Now on some twisted ivy-net,
Now by some tinkling rivulet,
In mosses mixt with violet

Her cream-white mule his pastern set: And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains

Than she whose elfin prancer springs
By night to eery warblings,

When all the glimmering moorland rings
With jingling bridle-reins.

As fast she fled thro' sun and shade,
The happy winds upon her play'd,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid :
She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd

The rein with dainty finger-tips,
A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.

A FAREWELL.

FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver :

No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,

A rivulet then a river:

No where by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree,

And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee, For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver; But not by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

THE BEGGAR MAID.

HER arms across her breast she laid;
She was more fair than words can say:
Bare-footed came the beggar maid
Before the king Cophetua.

119

In robe and crown the king stept down,
To meet and greet her on her way;
'It is no wonder,' said the lords,
'She is more beautiful than day.'

As shines the moon in clouded skies,
She in her poor attire was seen :
One praised her ancles, one her eyes,
One her dark hair and lovesome mien.
So sweet a face, such angel grace,

In all that land had never been:
Cophetua sware a royal oath :

This beggar maid shall be my queen!'

Narrowing in to where they sat assembled Low voluptuous music winding trembled, Wov'n in circles: they that heard it sigh'd, Panted hand-in-hand with faces pale, Swung themselves, and in low tones replied;

Till the fountain spouted, showering wide Sleet of diamond-drift and pearly hail; Then the music touch'd the gates and died; Rose again from where it seem'd to fail, Storm'd in orbs of song, a growing gale; Till thronging in and in, to where they waited,

As 'twere a hundred-throated nightingale, The strong tempestuous treble throbb'd and palpitated;

Ran into its giddiest whirl of sound,
Caught the sparkles, and in circles,
Purple gauzes, golden hazes, liquid mazes,
Flung the torrent rainbow round:
Then they started from their places,
Moved with violence, changed in hue,
Caught each other with wild grimaces,
Half-invisible to the view,
Wheeling with precipitate paces
To the melody, till they flew,
Hair, and eyes, and limbs, and faces,
Twisted hard in fierce embraces,
Like to Furies, like to Graces,
Dash'd together in blinding dew:
Till, kill'd with some luxurious agony,
The nerve-dissolving melody
Flutter'd headlong from the sky.

III.

And then I look'd up toward a mountain

tract,

That girt the region with high cliff and

lawn:

I saw that every morning, far withdrawn Beyond the darkness and the cataract, God made Himself an awful rose of dawn, Unheeded and detaching, fold by fold, From those still heights, and, slowly drawing near,

A vapour heavy, hueless, formless, cold, Came floating on for many a month and

year,

And warn'd that madman ere it grew too late:

But, as in dreams, I could not. Mine was broken,

When that cold vapour touch'd the palace gate,

And link'd again. I saw within my head A gray and gap-tooth'd man as lean as death,

Who slowly rode across a wither'd heath, And lighted at a ruin'd inn, and said:

IV.

'Wrinkled ostler, grim and thin!

Here is custom come your way; Take my brute, and lead him in, Stuff his ribs with mouldy hay.

'Bitter barmaid, waning fast!

See that sheets are on my bed; What! the flower of life is past : It is long before you wed.

'Slip-shod waiter, lank and sour, At the Dragon on the heath! Let us have a quiet hour,

Let us hob-and-nob with Death.

'I am old, but let me drink;
Bring me spices, bring me wine;
I remember, when I think,

That my youth was half divine.
Wine is good for shrivell'd lips,

When a blanket wraps the day, When the rotten woodland drips,

And the leaf is stamp'd in clay.

'Sit thee down, and have no shame, Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee: What care I for any name?

What for order or degree?

'Let me screw thee up a peg:

Let me loose thy tongue with wine: Callest thou that thing a leg?

Which is thinnest ? thine or mine?

'Thou shalt not be saved by works: Thou hast been a sinner too:

spoken,

Empty scarecrows, I and you!

Then some one spake: 'Behold! it was a crime

Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time.'

Another said: The crime of sense became

The crime of malice, and is equal blame.' And one: 'He had not wholly quench'd his power;

A little grain of conscience made him sour.'

At last I heard a voice upon the slope Cry to the summit, Is there any hope?' To which an answer peal'd from that high land,

But in a tongue no man could understand; And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn

God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.

ΤΟ

AFTER READING A LIFE AND LETTERS.
'Cursed be he that moves my bones.'
Shakespeare's Epitaph.
You might have won the Poet's name,
If such be worth the winning now,
And gain'd a laurel for your brow
Of sounder leaf than I can claim ;

But you have made the wiser choice,

A life that moves to gracious ends
Thro' troops of unrecording friends,

A deedful life, a silent voice:

And you have miss'd the irreverent doom Of those that wear the Poet's crown: Hereafter, neither knave nor clown Shall hold their orgies at your tomb.

For now the Poet cannot die,

Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry:

Proclaim the faults he would not show Break lock and seal: betray the trust. Keep nothing sacred: 'tis but just The many-headed beast should know.'