Step deeper yet in herb and fern, Look further thro' the chace, Spread upward till thy boughs discern The front of Sumner-place.

This fruit of thine by Love is blest,
That but a moment lay
Where fairer fruit of Love may rest
Some happy future day.

I kiss it twice, I kiss it thrice,
The warmth it thence shall win
To riper life may magnetise
The baby-oak within.

But thou, while kingdoms overset, Or lapse from hand to hand, Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet

Thine acorn in the land.

May never saw dismember thee,

Nor wielded axe disjoint, That art the fairest-spoken tree From here to Lizard-point.

O rock upon thy towery-top

All throats that gurgle sweet! All starry culmination drop

Balm-dews to bathe thy feet!

All grass of silky feather grow

And while he sinks or swells The full south-breeze around thee blow The sound of minster bells.

The fat earth feed thy branchy root,

That under deeply strikes ! The northern morning o'er thee shoot, High up, in silver spikes!

Nor ever lightning char thy grain,

But, rolling as in sleep, Low thunders bring the mellow rain, That makes thee broad and deep!

And hear me swear a solemn oath,
That only by thy side
Will I to Olive plight my troth,
And gain her for my bride.

And when my marriage morn may fall,
She, Dryad-like, shall wear
Alternate leaf and acorn-ball

In wreath about her hair.

And I will work in prose and rhyme,
And praise thee more in both
Than bard has honour'd beech or lime,
Or that Thessalian growth,

In which the swarthy ringdove sat,
And mystic sentence spoke ;
And more than England honours that,
Thy famous brother-oak,

Wherein the younger Charles abode
Till all the paths were dim,
And far below the Roundhead rode,
And humm'd a surly hymn.

Ill-fated that I am, what lot is mine Whose foresight preaches peace, my heart so slow

To feel it! For how hard it seem'd to me, When eyes, love-languid thro' half tears would dwell

One earnest, earnest moment upon mine, Then not to dare to see! when thy low voice,

Faltering, would break its syllables, to keep

My own full-tuned,--hold passion in a leash,

And not leap forth and fall about thy neck,

And on thy bosom (deep desired relief !) Rain out the heavy mist of tears, that

weigh'd

Upon my brain, my senses and my soul ! For Love himself took part against himself

To warn us off, and Duty loved of LoveO this world's curse,-beloved but hated

-came

Like Death betwixt thy dear embrace and mine,

As flow but once à life.

The trance gave way To those caresses, when a hundred times In that last kiss, which never was the last, Farewell, like endless welcome, lived and

died.

Then follow'd counsel, comfort, and the words

That make a man feel strong in speaking truth;

Till now the dark was worn, and overhead The lights of sunset and of sunrise mix'd In that brief night; the summer night, that paused

Among her stars to hear us; stars that hung

Love-charm'd to listen: all the wheels of Time

Spun round in station, but the end had

come.

O then like those, who clench their nerves to rush

Upon their dissolution, we two rose, There closing like an individual lifeIn one blind cry of passion and of pain, Like bitter accusation ev'n to death,

bride,'

She push'd me from thee.

it,

And bade adieu for ever.

D

Shall sharpest pathos blight us, knowing all

Life needs for life is possible to will— Live happy; tend thy flowers; be tended by

My blessing! Should my Shadow cross thy thoughts

Too sadly for their peace, remand it thou For calmer hours to Memory's darkest hold,

If not to be forgotten-not at onceNot all forgotten. Should it cross thy dreams,

O might it come like one that looks content,

With quiet eyes unfaithful to the truth, And point thee forward to a distant light, Or seem to lift a burthen from thy heart And leave thee freër, till thou wake refresh'd

Then when the first low matin-chirp hath grown

Full quire, and morning driv'n her plow of pearl

Far furrowing into light the mounded rack,

Beyond the fair green field and eastern

sea.

THE GOLDEN YEAR.

WELL, you shall have that song which Leonard wrote:

It was last summer on a tour in Wales: Old James was with me: we that day had been

Up Snowdon; and I wish'd for Leonard there,

And found him in Llanberis: then we

crost

Between the lakes, and clamber'd half

way up

The counter side; and that same song of his

Cry, like the daughters of the horseleech, 'Give,

Cram us with all,' but count not me the herd!

To which 'They call me what they will,' he said:

'But I was born too late the fair new forms,

That float about the threshold of an age, Like truths of Science waiting to be caught

Catch me who can, and make the catcher crown'd

Are taken by the forelock. Let it be. But if you care indeed to listen, hear These measured words, my work of yestermorn.

'We sleep and wake and sleep, but all things move;

The Sun flies forward to his brother Sun; The dark Earth follows wheel'd in her ellipse;

And human things returning on them

swore

They said he lived shut up within himself, A tongue-tied Poet in the feverous days,

that?

The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle. Happy days

Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something

more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it

were

For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isleWell-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild

A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the
sphere

Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone.
He works his work,

I mine.