Chapter IX: Front Matter (9)

The gables in the old city
Are stooping awry,
They gloom upon the muddy lanes
And smother the sky,
And nightly through those mouldy lanes,
Moping and slow,
They who builded the old city
The cold ghosts go.

There is plague in the old city,
And the priests are sped
To graveyard and vault
To bury the dead;
Brittle bones and dusty breath
To death must yield--
Fly, fly, from the old city
Into the field!

RUTH MANNING-SANDERS

350 THE TWO SPIRITS

_First Spirit._ O Thou, who plumed with strong desire
Wouldst float above the earth, beware!
A shadow tracks the flight of fire--
Night is coming!
Bright are the regions of the air,
And among the winds and beams
It were delight to wander there--
Night is coming!

_Second Spirit._ The deathless stars are bright above;
If I would cross the shade of night,
Within my heart is the lamp of love,
And that is day!
And the moon will smile with gentle light
On my golden plumes where'er they move;
The meteors will linger round my flight;
And make night day.

_First Spirit._ But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken
Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain;
See, the bounds of the air are shaken--
Night is coming!
The red swift clouds of the hurricane
Yon declining sun have overtaken,
The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain--
Night is coming!

_Second Spirit._ I see the light, and I hear the sound;
I'll sail on the flood of the tempests dark,
With the calm within and the light around
Which makes night day:
And then, when the gloom is deep and stark,
Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound;
My moon-like flight thou then may'st mark
On high, far away.

Some say there is a precipice
Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin
O'er piles of snow and chasms of ice
'Mid Alpine mountains;
And that the languid storm pursuing
That wingèd shape, for ever flies
Round those hoar branches, aye renewing
Its aëry fountains.

Some say, when nights are dry and clear,
And the death-dews sleep on the morass,
Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller,
Which make night day;
And a silver shape, like his early love, doth pass
Up-borne by her wild and glittering hair,
And when he awakes on the fragrant grass,
He finds night day.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

"LILY BRIGHT AND SHINE-A"

351 SILLY SWEETHEART

Silly Sweetheart, say not nay,
Come away:
All I tell is sweet and merry;
Soon rings evensong, and soon
Where was blossom hangs a berry;
Where was darkness shines a moon.
Prythee, Sweetheart, then I say,
Come, come away.

O away,
Come away:
Maids there are with cheeks like roses,
Thine are roses in the snow.
Fie, the lass whose dainty nose is
Tilted not as one I know.
Nought heeds she, Alackaday!
My, Come, come away.

O away,
Come away:
Honeycomb by bees made sweet is;
Dew on apple, bloom on plum;
Hearken, my heart's lightest beat is
Drumming, drumming; haste and come
Say not nay, then;
Make no stay, then;
Dance thy dainty foot and straying
Come, come away!

352 HERE COMES A LUSTY WOOER

"Here comes a lusty wooer,
_My a dildin, my a daldin_;
Here comes a lusty wooer,
_Lily bright and shine-a_."

"Pray who do you woo?
_My a dildin, my a daldin_;
Pray who do you woo?
_Lily bright and shine-a_."

"Woo! Your fairest daughter!
_My a dildin, my a daldin_;
Woo! your fairest daughter!
_Lily bright and shine-a_."

"There! there! she is for you,
_My a dildin, my a daldin_;
There! there! she is for you,
_Lily bright and shine-a_."

353 THREE KNIGHTS FROM SPAIN

We are three Brethren come from Spain,
_All in French garlands_;
We are come to court your daughter Jane,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

My daughter Jane!--she is too young,
_All in French garlands_;
She cannot bide your flattering tongue,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

Be she young, or be she old,
_All in French garlands_;
'Tis for a bride she must be sold,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

A bride, a bride, she shall not be
_All in French garlands_;
Till she go through this world with me,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

Then shall you keep your daughter Jane,
_All in French garlands_;
Come once, we come not here again,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

Turn back, turn back, you Spanish Knights,
_All in French garlands_;
Scour, scour your spurs, till they be bright,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

Sharp shine our spurs, all richly wrought,
_All in French garlands_;
In towns afar our spurs were bought
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

Smell my lilies, smell my roses,
_All in French garlands_;
Which of my maidens do you choose?
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

Not she. Not she. Thy youngest, Jane!
_All in French garlands_;
We ride--and ride not back again,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

In every pocket a thousand pound,
_All in French garlands_;
On every finger a gay gold ring,
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.
_And adieu to you, my darlings_.

