I pledge her, and she comes and dips Her laurel in the wine, And lays it thrice upon my lips, These favour'd lips of mine; Until the charm have power to make New lifeblood warm the bosom, And barren commonplaces break In full and kindly blossom. I pledge her silent at the board; Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans, Thro' many an hour of summer suns, By many pleasant ways, My college friendships glimmer. I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Or that eternal want of pence, Ah yet, tho' all the world forsake, I will not cramp my heart, nor take Half-views of men and things. Let Whig and Tory stir their blood; There must be stormy weather; But for some true result of good All parties work together. Let there be thistles, there are grapes; As on this whirligig of Time We circle with the seasons. This earth is rich in man and maid; With fair horizons bound: This whole wide earth of light and shade Comes out a perfect round. High over roaring Temple-bar, And set in Heaven's third story, I look at all things as they are, But thro' a kind of glory. Head-waiter, honour'd by the guest For since I came to live and learn, Had ever half the power to turn This wheel within my head, Which bears a season'd brain about, Unsubject to confusion, Tho' soak'd and saturate, out and out, Thro' every convolution. For I am of a numerous house, With many kinsmen gay, Where long and largely we carouse As who shall say me nay: Each month, a birth-day coming on, We drink defying trouble, Or sometimes two would meet in one, And then we drank it double; Whether the vintage, yet unkept, Or elbow-deep in sawdust, slept, Or stow'd, when classic Canning died, The gloom of ten Decembers. The Muse, the jolly Muse, it is! She lit the spark within my throat, So mix for ever with the past, Like all good things on earth! For should I prize thee, couldst thou last, At half thy real worth? I hold it good, good things should pass : With time I will not quarrel: It is but yonder empty glass That makes me maudlin-moral. Head-waiter of the chop-house here, I too must part: I hold thee dear But thou wilt never move from hence, We fret, we fume, would shift our skins, To serve the hot-and-hot; Live long, ere from thy topmost head Long, ere the hateful crow shall tread Live long, nor feel in head or chest But when he calls, and thou shalt cease Of life, shalt earn no more; But carved cross-pipes, and, underneath, A pint-pot neatly graven. LADY CLARE. IT was the time when lilies blow, I trow they did not part in scorn: Lovers long-betroth'd were they: They two will wed the morrow morn: God's blessing on the day! 'He does not love me for my birth, Nor for my lands so broad and fair; He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well,' said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse, Said, Who was this that went from thee?' 'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare, 'To-morrow he weds with me.' 'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse, 'That all comes round so just and fair: Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, And you are not the Lady Clare.' 'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?' Said Lady Clare, that ye speak so wild?' 'As God's above,' said Alice the nurse, 'I speak the truth: you are my child. 'The old Earl's daughter died at my breast; I speak the truth, as I live by bread! I buried her like my own sweet child, And put my child in her stead.' 'Falsely, falsely have ye done, O mother,' she said, "if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun So many years from his due.' 'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse, But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, When you are man and wife.' 'If I'm a beggar born,' she said, 'I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by.' 'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse, 'But keep the secret all ye can.' She said, 'Not so: but I will know If there be any faith in man.' 'Nay now, what faith?' said Alice the nurse, 'The man will cleave unto his right.' And he shall have it,' the lady replied, 'Tho' I should die to-night.' 'Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee.' 'O mother, mother, mother,' she said, So strange it seems to me. 'Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, She clad herself in a russet gown, She was no longer Lady Clare: She went by dale, and she went by down, With a single rose in her hair. The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Leapt up from where she lay, Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower: 'O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?' 'If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born,' she said, And not the Lady Clare.' 'Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald, For I am yours in word and in deed. Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald, 'Your riddle is hard to read.' O and proudly stood she up! Her heart within her did not fail: She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale. He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn: 'If you are not the heiress born, 'If you are not the heiress born, And I,' said he, 'the lawful heir, We two will wed to-morrow morn, And you shall still be Lady Clare.' THE CAPTAIN. A LEGEND OF THE NAVY. HE that only rules by terror Doeth grievous wrong. Brave the Captain was: the seamen Gallant sons of English freemen, Sailors bold and true. Stern he was and rash; So they past by capes and islands, Far within the South. On a day when they were going O'er the lone expanse, In the north, her canvas flowing, Rose a ship of France. Then the Captain's colour heighten'd, Joyful came his speech: But a cloudy gladness lighten'd In the eyes of each. 'Chase,' he said: the ship flew forward, And the wind did blow; Till she near'd the foe. Then they look'd at him they hated, Had what they desired: Mute with folded arms they waited Not a gun was fired. But they heard the foeman's thunder All the air was torn in sunder, Crashing went the boom, Spars were splinter'd, decks were shatter'd, Bullets fell like rain; Over mast and deck were scatter'd Blood and brains of men. Spars were splinter'd; decks broken: Each beside his gun. were On the decks as they were lying, Were their faces grim. In their blood, as they lay dying, Did they smile on him. Those, in whom he had reliance For his noble name, With one smile of still defiance Sold him unto shame. Shame and wrath his heart confounded, Pale he turn'd and red, Till himself was deadly wounded Crew and Captain lie; O'er them mouldering, THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. In her ear he whispers gaily, If my heart by signs can tell, Maiden, I have watch'd thee daily, And I think thou lov'st me well.' She replies, in accents fainter, And they leave her father's roof. And I love thee more than life.' They by parks and lodges going See the lordly castles stand: Summer woods, about them blowing, Made a murmur in the land. From deep thought himself he rouses, Says to her that loves him well, 'Let us see these handsome houses Where the wealthy nobles dwell.' So she goes by him attended, Hears him lovingly converse, Sees whatever fair and splendid Lay betwixt his home and hers; Parks with oak and chestnut shady, Parks and order'd gardens great, Ancient homes of lord and lady, Built for pleasure and for state. All he shows her makes him dearer : Evermore she seems to gaze On that cottage growing nearer, Where they twain will spend their days. O but she will love him truly! He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly, When beneath his roof they come. Thus her heart rejoices greatly, Till a gateway she discerns With armorial bearings stately, And beneath the gate she turns; Sees a mansion more majestic Than all those she saw before: Many a gallant gay domestic Bows before him at the door. And they speak in gentle murmur, When they answer to his call, While he treads with footstep firmer, Leading on from hall to hall. And, while now she wonders blindly, Nor the meaning can divine, Proudly turns he round and kindly, 'All of this is mine and thine.' |