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Have faded long ago;

But in these latter springs I saw Your own Olivia blown,

From when she gamboll'd on the greens.
A baby-germ, to when

The maiden blossoms of her teens
Could number five from ten.

I swear, by leaf, and wind, and rain,
(And hear me with thine ears,)
That, tho' I circle in the grain
Five hundred rings of years -

Yet, since I first could cast a shade
Did never creature pass
o slightly, musically made,
So light upon the grass:
For as to fairies, that will flit
To make the greensward fresh;
hold them exquisitely knit,
But far too spare of flesh."
Oh, hide thy knotted knees in fern,
And overlook the chace,

nd from thy topmost branch discern
The roofs of Sumner-place,

ut thou, whereon I carved her name, That oft hast heard my vows, eclare when last Olivia came To sport beneath thy boughs. Oyesterday, you know, the fair Was holden at the town; er father left his good arm-chair, And rode his hunter down.

And with him Albert came on his.
I look'd at him with joy :
cowslip unto oxlip is,
So seems she to the boy.
An hour had past - and, sitting straight
Within the low-wheel'd chaise,
er mother trundled to the gate
Behind the dappled grays.
But, as for her, she stay'd at home,
And on the roof she went,
nd down the way you use to come,
She look'd with discontent.
he left the novel half-uncut.
Upon the rosewood shelf;
e left the new piano shut:
She could not please herself.

Then ran she, gamesome as the colt,
And livelier than a lark

ne sent her voice thro' all the holt

Before her, and the park.

"A light wind chased her on the wing,
And in the chase grew wild,
As close as might be would he cling
About the darling child:

"But light as any wind that blows
So fleetly did she stir,

The flower, she touch'd on, dipt and rose, And turn'd to look at her.

"And here she came, and round me play'd And sang to me the whole

Of those three stanzas that you made
About my 'giant bole;'

,,And in a fit of frolic mirth

She strove to span my waist: Alas, I was so broad of girth,

I could not be embraced.

"I wish'd myself the fair young beech
That here beside me stands,
That round me, clasping each in each,
She might have lock'd her hands.

"Yet seem'd the pressure thrice as sweet As woodbine's fragile hold,

Or when I feel about my feet
The berried briony fold."

O muffle round thy knees with fern,
And shadow Sumner-chace!
Long may thy topmost branch discern
The roofs of Sumner-place!

But tell me, did she read the name
I carved with many vows
When last with throbbing heart I came
To rest beneath thy boughs?

"O yes, she wander'd round and round
These knotted knees of mine,

And found, and kiss'd the name she found,
And sweetly murmur'd thine.

A teardrop trembled from its source,
And down my surface crept.
My sense of touch is something coarse,
But I believe she wept.

Then flush'd her seek with rosy light,
She glanced across the plain;
But not a creature was in sight:
She kiss'd me once again.

Her kisses were so close and kind,
That, trust me on my word,
Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind,
But yet my sap was stirr'd:

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But languidly adjust

My vapid vegetable loves

With anthers and with dust:

For ah! my friend, the days were brief
Whereof the poets talk,

When that, which breathes within the leaf,
Could slip its bark and walk.
"But could I, as in times foregone,

From spray, and branch, and stem, Have suck'd and gather'd into one The life that spreads in them,

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She had not found me so remiss;
But lightly issuing thro',

I would have paid her kiss for kiss,
With usury thereto."

O flourish high, with leafy towers,
And overlook the lea,
Pursue thy loves among the bowers
But leave thou mine to me.
O flourish, hidden deep in fern,
Old oak, I love thee well;

A thousand thanks for what I learn
And what remains to tell.

,,'Tis little more: the day was warn;
At last, tired out with play,
She sank her head upon her arm
And at my feet she lay.

Her eyelids dropp'd their silken eaves.
I breathed upon her eyes
Thro' all the summer of my leaves
A welcome mix'd with sighs.

,,I took the swarming sound of life-
The music from the town-
The murmurs of the drum and fife

And lull'd them in my own.
"Sometimes I let a sumbeam slip,
To light her shaded eye;
A second flutter'd round her lip
Like a golden butterfly;

"A third would glimmer on her neck To make the necklace shine;

Another slid, a sunny fleck,

From head to ancle fine.

Then close and dark my arms I spread,
And shadow'd all her rest-
Dropt dews upon her golden head
An acorn in her breast...
But in a pet she started up,
And pluck'd it out, and drew
My little oakling from the cup,
And flung him in the dew.
,,And yet it was a graceful gift-
I felt a pang within

As when I see the woodman lift
His axe to slay my kin.

,,I shook him down because he was
The finest on the tree.

He lies beside thee on the grass.