354 THE WHUMMIL BORE

Seven lang years I hae served the King,
_Fa fa fa fa lilly_:
And I never got a sight of his daughter but ane:
_With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle_,
_Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally_.

I saw her thro' a whummil bore,
_Fa fa fa fa lilly_:
And I ne'er got a sight of her no more.
_With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle_,
_Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally_.

Twa was putting on her gown,
_Fa fa fa fa lilly_:
And ten was putting pins therein.
_With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle_.
_Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally._

Twa was putting on her shoon,
_Fa fa fa fa lilly_:
And twa was buckling them again.
_With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle_.
_Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally._

Five was combing down her hair,
_Fa fa fa fa lilly_:
And I ne'er got a sight of her nae mair.
_With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle_,
_Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally_.

Her neck and breast was like the snow,
_Fa fa fa fa lilly_:
Then from the bore I was forced to go.
_With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle_,
_Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally_.

355 HEY, WULLY WINE

Hey, Wully wine, and How, Wully wine,
I hope for hame ye'll no' incline;
Ye'll better light, and stay a' night,
And I'll gie thee a lady fine.

I maun ride hame, I maun gang hame,
And bide nae langer here;
The road is lang, the mirk soon on,
And howlets mak' me fear.

Light down, and bide wi' us a' night,
We'll choose for ye a bonnie lass,
Ye'll get your wield and pick o' them a'
And the time it soon awa' will pass.

Wha will ye gie, if I wi' ye bide,
To be my bonny bonny bride,
And lie down lovely by my side?

I'll gie thee Kate o' Dinglebell,
A bonny body like yersell.

I'll stick her high in yon pear-tree
Sweet and meek, and sae is she:
I' lo'ed her ance, but she's no' for me,
Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.

I'll gie thee Rozie o' the Cleugh,
I'm sure she'll please thee weel eneugh.

Up wi' her on the bare bane dyke,
She'll be rotten or[153] I'll be ripe:
She's made for some ither, and no' me,
Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.

Then I'll gie ye Nell o' sweet Sprinkell,
Owre Galloway she bears the bell.

I'll set her up in my bed-head,
And feed her wi' new milk and bread;
She's for nae ither, but just for me,
Sae I thank ye for your courtesy.

356 DOWN IN YONDER MEADOW

Down in yonder meadow where the green grass grows,
Pretty Pollie Pillicote bleaches her clothes.
She sang, she sang, she sang, oh, so sweet,
She sang, _Oh, come over!_ across the street.
He kissed her, he kissed her, he bought her a gown,
A gown of rich cramasie out of the town.
He bought her a gown and a guinea gold ring,
A guinea, a guinea, a guinea gold ring;
Up street, and down, shine the windows made of glass,
Oh, isn't Pollie Pillicote a braw young lass?
Cherries in her cheeks, and ringlets her hair,
Hear her singing _Handy, Dandy_ up and down the stair.

357 QUOTH JOHN TO JOAN

Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me:
I prithee now, wilt? and I'll marry thee,
My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,
And all my lands and tenements:
Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.

I've corn and hay in the barn hard-by,
And three fat hogs pent up in the sty,
I have a mare and she is coal black,
I ride on her tail to save my back.
Then, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.

I have a cheese upon the shelf,
And I cannot eat it all myself;
I've three good marks that lie in a rag,
In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.
Then, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.

To marry I would have thy consent,
But faith I never could compliment;
I can say nought but "Hoy, gee ho!"
Words that belong to the cart and the plough.
Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.

358 MY MISTRESS IS AS FAIR AS FINE

My mistress is as fair as fine,
Milk-white fingers, cherry nose.
Like twinkling day-stars look her eyne,
Lightening all things where she goes.
Fair as Phoebe, though not so fickle,
Smooth as glass, though not so brickle.

