THE DEPARTURE. I. AND on her lover's arm she leant, In that new world which is the old : Across the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, II. 'I'd sleep another hundred years, O love, for such another kiss ;' 'O wake for ever, love,' she hears, 'O love, 'twas such as this and this.' And o'er them many a sliding star, And many a merry wind was borne, And, stream'd thro' many a golden bar, The twilight melted into morn. III. 'O eyes long laid in happy sleep!' 'O happy sleep, that lightly fled !' 'O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!' 'O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!' And o'er them many a flowing range Of vapour buoy'd the crescent-bark, And, rapt thro' many a rosy change, The twilight died into the dark. IV. 'A hundred summers! can it be? And whither goest thou, tell me where?' 'O seek my father's court with me, For there are greater wonders there.' And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him. MORAL. I. So, Lady Flora, take my lay, Oh, to what uses shall we put The wildweed-flower that simply blows? And is there any moral shut Within the bosom of the rose? II. But any man that walks the mead, A meaning suited to his mind. In Art like Nature, dearest friend; So 'twere to cramp its use, if I Should hook it to some useful end. L'ENVOI. I. You shake your head. A random string To fall asleep with all one's friends; To pass with all our social ties To silence from the paths of men ; And every hundred years to rise And learn the world, and sleep again; To sleep thro' terms of mighty wars, And wake on science grown to more, On secrets of the brain, the stars, As wild as aught of fairy lore; The Poet-forms of stronger hours, The Federations and the Powers; Titanic forces taking birth In divers seasons, divers climes; For we are Ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times. II. So sleeping, so aroused from sleep Thro' sunny decads new and strange, Or gay quinquenniads would we reap The flower and quintessence of change. III. Ah, yet would I—and would I might ! So much your eyes my fancy takeBe still the first to leap to light That I might kiss those eyes awake! For since the time when Adam first In carol, every bud to flower, What eyes, like thine, have waken'd hopes, What lips, like thine, so sweetly Where on the double rosebud droops Yet sleeps a dreamless sleep to me; A sleep by kisses undissolved, That lets thee neither hear nor see: Are clasp'd the moral of thy life, EPILOGUE. So, Lady Flora, take my lay, And, if you find a meaning there, O whisper to your glass, and say, 'What wonder, if he thinks me fair?' What wonder I was all unwise, To shape the song for your delight Like long-tail'd birds of Paradise That float thro' Heaven, and cannot light? Or old-world trains, upheld at court By Cupid-boys of blooming hueBut take it-earnest wed with sport, And either sacred unto you. AMPHION. My father left a park to me, But it is wild and barren, That grows within the woodland. Nor cared for seed or scion ! And fiddled in the timber! 'Tis said he had a tuneful tongue, He set up his forlorn pipes, The linden broke her ranks and rent The woodbine wreaths that bind her, The shock-head willows two and two Came wet-shod alder from the wave, Came yews, a dismal coterie ; Each pluck'd his one foot from the grave, Poussetting with a sloe-tree : Old elms came breaking from the vine, And wasn't it a sight to see, When, ere his song was ended, As dash'd about the drunken leaves Oh, nature first was fresh to men, You moved her at your pleasure. Twang out, my fiddle! shake the twigs! And make her dance attendance; Blow, flute, and stir the stiff-set sprigs, And scirrhous roots and tendons. 'Tis vain! in such a brassy age Scarce answer to my whistle; The passive oxen gaping. But what is that I hear? a sound Like sleepy counsel pleading; O Lord!-'tis in my neighbour's ground, And Works on Gardening thro' there, And Methods of transplanting trees To look as if they grew there. The wither'd Misses! how they prose O'er books of travell'd seamen, And show you slips of all that grows From England to Van Diemen. They read in arbours clipt and cut, And alleys, faded places, By squares of tropic summer shut And warm'd in crystal cases. But these, tho' fed with careful dirt, Are neither green nor sappy; Half-conscious of the garden-squirt, The spindlings look unhappy. Better to me the meanest weed That blows upon its mountain, The vilest herb that runs to seed Beside its native fountain. And I must work thro' months of toil, To grow my own plantation. ST. AGNES' EVE. DEEP on the convent-roof the snows The shadows of the convent-towers Or this first snowdrop of the year As these white robes are soil'd and dark, As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round; So shows my soul before the Lamb, So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, In raiment white and clean. He lifts me to the golden doors; The flashes come and go; All heaven bursts her starry floors, And strows her lights below, And deepens on and up! the gates Roll back, and far within For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, One sabbath deep and wide- SIR GALAHAD. My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. To save from shame and thrall: My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. When down the stormy crescent goes, I hear a voice but none are there; The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chaunts resound between. Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers: I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail : On sleeping wings they sail. My spirit beats her mortal bars, And star-like mingles with the stars. When on my goodly charger borne morn, The streets are dumb with snow. The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields; But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. A maiden knight-to me is given I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odours haunt my dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armour that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. The clouds are broken in the sky, Swells up, and shakes and falls. So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; EDWARD GRAY. SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me : Ellen Adair she loved me well, By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill. Shy she was, and I thought her cold; Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Fill'd I was with folly and spite, When Ellen Adair was dying for me. 'Cruel, cruel the words I said! Cruelly came they back to-day: "You're too slight and fickle," I said, WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE. MADE AT THE COCK. O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock, How goes the time? 'Tis five o'clock. But let it not be such as that You set before chance-comers, No vain libation to the Muse, Till all be ripe and rotten. I pledge her, and she comes and dips And lays it thrice upon my lips, These favour'd lips of mine; "Totrouble the heart of Edward Gray." | And barren commonplaces break There I put my face in the grass- I repent me of all I did: Speak a little, Ellen Adair !" Then I took a pencil, and wrote On the mossy stone, as I lay, "Here lies the body of Ellen Adair ; And here the heart of Edward Gray!" 'Love may come, and love may go, And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree; But I will love no more, no more, Till Ellen Adair come back to me. 'Bitterly wept I over the stone : Bitterly weeping I turn'd away: There lies the body of Ellen Adair ! And there the heart of Edward Gray !' In full and kindly blossom. I pledge her silent at the board ; Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans, Thro' many an hour of summer suns, The current of my days: I kiss the lips I once have kiss'd; |