason or from impulse only — 
 But some internal prompting bade me mount 
 The gloomy stairs and lonely. 
 
 Those gloomy stairs, so dark, and damp, and cold, 
 With odours as from bones and relics carnal, 
 Deprived of rite, and consecrated mould. 
 The chapel vault or charnel. 
 
 Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress 
 Of ev'ry step so many echoes blended. 
 The mind, with dark misgivings, feared to guess 
 How many feet ascended. 
 
 The tempest with its spoils had drifted in, 
 Till each unwholesome stone was darkly spotted. 
 As thickly as the leopard's dappled skin. 
 With leaves that rankly rotted. 
 
 The air was thick — and in the upper gloom 
 The bat— or something in its shape — was winging 
 And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb. 
 The Death's-Head moth was clinging.
 
 56 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 That mystic moth, which, with a sense profound 
 Of all unholy presence, augurs truly ; 
 And with a grim significance flits round 
 The taper burning bluely. 
 
 Such omens in the place there seem'd to be. 
 At every crooked turn, or on the landing. 
 The straining eyeball was prepared to see 
 Some Apparition standing. 
 
 For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
 The place is Haunted ! 
 
 Yet no portentous Shape the sight amazed ; 
 Each object plain, and tangible, and valid ; 
 But from their tarnish'd frames dark Figures gazed, 
 And Faces spectre-palid. 
 
 Not merely with the mimic life that lies 
 Within the compass of Art's simulation ; 
 There souls were looking thro' their painted eyes 
 With awful speculation.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 57 
 
 On ev'ry lip a speechless horror dwelt ; 
 On ev'ry brow the burthen of affliction ; 
 The old Ancestral Spirits knew and felt 
 The House's malediction. 
 
 Such earnest woe their features overcast, 
 
 They might have stirr'd, or sigh'd, or wept, or spoken, 
 
 But save the hollow moaning of the blast. 
 
 The stillness was unbroken. 
 
 No other sound or stir of life was there, 
 Except my steps in solitary clamber, 
 From flight to flight, from humid stair to stair, 
 From chamber into chamber. 
 
 Deserted rooms of luxury and state. 
 That old magnificence had richly furnish'd 
 With pictures, cabinets of ancient date. 
 And carvings gilt and burnish'd. 
 
 Rich hangings, storied by the needle's art 
 With scripture history, or classic fable ; 
 But all had faded, save one ragged part, 
 Where Cain was slaying Abel.
 
 58 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 The silent waste of mildew and the moth 
 Had marr'd the tissue with a partial ravage ; 
 But undecaying frown'd upon the cloth 
 Each feature stern and savage. 
 
 The sky was pale ; the cloud a thing of doubt ; 
 Some hues were fresh, and some decay'd and duller; 
 But still the Bloody Haxd shone strangely out 
 With vehemence of colour ! 
 
 The Bloody Hand that with a lurid stain 
 Shone on the dusty floor, a dismal token. 
 Projected from the casement's painted pane, 
 Where all beside was broken. 
 
 The Bloody Hand significant of crime. 
 That glaring on the old heraldic banner. 
 Had kept its crimson unimpaired by time, 
 In such a wondrous manner. 
 
 O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the car, 
 The place is Haunted I
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 59 
 
 The Death Watch tick'd behind the panel'd oak, 
 Inexplicable tremors shook the arras, 
 And echoes strange and mystical awoke, 
 The fancy to embarrass. 
 
 Prophetic hints that fill'd the soul with dread, 
 But thro' one gloomy entrance pointing mostly. 
 The while some secret inspiration said, 
 That Chamber is the Ghostly 1 
 
 Across the door no gossamer festoon 
 Swung pendulous — no web — no dusty fringes, 
 No silky chrysalis or white cocoon 
 About its nooks and hinges. 
 
 The spider shunn'd the interdicted room. 
 The moth, the beetle, and the fly were banish'd. 
 And where the sunbeam fell athwart the gloom 
 The very midge had vanish'd. 
 
 One lonely ray that glanced upon a Bed, 
 As if with awful aim direct and certain. 
 To show the Bloody Hand in burning red 
 Embroidered on the curtain.
 
 60 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 And yet no gory stain was on the quilt — 
 The pillow in its place had slowly rotted ; 
 The floor alone retain'd the trace of guilt, 
 Those boards obscurely spotted. 
 
 Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence 
 With mazy doubles to the grated casement — 
 Oh what a tale they told of fear intense, 
 Of horror and amazement ! 
 
 What human creature in the dead of night 
 Had coursed like hunted hare that cruel distance ? 
 Had sought the door, the window in his flight, 
 Striving for dear existence ? 
 
 What shrieking Spirit in that bloody room 
 Its mortal frame had violently quitted ? — 
 Across the sunbeam, with a sudden gloom, 
 A ghostly Shadow flitted. 
 
 Across the sunbeam, and along the wall, 
 But painted on the air so very dimly. 
 It hardly veil'd the tapestry at all. 
 Or portrait frowning grimly.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 6l 
 
 O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
 The place is Haunted !
 
 gi fe^torm at fE^afitinss, 
 
 AND THE LITTLE UNKNOWN. 
 
 iWAS August — Hastings everyday was filling- 
 Hastings, that " greenest spot on memory's 
 
 waste ! " 
 With crowds of idlers willing or unwilling 
 To be bedipped — be noticed — or be braced, 
 And all things rose a penny in a shilling, 
 Meanwhile, from window and from door, in haste 
 " Accommodation bills " kept coming down, 
 Gladding " the world of letters" in that town. 
 
 Each day pour'd in new coach-fulls of new cits, 
 Flying from London smoke and dust annoying, 
 Unmarried Misses hoping to make hits. 
 And new-wed couples fresh from Tunbridge toying. 
 62
 
 A STORM AT HASTINGS. 63 
 
 Laceman and placeman, ministers and wits, 
 And quackers of both sexes, much enjoying 
 A morning's reading by the ocean's rim, 
 That sect delighting in the sea's broad brim. 
 
 And lo I amongst all these appear'd a creature, , 
 
 So small, he almost might a twin have been 
 
 With Miss Crachami — dwarfish quite in stature, 
 
 Yet well proportion'd — neither fat nor lean. 
 
 His face of marvellously pleasant feature. 
 
 So short and sweet a man was never seen — 
 
 All thought him charming at the first beginning — 
 
 Alas, ere long they found him far too winning ! 
 
 He seem'd in love with chance — and chance repaid 
 
 His ardent passion with her fondest smile, 
 
 The sunshine of good luck, without a shade, 
 
 He staked and won — and won and staked — the bile 
 
 It stirr'd of many a man and many a maid. 
 
 To see at every venture how that vile 
 
 Small gambler snatch'd — and how he won them too — 
 
 A living Pam, omnipotent at loo I 
 
 Miss Wiggins set her heart upon a box, 
 
 'Twas handsome, rosewood, and inlaid with brass,
 
 64 A STORM AT HASTINGS. 
 
 And dreamt three times she garnish'd it with stocks 
 
 Of needles, silks, and cottons — but alas ! 
 
 She lost it wide awake. — We thought Miss Cox 
 
 Was lucky — but she saw three caddies pass 
 
 To that small imp ! — no living luck could loo him ! 
 
 Sir Stamford would have lost his Raflles to him ! 
 
 And so he climb'd — and rode, and won — and walk'd. 
 
 The wondrous topic of the curious swarm 
 
 That haunted the Parade. Many were balk'd 
 
 Of notoriety by that small form 
 
 Pacing it up and down : — some even talk'd 
 
 Of ducking him — when lo I a dismal storm 
 
 Stepp'd in — one Friday, at the close of day — 
 
 And every head was turn'd another way — 
 
 Watching the grander guest. It seem'd to rise 
 
 Bulky and slow upon the southern brink 
 
 Of the horizon — fann'd by sultry sighs — 
 
 So black and threatening, I cannot think 
 
 Of any simile, except the skies 
 
 Miss Wiggins sometime shades in Indian ink — 
 
 iV/55-shapen blotches of such heavy vapour. 
 
