From under rose a muffled moan floods; the woods vales below. cranes, copse, plains eyes, VII. "Then from my vapour-girdle soari To roll her North below thy deepening forth I scaled the buoyant highway of t birds, North, That I might mix with men, and he their words On pathway'd plains; for -- whilen The fountain pulses high in sunnier jets, Within the bloodless heart of low flowers results, Thro' manifold effect of simple powers- Beyond the darker hour to see the bright, The still-fulfilling promise of a light Narrowing the bounds of night. VIII. mark varied ills, And new developments, whatever spark Be struck from out the clash of warring wills; 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 again West, IV. 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; VII. V. 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 North, 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 VIII. VI. She whispers, ' From the South I bring you balm, For on a tropic mountain was I born, While some dark dweller by the coco palm Watch'd 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 West, 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, IX. III. 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, IV. Then to the melody, MERLIN AND THE GLEAM. I. V. () YOUNG Mariner, Down from the mountain II. Mighty the Wizard Not of the sunlight, Clouds and darkness wintry glimmer melody ROMNEY'S REMORSE. '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.) VIII. And broader and brighter *BEAT, little heart - I give you this and this,' Who are you? What! the Lady Hamilton? blow, 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 earth. she died. To you my days have been a life-long I dream'd last night of that clear Father and Mother will watch summer noon, , and foot to foot Bacchante, what you will; and if I fail fame, 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 My sweet. Titian - no word? 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 breath, light 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 with me 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! upon no more. you One favour? 'I am bankrupt of all claim This seem'd my lodestar in the Heaven of Art, wish tools, harlot-like 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. less mob, 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 eyes 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, and throbs bliss ! 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 Hell grow' For bolder sins than mine, adulteries, |
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