My heart is like a ball of snow
Melting at her lukewarm sight;
Her fiery lips like night-worms glow,
Shining clear as candle-light.
Neat she is, no feather lighter;
Bright she is, no daisy whiter.

359 DIAPHENIA

Diaphenia, like the daffdowndilly,
White as the sun, fair as the lily,
Heigh ho, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as my lambs
Are belovèd of their dams--
How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me.

Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,
That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as each flower
Loves the sun's life-giving power,
For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia, like to all things blessèd,
When all thy praises are expressèd,
Dear joy, how I do love thee!
As the birds do love the Spring,
Or the bees their careful king.
Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!

HENRY CONSTABLE

360 AEGLAMOUR'S LAMENT

Here she was wont to go, and here, and here!
Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow:
The world may find the spring by following her;
For other print her airy steps ne'er left:
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk;
But like the soft west-wind she shot along;
And where she went, the flowers took thickest root
As she had sowed them with her odourous foot.

BEN JONSON

361 MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.

His heart in me keeps me and him in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.

His heart his wound receivèd from my sight,
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me on him his heart did light,
So still methought in me his heart did smart.

Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

362 A BIRTHDAY

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickest fruit.
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

363 LIFE OF LIFE

"VOICE IN THE AIR, SINGING"

Life of Life! thy lips enkindle
With their love the breath between them;
And thy smiles before they dwindle
Make the cold air fire; then screen them
In those looks, where whoso gazes
Faints, entangled in their mazes.

Child of Light! thy limbs are burning
Through the vest which seeks to hide them;
As the radiant lines of morning
Through the clouds ere they divide them;
And this atmosphere divinest
Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest.

Fair are others; none beholds thee,
But thy voice sounds low and tender
Like the fairest, for it folds thee
From the sight, that liquid splendour,
And all feel, yet see thee never,
As I feel now, lost for ever!

Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest
Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,
And the souls of whom thou lovest
Walk upon the winds with lightness,
Till they fail, as I am failing,
Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

364 A SONNET OF THE MOON

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour:

But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are the sovereign of my heart,
Have all my joys attending on your will,
My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return, their tide my heart doth fill.

So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

CHARLES BEST

365 THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE

O many a day have I made good ale in the glen,
That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men:
My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above;
And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love.

Alas, on that night when the horses I drove from the field
That I was not near from terror my angel to shield!
She stretched forth her arms; her mantle she flung to the wind,
And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find.

O would that a freezing sleet-winged tempest did sweep,
And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep;
I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or a pinnace, to save--
With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind or the wave.

'Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides,
The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides:
I think, as at eve she wanders its mazes among,
The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song.

JEREMIAH JOHN CALLANAN

366 O WHAT IF THE FOWLER

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken?
The roses of dawn blossom over the sea;
Awaken, my blackbird, awaken, awaken,
And sing to me out of my red fuchsia tree!

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken?
The sun lifts his head from the lip of the sea--
Awaken, my blackbird, awaken, awaken,
And sing to me out of my red fuchsia tree!

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken?
The mountain grows white with the birds of the sea;
But down in my garden forsaken, forsaken,
I'll weep all the day by my red fuchsia tree!

CHARLES DALMON

367 WHITHER AWAY?

"Where are you going, Master mine?"
"Mistress of mine, farewell!
Pledge me a cup of golden wine!
Light shall be dark and darkness shine
Before I tell!"

"O go you by the firwoods blue?
And by the Fairies' Trysting Tree?"
"No, for the path is grown with rue
And nightshade's purple fruit, since you
Walked there with me!"

"O go you by the pastures high--
A grassy road and daisies fair?"
"No, for I saw them fade and die
On the bright evening, love, that I
Sat with you there."

MARY COLERIDGE

368 BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town,
To the place where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly[154] rose she up,
To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by;--
"Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And 't is a' for Barbara Allan."--
"O the better for me ye's never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
"When ye was in the tavern a-drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?"

