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From under rose a muffled moan
"Then from my vapour-girdle soari To roll her North below thy deepening
I scaled the buoyant highway of t
That I might mix with men, and he
On pathway'd plains; for -- whilen
The fountain pulses high in sunnier jets, Within the bloodless heart of low
Thro' manifold effect of simple powers-
Beyond the darker hour to see the
The still-fulfilling promise of a light
Narrowing the bounds of night.
And new developments, whatever spark
Be struck from out the clash of warring
Or whether, since our nature cannot rest palm
The smoke of war's volcano burs my far meadow zoned with From høary deeps that belt the changefu
he floats across the hamlet. Heaven
lours, But in the tearful splendour of her
smiles see the slowly-thickening chestnut
towers Fill out the spaces by the barren tiles. Now past her feet the swallow circling flies, A ciamorous cuckoo stoops to meet
her hand; Her light makes rainbows in my closing
eyes, I hear a charm of song thro' all the
land. Come, Spring! She comes, and Earth
is glad To roll her North below thy deepening
dome, But ere thy maiden birk be wholly clad, And these low bushes dip their twigs
in foam, Make all true hearths thy home.
From under rose a muffled moan of
floods; I sat beneath a solitude of snow; There no one came, the turf was fresh,
the woods Plunged gulf on gulf thro' all their
vales below. I saw beyond their silent tops The steaming marshes of the scarlet
cranes, The slant seas leaning on the mangrove
copse, And summer basking in the sultry
plains About a land of canes;
Across my garden! and the thicket stirs,
The fountain pulses high in sunnier jets, The blackcap warbles, and the turtle purrs,
The starling claps his tiny castanets. Still round her forehead wheels the
woodland dove, And scatters on her throat the sparks
of dew, The kingcup fills her footprint, and above Broaden the glowing isles of vernal
blue. Hail ample presence of a Queen,
Bountiful, beautiful, apparell'd gay, Whose mantle, every shade of glancing
green, Flies back in fragrant breezes to display A tunic white as May!
•Then from my vapour-girdle soaring
forth I scaled the buoyant highway of the
birds, And drank the dews and drizzle of the
their words On pathway'd plains; for --- while my
hand exults Within the bloodless heart of lowly
flowers To work old laws of Love to fresh
results, Thro'manifold effect of simple powersI too would teach the man Beyond the darker hour to see the
bright, That his fresh life may close as it began,
The still-fulfilling promise of a light
She whispers, ' From the South I bring
you balm, For on a tropic mountain was I born, While some dark dweller by the coco
my far meadow zoned with airy morn;
So wed thee with my soul, that I may
mark The coming year's great good and
varied ills, And new developments, whatever spark Be struck from out the clash of warring
wills; Or whether, since our nature cannot rest, The smoke of war's volcano burst
again From hoary deeps that belt the changeful
Old Empires, dwellings of the kings
of men; Or should those fail, that hold the helm, While the long day of knowledge
grows and warms, And in the heart of this most ancient
realm A hateful voice be utter'd and alarms Sounding ‘To arms! to arms!'
Great the Master,
A simpler, saner lesson might he learn Who reads thy gradual process, Holy
Spring Thy leaves possess the season in their
turn, And in their time thy warblers rise on
wing. How surely glidest thou from March to
May, And changest, breathing it, the sullen
wind, Thy scope of operation, day by day,
Larger and fuller, like the human mind! Thy warmths from bud to bud Accomplish that blind model in the
seed, And men have hopes, which race the
restless blood, That after many changes may succeed Life, which is Life indeed.
Once at the croak of a Raven
who crost it,
Then to the melody,
MERLIN AND THE GLEAM.
() YOUNG Mariner,
Down from the mountain
Mighty the Wizard
Not of the sunlight,
Clouds and darkness
'I read Hayley's Life of Romney the other day - Romney wanted but education and reading to make him a very fine painter; but his ideal was not high nor fixed. How touching is the close of his life! He married at nineteen, and because Sir Joshua and others had said that “marriage spoilt an artist almost immediately left his wife in the North and scarce saw her till the end of his life; when old, nearly mad, and quite desolate, he went back to her and she received him and nursed him till he died. This quiet act of hers is worth all Romney's pictures! even as a matter of Art, I am sure (Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald, vol. i.)
And broader and brighter
*BEAT, little heart - I give you this and
this,' Who are you? What! the Lady
And find the white heather wheres heart.
you go, I had been among the hills, and brought A length of staghorn-moss, and this you Ah, my white heather only blooms twined
heaven About her cap. I see the picture yet, With Milton's amaranth. There, then Mother and child. A sound from far away, there! a child
Falls flat before your least unwillingness. You watch'd not I, she did not gre Good, I am never weary painting you.
And lured me from the household it still would you—if it please you — sit
To you my days have been a life-long I dream'd last night of that clear Father and Mother will watch
, and foot to foot Bacchante, what you will; and if I fail
And gather the roses whenever th
, heart to And colour all you are, the fault is less
And groans to see it, finds no com In me than Art. What Artist ever yet
there. Could make pure light live on the canvas?
What fame? I am not Raphics
Titian - no
Blown into glittering by the poor No louder than a bee among the flowers, Had shamed me at it - Down, you id
, so hot, So fever'd! never colt would more de
May float awhile beneath the sun, To roll himself in meadow grass than I
roll To wallow in that winter of the hills. The rainbow hues of heaven about it. Before the great Madonna-masterpieces Not one stroke firm. This Art, th: Nurse, were you hired? or came of
your own will To wait on one so broken, so forlorn?
abyss Have I not met you somewhere long ago?
Of Darkness, utter Lethe. I am all but sure I have — in Kendal
church — O yes! I hired you for a season there,
Her sad eyes plead for And then we parted; but you look so
To make it dearer.
To flame along another dreary day.
Your band. How bright you keep Fou'Beat upon mine, little heart! beat, Than all the myriad lies, that blacken round The drops upon my forehead. Your hand shakes.
marriage-ring! I am ashamed. I am a trouble to you,
Raise me. I thank you. Could kneel for your forgiveness. Are
they tears? For me --- they do me too much grace
Bred this black mood? or am I consciva for me?
more O Mary, Mary! Vexing you with words !
between Words only, born of fever, or the fumes Of that dark opiate dose you gave me,
And suffering cloud the height I stand Sleep, little blossom, my honey, my Thro' earth, and all her graves, if He
of Age — words, Wild babble. I have stumbled back again
Even from myself? stand? stood ...For I give you this, and I give you this!
One favour? 'I am bankrupt of all claim This seem'd my lodestar in the Heaven of Art,
Who love her still
, and whimper, im Had I but known you as I know you potent now
To win her back before I die---an The true Alcestis of the time. Your then song
Then, in the loud world's bastard judg Sit , listen! I remember it, a proof
ment-day, That I even I-at times remember'd One truth will damn me with the mind you.
no touch of , beat!
The corpse of every man that gains a Beat upon mine! you are mine, my name; sweet!
*This model husband, this fine Artist'! All mine from your pretty blue
Fool, to your feet,
What matters? Six foot deep of burial My sweet.
mould Less profile! turn to me--three-quarter
Will dull their comments! Ay, but when face.
the shout Of His descending peals from Heaven,
should ask, And I blind your pretty blue eyes with "Why left you wife and children? for a kiss!
Sleep!' According to my word?' and I replied,
"Nay, Lord, for Art, why, that would Too early blinded by the kiss of death
sound so mean Father and Mother will watch you
That all the dead, who wait the doom of
For bolder sins than mine, adulteries,