The tangled watercourses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow, The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold. A DIRGE. I. Now is done thy long day's work ; Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Light and shadow ever wander III. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Thou wilt never raise thine head IV. Crocodiles wept tears for thee; Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. V. Round thee blow, self-pleached dẹep These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. VI. The gold-eyed kingcups fine, Rare broidry of the purple clover. Kings have no such couch as thine, VII. Wild words wander here and there; The balm-cricket carols clear LOVE AND DEATH. WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light, Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight; Life eminent creates the shade of death; THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dun wolds are ribbed with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Ere the light on dark was growing, At midnight the cock was crowing, Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, In the yew-wood, black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, While blissful tears blinded my sight, I to thee my troth did plight, She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana: She watched my crest among them all, Oriana: She saw me fight, she heard me call, Atween me and the castle wall, The bitter arrow went aside, The false, false arrow went aside, The damned arrow glanced aside, Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, O! narrow, narrow was the space, Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, O! deathful stabs were dealt apace, Oriana; But I was down upon my face, They should have stabbed me where I lay, Oriana! How could I rise and come away, Oriana ? How could I look upon the day? They should have stabbed me where I lay, They should have trod me into clay, O! breaking heart that will not break, O! pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, |