 They seem a deal more solid than her paper.
 
 A STORM AT HASTINGS. 65 
 
 As for the sea, it did not fret, and rave, 
 And tear its waves to tatters, and so dash on 
 The stony-hearted beach ; — some bards would have 
 It always rampant, in that idle fashion, — 
 Whereas the waves roll'd in, subdued and grave, 
 Like schoolboys, when the master's in a passion. 
 Who meekly settle in and take their places, 
 With a very quiet awe on all their faces. 
 
 Some love to draw the ocean with a head. 
 Like troubled table-beer, — and make it bounce. 
 And froth, and roar, and fling, but this, I've said. 
 Surged in scarce rougher than a lady's flounce : — 
 But then, a grander contrast thus it bred 
 With the wild welkin, seeming to pronounce 
 Something more awful in the serious ear, 
 As one would whisper that a lion's near — 
 
 Who just begins to roar: so the hoarse thunder 
 Growl'd long — but low — a prelude note of death, 
 As if the stifling clouds yet kept it under. 
 But still it mutter'd to the sea beneath 
 Such a continued peal, as made us wonder 
 It did not pause more oft to take its breath, 
 Whilst we were panting with the sultry weather, 
 And hardly cared to wed two words together, 
 
 K
 
 66 A STORM AT HASllNGS. 
 
 But watch'd the surly advent of the storm, 
 Much as the brown-cheek'd planters of Barbadoes 
 Must watch a rising of the Negro swarm : — 
 Meantime it steer'd, like Odm's old Armadas, 
 Right on our coast ; — a dismal, coal-black form ; — 
 Many proud gaits were quell'd — and all bravadoes 
 Of folly ceased — and sundry idle jokers 
 Went home to cover up their tongs and pokers. 
 
 So fierce the lightning flashed. — In all their days 
 The oldest smugglers had not seen such flashing. 
 And they are used to many a pretty blaze, 
 To keep their Hollands from an awkward clashing 
 With hostile cutters in our creeks and bays : — 
 And truly one could think without much lashing 
 The fancy, that those coasting clouds so awful 
 And black, were fraught with spirits as unlawful. 
 
 The gay Parade grew thin — all the fair crowd 
 Vanish'd — as if they knew their own attractions, — 
 For now the lightning through a near hand cloud 
 Began to make some very crooked fractions — 
 Only some few remain'd that were not covv'd, 
 A few rough sailors, who had been in actions, 
 And sundry boatmen, that with quick yeo's, 
 Lest it should blow, — were pulling up the Rose :
 
 ^s-.-^ 
 
 tm,
 
 A STORM AT HASTINGS. 67 
 
 (No flower, but a boat) — some more were hauling 
 The Regent by the head : — another crew 
 With that same cry peculiar to their calling— 
 Were heaving up the Hope : — and as they knew 
 The very gods themselves oft get a mauling 
 In their own realms, the seamen wisely drew 
 The Neptune rather higher on the beach. 
 That he might lie beyond his billows" reach. 
 
 And now the storm, with its despotic power 
 Had all usurp'd the azure of the skies. 
 Making our daylight darker by an hour. 
 And some few drops — of an unusual size — 
 Few and distinct — scarce twenty to the shower, 
 Fell like huge tear-drops from a Giant's eyes — 
 But then this sprinkle thicken'd in a trice 
 And rained much harder — in good solid ice. 
 
 Oh ! for a very storm of words to show 
 How this fierce crash of hail came rushing o'er us ! 
 Handel would make the gusty organs blow 
 Grandly, and a rich storm in music score us ;^ 
 But ev'n his music seem'd composed and low. 
 When we were handled by this Hailstone Chorus ; 
 Whilst thunder rumbled, with its awful sound. 
 And frozen comfits roll'd along the ground — 
 
 K 2
 
 68 A STORM AT HASTINGS. 
 
 As big as bullets : — Lord ! how the}' did batter 
 Oar crazy tiles ; — And now the lightning flash'd 
 Alternate with the dark, until the latter 
 Was rarest of the two : — the gust too dash'd 
 So terribly, I thought the hail must shatter 
 Some panes, — and so it did — and first it smash'd 
 The very square where I had chose my station 
 To watch the general illumination. 
 
 Another, and another, still came in, 
 
 And fell in jingling ruin at my feet, 
 
 Making transparent holes that let me win 
 
 Some samples of the storm : — Oh ! it was sweet 
 
 To think I had a shelter for my skin, 
 
 Culling them through these " loopholes of retreat "•- 
 
 Which in a little we began to glaze — 
 
 Chiefly with a jacktowel and some baize ! 
 
 By which, the cloud had pass'd o'erhead, but play'd 
 
 Its crooked fires in constant flashes still. 
 
 Just in our rear, as though it had array'd 
 
 Its heavy batteries at Fairlight Mill, 
 
 So that it lit the town, and grandly made 
 
 The rugged features of the Castle Hill 
 
 Leap, like a birth, from chaos, into light, 
 
 And then relapse into the gloomy night —
 
 A STORM AT HASTWGS. 6g 
 
 As parcel of the cloud : the clouds themselves, 
 Like monstrous crags and summits everlasting, 
 Piled each on each in most gigantic shelves, 
 
 That Milton's devils were engaged in blasting. 
 
 We could e'en fancy Satan and his elves 
 
 Busy upon those crags, and ever casting 
 
 Huge fragments loose,— and that v/^fclt the sound 
 
 They made in falling to the startled ground. 
 
 And so the tempest scowl'd away, — and soon 
 Timidly shining through its skirts of jet. 
 We saw the rim of the pacific moon. 
 Like a bright fish entangled in a net. 
 Flashing its silver sides, — how sweet a boon, 
 Seem'd her sweet light, as though it would beget, 
 With that fair smile, a calm upon the seas- 
 Peace in the sky — and coolness in the breeze ! 
 
 Meantime the hail had ceased :— and all the brood 
 Of glaziers stole abroad to count their gains ;— 
 At every window, there were maids who stood 
 Lamenting o'er the glass's small remains,— 
 Or with coarse linens made the fractions good. 
 Stanching the wind in all the wounded panes, — 
 Or, holding candles to the panes, in doubt : 
 The wind resolved — blowing the candles out.
 
 yo A STORM AT HASTINGS. 
 
 No house was whole that had a southern front, — 
 No green-house but the same mishap befell ; 
 Bow-windows and it'//-glasses bore the brunt, — 
 
 No sex in glass was spared ! ^For those who dwell 
 
 On each hill side, you might have swam a punt 
 In any of their parlours ; — Mrs. Snell 
 Was slopp'd out of her seat, — and Mr. Hitchin 
 Had a_/?owV-garden wash'd into a Kitchen. 
 
 But still the sea was mild, and quite disclaim'd 
 The recent violence. — Each after each 
 The gentle waves a gentle murmur framed. 
 Tapping, like Woodpeckers, the hollow beach 
 Howbeit his ivcather eye the seaman aim'd 
 Across the calm, and hinted by his speech 
 A gale next morning — and when morning broke, 
 There was a gale — " quite equal to bespoke." 
 
 Before high water — (it were better far 
 To christen it not water then, but waitt'r, 
 For then the tide is serving at the bar) 
 Rose such a swell — I never saw one greater ! 
 Black, jagged billows rearing up in war 
 Like ragged roaring bears against the baiter, 
 With lots of froth upon the shingle shed, 
 Like stout pour'd out with a fine bcacliy head.
 
 f*--^-
 
 A STORM AT HASTINGS. "]! 
 
 No open boat was open to a fare, 
 Or launch'd that morn on seven-shilling trips, 
 No bathing woman waded — none would dare 
 A dipping in the wave — but waived their dips, 
 No seagull ventured on the stormy air, 
 And all the dreary coast was clear of ships ; 
 For two lea shores upon the river Lea 
 Are not so perilous as one at sea. 
 
