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 Of common duties, decent not to fail But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way A soft air fans the cloud apart; there In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? 'The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.' Ay me! ay me! with what another heart In days far-off, and with what other eyes I used to watch-if I be he that watch'dThe lucid outline forming round thee; saw The dim curls kindle into sunny rings ; Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy warm With kisses balmier than half-opening buds Of April, and could hear the lips that kiss'd Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, While Ilion like a mist rose into towers. Yet hold me not for ever in thine East: How can my nature longer mix with thine? Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam Floats up from those dim fields about the homes Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead. Release me, and restore me to the ground; Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave: Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; I earth in earth forget these empty courts, And thee returning on thy silver wheels. H LOCKSLEY HALL. COMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn : 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall; Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see; In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And I said, 'My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, And she turn'd-her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs— Saying, 'I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong;' Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more! Is it well to wish thee happy?—having known me—to decline : Yet it shall be thou shalt lower to his level day by day, As the husband is, the wife is thou art mated with a clown, He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, : What is this? his eyes are heavy think not they are glazed with wine. Go to him it is thy duty: kiss him : take his hand in thine. It may He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand— Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Well 'tis well that I should bluster !-Hadst thou less unworthy provedWould to God-for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved. Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she speak and move : Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. Baby lips will laugh me down : my latest rival brings thee rest. O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. They were dangerous guides the feelings—she herself was not exempt— Truly, she herself had suffer'd'—Perish in thy self-contempt ! Overlive it-lower yet-be happy! wherefore should I care? I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels, |