So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;
By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,

Until I find the holy Grail.

EDWARD GRAY.

SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town Met me walking on yonder way, 'And have you lost your heart?' she said; 'And are you married yet, Edward Gray?'

Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me :

Bitterly weeping I turn'd away : 'Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.

'Ellen Adair she loved me well,

Against her father's and mother's will: To-day I sat for an hour and wept,

By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.

'Shy she was, and I thought her cold; Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Fill'd I was with folly and spite,

When Ellen Adair was dying for me.

'Cruel, cruel the words I said!

Cruelly came they back to-day : "You're too slight and fickle," I said, "To trouble the heart of Edward Gray."

'There I put my face in the grass— Whisper'd, "Listen to my despair : I repent me of all I did:

Speak a little, Ellen Adair !"

'Then I took a pencil, and wrote

On the mossy stone, as I lay, "Here lies the body of Ellen Adair ; And here the heart of Edward Gray!"

'Love may come, and love may go, And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree; But I will love no more, no more,

Till Ellen Adair come back to me.

'Bitterly wept I over the stone :

Bitterly weeping I turn'd away: There lies the body of Ellen Adair ! And there the heart of Edward Gray!'

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;
Her gradual fingers steal
And touch upon the master-chord
Of all I felt and feel.

Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans,

And phantom hopes assemble; And that child's heart within the man's Begins to move and tremble.

Thro' many an hour of summer suns,
By many pleasant ways,
Against its fountain upward runs

The current of my days:

I kiss the lips I once have kiss'd;
The gas-light wavers dimmer;
And softly, thro' a vinous mist,

My college friendships glimmer.

A private life was all his joy,

Till in a court he saw

A something-pottle-bodied boy

That knuckled at the taw:

He stoop'd and clutch'd him, fair and good,

Flew over roof and casement: His brothers of the weather stood Stock-still for sheer amazement.

But he, by farmstead, thorpe and spire,
And follow'd with acclaims,
A sign to many a staring shire

Came crowing over Thames.
Right down by smoky Paul's they bore,
Till, where the street grows straiter,
One fix'd for ever at the door,

And one became head-waiter.

But whither would my fancy go?
How out of place she makes

The violet of a legend blow

Among the chops and steaks! 'Tis but a steward of the can,

One shade more plump than common; As just and mere a serving-man As any born of woman.

I ranged too high: what draws me down
Into the common day?

Is it the weight of that half-crown,
Which I shall have to pay?
For, something duller than at first,
Nor wholly comfortable,
I sit, my empty glass reversed,

And thrumming on the table :

Half fearful that, with self at strife,
I take myself to task;
Lest of the fulness of my life

I leave an empty flask :
For I had hope, by something rare
To prove myself a poet :
But, while I plan and plan, my hair
Is gray before I know it.

So fares it since the years began,
Till they be gather'd up;

The truth, that flies the flowing can,
Will haunt the vacant cup:

And others' follies teach us not,

Nor much their wisdom teaches; And most, of sterling worth, is what Our own experience preaches.

Ah, let the rusty theme alone!

We know not what we know. But for my pleasant hour, 'tis gone; 'Tis gone, and let it go. 'Tis gone a thousand such have slipt Away from my embraces, And fall'n into the dusty crypt

Of darken'd forms and faces.

Go, therefore, thou! thy betters went
Long since, and came no more;
With peals of genial clamour sent
From many a tavern-door,
With twisted quirks and happy hits,
From misty men of letters;

The tavern-hours of mighty wits—
Thine elders and thy betters.

113

Hours, when the Poet's words and looks Had yet their native glow :

Nor yet the fear of little books

Had made him talk for show;
But, all his vast heart sherris-warm'd,
He flash'd his random speeches,
Ere days, that deal in ana, swarm'd
His literary leeches.

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,
To which I most resort,

I too must part: I hold thee dear

For this good pint of port.

For this, thou shalt from all things suck
Marrow of mirth and laughter;
And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck
Shall fling her old shoe after.

But thou wilt never move from hence,
The sphere thy fate allots :
Thy latter days increased with pence
Go down among the pots:
Thou battenest by the greasy gleam
In haunts of hungry sinners,

Old boxes, larded with the steam

Of thirty thousand dinners.

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 :

Would quarrel with our lot;
Thy care is, under polish'd tins,

To serve the hot-and-hot ;
To come and go, and come again,
Returning like the pewit,
And watch'd by silent gentlemen,
That trifle with the cruet.

Live long, ere from thy topmost head

The thick-set hazel dies;

Long, ere the hateful crow shall tread
The corners of thine eyes:

Live long, nor feel in head or chest

Our changeful equinoxes,

Till mellow Death, like some late guest,
Shall call thee from the boxes.

But when he calls, and thou shalt cease
To pace the gritted floor,
And, laying down an unctuous lease

Of life, shalt earn no more;
No carved cross-bones, the types of Death,
Shall show thee past to Heaven :
But carved cross-pipes, and, underneath,
A pint-pot neatly graven.

LADY CLARE.

IT was the time when lilies blow,

And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe To give his cousin, Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn :

Lovers long-betroth'd were they : They too 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.

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,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go.'

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, Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, And follow'd her all the way.

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 : He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood:

'If you are not the heiress born,

And I,' said he, the next in blood

'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.
Deep as Hell I count his error.
Let him hear my song.

Brave the Captain was: the seamen
Made a gallant crew,

Gallant sons of English freemen,

Sailors bold and true.

But they hated his oppression,
Stern he was and rash;
So for every light transgression
Doom'd them to the lash.
Day by day more harsh and cruel
Seem'd the Captain's mood.
Secret wrath like smother'd fuel

Burnt in each man's blood.
Yet he hoped to purchase glory,
Hoped to make the name
Of his vessel great in story,

Wheresoe'er he came.

So they past by capes and islands,
Many a harbour-mouth,
Sailing under palmy highlands

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;

Stately, lightly, went she Norward,

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
Roaring out their doom;

All the air was torn in sunder,
Crashing went the boom,