Which starts your fancy into play. My locks, you see, are somewhat gray: As flowers are driven by the frost. But if a tale would please your ear, There's one which you are free to hear. Within a little, secret drawer Of floating robe and flying hair, And old traditions, dimmed by years, Breathed from invisible lips there came, And lingered in my credulous ears, And night and day disturbed my soul, Until, perforce, I wrote the whole : That is the picture, this the scroll. Draw near; and let wild Autumn blow: He does but fan the lighted pyre: Between the warmth of wine and fire Perchance the verse may thaw and flow From off the visionary lyre As in the days of long ago. UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA I. BERKLEY'S BRIDE. My grandsire, when he built the place, No rebel dream could e'er beguile: A likeness of his native isle! Hence the Elizabethan gables, The lawns, the elms, the antique stables, And all this lumber called virtu, This old time frowning down the new. But, ere I tell you more of him, Or point the objects strange and quaint, |