O kiss him once for me,

„O kiss him twice and thrice for me,
That have no lips to kiss,

For never yet was oak on lea
Shall grow so fair as this."
Step deeper yet in herb and fern,
Look further thro' the chace,
Spread upward till thy boughs discern
The front of Sumner-place.

This fruit of thine by Love is blest,
That but a moment lay
Where fairer fruit of Love may rest
Some happy future day.

I kiss it twice, I kiss it thrice,
The warmth it thence shall win
To riper life may magnetise
The baby-oak within.

But thou, while kingdoms overse
Or lapse from hand to hand,
Thy leaf shall never fail, nor yet
Thine acorn in the land.

May never saw dismember thee.
Nor wielded axe disjoint,
That art the fairest-spoken tree
From here to Lizard-point.
O rock upon thy towery top

All throats that gurgle sweet!
All starry culmination drop

Balm-dews to bathe thy feet! All grass of silky feather grow And while he sinks or swells The full south-breeze around thee blow The sound of minster bells.

The fat earth feed thy branchy root,

That under deeply strikes!
The northern morning o'er thee shoot,
High up, in silver spikes!

Nor ever lightning char thy grain,
But, rolling as in sleep,

Low thunders bring the mellow rain,
That makes thee broad and deep!

And hear me swear a solemn oath,
That only by thy side
Will I to Olive plight my troth,
And gain her for my bride.

And when my marriage morn may fall,
She, Dryad-like, shall wear
Alternate leaf and acorn-ball

In wreath about her hair.

And I will work in prose and rhyme,.
And praise thee more in both
Than bard has honour'd beech or lime,
Or that Thessalian growth,

In which the swarthy ringdove sat,
And mystic sentence spoke;
And more than England honours that,
Thy famous brother-oak,
Wherein the younger Charles abode
Till all the paths were dim,
And far below the Roundhead rode,
And humm'd a surly hymn.

LOVE AND DUTY.
Of love that never found his earthly close,
What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking
(hearts?

Or all the same as if he had not been?

Not so. Shall Error in the round of time Still father Truth? O shall the braggart shout For some blind glimpse of freedom work (itself

Thro' madness, hated by the wise, to law
System and empire? Sin itself be found
The cloudy porch oft opening on the Sun?
And only he, this wonder, dead, become
Mere highway dust? or year by year alone
Sit brooding in the ruins of a life,

Nightmare of youth, the spectre of himself?
If this were thus, if this, indeed, were all,
Better the narrow brain, the stony heart,
The staring eye glazed o'er with sapless days,
The long mechanic pacings to and fro,
The set gray life, and apathetic end.
But am I not the nobler thro' thy love?
O three times less unworthy! likewise thou

Art more thro' Love, and greater than thy (years.

The Sun will run his orbit, and the Moon
Her circle. Wait, and Love himself will bring
The drooping flower of knowledge changed
(to fruit

Of wisdom. Wait: my faith is large in Time,
And that which shapes it to some perfect end.
Will some one say. Then why not ill for good?
Why took ye not your pastime? To that man
My work shall answer, since I knew the right
And did it; for a man is not as God,
But then most Godlike being most a man.
-So let me think 'tis well for thee and me-
Ill-fated that I am, what lot is mine
Whose, foresight preaches peace, my heart
(so slow

To feel it! For how hard it seem'd to me, When eyes, love-languid thro' half-tears, (would dwell

One earnest, earnest moment upon mine, Then not to dare to see! when thy low voice, Faltering, would break its syllables, to keep My own full-tuned,--hold passion in a leash, And not leap forth and fall about thy neck, And on thy bosom, (deep-desired relief!) Rain out the heavy mist of tears, that (weigh'd

Upon my brain, my senses and my soul!

For love himself took part against himself To warn us off, and Duty loved of Love O this world's curse, beloved but hated(came

Like Death betwixt thy dear embrace and (mine,

And crying,,,Who is this? behold thy bride." She push'd me from thee.

If the sense is hard To alien ears, I did not speak to these No, not to thee, but to thyself in me: Hard is my doom and thine: thou knowest (it all.

Could Love part thus? was it not well to (speak,

To have spoken once? It could not but be (well.

The slow sweet hours that bring us all (things good,

The slow sad hours that bring us all things (ill,

And all good things from evil, brought the (night

In which we sat together and alone.
And to the want, that hollow'd all the heart,

Gave utterance by the yearning of an eye, That burn'd upon its object thro' such tears As flow but once a life.

The trance gave way To those caresses, when a hundred times In that last kiss, which never was the last, Farewell, like endless welcome, lived and (died.