 Awe-struck we sat, and gazed upon the scene 
 Before us in such horrid hurly-burly, — 
 A boiling ocean of mix'd black and green, 
 A sky of copper colour, grim and surly, — 
 When lo, in that vast hollow scoop'd between 
 Two rolling Alps of water, — white and curly ! 
 We saw a pair of little arms a-skimming, 
 Much like a first or last attempt at swimming ! 
 
 Sometimes a hand — sometimes a little shoe — 
 Sometimes a skirt — sometimes a hank of hair 
 Just like a dabbled seaweed rose to view, 
 Sometimes a knee, sometimes a back was bare — 
 At last a frightful summerset he threw 
 Right on the shingles. Any one could swear 
 The lad was dead — without a chance of perjury. 
 And batter'd by the surge beyond all surgery !
 
 72 
 
 A STORM AT HASTINGS. 
 
 However we snatch'd up the corse thus thrown 
 Intending, Christian like, to sod and turf it, 
 And after venting Pity's siyh and groan. 
 Then Curiosity began with her fit ; 
 And lo ! the features of the Small Unknown ! 
 'Twas he that of the surf had had this surfeit !— 
 And in his fob, the cause of late monopolies, 
 We found a contract signed Mephistophiles ! 
 
 A bond of blood, whereby the sinner gave 
 
 His forfeit soul to Satan in reversion, 
 
 Providing in this world he was to have 
 
 A lordship over luck, by whose exertion 
 
 He might control the course of cards, and brave 
 
 All throws of dice, — but on a sea excursion 
 
 The juggling Demon, in his usual vein. 
 
 Seized the last cast — and Nick'd him in the main J
 
 %\)t Ixomance of Cologne. 
 
 IS even — on the pleasant banks of Rhine 
 The thrush is singing, and the dove is cooing, 
 A youth and maiden on the turf recHne 
 Alone — And he is wooing. 
 
 Yet woos in vain, for to the voice of love 
 No kindly sympathy the Maid discovers, 
 Though round them both, and in the air above, 
 The tender Spirit hovers ! 
 
 Untouch'd by lovely Nature and her laws. 
 The more he pleads, more coyly she represses ; — 
 Her lips denies, and now her hand withdraws, 
 Rejecting his caresses.
 
 74 THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE. 
 
 Fair is she as the dreams young poets weave, 
 Bright ej-es, and dainty lips, and tresses curly ; 
 In outward loveliness a child of Eve, 
 But cold as Nymph of Lurley I 
 
 The more Love tries her pity to engross, 
 The more she chills them with a strange behaviour ; 
 Now tells her beads, now gazes on the Cross 
 And Image of the Saviour. 
 
 Forth goes the Lover with a farewell moan, 
 As from the presence of a thing inhuman ; — 
 Oh ! what unholy spell hath turned to stone 
 The young warm heart of Woman ! 
 
 'Tis midnight — and the moonbeam, cold and wan, 
 On bower and river quietly is sleeping. 
 And o'er the corse of a self-murdered man 
 The Maiden Fair is weeping. 
 
 In vain she looks into his glassy eyes, 
 No pressure answers to her hand so pressing; 
 In her fond arms impassively he lies, 
 Clay-cold to her caressing.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE. 
 
 75 
 
 Despairing, stunn'd by her eternal loss, 
 She flies to succour that may best beseem her; 
 But lo ! a frowning Figure veils the Cross, 
 And hides the blest Redeemer. 
 
 With stern right hand it stretches forth a scroll, 
 Wherein she reads in melancholy letters, 
 The cruel fatal pact that placed her soul 
 And her young heart in fetters. 
 
 "Wretch! Sinner: Renegade! to truth and God, 
 Thy holy faith for human love to barter ! " 
 No more she hears, but on the bloody sod 
 Sinks, Bigotry's last Martyr ! 
 
 And side by side the hapless Lovers lie : 
 Tell me, harsh priest ! by yonder tragic token. 
 What part hath God in such a Bond, whereby 
 Or hearts or vows are broken ? 
 
 L 2
 
 %\)t Pea of ti)c jHitisummcr 
 jfairicfi* 
 
 WAS 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 chiller 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 prinu'. 
 
 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 ;^ 
 76
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 77 
 
 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. 
 
 It was a shady and sequester'd scene. 
 Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, 
 Planted with his own laurels ever green, 
 And roses that for endless summer blow ; 
 And there were fountain 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. 
 
 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.
 
 78 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMIIER FAIRIES. 
 
 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 pecked at my hand where'er I came. 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 79 
 
 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. 
 
 And lo ! upon my fix'd delighted ken 
 Appear'd the loyal Fays. — Some by degrees 
 Crept from the primrose buds that opened then, 
 And some from bell-shaped 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. 
 
 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.
 
 So THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 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 — 
 
 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 snowdrops, and as chillj 
 To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill. 
 
 " Alas," quoth she, " ye know our fairy lives 
 Are leased upon the fickle faith of men ; 
 Not measured out against Fate's mortal knives, 
 Like human gossamers, — we perish wheji 
 We fade and are forgot in worldly ken —
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 8l 
 
 Though poesy has thus prolong'd our date 
 Thanks to the sweet Bard's auspicious pen 
 That rescued us so long ! — howbeit of late 
 I feel some dark misgivings of our fate. 
 
 ' " And this dull day my melancholy sleep 
 Hath been so thronged 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 dreadful stress, 
 And when I waked my trouble was not less. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 M
 
 82 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 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 ! — 
 
 "Wherefore some while I bribed him to be mute. 
 
 With bitter acorns stufling 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 ! 
 
 " 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 frov.n
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 83 
 
 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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 M 2
 
 84 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Then what a fear seized all the little rout ! 
 Look how a flock of panic'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 ? 
 
 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 ? 
 Thinic but what vaunting monuments there be 
 Builded in spite and mockery of thee. 
 
 " O fret away the fabric walls of Fame, 
 And grind down marble Ca;sars witli 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 :
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 85 
 
 * 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 " 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 ! "
 
 86 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 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 lip of that malicious churl, 
 To think what noble havocs he had made ; 
 So that I fear'd he all at once would hurl 
 The harmless fairies into endless shade, — 
 Howbeit he stopp'd awhile to whet his blade. 
 
 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. 
 
 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,
 
 THri PLEA OF IHE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 87 
 
 That shows more grisly 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. 
 
 " What have we ever 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. 
 
 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 !
 
 88 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Quoth he, " We make all melodies our care, 
 That no false discords may offend the Sun, 
 Music's great master — tuning everywhere 
 All pastoral sounds and melodies, 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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 " Wherefore, great King of Years, as thou dost love 
 The raining music from a morning cloud. 
 When vaiiish'd larks are carolling above, 
 To wake Apollo with their pipings loud ;^ 
 If ever thou hast heard in leafy shioud
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. So 
 
 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." 
 
 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 ! 
 
 " 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 tuU 
 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 ! " 
 
 N
 
 go THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 daflfodils, 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. 
 
 •' 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,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. gi 
 
 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 !" 
 
 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. 
 
 " Or when am I so wroth as when I view 
 
 The wanton pride of summer; — how she decks 
 
 The birthday world with blossoms ever-new, 
 
 As if Time had not lived, and heap'd great wrecks 
 
 Of years on years ? — 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." 
 
 N 2
 
 92 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Then saith another, " We are kindly things, 
 And like 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. 
 
 " 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 little merry 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. 
 
 " O then, 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 tiiy honey prize — 
 If ever thy sweet son sat on thy thighs,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 93 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 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 dint 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 ! 
 
 " For I am well nigh crazed 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 flow'rs pass into their seed 
 Only to be renew'd from prime to prime,' 
 All of which boastings I am force to read, 
 Besides a thousand challenges to Time, 
 Which bragging lovers have compiled in rhyme.
 
 94 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMIiR FAIRIES. 
 
 "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 had 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." 
 
