Here he lives in state and bounty, Lord of Burleigh, fair and free, Not a lord in all the county Is so great a lord as he. All at once the colour flushes Her sweet face from brow to chin: As it were with shame she blushes, And her spirit changed within. Then her countenance all over Pale again as death did prove: But he clasp'd her like a lover, And he cheer'd her soul with love. So she strove against her weakness, Tho' at times her spirit sank: Shaped her heart with woman's meekness To all duties of her rank: And a gentle consort made he, And her gentle mind was such And the people loved her much. Unto which she was not born. And she murmur'd, 'Oh, that he And he look'd at her and said, Bore to earth her body, drest THE VOYAGE. I. WE left behind the painted buoy That tosses at the harbour-mouth; And madly danced our hearts with joy, As fast we fleeted to the South: How fresh was every sight and sound On open main or winding shore ! We knew the merry world was round, And we might sail for evermore. II. Warm broke the breeze against the brow, Caught the shrill salt, and sheer'd the The broad seas swell'd to meet the keel, And swept behind; so quick the run, We felt the good ship shake and reel, We seem'd to sail into the Sun! III. How oft we saw the Sun retire, And sleep beneath his pillar'd light! How oft the purple-skirted robe Of twilight slowly downward drawn, As thro' the slumber of the globe Again we dash'd into the dawn! IV. New stars all night above the brim Of her own halo's dusky shield; V. The peaky islet shifted shapes, High towns on hills were dimly seen, We past long lines of Northern capes And dewy Northern meadows green. We came to warmer waves, and deep Across the boundless east we drove, Where those long swells of breaker sweep The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove. VI. By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, Gloom'd the low coast and quivering brine With ashy rains, that spreading made 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, Hair, and eyes, and limbs, and faces, |