He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing:
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan."

She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell gied,
It cryed, _Woe to Barbara Allan_!

"O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow."

369 PROUD MAISIE

Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.

"Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?"
"When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye."

"Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?"
"The grey-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly."

"The glowworm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;
The owl from the steeple sing
Welcome, proud lady."

SIR WALTER SCOTT

370 A LEAVE TAKING

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying, "If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap."
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She, too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

371 THE UNQUIET GRAVE

"The wind doth blow to-day, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true love,
In cold grave she was lain.

"I'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day."

The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak:
"Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?"

"'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek."

"You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.

"'Tis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.

"The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away."

372 A LAMENT: 1547

"Departe, departe, departe--
Allace! I most departe
From hir that hes my hart,
With hairt full soir;
Aganis my will in deid,
And can find no remeid:
I wait the pains of deid--
Can do no moir....

"Adew, my ain sueit thing,
My joy and comforting,
My mirth and sollesing
Of erdly gloir:
Fair weill, my lady bricht,
And my remembrance rycht;
Fair weill and haif gud nycht:
I say no moir."

ALEXANDER SCOTT

373 I DIED TRUE

Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!

JOHN FLETCHER

374 SONG

How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his Cockle hat and staffe,
And his Sandal shoone.

He is dead and gone Lady,
He is dead and done,--
At his head a grasse-greene Turfe,
At his heeles a stone.

White his Shrowd as the Mountain Snow,
Larded with sweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did not go,
With true-love showres.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

375 IT WAS THE TIME OF ROSES

It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast:
It was the time of roses--
We plucked them as we passed!

That churlish season never frowned
On early lovers yet!
O, no--the world was newly crowned
With flowers, when first we met.

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast:
It was the time of roses--
We plucked them as we passed."...

THOMAS HOOD

376 AULD ROBIN GRAY

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye[155] at hame,
And a' the warld to rest are gane,
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman[156] lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving a croun he had naething else beside:
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea,
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa;
My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea--
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e
Said:--"Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!"

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack.... Why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break:
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea,
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he--
Till he said:--"I'm come hame to marry thee."

O, sair, sair did we greet,[157] and muckle[158] did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away;
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee,
And why was I born to say, Wae's me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife ay to be,
For auld Robin Gray, he is kind unto me.

LADY ANNE LINDSAY

377 THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND

"The love that I hae chosen,
I'll therewith be content;
The saut sea sall be frozen
Before that I repent.
Repent it sall I never
Until the day I dee;
But the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinned my love and me.

"My love he built a bonny ship,
And set her to the main,
Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
To sail her out and hame.
But the weary wind began to rise,
The sea began to rout,
And my love and his bonny ship
Turned withershins about.

"There sall nae mantle cross my back,
No kaim gae in my hair,
Neither sall coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower mair;
Nor sall I choose anither love,
Until the day I dee,
Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland,
Hae twinned my love and me."

"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
Be still, and bide content;
There's ither lads in Galloway;
Ye needna sair lament."
"O there is nane in Galloway,
There's nane at a' for me.
I never lo'ed a lad but ane,
And he's drowned in the sea."

378 THE CHURCHYARD ON THE SANDS

My love lies in the gates of foam,
The last dear wreck of shore;
The naked sea-marsh binds her home,
The sand her chamber door.

The gray gull flaps the written stones,
The ox-birds chase the tide;
And near that narrow field of bones
Great ships at anchor ride.

Black piers with crust of dripping green,
One foreland, like a hand,
O'er intervals of grass between
Dim lonely dunes of sand.

A church of silent weathered looks,
A breezy reddish tower,
A yard whose wounded resting-nooks
Are tinged with sorrel flower.

In peace the swallow's eggs are laid
Along the belfry walls;
The tempest does not reach her shade,
The rain her silent halls.

But sails are sweet in summer sky,
The lark throws down a lay;
The long salt levels steam and dry,
The cloud-heart melts away.

And patches of the sea-pink shine,
The pied crows poise and come;
The mallow hangs, the bind-weeds twine,
Where her sweet lips are dumb.