 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 liberty of old Sherwood, 
 And wore the livery of Robin Hood, 
 Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup, — • 
 So come this chief right frankly, and made good 
 His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up, 
 DofBng his cap, which was an acorn's cup: — 
 
 " 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
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 95 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Sometimes we scoup the squirrel's hollow cell, 
 
 And sometime 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 sylvian solitudes, ere he lies down ; — 
 
 And sometimes we enrich grey stems with twined 
 
 And vagrant ivy, — or rich moss, whose brown 
 
 Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down.
 
 g6 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 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 mistletoe 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 Queen Dryad's sake." 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 : —
 
 THE PLEA. OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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, 
 ' Whall shall we always do, but love and sing ? ' — 
 And Time is reckon'd a discarded thing." 
 
 Here in my dream it made me fret to see 
 How Puck, the antic, all this dreary while 
 Had blithely jested with calamity, 
 With mis-timed 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. 
 
 o
 
 gS THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Quoth he, " We teach all natures to fulfil 
 
 Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet, — 
 
 The bee's sweet alchemj-, — 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. 
 
 In tender pity of poor babes distrest. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 "Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale. 
 And plaintive dirges the late robins sing, 
 What time the leaves are scattered by the gale. 
 Mindful of that old forest burying; — 
 As thou dost love to watch each liny thing.
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. gg 
 
 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." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold, 
 Whose 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 pale moon's gleams. 
 And shot into the air their pointed beams. 
 
 O 2
 
 100 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Quoth he, — " We bear the gold 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 tuned their smoothest madrigals, 
 
 To sing to ladies in their banquet-halls. 
 
 " And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat 
 
 Parches the river god, — whose dusty urn 
 
 Drips miserably, till soon his crystal feet 
 
 Against his pebbi}- floor wax faint and burn, 
 
 And languished fish, unpoised, 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. 
 
 " Wherefore, by thy delight in cool green meads, 
 With living 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,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. lOI 
 
 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." 
 
 Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks 
 
 Moved 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 disgraced, 
 
 And neighbour'd with a king that rivals me 
 
 In ancient might and hoary majesty. 
 
 " Whereas I ruled 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, 
 Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rock. 
 Stunning the early world with frequent shocks.
 
 102 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAH^IES. 
 
 "Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood. 
 That scared 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 e.xcel ; 
 Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none 
 But mj' great shadow intercepts the sun ! " 
 
 Then said the timid Fay — " Oh I mighty Time I 
 Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans' fail, 
 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'erburtlien'd with good will. 
 That labours to efface the tracks of ill. — 
 
 " Man even strives with Man, but we eschew 
 The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor ; 
 Nay, we are gentle as the sweet heaven's dew 
 Beside the red and horrid drops of war. 
 Weeping the cruel hates men battle for,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. I03 
 
 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. 
 
 " So are our gentle natures intertwined 
 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 showed this morn. 
 To one who held his wretched days in scorn. 
 
 " '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 ; 
 Wherefore 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.
 
 104 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 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 showed below. 
 Wrinkled his face with many a needless seam, 
 Making grief sadder in its own esteem. 
 
 "And lo! upon the air we saw him stretch 
 His passionate arms ! and, in a wayward strain. 
 He 'gan to elegise 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 I' 
 
 " This, with more spleenful speeches and some tears. 
 When he had spent upon the imaged wave. 
 Speedily I convened my elfin peers 
 Under the lily-cups, that we might save 
 This woeful mortal from a wilful grave
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. IO5 
 
 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. 
 
 "Therefore, as still he watch'd the waters 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. 
 
 " And so he banish'd thought, and quite forgot 
 All contemplation of that wretched face : 
 And so we wiled 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." 
 
 p
 
 I06 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel now — 
 " Let me remember how I saved a man, 
 Whose fatal noose was fastened 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 follow'd him in all his ways. 
 
 "Through brake and tangled copse, for much he loathed 
 
 All populous haunts, and roam'd in forest rude. 
 
 To hide himself from man. But I had clothed 
 
 My delicate limbs with plumes, and still pursued. 
 
 Where only fo.\es 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. 
 
 " 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,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. IO7 
 
 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. 
 
 " But here upon his final desperate clause 
 
 Suddenly I pronounced 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 unclosed their shears : — 
 
 So pity me and all my fated peers ! " 
 
 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 records of her own good deeds : — 
 
 " It chanced," quoth she, "in seeking through the meads 
 
 For honied cowslips, sweetest in the morn, 
 
 Whilst yet the buds were hung with dew^y beads, 
 
 And Echo answer'd to the huntsman's horn, 
 
 We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn. 
 
 p 2
 
 Io8 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 zcnilh of tlie skies
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. log 
 
 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 defiled. 
 
 " 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 Heaven our care espies. 
 
 " 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 nurtured 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.
 
 no THE PLEA Ob THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames, 
 Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise, - 
 Jewels from Ind, and pearls from 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 — 
 
 "The tender grasshopper, 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 I 
 
 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, 
 
 " 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 razed quite away,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 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." 
 
 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 ©f his own sport, — the jester's luck ! 
 
 He, whilst his fellows grieved, 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 ?" 
 
 " 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.
 
 12 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " '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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature, 
 
 Who gloze her lively universal law. 
 
 As if she had not form'd our cheerful feature 
 
 To be so tickled with the slightest straw ! 
 
 So let them ve.\ their mumping mouths, and draw
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. II3 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Then Saturn thus : — shaking his crooked blade 
 O'erhead, which made aloft a lightning flash 
 In 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 !
 
 114 '^^^ PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 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 1 " 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 alTronl,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. II5 
 
 Whose Strokes have scarr'd even the gods of old : — 
 Whereas this seem'd a mortal, at mere hunt 
 For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold, 
 Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold. 
 
 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 ej'es 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 upon old Saturn turns askance, 
 Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance : — 
 
 " 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 the grass to make it greener. 
 
 Q 2
 
 ri6 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " These be the pretty genii of the flow'rs, 
 
 Daintily fed with honey and pure devv^ 
 
 Midsummer phantoms in lier 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." 
 
 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." 
 
 Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen ; 
 But still the gracious Shade disarm'd his aim, 
 Stepping with brave alacritj' between, 
 And made his sere arm powerless and tame. 
 His be perpetual glory for the shame
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. II7 
 
 Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat ! — 
 But I must tell how here Titantia came 
 With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat 
 His kindly succour, in sad tones, but sweet. 
 
 Saying, "Thou seest a wretched queen before thee, 
 
 The fading power of a failing land, 
 
 Who for a kingdom kneeleth to implore thee, 
 
 Now menaced 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. 
 
 " Or take him by that sole and grizzled tuft, 
 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.
 
 IlS THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye, 
 And bj' thy brow's most fair and ample span, 
 Thought's glorious palace, framed for fancies high, 
 And by thy cheek thus passionately wan, 
 I know the signs of an immortal man, — 
 Nature's chief darling, and illustrious mate, 
 Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan, 
 And shine untarnish'd by the fogs of Fate, 
 Time's famous rival till the final date ! 
 
 " 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 glimses 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 ! 
 
 "And we'll distil the aromatic dews. 
 
 To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flow'rs ; 
 
 And flavour'd syrups in thy drinks infuse. 
 
 And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bow'rs. 
 
 And with our games divert thy weariest hours,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. II9 
 
 With all that elfin wits can e'er devise. 
 And, this churl dead, there'll be no hasting hours 
 To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies : " — 
 Here she was stopp'd by Saturn's furious cries. 
 
 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 ; — ■ 
 But here thou shalt not harm this pretty group. 
 Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove. 
 But leased on Nature's loveliness and love. 
 
 " '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 darlings' food, 
 Hard by the verge of her domestic wood.
 
 I20 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 'Tis these befriend the timid trembling 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Likewise to them are Poets much beholden 
 For secret favours in the midnight glooms; 
 Brave Spenser quaff'd out of their goblet golden. 
 And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms. 
 And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 121 
 
 Sounding upon the air most soothing soft, 
 Like humming bees busy about the brooms, — 
 And glanced this fair queen's witchery full oft, 
 And in her magic wain soar'd far aloft. 
 
 " Nay I myself, though mortal, once was nursed 
 
 By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth. 
 
