II.

The balm-cricket carols clear
In the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

LOVE AND DEATH.

17

WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light

Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise, And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes; When, turning round a cassia, full in view, Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, And talking to himself, first met his sight:

'You must begone,' said Death, 'these walks are mine.'

Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;

Yet ere he parted said, 'This hour is thine :

Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree

Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,

So in the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,

But I shall reign for ever over all.'

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana.

There is no rest for me below,

Oriana.

When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with

snow,

And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana,

Alone I wander to and fro,

Oriana.

Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana,

At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana :

Two strangers meeting at a festival;

Two lovers whispering by an orchard

wall;

Low thunder and light in the magic night

Neither moon nor star.

Call to each other and whoop and cry

All night, merrily, merrily;

They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells,

Laughing and clapping their hands between,

All night, merrily, merrily:
But I would throw to them back in mine
Turkis and agate and almondine :
Then leaping out upon them unseen
I would kiss them often under the sea,
And kiss them again till they kiss'd me
Laughingly, laughingly.

Oh! what a happy life were mine
Under the hollow-hung ocean green!
Soft are the moss-beds under the sea;
We would live merrily, merrily.

THE MERMAID.

I.

WHO would be
A mermaid fair,
Singing alone,
Combing her hair
Under the sea,
In a golden curl

With a comb of pearl,
On a throne?

II.

I would be a mermaid fair;

I would sing to myself the whole of the day;

With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;

And still as I comb'd I would sing and

say,

'Who is it loves me? who loves not me?' I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall

Low adown, low adown, From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around, And I should look like a fountain of gold

Springing alone

With a shrill inner sound, Over the throne

In the midst of the hall; Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate

With his large calm eyes for the love of

me.

And all the mermen under the sea
Would feel their immortality

Die in their hearts for the love of me.

III.

But at night I would wander away, away, I would fling on each side my lowflowing locks,

And lightly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks;

We would run to and fro, and hide and seek,

On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells,

Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. But if any came near I would call, and shriek,

And adown the steep like a wave I would leap

From the diamond-ledges that jut from

the dells;

Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,

All looking down for the love of me.

ADELINE.

I.

MYSTERY of mysteries,

Faintly smiling Adeline,
Scarce of earth nor all divine,

Nor unhappy, nor at rest,

But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair ; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes

Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

II.

Whence that aery bloom of thine,

Like a lily which the sun Looks thro' in his sad decline,

And a rose-bush leans upon, Thou that faintly smilest still, As a Naiad in a well, Looking at the set of day, Or a phantom two hours old Of a maiden past away, Ere the placid lips be cold? Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, Spiritual Adeline ?

III.

What hope or fear or joy is thine?
Who talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou art not all alone.
Do beating hearts of salient springs
Keep measure with thine own?

Hast thou heard the butterflies
What they say betwixt their wings?
Or in stillest evenings

With what voice the violet woos
To his heart the silver dews?

Or when little airs arise,
How the merry bluebell rings
To the mosses underneath?
Hast thou look'd upon the breath
Of the lilies at sunrise?