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, What moral is in being fair. You shake your head. A random string Το 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; And all that else the years will show, The Poet-forms of stronger hours, The vast Republics that may grow, 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: But break it. In the name of wife, And in the rights that name may give, Are clasp'd the moral of thy life, And that for which I care to live. 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 Or old-world trains, upheld at court 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 legs of trees were limber, '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, Came wet-shod alder from the wave, Old elms came breaking from the vine, The vine stream'd out to follow, And, sweating rosin, plump'd the pine From many a cloudy hollow. 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 I could not move a thistle; The very sparrows in the hedge Scarce answer to my whistle; Or at the most, when three-parts-sick With strumming and with scraping, A jackass heehaws from the rick, 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 And alleys, faded places, 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 Still creeping with the creeping hours Make Thou my spirit pure and clear 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, Thro' all yon starlight keen, Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, 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 hard brands shiver on the steel, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favours fall! For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will. 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. |