 And in my childish ear glib Mab rehearsed 
 
 Her breezy travels round our planet's girth. 
 
 Telling me wonders of the moon and earth; 
 
 My gramarye at her grave lay I conn'd. 
 
 Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth ; 
 
 I have had from Queen Titantia tokens fond. 
 
 And toy'd with Oberon's permitted wand 
 
 " With figs and plums and Persian dates they fed me. 
 And delicate 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 Phoebus' wheel, 
 With fairy euphrasy they purged mine eyes. 
 To let me see their cities in the skies. 
 
 R
 
 122 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 'Twas they first school'd my young imagination 
 
 To take its flights like any new-fledged bird, 
 
 And shovv'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 ! 
 
 " Wherefore with all true royalty and duty 
 
 Will I regard them in my honouring 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 unstartlcd by his dreadful yells. 
 
 Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells." 
 
 Look how a poison'd man turns livid black, 
 Drugg'd with 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
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 123 
 
 Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage, 
 Wherewith his grisly arm he raised once more, 
 And bade the cluster'd sinews all engage, 
 As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age. 
 
 Whereas the blade flash'd on the dinted ground, 
 Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar 
 On that immortal Shade, or death-like wound ; 
 But Time was long benumb'd, and stood a-jar, 
 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 Caesar's tomb. 
 
 Howbeit he vanish'd in the forest shade. 
 Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard. 
 And, like Nymph Echo, 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. 
 
 R 2
 
 124 T"E PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
 
 " 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 dispersed Death's tearful cloud, 
 And Time's dread effigy scared 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 ! 
 
 " 'Noint him with fairy dew 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 edges 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 brow benign ! 
 
 " 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,
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. I25 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 uncase their jealous stings. 
 However he may watch their straw-built huts ; — 
 So let him learn the crafts of all small things, 
 Which he will hint most aptly when he sings." 
 
 Here she leaves off, 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 ! —
 
 126 
 
 THE PLEA OF THE MIDSL'MMER FAIRIES. 
 
 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 engaged the pretty band ; 
 But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm. 
 Challenged the dawn creeping o'er eastern land, 
 And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm. 
 Which sounds the knell of every selfish charm. 
 
 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 falling 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 crowd.
 
 lt'"'V-fT.l^l 
 
 •_^-v.,.^.^-^^^ 
 
 ■A;*'' 

 
 %i)t jHermaiti of JHavsatc. 
 
 N Margate beach, where the sick one roams, 
 And the sentimental reads ; 
 Where the maiden flirts, and the widow comes- 
 Like the ocean — to cast her weeds ; — 
 
 Where urchins wander to pick up shells, 
 And the Cit to spy at the ships, — 
 
 Like the water gala at Sadler's Wells, — 
 And the Chandler for watery dips ; — 
 
 There's a maiden sits by the ocean brim. 
 
 As lovely and fair as sin ! 
 But woe deep water and woe to him. 
 
 That she snareth like Peter Fin ! 
 
 127
 
 128 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 Her head is crown'd with pretty sea-wares, 
 And her locks are golden and loose ; 
 
 And seek to her feetj like other folks' heirs, 
 To stand, of course, in her shoes! 
 
 And all day long, she combeth them well, 
 With a sea shark's prickly jaw; 
 
 And her mouth is just like a rose-lipped shell. 
 The fairest that man e'er saw ! 
 
 And the Fishmonger, humble as love may be, 
 Hath planted his seat by her side ; 
 
 " Good even, fair maid 1 Is thy lover at sea, 
 To make thee so watch the tide ?" 
 
 She turn'd about with her pearly brows ; 
 
 And clasp'd him by the hand ; — 
 " Come, love, with mc ; I've a bonny house 
 
 On the golden Goodwin Sand." 
 
 And then she gave him a siren kiss. 
 No honeycomb e'er was sweeter : 
 
 Poor wretch I how little he dreamt for this 
 That Peter should be salt-Peter ;
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. I29 
 
 And away with her prize to the wave she leapt, 
 
 Not walking, as damsels do. 
 With toe and heel, as she ought to have stept, 
 
 But she hopt like a Kangaroo ! 
 
 One plunge, and then the victim was blind. 
 
 Whilst they gallop'd across the tide : 
 At last on the bank he waked in his mind, 
 
 And the Beauty was by his side. 
 
 One half on the sand, and half in the sea, 
 
 But his air all began to stiffen ; 
 For when he looked where her feet should be. 
 
 She had no more feet than Miss Biffen ! 
 
 But a scaly tail of a dolphin's growth 
 
 In the dabbling brine did soak. 
 At last she opened her pearly mouth. 
 
 Like an oyster, and thus she spoke : — 
 
 " You crimpt my father who was a skate ; — 
 
 And my sister you sold — a maid ; 
 So here remain for a fishlike fate, 
 
 For lost you are, and betray'd ! "
 
 130 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 And away she went, with a seagull's scream, 
 
 And a splash of her saucy tail; 
 In a moment he lost the silvery gleam 
 
 That shone on her splendid mail ! 
 
 The sun went down with a blood-red flame, 
 And the sky grew cloudy and black, 
 
 And the tumbling billows like leapfrog came. 
 Each over the other's back 1 
 
 Ah, me I it had been a beautiful scene. 
 With the safe terra-firma round ; 
 
 But the green water-hillocks all seem'd to him, 
 Like those in a churchyard ground ; 
 
 And Christians love in the turf to lie. 
 
 Not in watery graves to be : 
 Nay, the very fishes will sooner die 
 
 On the land than in the sea : 
 
 And whilst he stood, the watery strife 
 
 Encroached on every hand, 
 And the ground decreas'd — his moments of life 
 
 Seem'd measur'd, like Time's, by sand ;
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. I3I 
 
 And Still the waters foam'd in, like ale, 
 
 In front and on either flank, 
 He knew that Goodwin and Co. must fail, 
 
 There was such a run on the bank. — 
 
 A little more, and a little more, 
 
 The surges came tumbling in; 
 He sang the evening hymn twice o'er. 
 
 And thought of every sin ! 
 
 Each flounder and plaice lay cold at his heart. 
 
 As cold as his marble slab : 
 And he thought he felt in every part 
 
 The pincers of scaled crab. 
 
 The squealing lobsters that he had boil'd, 
 
 And the little potted shrimps, 
 All the horny prawns he had ever spoil'd, 
 
 Gnaw'd into his soul, like imps ! 
 
 And the billows were wandering to and fro. 
 
 And the glorious sun was sunk. 
 And Day, getting black in the face, as the' 
 
 Of the night-shade she had drunk ! 
 
 s 2
 
 132 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 Had there been but a smuggler's cargo adrift 
 
 One tub, or keg, to be seen. 
 It might have given his spirits a lift 
 
 Or an anker where Hope might lean ! 
 
 But there was not a box or a beam afloat, 
 To raft him from that sad place ; 
 
 Not a skiff, nor a yawl, or a mackerel boat, 
 Nor a smack upon Neptune's face. 
 
 At last, his lingering hopes to buoy. 
 
 He saw a sail and a mast, 
 And called " Ahoy ! " — but it was not a hoy. 
 
 And so the vessel went past. 
 
 And with saucy wing that flapp'd in his face, 
 
 The wild bird about him flew. 
 With a shrilly scream that twitted his case, 
 
 "Why, thou art a sea-gull too !" 
 
 And lo I the tide was over his feet ; 
 
 Oh ! his heart began to freeze. 
 And slowly to pulse : — in another beat 
 
 The wave was up to his knees I
 
 I ' tflMii
 
 THE MERMAID OF MARGATE. 
 
 133 
 
 He was deafen'd amidst the mountain tops, 
 And the salt spray blinded his eyes, 
 
 And wash'd away the other salt-drop, 
 That grief had caused to arise ; — 
 
 But just as his body was all afloat 
 And the surges above him broke, 
 
 He was saved from the hungry deep by a boat, 
 Of Deal— (but builded of oak). 
 
 The skipper gave him a dram, as he lay, 
 
 And chafed his shivering skin ; 
 And the angel returned that was flying away 
 
 With the spirit of Peter Fin !
 
