Song



1

  A Spirit haunts the year's last hours
  Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers:
  To himself he talks;
  For at eventide, listening earnestly,
  At his work you may hear him sob and sigh
  In the walks;
  Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks
  Of the mouldering flowers:
  Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
  Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
  Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
  Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.


2

  The air is damp, and hush'd, and close,
  As a sick man's room when he taketh repose
  An hour before death;
  My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves
  At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,
  And the breath
  Of the fading edges of box beneath,
  And the year's last rose.
  Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
  Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
  Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
  Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

Adeline


1

  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?


2

  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 passed away,
  Ere the placid lips be cold?
  Wherefore those faint smiles of thine,
  Spiritual Adeline?


3

  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?
  Wherefore that faint smile of thine,
  Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?


4

  Some honey-converse feeds thy mind,
  Some spirit of a crimson rose
  In love with thee forgets to close
  His curtains, wasting odorous sighs
  All night long on darkness blind.
  What aileth thee? whom waitest thou
  With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow,
  And those dew-lit eyes of thine,
  Thou faint smiler, Adeline?


5

  Lovest thou the doleful wind
  When thou gazest at the skies?
  Doth the low-tongued Orient
  Wander from the side of the morn,
  Dripping with Sabsean spice
  On thy pillow, lowly bent
  With melodious airs lovelorn,
  Breathing Light against thy face,
  While his locks a-dropping twined
  Round thy neck in subtle ring
  Make a 'carcanet of rays',
  And ye talk together still,
  In the language wherewith Spring
  Letters cowslips on the hill?
  Hence that look and smile of thine,
  Spiritual Adeline.

A Character



 With a half-glance upon the sky
  At night he said, "The wanderings
  Of this most intricate Universe
  Teach me the nothingness of things".
  Yet could not all creation pierce
  Beyond the bottom of his eye.

  He spake of beauty: that the dull
  Saw no divinity in grass,
  Life in dead stones, or spirit in air;
  Then looking as 'twere in a glass,
  He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair,
  And said the earth was beautiful.

  He spake of virtue: not the gods
  More purely, when they wish to charm
  Pallas and Juno sitting by:
  And with a sweeping of the arm,
  And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye,
  Devolved his rounded periods.

  Most delicately hour by hour
  He canvass'd human mysteries,
  And trod on silk, as if the winds
  Blew his own praises in his eyes,
  And stood aloof from other minds
  In impotence of fancied power.

  With lips depress'd as he were meek,
  Himself unto himself he sold:
  Upon himself himself did feed:
  Quiet, dispassionate, and cold,
  And other than his form of creed,
  With chisell'd features clear and sleek.

The Poet


  The poet in a golden clime was born,
  With golden stars above;
  Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
  The love of love.

  He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill,
  He saw thro' his own soul.
  The marvel of the everlasting will,
  An open scroll,

  Before him lay: with echoing feet he threaded
  The secretest walks of fame:
  The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed
  And wing'd with flame,--

  Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue,
  And of so fierce a flight,
  From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung,
  Filling with light

  And vagrant melodies the winds which bore
  Them earthward till they lit;
  Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,
  The fruitful wit

  Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew
  Where'er they fell, behold,
  Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew
  A flower all gold,

  And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling
  The winged shafts of truth,
  To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring
  Of Hope and Youth.

  So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
  Tho' one did fling the fire.
  Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
  Of high desire.

  Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world
  Like one great garden show'd,
  And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd,
  Rare sunrise flow'd.

  And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise
  Her beautiful bold brow,
  When rites and forms before his burning eyes
  Melted like snow.

  There was no blood upon her maiden robes
  Sunn'd by those orient skies;
  But round about the circles of the globes
  Of her keen eyes

  And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame
  WISDOM, a name to shake
  All evil dreams of power--a sacred name.
  And when she spake,

  Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
  And as the lightning to the thunder
  Which follows it, riving the spirit of man,
  Making earth wonder,

  So was their meaning to her words.
  No sword
  Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,
  But one poor poet's scroll, and with 'his' word
  She shook the world.

The Poet's Mind


  Clear as summer mountain streams,
  Bright as the inwoven beams,
  Which beneath their crisping sapphire
  In the midday, floating o'er
  The golden sands, make evermore
  To a blossom-starrèd shore.
  Hence away, unhallowed laughter!




