SONG.

Whither away, whither away, whither away? Fly no more:

Whither away wi' the singing sail? whither away wi' the oar? Whither away from the high green field and the happy blossoming shore? Weary mariners, hither away, One and all, one and all, Weary mariners, come and play; We will sing to you all the day; Furl the sail and the foam will fall From the prow! One and all Furl the sail! Drop the oar! Leap ashore,

Know danger and trouble and toil no

more,

Whither away wi' the sail and the oar?
Drop the oar,
Leap ashore,
Fly no more!

Whither away wi' the sail? whither away wi' the oar?

Day and night to the billow the fountain calls:

Down shower the gambolling water-
falls

From wandering over the lea;
They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,
And thick with white bells the clover-
hill swells

High over the full-toned sea.
Merrily carol the revelling gales
Over the islands free :

From the green seabanks the rose
down trails

To the happy brimméd sea. Come 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 glis

ten

With pleasure and love and revelry; O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten,

When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords

Runs up the ridgéd sea.
Ye will not find so happy a shore,
Weary mariners! all the world o'er;
O, fly no more!

Hearken ye, hearken ye, sorrow shall
darken ye,

Danger and trouble and toil no more;

Whither away?
Drop the oar;
Hither away
Leap ashore;

O fly no more— no more:

Whither away, whither away, whither away with the sail and the oar?

Οἱ ρέοντες.

I.

All men do walk in sleep, and all
Have faith in that they dream :
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.

II.

There is no rest, no calm, no pause,
Nor good nor ill, nor light nor shade,
Nor essence nor eternal laws :

For nothing is, but all is made.
But if I dream that all these are,
They are to me for that I dream;

THE North-wind fall'n, in the new-starréd night

Zidonian Hanno, voyaging beyond
The hoary promontory of Soloë
Past Thymiaterion, in calméd bays,
Between the southern and the western
Horn,

Heard neither warbling of the nightingale,
Nor melody of the Libyan lotus flute
Blown seaward from the shore; but from
a slope

That ran bloom-bright into the Atlantic blue,

Beneath a highland leaning down a weight Ofcliffs, and zoned below with cedar shade, Came voices, like the voices in a dream, Continuous, till he reached the outer sea.

SONG.

I.

Round about the hallowed fruit - tree

curled

hallowed fruit,

Guard it well, guard it warily,
Singing airily,

Standing about the charméd root.
Round about all is mute,

As the snow-field on the mountain-peaks,

As the sand-field at the mountain-foot.
Crocodiles in briny creeks
Sleep and stir not: all is mute.

If ye sing not, if ye make false measure,
We shall lose eternal pleasure,
Worth eternal want of rest.
Laugh not loudly: watch the treasure
Of the wisdom of the West.

In a corner wisdom whispers. Five and three

(Let it not be preached abroad) make an awful mystery.

For the blossom unto threefold music bloweth ;

Evermore it is born anew;

And the sap to threefold music floweth, From the root

For he is older than the world.
If he waken, we waken,
Rapidly levelling eager eyes.
If he sleep, we sleep,

If the golden apple be taken,
Dropping the eyelid over the eyes.

The world will be overwise.
Five links, a golden chain, are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,
Bound about the golden tree.

III.

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, night and day,

Lest the old wound of the world be healed,
The glory unsealed,

The golden apple stolen away,
And the ancient secret revealed.
Look from west to east along :
Father, old Himala weakens, Caucasus
is bold and strong.

Wandering waters unto wandering waters call;

Let them clash together, foam and fall.
Out of watchings, out of wiles,
Comes the bliss of secret smiles.
All things are not told to all.
Half-round the mantling night is drawn,
Purple fringéd with even and dawn,
Hesper hateth Phosphor, evening hateth

morn.

IV.

II.

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, ever and aye,

Looking under silver hair with a silver eye. Father, twinkle not thy steadfast sight; Kingdoms lapse, and climates change, and races die; Honor comes with mystery; Hoarded wisdom brings delight. Number, tell them over and number How many the mystic fruit-tree holds Lest the red-combed dragon slumber Rolled together in purple folds. Look to him, father, lest he wink, and the golden apple be stol'n away, For his ancient heart is drunk with overwatchings night and day,

Every flower and every fruit the redolent breath

Of this warm sea-wind ripeneth,
Arching the billow in his sleep;
But the land-wind wandereth,
Broken by the highland-steep,
Two streams upon the violet deep;
For the western sun and the western star,
And the low west-wind, breathing afar,
The end of day and beginning of night
Make the apple holy and bright;
Holy and bright, round and full, bright
and blest,

Mellowed in a land of rest;
Watch it warily day and night;
All good things are in the west.
Till mid noon the cool east light
Is shut out by the tall hillbrow;

The quick lark's closest-carolled strains,
The shadow rushing up the sea,
The lightning flash atween the rains,
The sunlight driving down the lea,
The leaping stream, the very wind,
That will not stay, upon his way,
To stoop the cowslip to the plains,
Is not so clear and bold and free
As you, my falcon Rosalind.
You care not for another's pains,
Because you are the soul of joy,
Bright metal all without alloy.

Life shoots and glances thro' your veins,
And flashes off a thousand ways
Through lips and eyes in subtle rays.
Your hawkeyes are keen and bright,
Keen with triumph, watching still
To pierce me through with pointed light;
But oftentimes they flash and glitter
Like sunshine on a dancing rill,

And your words are seeming-bitter, Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter From excess of swift delight.

III.

Come down, come home, my Rosalind,
My gay young hawk, my Rosalind :
Too long you keep the upper skies;
Too long you roam and wheel at will;
But we must hood your random eyes,
That care not whom they kill,
And your cheek, whose brilliant hue
Is so sparkling-fresh to view,
Some red heath-flower in the dew,
Touched with sunrise. We must bind
And keep you fast, my Rosalind,
Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind,
And clip your wings, and make you love :
When we have lured you from above,
And that delight of frolic flight, by day
or night,

From north to south;

Will bind you fast in silken cords,
And kiss away the bitter words
From off your rosy mouth.*

MY Rosalind, my Rosalind,

Bold, subtle, careless Rosalind,

Is one of those who know no strife

Of inward woe or outward fear;

To whom the slope and stream of Life,
The life before, the life behind,

In the ear, from far and near,
Chimeth musically clear.

My falcon-hearted Rosalind,
Full-sailed before a vigorous wind,

Is one of those who cannot weep
For others' woes, but overleap
All the petty shocks and fears
That trouble life in early years,
With a flash of frolic scorn
And keen delight, that never falls
Away from freshness, self-upborne
With such gladness as, whenever
The fresh-flushing springtime calls
To the flooding waters cool,
Young fishes, on an April morn,
Up and down a rapid river,
Leap the little waterfalls
That sing into the pebbled pool,
My happy falcon, Rosalind,"
Hath daring fancies of her own,
Fresh as the dawn before the day.

Fresh as the early sea-smell blown

Through vineyards from an inland bay.
My Rosalind, my Rosalind,
Because no shadow on you falls,
Think you hearts are tennisballs
To play with, wanton Rosalind?