 %)txo anti Urantirr, 
 
 TO S. T. COLERIDGE. 
 
 " 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 rhyme I 
 It is my dear ambition now to climb 
 Still higher in tliy thought, — if my bold pen 
 May thrust on contemplations more sublime. — 
 But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when 
 VVe gain applauses from the great in name, 
 We seem to be partakers of tlicir fame. 
 
 134
 
 HERO AND LEANDER 
 
 135 
 
 Oh Bards of old ! what sorrows have ye sung, 
 And tragic stories, chronicled in stone,— 
 Sad Philomel restored her ravish'd tongue. 
 And transform'd Niobe in dumbness shown I 
 Sweet Sappho on her love for ever calls, 
 And Hero on the drown'd Leander falls ! 
 
 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. 
 Traced from the course of an old bas-relief. 
 
 There stand Abydos I— here is Sestos' steep. 
 Hard by the gusty margin of the sea. 
 Where sprinkling 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. 
 
 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.
 
 136 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 For love hath framed a ditty of regrets, 
 Tuned 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. 
 
 For ere the golden crevices of mom 
 
 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. 
 
 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! 
 r5ut parting renders time both sad and brief. 
 
 " 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.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 137 
 
 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. 
 
 Ev'n thus 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 She thinks how many have been sunk and drovvn'd, 
 And spies their 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.
 
 138 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Saying, " That honied fly I saw was thee, 
 Which lighted on a water-lily's cup, 
 When, lo ! the flower, 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." 
 
 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 stedfast frosts are thaw'd by show'rs of rain. 
 
 O for a type of parting ! — Love to love 
 Is like the fond attraction of two spheres, 
 Which needs a god-like 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. 
 
 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 wouldst thou know the wideness of the wound ?- 
 
 Mete every step he takes upon the ground.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 139 
 
 And for the agony and bosom-throe, 
 
 Let it be measured by the wide vast air, 
 
 For that is infinite, and. so is woe, 
 
 Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere. 
 
 Look how it heaves Leander's labouring chest, 
 
 Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest ! 
 
 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 be twixt them still ; 
 Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide. 
 Where life grows death upon the other side. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 ! 
 
 T 2
 
 140 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave, 
 That hangs 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. 
 
 The drowsy mist before him chill and dank. 
 
 Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea. 
 
 When 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 cmbark'd upon that little boat ; 
 
 Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate, — 
 
 A perilous voyage for so dear a freight.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 141 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in, 
 Nor slimy quicksands smother his sweet breath; 
 Let no jagg'd coral 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. 
 
 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 fared : — 
 The drowsy world shone brighten'd in reply ; 
 And smiling off her fogs, his slanting beam 
 Spied young Leander in the middle stream.
 
 142 HERO AND LEANDF.R. 
 
 His face was pallid, but the hectic morn 
 Had hung a lying crimson on his cheek, 
 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. 
 
 He thought of Hero and the lost delight, 
 Her last embracing, 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 galley's space, 
 His thoughts contracted with another face ! 
 
 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 advantaged upon jet. 
 
 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 wavebleach'd lily of the stream.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 143 
 
 The very rumour strikes his seeing dead : 
 
 Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense : 
 
 He knows not if her Hps 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. 
 
 Anon resuming, it declares her eyes 
 
 Are tint 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 144 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 death-blown dart 
 Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane. 
 With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain. 
 
 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 life 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. 
 
 For there stood Hero, vvidow'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.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. I45 
 
 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. 
 
 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 upon Scylla, falls upon her neck. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lo I 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. 
 
 u
 
 146 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 His eyes are blinded with the sleeting 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Yet weep and watch for him, though all in vain ! 
 Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander! 
 Ye gazing sunbeams, look for liini 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 1
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 1^7 
 
 She says 'tis love hath bribed her to this deed 
 The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her. 
 O bootless theft ! unprofitable meed 1 
 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 turned to lead ! 
 
 She holds the casket, but her simple hand 
 Hath spill'd 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 the pest. 
 
 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 journey keep. 
 
 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 breathed and sigh'd, the emerald wave ! 
 
 How could her pleasant home become his grave ? 
 
 u 2
 
 148 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Down and still downward through the duskj' 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. 
 
 She could not miss the throbbings of his heart, 
 Whilst her own pulse so wanton'd 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 But sad marvel I O most bitter strange ! 
 What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale ? 
 Why 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 ?
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. I49 
 
 Her eyes, poor watchers, fixed upon his looks. 
 Are grappled with a wonder near to grief, 
 As one, who pores on undecipher'd books, 
 Strains vain surmise, and dodges with belief; 
 So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought, 
 Framing a thousand doubts that end in nought. 
 
 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. 
 
 Meanwhile she sits unconscious of her hap. 
 Nursing Death's marble effigy, which there 
 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 wax fingers crook'd against the sand ; 
 
 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
 
 150 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrow'd pain 
 Hath set, and stiffen'd, like a storm in ice, 
 Showing by drooping Unes 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. 
 
 But all that tender bloom about his eyes, 
 
 Is Death's own violets, 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 kiss'd with such cold frosty nips. 
 
 " Surely," quoth she, "he sleeps, the senseless thing, 
 Oppress'd and faint with toiling in the stream I" 
 Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing 
 So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; 
 Meanwhile, her lily fingers task to twine 
 His uncrispt locks uncurling in tlie brine. 
 
 " O lovely boy!" thus she attuned 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.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. I5I 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 " Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales. 
 And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skies ; 
 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. 
 
 " Lo ! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells, 
 My flow'rets 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. 
 
 "Now lay thine ear against this golden sound, 
 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 !
 
 HERO AND LEAN'DER. 
 
 " 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 1 
 
 " Or bid me speak, and I will tell thee tales. 
 Which I have framed out of the noise of waves ; 
 Ere now I have communed 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. 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 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.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 153 
 
 Surely he sleeps, — so her false wits infer ! 
 Alas ! poor sluggard, ne'er to wake again I 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Now, picture one, soft creeping to a bed, 
 Who slowly parts the fringe-hung canopies, 
 And then starts back to find the sleeper dead 
 So she looks in on his uncover'd eyes. 
 And seeing all within so drear and dark, 
 Her own bright soul dies in her like a spark
 
 15+ HERO AXD LEANDER. 
 
 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. 
 
 Yet life, though wounded sore, not wholly slain, 
 Merely obscured, and not extinguish'd, lies ; 
 Her breath that stood at ebb, soon flows aj;ain, 
 Heaving her hollow breast with heavy sighs. 
 And light comes in and kindles up the gloom, 
 To light her spirit from its transient tomb. 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 155 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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; 
 Whilst unacquainted rheum bedims her eyes, 
 Tears, virgin tears, the first that ever leapt 
 From those young lids, now plentifully wept. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 " 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 ? 
 
 X 2
 
 1^6 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 " Lo ! what a lovely ruin thou hast made, 
 Alas ! alas ! thou hast no eye 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 ! 
 
 " 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 ; 
 
 " Or when thy furious rage was round him dealing, 
 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 ! 
 
 " And here, alas ! lie lies across my knees, 
 With cheeks still colder than the stilly wave. 
 The light beneath his eyelids seems lo 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 I
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. I57 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 " 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 clod model of thy face ! 
 
 " Put out, put out, these sun-consuming lamps, 
 I do but read my sorrows by their shine ; 
 O come and 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 ! 
 
 " 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!"
 
 158 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 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 Heaven's fair light, as if her need 
 Inspired her there were Gods to pity pain, 
 Or end it, — but she lift her arms in vain ! 
 
 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. 
 
 Look how the fulsome beam would hang a glor^' 
 On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it ; 
 Look how the perjured 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 ; 
 
 Or else, thou maid ! 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; 
 Whereas the woe moves on witli tragic pace, 
 And shows its sad reflection in thy face.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 159 
 
 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. 
 
 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 whisper'd the Promethean light 
 Would kindle up the dead Leander's spright. 
 
 " '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." 
 