1

  Vex not thou the poet's mind
  With thy shallow wit:
  Vex not thou the poet's mind;
  For thou canst not fathom it.
  Clear and bright it should be ever,
  Flowing like a crystal river;
  Bright as light, and clear as wind.


2

  Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear;
  All the place is holy ground;
  Hollow smile and frozen sneer
  Come not here.
  Holy water will I pour
  Into every spicy flower
  Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around.
  The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer.
  In your eye there is death,
  There is frost in your breath
  Which would blight the plants.
  Where you stand you cannot hear
  From the groves within
  The wild-bird's din.
  In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants,
  It would fall to the ground if you came in.
  In the middle leaps a fountain
  Like sheet lightning,
  Ever brightening
  With a low melodious thunder;
  All day and all night it is ever drawn
  From the brain of the purple mountain
  Which stands in the distance yonder:
  It springs on a level of bowery lawn,
  And the mountain draws it from Heaven above,
  And it sings a song of undying love;
  And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full,
  You never would hear it; your ears are so dull;
  So keep where you are: you are foul with sin;
  It would shrink to the earth if you came in.

The Sea-Fairies



  Whither away, whither away, whither away?
  Fly no more!
  Whither away wi' the singing sail? whither away wi' the oar?
  Whither away from the high green field and the happy blossoming shore?
  Weary mariners, hither away,
  One and all, one and all,
  Weary mariners, come and play;
  We will sing to you all the day;
  Furl the sail and the foam will fall
  From the prow! one and all
  Furl the sail! drop the oar!
  Leap ashore!
  Know danger and trouble and toil no more.
  Whither away wi' the sail and the oar?
  Drop the oar,
  Leap ashore,
  Fly no more!
  Whither away wi' the sail? whither away wi' the oar?
  Day and night to the billow, etc.
  ...
                                    over the lea;
  They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,
  And thick with white bells the cloverhill swells
  High over the full-toned sea.
  Merrily carol the revelling gales
  Over the islands free:
  From the green seabanks the rose downtrails
  To the happy brimmèd sea.
  Come hither, come hither, and be our lords,
  For merry brides are we:
  We will kiss sweet kisses, etc.
  ...
  With pleasure and love and revelry;
  ...
                                      ridgèd sea.
  Ye will not find so happy a shore
  Weary mariners! all the world o'er;
  Oh! fly no more!
  Harken ye, harken ye, sorrow shall darken ye,
  Danger and trouble and toil no more;
  Whither away?
  Drop the oar;
  Hither away,
  Leap ashore;
  Oh! fly no more--no more.
  Whither away, whither away, whither away with the sail and the oar?

  Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw,
  Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,
  Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
  To little harps of gold; and while they mused,
  Whispering to each other half in fear,
  Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea.

  Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more.
  Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore?
  Day and night to the billow the fountain calls;
  Down shower the gambolling waterfalls
  From wandering over the lea:
  Out of the live-green heart of the dells
  They freshen the silvery-crimsoned shells,
  And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells
  High over the full-toned sea:
  O hither, come hither and furl your sails,
  Come hither to me and to me:
  Hither, come hither and frolic and play;
  Here it is only the mew that wails;
  We will sing to you all the day:
  Mariner, mariner, furl your sails,
  For here are the blissful downs and dales,
  And merrily merrily carol the gales,
  And the spangle dances in bight and bay,
  And the rainbow forms and flies on the land
  Over the islands free;
  And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand;
  Hither, come hither and see;
  And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave,
  And sweet is the colour of cove and cave,

  And sweet shall your welcome be:
  O hither, come hither, and be our lords
  For merry brides are we:
  We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words:
  O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten
  With pleasure and love and jubilee:
  O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten
  When the sharp clear twang of the golden cords
  Runs up the ridged sea.
  Who can light on as happy a shore
  All the world o'er, all the world o'er?
  Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly no more.

The Deserted House


1

  Life and Thought have gone away
  Side by side,
  Leaving door and windows wide:
  Careless tenants they!


2

  All within is dark as night:
  In the windows is no light;
  And no murmur at the door,
  So frequent on its hinge before.


3

  Close the door, the shutters close,
  Or thro' the windows we shall see
  The nakedness and vacancy
  Of the dark deserted house.


4

  Come away: no more of mirth
  Is here or merry-making sound.
  The house was builded of the earth,
  And shall fall again to ground.