Then follow'd counsel, comfort, and the (words

That make a man feel strong in speaking (truth;

Till now the dark was worn, and overhead
The lights of sunset and of sunrise mix'd
In that brief night; the summer night, that
(paused

Among herstars to hear us; stars that hung
Love-charm'd to listen: all the wheels ofTime
Spun round in station, but the end had come.
O then like those, who clench their nerves
(to rush

Upon their dissolution, we two rose,
There closing like an individual life
In one blind cry of passion and pain,
Like bitter accusation ev'n to death,
Caught up the whole of love and utter'd it,
And bade adieu for ever.

-

Live, yet liveShall sharpest pathos blight us,knowing all Life needs for life is possible to willLive happy; tend thy flowers; be tended by My blessing! Should my Shadow cross thy (thoughts

Too sadly for their peace, remand it thou
For calmer hours to Memory's darkest hold,
If not to be forgotten not at once-
Not all forgotten.Should it cross thy dreams,
O might it come like one that looks content,
With quiet eyes unfaithful to the truth,
And point thee forward to a distant light,
Or seem to lift a burthen from thy heart
And leave thee freer, till thou wake refresh'd
Then when the first low matin-chirp hath
(grown

Full quire, and morning driv'n her plow of (pearl

Far furrowing into light the mounded rack, Beyond the fair green field and eastern sea.

THE GOLDEN YEAR:

WELL, you shall have that song which Leo(nard wrote:

It was last summer on a tour in Wales: OldJames was with me: we that day had been

Up Snowdon; andI wish'd for Leonard there, And found him in Llanberis: then we crost Between the lakes, and chamber'd half way (up

The counter side: and that same song of his He told me; for I banter'd him, and swore They said he lived shut up within himself, A tongue-tied Poet in the feverous days, That, setting the how much before the how, Cry, like the daughters of the horseleech (Give,

Cram us with all, "but count not me the herd. To which,,They call me what they will," (he said:

But I was born too late: the fair new forms, That float about the threshold of an age, Like truths of Science waiting to be caughtCatch me who can, and make the catcher (crown'd

Are taken by the forelock. Let it be.
But if you care indeed to listen, hear
These measured words, my works of yester
(morn.

We sleep and wake and sleep, but all
(things move;

The Sun flies forward to his brother Sun; The dark Earth follows wheel'd in her ellipse; And human things returning on themselves Move onward, leading up the golden year.

"Ah, tho' the times, when some new

(thought can bud,

Are but as poets' seasons when they flower, Yet seas, that daily gain upon the shore, Have ebb and flow conditioning their march, And slow and sure comes up the golden year. When wealth no more shall rest in (mounded heaps,

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But smit with freer light shall slowly melt
In many streams to fatten lower lands,
And light shall spread,and man be liker man
Thro' all the season of the golden year.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,
But he not less the eagle. Happy days
Roll onward, leading up the golden year.

Fly,happy happy sails and bear the Press; Fly happy with the mission of the Cross; Knit land to land, and blowing havenward With silks,and fruits,and spices,clear of toll, Enrich the markets of the golden year.

"But we grow old. Ah! when shall all (men's good

Be each man's rule, and universal Peace

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Lie like a shaft of light across the land, est And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?" Thus far he flow'd and ended; whereupon Ah, folly! in mimic cadence answer'd (James

,,Ah, folly! for it lies so far away, Not in our time, nor in our children's time, 'Tis like the second world to us that live; 'Twere all as one to fix our hopes on Heaven As on this vision of the golden year." With that he struck his staff against therocks And broke it, - James, you know him,(old, but full

Of force and choler, and firm upon his feet, And like an oaken stock in winter woods: O'erflourish'd with the hoary clematis: Then added, all in heat:

What stuff is this! Old writers push'd the happy season back,The more fools they, - we forward: dream

(ers both;

You most, that in an age: when every hour Must sweat her sixty minutes to the death, Live on, God love us, as if the seedsman,rapt Upon the teeming harvest,should not plunge His hand into the bag: but well I know That unto him who works, and feels he (works,

This same grand year is ever at the doors." He spoke, and, high above, I heard them (blast

The steep slate-quarry, and the great echo (flap

And buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.

ULYSSES.

IT little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren (crags,

Match'd with an aged wife, I metê and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know (not me.

I cannot rest from travel: 1 will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with
(those

That loved me, and alone; on shore, and (when

Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name:
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known: cities of men

And manners, climates, councils, govern(ments,

Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose mar-
(gin fades

For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on
(life

Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard my-
(self,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom 1 leave the sceptre and the isle -
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my househould gods,
When I am gone. He works his work. I mine.
There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My marin-
(ers,

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and (thought with me

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That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads -
you and I are
(old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs:
(the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my (friends,

Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite

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