 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 twined above of liquid gold, 
 Nor slacks till on the margin of the land 
 She lays his body on the glowing sand.
 
 l6o HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 I
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. l6l 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Or think of Ariadne's utter trance. 
 
 Crazed 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. 
 
 Y
 
 l62 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 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, 
 
 Dismally doom'd ! meanwhile the billows come, 
 
 And coldly dabble with her quiet feet, 
 
 Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet. 
 
 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. 
 
 Yet whether in the sea or vaulted sky. 
 
 She knoweth not her 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. 
 
 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 crust. Another stands. 
 
 Holding his harmful arrow at the head, 
 
 Still check'd by human caution and strange dread.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. i5. 
 
 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 pit}' saddens in her eyes, 
 
 And prompts her to befriend that lonely grief, 
 
 With all sweet helps of sisterly relief. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge 
 Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam ; 
 
 Some point to white eruptions of the suro-e : 
 
 But she is vanish'd to her shady home, 
 Under the deep, inscrutable, — and there 
 Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair. 
 
 Y 2
 
 164 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 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 heaven is cover'd with a stormy rack, 
 Soiling the waters with its ink}- black. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 maiden's pale ; 
 And anxious mothers that upturn their brows. 
 Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows. 
 
 For that the horrid deep has no sure path 
 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.
 
 ^-."5-
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 165 
 
 And so da}' 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 gazed upon the deep. 
 
 And waved 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, braved the fire. 
 
 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'n in the unseen presence of the night ! 
 
 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."
 
 l66 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 And hark 1 — 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 wintr}- death had changed its tone, — 
 Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moan. 
 
 For now, upon each brief and breathless pause, 
 Made by the raging winds it plainly calls 
 On " Hero 1 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. 
 
 " Oh ! dost thou live under the deep deep sea ? 
 I thought such love as thine could never die ! 
 If thou hast gained 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 ! 
 
 "There we will sit and sport upon one billow. 
 And sing our ocean ditties all the day. 
 And lie together on the same green billow. 
 That curls above us with its dewy spray ! 
 And ever in one presence live and dwell. 
 Like two twin pearls within the self same shell."
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 167 
 
 One moment then, upon the dizzy vero-e 
 
 She stands ;— with face upturn'd against the sky; 
 
 A moment more, upon the foamy surge 
 
 She gazes, with a calm despairing eye ; 
 
 Feeling that awful pause of blood and breath, 
 
 Which life endures when it confronts with death ; 
 
 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 enshrined; 
 No meaner sepulchre should Hero find.
 
 
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 91 ilrscuti of ila\)aiTr. 
 
 'S^^^^^AVAS in the reign of Lewis, call'd the Great, 
 As one may read on his triumphal arches, 
 The thing befel I'm going to relate, 
 
 In course of one of those "pomposo" marches 
 
 He lov'd to make, like any gorgeous Persian, 
 Partly for war, and partly for diversion. 
 
 Some wag had it put in the royal brain 
 
 To drop a visit at an old chateau. 
 Quite unexpected, with his courtly train ; 
 
 The monarch lik'd it, — but it happened so. 
 That Death had got before them by a post. 
 And they were " reckoning without their host." 
 
 Who died exactly as a child should die, 
 Without a groan or a convulsive breath 
 
 Closing without one pang his quiet eye. 
 Sliding composedly from sleep — to death ; 
 
 A corpse so placid ne'er adorn'd a bed. 
 
 He had seem'd not quite — but only rather dead. 
 1 68
 
 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. l6g 
 
 All night the widow'd Baroness contriv'd 
 
 To shed a widow's tears ; but on the morrow 
 
 Some news of such unusual sort arriv'd, 
 
 There came strange alteration in her sorrow ; 
 
 From mouth to mouth it pass'd, one common humming 
 
 Throughout the house — the King ! the King is coming. 
 
 The Baroness, with all her soul and heart, 
 A loyal woman, (now called ultra loyal,) 
 
 Soon thrust all funeral concerns apart, 
 And only thought about a banquet royal ; 
 
 In short, by aid of earnest preparation, 
 
 The visit quite dismiss'd the visitation. 
 
 And, spite of all her grief for the ex-mate, 
 
 There was a secret hope she could not smother, 
 
 That some one, early, might replace " the late " — 
 It was too soon to think about another ; 
 
 Yet let her minutes of despair be reckon'd 
 
 Against her hope, which was but for a second. 
 
 She almost thought that being thus bereft 
 Just then, was one of time's propitious touches ; 
 
 A thread in such a nick so nick'd, it left 
 Free opportunity to be a duchess ; 
 
 Thus all her care was only to look pleasant, 
 
 But as for tears — she dropp'd them — for the present. 
 
 z
 
 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE, 
 
 Her household, as good servants ought to try, 
 Look'd like their lady — anything but sad, 
 
 And giggled even that they might not cry, 
 To damp fine company ; in truth they had 
 
 No time to mourn, thro' choking turkeys' throttles, 
 
 Scouring old laces, and reviewing bottles. 
 
 Oh what a hubbub for the house of woe ! 
 
 Ail, resolute to one irresolution, 
 Kept tearing, swearing, plunging to and fro. 
 
 Just like another French mob revolution. 
 There la}' the corpse that could not stir a muscle, 
 But all the rest seem'd Chaos in a bustle. 
 
 The Monarch came : oh ! who could ever guess 
 The Baroness had been so late a weeper ! 
 
 The kingly grace and more than graciousness, 
 Buried the poor defunct some fathoms deeper — 
 
 Could he have had a glance — alas poor Being! 
 
 Seeing would certainly have led to D — ing. 
 
 For casting round about her eyes to find 
 Some one to whom her chattels to endorse. 
 
 The comfortable dame at last inclin'd 
 
 To choose the cheerful Master of the Horse ; 
 
 He was so gay, — so tender, — the complete 
 
 Nice man, — the sweetest of the monarch's suite.
 
 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. 171 
 
 He saw at once and enter'd in the lists — 
 Glance unto glance made amorous replies ; 
 
 They talk'd together like two egotists, 
 In conversation all made up of eyes : 
 
 No couple ever got so right consort-ish 
 
 Within two hours — a courtship rather shortish. 
 
 At last, some sleepy, some by wine opprest. 
 The courtly company began " nid nodding," 
 
 The King first sought his chamber, and the rest 
 Instanter followed by the course he trod in. 
 
 I shall not please the scandalous by showing 
 
 The order, or disorder of their going. 
 
 The old Chateau, before that night, had never 
 Held half so many underneath its roof. 
 
 It task'd the Baroness's best endeavour, 
 And put her best contrivance to the proof. 
 
 To give them chambers up and down the stairs. 
 
 In twos and threes, by singles, and by pairs. 
 
 She had just lodging for the whole — yet barely 
 And some, that were both broad of back and tall, 
 
 Lay on spare beds that served them very sparely; 
 However, there were beds enough for all ; 
 
 But living bodies occupied so many 
 
 She could not let the dead one take up any. 
 
 z 2
 
 172 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. 
 
 The act was, certainly, not over decent : 
 
 Some small respect, e'en after death, she ow'd him. 
 
 Considering his death had been so recent : 
 
 However, by command, her servants stow'd him, 
 
 (I am asham'd to think how he was slubber'd,) 
 
 Stuck bold upright within a corner cupboard ! 
 
 And there he slept as soundly as a post. 
 With no more pillow than an oaken shelf, 
 
 Just like a kind accommodating host, 
 Taking all inconvenience on himself. 
 
 None else slept in that room, except a stranger, _ 
 
 A decent man, a sort of Forest Ranger. 
 
 Who, whether he had gone too soon to bed, 
 
 Or dreamt himself into an appetite, 
 Howbeit he took a longing to be fed, 
 
 About the hungry middle of the night ; 
 So getting forth, he sought some scrap to eat. 
 Hopeful of some stray pasty, or cold meat. 
 
 The casual glances of the midnight moon, 
 Bright'ning some antique ornaments of brass, 
 
 Guided his gropings to that corner soon, 
 Just where it stood, the coffin-safe, alas ! 
 