5

  Come away: for Life and Thought
  Here no longer dwell;
  But in a city glorious--
  A great and distant city--have bought
  A mansion incorruptible.
  Would they could have stayed with us!

The Dying Swan



1

  The plain was grassy, wild and bare,
  Wide, wild, and open to the air,
  Which had built up everywhere
  An under-roof of doleful gray.
  With an inner voice the river ran,
  Adown it floated a dying swan,
  And loudly did lament.
  It was the middle of the day.
  Ever the weary wind went on,
  And took the reed-tops as it went.


2

  Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
  And white against the cold-white sky,
  Shone out their crowning snows.
  One willow over the water wept,
  And shook the wave as the wind did sigh;
  Above in the wind was the swallow,
  Chasing itself at its own wild will,
  And far thro' the marish green and still
  The tangled water-courses slept,
  Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.


3

  The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
  Of that waste place with joy
  Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
  The warble was low, and full and clear;
  And floating about the under-sky,
  Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole
  Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
  But anon her awful jubilant voice,
  With a music strange and manifold,
  Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;
  As when a mighty people rejoice
  With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold,
  And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd
  Thro' the open gates of the city afar,
  To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
  And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
  And the willow-branches hoar and dank,
  And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
  And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
  And the silvery marish-flowers that throng
  The desolate creeks and pools among,
  Were flooded over with eddying song.

A Dirge


1

  Now is done thy long day's work;
  Fold thy palms across thy breast,
  Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.
  Let them rave.
  Shadows of the silver birk [1]
  Sweep the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.


2

  Thee nor carketh [2] care nor slander;
  Nothing but the small cold worm
  Fretteth thine enshrouded form.
  Let them rave.
  Light and shadow ever wander
  O'er the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.


3

  Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed;
  Chaunteth not the brooding bee
  Sweeter tones than calumny?
  Let them rave.
  Thou wilt never raise thine head
  From the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.


4

  Crocodiles wept tears for thee;
  The woodbine and eglatere
  Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.
  Let them rave.
  Rain makes music in the tree
  O'er the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.


5

  Round thee blow, self-pleached  deep,
  Bramble-roses, faint and pale,
  And long purples of the dale.
  Let them rave.
  These in every shower creep.
  Thro' the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.


6

  The gold-eyed kingcups fine:
  The frail bluebell peereth over
  Rare broidry of the purple clover.
  Let them rave.
  Kings have no such couch as thine,
  As the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.


7

  Wild words wander here and there;
  God's great gift of speech abused
  Makes thy memory confused:
  But let them rave.
  The balm-cricket carols clear
  In the green that folds thy grave.
  Let them rave.

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:
  Winds were blowing, waters flowing,
  We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana;
  Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana.

  In the yew-wood black as night, Oriana,
  Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana,
  While blissful tears blinded my sight
  By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana,
  I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana.

  She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana:
  She watch'd my crest among them all, Oriana:
  She saw me fight, she heard me call,
  When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana,
  Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana.

  The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana:
  The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana:
  The damned arrow glanced aside,
  And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana!
  Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana!

  Oh! narrow, narrow was the space, Oriana.
  Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oriana.
  Oh! deathful stabs were dealt apace,
  The battle deepen'd in its place, Oriana;
  But I was down upon my face, Oriana.

  They should have stabb'd me where I lay, Oriana!
  How could I rise and come away, Oriana?
  How could I look upon the day?
  They should have stabb'd me where I lay, Oriana
  They should have trod me into clay, Oriana.

  O breaking heart that will not break, Oriana!
  O pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Oriana!
  Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak,
  And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana:
  What wantest thou? whom dost thou seek, Oriana?

  I cry aloud: none hear my cries, Oriana.
  Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana.
  I feel the tears of blood arise
  Up from my heart unto my eyes, Oriana.
  Within my heart my arrow lies, Oriana.

  O cursed hand! O cursed blow! Oriana!
  O happy thou that liest low, Oriana!
  All night the silence seems to flow
  Beside me in my utter woe, Oriana.
  A weary, weary way I go, Oriana.

  When Norland winds pipe down the sea, Oriana,
  I walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana.
  Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree,
  I dare not die and come to thee, Oriana.
  I hear the roaring of the sea, Oriana.