The passion of the wave is mute;
No sound or ocean shock;
No music save the thrilling flute
That marks the curlew flock....

LORD DE TABLEY

379 ROSE AYLMER

Ah, what avails the sceptred race,
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and sighs
I consecrate to thee.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

380 TO HELEN

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicæan barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad air, have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!

EDGAR ALLAN POE

381 "THERE IS A LADY SWEET AND KIND"

There is a Lady sweet and kind,
Was never face so pleased my mind;
I did but see her passing by,
And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,
Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles,
Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
And yet I love her till I die....

Cupid is wingèd and doth range,
Her country so my love doth change:
But change she earth, or change she sky,
Yet will I love her till I die.

THOMAS FORD

382 "LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE"

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part:
No, nor for my constant heart!
For these may fail or turn to ill:
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why!
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.

383 NOW WOLDE

Now wolde I faine some merthės[159] make,
All only for my lady sake,
When her I see;
But now I am so far fro her
It will not be.

Though I be far out of her sight
I am her man both day and night
And so will be.
Therefore wolde; as I love her,
She lovèd me.

When she is mery, then I am glad;
When she is sory, then I am sad;
And causė why,[160]
For he liveth not that loveth her
As well as I.

She saith that she hath seen it written
That "seldom seen is soon forgotten";
It is not so.
For in good feith, save only her,
I love no mo.[161]

384 EGYPT'S MIGHT IS TUMBLED DOWN

Egypt's might is tumbled down
Down a-down the deeps of thought;
Greece is fallen and Troy town,
Glorious Rome hath lost her crown,
Venice' pride is nought.

But the dreams their children dreamed
Fleeting, unsubstantial, vain,
Shadowy as the shadows seemed,
Airy nothing, as they deemed,
These remain.

MARY COLERIDGE

385 DREAM LOVE

Young Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year.
Among the lilies,
Lapped in the tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
White doves come building there;
And round about him
The May-bushes are white.

Soft moss the pillow
For oh, a softer cheek;
Broad leaves cast shadow
Upon the heavy eyes:
There winds and waters
Grow lulled and scarcely speak;
There twilight lingers
The longest in the skies.

Young Love lies dreaming;
But who shall tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight
On rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight
Upon a rippling stream;
Or perfect silence,
Or song of cherished lips.

Burn odours round him
To fill the drowsy air;
Weave silent dances
Around him to and fro;
For oh, in waking
The sights are not so fair,
And song and silence
Are not like these below.

Young Love lies dreaming
Till summer days are gone,--
Dreaming and drowsing
Away to perfect sleep:
He sees the beauty
Sun hath not looked upon,
And tastes the fountain
Unutterably deep.

Him perfect music
Doth hush unto his rest,
And through the pauses
The perfect silence calms.
Oh, poor the voices
Of earth from east to west,
And poor earth's stillness
Between her stately palms.

Young Love lies drowsing
Away to poppied death;
Cool shadows deepen
Across the sleeping face:
So fails the summer
With warm, delicious breath;
And what hath autumn
To give us in its place?

Draw close the curtains
Of branched evergreen;
Change cannot touch them
With fading fingers sere:
Here the first violets
Perhaps will bud unseen,
And a dove, may be,
Return to nestle here.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

386 AT COMMON DAWN

At common dawn there is a voice of bird
So sweet, 'tis kin to pain;
For love of earthly life it needs be heard,
And lets not sleep again.

This bird I did one time at midnight hear
In wet November wood
Say to himself his lyric faint and clear
As one at daybreak should.

He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound,
Nor moody answer made;
But all the world at beauty's worship found,
Was waking in the glade.

VIVIAN LOCKE ELLIS

"ECHO THEN SHALL AGAIN TELL HER I FOLLOW."

387 GLYCINE'S SONG

A sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold--
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst!

And thus he sang: "Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms, they make no delay:
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
We must away;
Far, far away!
To-day! to-day!"

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

388 THE CRYSTAL CABINET

The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And locked me up with a golden key.