 He tried the door- — then shook it — and in course 
 
 Of time it open'd to a little force.
 
 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. I73 
 
 He put one hand in, and began to grope ; 
 
 The place was very deep and quite as dark as 
 The middle night ; — when lo ! beyond his hope, 
 
 He felt a something cold, in fact, the carcase; 
 Right overjoy'd, he laugh'd, and blest his luck 
 At finding, as he thought, this haunch of buck ! 
 
 Then striding back for his couteau de chasse, 
 
 Determined on a little midnight lunching. 
 He came again and prob'd about the mass, 
 
 As if to find the fattest bit for munching; 
 Not meaning wastefully to cut it all up. 
 But only to abstract a little collop. 
 
 But just as he had struck one greedy stroke. 
 His hand fell down quite powerless and weak ; 
 
 For when he cut the haunch it plainly spoke 
 As haunch of ven'son never ought to speak; 
 
 No wonder that his hand could go no further— 
 
 Whose could? — to carve cold meat that bellow'd, "murther 1" 
 
 Down came the Body with a bounce, and down 
 The Ranger sprang, a staircase at a spring. 
 
 And bawl'd enough to waken up a town ! 
 
 Some thought that they were murder'd, some, the King, 
 
 And, like Macduff, did nothing for a season. 
 
 But stand upon the spot and bellow, " Treason ! "
 
 174 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. 
 
 A hundred nightcaps gather'd in a mob, 
 
 Torches drew torches, swords brought swords together, 
 It seem'd so dark and perilous a job ; 
 
 The Baroness came trembling like a feather 
 Just in the rear, as pallid as a corse, 
 Leaning against the Master of the Horse. 
 
 A dozen of the bravest up the stair, 
 
 Well lighted and well watch'd began to clamber; 
 They sought the door — they found it — they were there, 
 
 A dozen heads went poking in the chamber ; 
 And lo ! with one hand planted on his hurt, 
 There stood the body bleeding thro' his shirt, — 
 
 No passive corse — but like a duellist 
 
 Just smarting from a scratch — in fierce position. 
 
 One hand advanced, and ready to resist ; 
 In fact, the Baron doff'd the apparition. 
 
 Swearing those oaths the French delight in most. 
 
 And for the second time " gave up the ghost ! " 
 
 A living miracle ! — for why ? — the knife 
 
 That cuts so many off from grave gray hairs. 
 
 Had only carv'd him kindly into life : 
 
 How soon it chang'd the posture of afiairs ! 
 
 The difference one person more or less 
 
 Will make in families, is past all guess.
 
 A LEGEND OF NAVARRE. 
 
 ^75 
 
 There stood the Baroness — no widow yet 
 Here stood the Baron— " in the body" still 
 
 There stood the Horses' Master in a pet, 
 Choking with disappointment's bitter pill, 
 
 To see the hope of his reversion fail, 
 
 Like that of riding on a donkey's tail. 
 
 The Baron liv'd — 'twas nothing but a trance : 
 The lady died — 'twas nothing but a death : 
 
 The cupboard-cut serv'd only to enhance 
 This postscript to the old Baronial breath : 
 
 He soon forgave, for the revival's sake, 
 
 A little chop intended for a steak !
 
 Our ilatiD's CijapcL 
 
 A LEGEND OF COBLENZ. 
 
 HOE'ER has crossed the Mosel Bridge, 
 And mounted by the fort of Kaiser Franz, 
 
 Has seen, perchance. 
 Just on the summit of St. Peter's ridge, 
 A little open chapel to the right, 
 Wherein the tapers aye are burning bright ; 
 So popular, indeed, this holy shrine. 
 At least among the female population. 
 By night, or at high noon, you see it shine, 
 A very Missal for ilhimination ! 
 
 Yet, when you please, at morn or eve, go by 
 All other Chapels, standing in the fields, 
 Whose mouldy, wifeless husbandry but yields 
 Beans, peas, potatoes, mangel-wurzel, rye. 
 And lo 1 the Virgin, lonely, dark, and hush, 
 Without the glimmer of a farthing rush ! 
 176
 
 OUR LADY S CHAPEL. 
 
 177 
 
 But on St. Peter's Hill 
 The lights are burning, burning, burning still. 
 In fact, it is a pretty retail trade 
 To furnish forth the candles ready made ; 
 And close beside the chapel and the way, 
 A chandler, at her stall, sits day by day, 
 And sells, both long and short, the waxen tapers 
 Smarten'd with tinsel-foil and tinted papers. 
 
 To give of the mysterious truth an inkling. 
 Those who in this bright chapel breathe a prayer 
 To " Unser Frou," and burn a taper there, 
 Are said to get a husband " in a twinkling : " 
 Just as she-glowworms, if it be not scandal. 
 Catch partners with their matrimonial candle. 
 
 How kind of blessed saints in heaven — 
 Where none in marriage, we are told, are given — 
 To interfere below in making matches. 
 And help old maidens to connubial catches! 
 The truth is, that instead of looking smugly 
 
 (At least, so whisper wags satirical) 
 The votaries are all so old and ugly, 
 
 No man could fall in love but by a miracle. 
 
 2 A
 
 178 OUR lady's chapel. 
 
 However, that such waxen gifts and vows 
 Are sometimes for the purpose efficacious, 
 
 In helping to a spouse, 
 Is vouch'd for by a story most veracious. 
 
 A certain Woman, though in name a wife, 
 
 Yet doom'd to lonely life. 
 Her truant husband having been away 
 Nine years, two months, a week, and half a day,- 
 Without remembrances by words or deeds, — 
 Began to think she had sufficient handle 
 To talk of widowhood and burn her weeds — 
 Of course with a wax-candle. 
 
 Sick, single-handed with the world to grapple. 
 Weary of solitude, and spleen, and vapours. 
 Away she hurried to Our Lady's Chapel, 
 Full-handed with two tapers — 
 And pray'd as she had never pray'd before, 
 To be a bona fide wife once more 
 " Oh Holy Virgin ! listen to my prayer I 
 And for sweet mercy, and thy sex's sake. 
 Accept the vows and olTcrings I make — 
 Others set up one light, but here's a pair .' "
 
 OUR LADY S CHAPEL. 179 
 
 Her prayer, it seem'd was heard ; 
 For in three little weeks, exactly reckon'd, 
 
 As blithe as any bird, 
 She stood before the Priest with Hans the Second ; — 
 A fact which made her gratitude so hearty, 
 To " Unser Frou," and her propitious shrine. 
 She sent two waxen candles superfine, 
 Long enough for a Lapland evening party ! 
 
 Rich was the Wedding Feast and rare — 
 What sausages were there I 
 Of sweets and sours there was a perfect glut : 
 With plenteous liquors to wash down good cheer. 
 Brantwein, and Rhum, Kirsch-wasser, and Krug Bier, 
 And wine so sharp that ev'ry one was cut. 
 Rare was the feast — but rarer was the quality 
 Of mirth, of smoky-joke, and song, and toast, — 
 When just in all the middle of their jollity, — ■ 
 With bumpers fill'd to hostess and to host, 
 And all the unborn branches of their house. 
 Unwelcome and unask'd like Banquo's Ghost, 
 
 In walk'd the long-lost Spouse ! 
 
 What pen could ever paint ! 
 The hubbub when the Hubs were thus confronted ! 
 
 2 A 2
 
 i8o OUR lady's chapel. 
 
 The bridesmaids fitfully began to faint ; 
 
 The bridesmen stared — some whistled and some grunted : 
 
 Fierce Hans the First look'd like a boar that's hunted ; 
 
 Poor Hans the Second like a suckling calf: 
 
 Meanwhile, confounded by the double miracle, 
 
 The two-fold bride sobb'd out, with tears hysterical, 
 
 " Oh Holy Virgin, you're too good — by half !" 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye Coblenz maids, take warning by the rhyme, 
 And as our Christian laws forbid polygamy 
 
 For fear of bigamy, 
 Only light up one taper at a time. 
 
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