The flush of anger'd shame O'erflows thy calmer glances, But when I turn away, Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest; SONG. THE OWL. 1. WHEN cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, 2. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay: Alone and warming his five wits, SECOND SONG. TO THE SAME. THY tuwhits are lull'd I wot, So took echo with delight, 2. I would mock thy chaunt anew; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo, With a lengthen'd loud halloo, RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN WHEN the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free Anight my shallop, rustling thro' By garden porches on the brim, Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard The boat-head down a broad canal The sloping of the moon-lit sward A goodly place, a goodly time, A motion from the river won I enter'd, from the clearer light, Still onward; and the clear canal Above thro' many a bowery turn Far off, and where the lemon-grove Black the garden-bowers and grots A sudden splendor from behind Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, And, flowing rapidly between Their interspaces, counterchanged Of good Haroun Alraschid. Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead, In cool soft turf upon the bank, Entranced with that place and time, So worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Thence thro' the garden I was drawn- And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round With dazed vision unawares The fourscore windows all alight Of night new-risen, that marvellous time, Then stole I up, and trancedly Six columns, three on either side, With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. Sole star of all that place and time, ODE TO MEMORY. 1. THOU who stealest fire, From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present; oh, haste, Visit my low desire! Strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. 2. Come not as thou camest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; but robed in soften'd light Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight The black earth with brilliance rare. 3. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, And with the evening cloud, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast, (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Was cloven with the million stars which tremble Small thought was there of life's distress; For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could dull O strengthen me, enlighten me! Thou dewy dawn of memory. Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried: Come from the woods that belt the gray hillside, The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father's door, And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat When the first matin-song hath waken'd loud Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud. 5. Large dowries doth the raptured eye To the young spirit present When first she is wed; And like a bride of old In triumph led, With music and sweet showers Of festal flowers, Unto the dwelling she must sway. Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls For the discovery And newness of thine art so pleased thee, On the prime labor of thine early days: No matter what the sketch might be; Whether the high field on the bushless Pike, Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Or even a lowly cottage whence we see Stretch'd wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, The trenched waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bower'd close With plaited alleys of the trailing rose, Long alleys falling down to twilight grots, Or opening upon level plots Of crowned lilies, standing near Purple-spiked lavender; Whither in after life retired From brawling storms, From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired, We may hold converse with all forms Of the many-sided mind, And those whom passion hath not blinded, Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded, My friend, with you to live alone, Were how much better than to own A crown, a sceptre, and a throne! O strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. SONG. 1. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours To himself he talks; For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks; Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers: Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; 2. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, An hour before death; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower ADELINE. MYSTERY of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline? 2. Whence that aery bloom of thine, And a rose-bush leans upon, Ere the placid lips be cold? Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, Spiritual Adeline? 3. What hope or fear or joy is thine? For sure thou art not all alone: Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own? Hast thou heard the butterflies, With what voice the violet woo8 How the merry bluebell rings To the mosses underneath? Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise? Wherefore that faint smile of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline? Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, And those dew-lit eyes of thine, 5. Lovest thou the doleful wind In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants, It would fall to the ground if you came in. In the middle leaps a fountain Like sheet lightning, Ever brightening With a low melodious thunder; All day and all night it is ever drawn It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, THE SEA-FAIRIES. SLOW Sail'd the weary mariners and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold; and while they mused, Whispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea. Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more. Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore? Day and night to the billow the fountain calls; Down shower the gambolling waterfalls From wandering over the lea: Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells O hither, come hither and furl your sails, Hither, come hither and frolic and play; Here it is only the mew that wails; We will sing to you all the day: Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dales, Over the islands free; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand; Hither, come hither and see; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, And sweet shall your welcome be: O hither, come hither, and be our lords, For merry brides are we: We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten Who can light on as happy a shore All the world o'er, all the world o'er? Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner. fly no more. THE DESERTED HOUSE. 1. LIFE and Thought have gone away Side by side, Leaving door and windows wide: Careless tenants they! 2. All within is dark as night: 3. Close the door, the shutters close, Or thro' the windows we shall see Of the dark deserted house. |