This Cabinet is formed of Gold
And Pearl and Crystal shining bright,
And within it opens into a World
And a little lovely Moony Night.

Another England there I saw
Another London with its Tower,
Another Thames and other Hills,
And another pleasant Surrey Bower.

Another Maiden like herself,
Translucent, lovely, shining clear,
Threefold each in the other closed--
O, what a pleasant trembling fear!

O, what a smile! a Threefold Smile
Filled me, that like a flame I burned;
I bent to kiss the lovely Maid,
And found a Threefold Kiss returned.

I strove to seize the inmost form
With ardour fierce and hands of flame,
But burst the Crystal Cabinet,
And like a Weeping Babe became--

A Weeping Babe upon the wild,
And Weeping Woman pale reclined,
And in the outward air again
I filled with woes the passing wind.

WILLIAM BLAKE

389 THE CHASE

Art thou gone in haste?
I'll not forsake thee;
Runn'st thou ne'er so fast?
I'll overtake thee:
O'er the dales, o'er the downs,
Through the green meadows,
From the fields through the towns,
To the dim shadows.

All along the plain,
To the low fountains,
Up and down again
From the high mountains;
Echo then shall again
Tell her I follow,
And the floods to the woods
Carry my holla!
_Holla!_
_Ce! la! ho! ho! hu!_

WILLIAM ROWLEY

390 TONY O!

Over the bleak and barren snow
A voice there came a-calling;
"Where are you going to, Tony O!
Where are you going this morning?"

"I am going where there are rivers of wine,
The mountains bread and honey;
There Kings and Queens do mind the swine,
And the poor have all the money."

COLIN FRANCIS

391 ROMANCE

When I was but thirteen or so
I went into a golden land,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Took me by the hand.

My father died, my brother too,
They passed like fleeting dreams.
I stood where Popocatapetl
In the sunlight gleams.

I dimly heard the master's voice
And boys far-off at play,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Had stolen me away.

I walked in a great golden dream
To and fro from school--
Shining Popocatapetl
The dusty streets did rule.

I walked home with a gold dark boy,
And never a word I'd say,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
Had taken my speech away:

I gazed entranced upon his face
Fairer than any flower--
O shining Popocatapetl
It was thy magic hour:

The houses, people, traffic seemed
Thin fading dreams by day,
Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
They had stolen my soul away!

WALTER J. TURNER

392 HALLO MY FANCY

In melancholic fancy,
Out of myself,
In the vulcan dancy,
All the world surveying,
Nowhere staying,
Just like a fairy elf;
Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping,
Out o'er the hill, the trees and valleys tripping,
Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping,--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_

Amidst the misty vapours
Fain would I know
What doth cause the tapers;
Why the clouds benight us
And affright us.
While we travel here below;
Fain would I know what makes the roaring thunder,
And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds asunder,
And what these comets are on which we gaze and wonder--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_

Fain would I know the reason,
Why the little ant,
All the summer season,
Layeth up provision
On condition
To know no winter's want.
And how housewives, that are so good and painful,
Do unto their husbands prove so good and gainful;
And why the lazy drones to them do prove disdainful--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_...

Amidst the foamy ocean,
Fain would I know
What doth cause the motion,
And returning
In its journeying,
And doth so seldom swerve?
And how the little fishes that swim beneath salt waters,
Do never blind their eye; methinks it is a matter
An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater!--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_

Fain would I be resolvèd
How things are done;
And where the bull was calvèd
Of bloody Phalaris,
And where the tailor is
That works to the man i' the moon!
Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly;
And how the little fairies do dance and leap so lightly,
And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_

In conceit like Phaeton
I'll mount Phoebus' chair
Having ne'er a hat on,
All my hair a-burning
In my journeying;
Hurrying through the air.
Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing
And see how they on foamy bits are playing,
All the stars and planets I will be surveying!--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_

O from what ground of nature
Doth the pelican,
That self devouring creature
Prove so forward
And untoward,
Her vitals for to strain!
And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds a-lying,
Do not lament his pangs by howling and by crying,
And why the milk-swan doth sing when she's a-dying--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_

Fain would I conclude this,
At least make essay;
What similitude is:
Why fowls of a feather
Flock and fly together,
And lambs know beasts of prey;
How Nature's alchemists, these small laborious creatures,
Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their matters,
And suffer none to live who slothing lose their features--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_...

To know this world's centre
Height, depth, breadth and length,
Fain would I adventure
To search the hid attractions
Of magnetic actions
And adamantine strength.
Fain would I know, if in some lofty mountain,
Where the moon sojourns, if there be tree or fountain;
If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to hunt in--
_Hallo my fancy, whither wilt thou go?_...

Hallo my fancy, hallo,
Stay, stay at home with me,
I can no longer follow,
For thou hast betrayed me,
And bewrayed me;
It is too much for thee.
Stay, stay at home with me, leave off thy lofty soaring;
Stay then at home with me, and on thy books be poring;
For he that goes abroad, lays little up in storing--
Thou'rt welcome my fancy, welcome home to me.

WILLIAM CLELAND

393 SONNET

There was an Indian, who had known no change,
Who strayed content along a sunlit beach
Gathering shells. He heard a sudden strange
Commingled noise: looked up; and gasped for speech.
For in the bay, where nothing was before,
Moved on the sea, by magic, huge canoes,
With bellying clothes on poles, and not one oar,
And fluttering coloured signs and clambering crews.

And he, in fear, this naked man alone,
His fallen hands forgetting all their shells,
His lips gone pale, knelt low behind a stone,
And stared, and saw, and did not understand,
Columbus's doom-burdened caravels
Slant to the shore, and all their seamen land.

J. C. SQUIRE

394 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen:
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes

He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

JOHN KEATS

395 "TO SEA"

To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er;
The wanton water leaps in sport,
And rattles down the pebbly shore;
The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,
And unseen Mermaids' pearly song
Comes bubbling up, the weeds among.
Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar:
To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea, to sea! our wide-winged bark
Shall billowy cleave its sunny way,
And with its shadow, fleet and dark,
Break the caved Tritons' azure day,
Like mighty eagle soaring light
O'er antelopes on Alpine height.
The anchor heaves, the ship swings free,
The sails swell full: To sea, to sea!

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES

396 BERMUDAS

Where the remote Bermudas ride,
In the Ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat, that rowed along,
The listening winds received this song:

"What should we do but sing His praise,
That led us through the watery maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks
That lift the deep upon their backs,
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms' and prelates' rage:
He gave us this eternal Spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care
On daily visits through the air:
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows;
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples plants of such a price
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars, chosen by His hand
From Lebanon, He stores the land,
And makes the hollow seas, that roar,
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.
Oh! let our voice His praise exalt,
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which, thence (perhaps) rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay."

Thus sung they, in the English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

ANDREW MARVELL

397 THE OLD SHIPS

I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep
Beyond the village which men still call Tyre,
With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep
For Famagusta and the hidden sun
That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire;
And all those ships were certainly so old--
Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun
Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges,
The pirate Genoese
Hell-raked them till they rolled
Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold.
But now through friendly seas they softly run,
Painted the mid-sea blue or shore-sea green,
Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold.

But I have seen
Pointing her shapely shadows from the dawn
And image tumbled on a rose-swept bay
A drowsy ship of some yet older day;
And, wonder's breath indrawn,
Thought I--who knows--who knows--but in that same
(Fished up beyond Aeaea, patched up new
--Stern painted brighter blue--)
That talkative, bald-headed seaman came
(Twelve patient comrades sweating at the oar)
From Troy's doom-crimson shore,
And with great lies about his wooden horse
Set the crew laughing, and forgot his course.
It was so old a ship--who knows, who knows?
--And yet so beautiful, I watched in vain
To see the mast burst open with a rose,
And the whole deck put on its leaves again.

JAMES ELROY FLECKER

398 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

IN SEVEN PARTS

ARGUMENT: _How a Ship having passed the Line is driven by
storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how
from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude
of the great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that
befell; and in what manner the Ancient Mariner came back to
his own Country._