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IDYLLS OF THE KING. Round Table contd. : TIRESIAS, AND OTHER POEMS continued :

Geraint and Enid .

Epilogue

557

Balin and Balan

362 To Virgil

Merlin and Vivien.

373

The Dead Prophet

Lancelot and Elaine

388

Early Spring

The Holy Grail

410

Prefatory Poem to my Brother's Sonnets 561

Pelleas and Ettarre

425 Frater Ave atque Vale

561

The Last Tournament

435

Helen's Tower.

Guinevere

447 Epitaph on Lord Stratford de Redcliffe

The Passing of Arthur

Epitaph on General Gordon

562

To the Queen

466 Epitaph on Caxton

THE LOVER'S TALE

467

To the Duke of Argyll

TO ALFRED TENNYSON, MY GRANDSON

Hands all Round

490

Freedom

BALLADS, AND OTHER Poems:

To H. R. H. Princess Beatrice

563

The First Quarrel

490 The Fleet.

564

Rizpah

492 Opening of the Indian and Colonial Ex:

The Northern Cobbler

494 hibition by the Queen

564

The Revenge: A Ballad of the Fleet

497 Poets and their Bibliographies.

565

The Sisters

499 To W. C. Macready

565

The Village Wife; or, the Entail

504

In the Children's Hospital

QUEEN MARY

507

Dedicatory Poem to the Princess Alice 508 HAROLD

636

The Defence of Lucknow

509

BECKET

676

Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham

511

Columbus .

514

THE CUP

730

The Voyage of Maeldune: :

518

THE FALCON

De Profundis:

The Two Greetings

THE PROMISE OF MAY

521

The Human Cry

:

522 DEMETER, AND OTHER Poems:

SONNETS:

To the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava

781

Prefatory Sonnet to the 'Nineteenth

On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria

Century'

To Professor Jebb

522

783

To the Rev. W. H. Brookfield

Demeter and Persephone.

522

783

Montenegro

Owd Roi

523

785

To Victor Hugo

Vastness

523

788

The Ring

790

TRANSLATIONS, ETC.

Forlorn

797

Battle of Brunanburh

523

Happy

798

Achilles over the Trench .

525 To Ulysses

802

To the Princess Frederica of Hanover on

To Mary Boyle

803

ber Marriage.

The Progress of Spring

804

Sir John Franklin

Merlin and The Gleam

806

To Dante .

Romney's Remorse.

807

TIRESIAS, AND OTHER Poems:

Parnassus .

810

To E. Fitzgerald

526 By an Evolutionist

810

Tiresias

527

Far — far - away

811

The Wreck

530

Politics

811

Despair

533

Beautiful City

811

The Ancient Sage

536

The Roses on the Terrace

The Flight

540

The Play

812

Tomorrow

543

On One who affected an Effeminate Manner 812

The Spinster's Sweet-Arts

545 To One who ran down the English . 812

Locksley Hall Sixty Years After

The Snowdrop •

812

Prologue to General Hamley

The Throstle

812

The Charge of the Heavy Brigade at

The Oak

812

Balaclava

In Memoriam William George Ward 813

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JUVENILIA.

CLARIBEL.

A MELODY.

I.

WHERE Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,

Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,

Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With an ancient melody

Of an inward agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.

When will the clouds be aweary of

fleeting? When will the heart be aweary of

beating?

And nature die?
Never, oh! never, nothing will die;

The stream flows,
The wind blows,
The cloud fleets,
The heart beats,

Nothing will die.
Nothing will die;
All things will change
Thro' eternity.
'Tis the world's winter;
Autumn and summer
Are gone long ago;
Earth is dry to the centre,
But spring, a new comer,
A spring rich and strange,
Shall make the winds blow
Round and round,
Thro' and thro',

Here and there,

Till the air
And the ground
Shall be fill'd with life anew.

II.

At eve the beetle boometh

Athwart the thicket lone : At noon the wild bee hummeth

About the moss'd headstone: At midnight the moon cometh,

And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,

The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth,

The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth

Where Claribel low-lieth.

NOTHING WILL DIE.

WHEN will the stream be aweary of

flowing

Under my eye? When will the wind be aweary of blowing

Over the sky?

The wcrld was never made;
It will change, but it will not fade.
So let the wind range;
For even and morn

Ever will be

Thro' eternity.
Nothing was born;
Nothing will die;
All things will change.

2

ALL THINGS WILL DIE.

All things were born.
Ye will come never more,
For all things must die.

CLEARLY the blue river chimes in its

flowing

Under my eye ; Warmly and broadly the south winds are

blowing

Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are

fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating

Full merrily;
Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.

All things must die.
Spring will come never more.

Oh! vanity!
Death waits at the door.
See! our friends are all forsaking
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are callid - we must go.
Laid low, very low,
In the dark we must lie.
The merry glees are still;
The voice of the bird
Shall no more be heard,
Nor the wind on the hill.

Oh! misery!
Hark! death is calling
While I speak to ye,
The jaw is falling,
The red cheek paling,
The strong limbs failing;
Ice with the warm blood mixing;
The eyeballs fixing.
Nine times goes the passing bell:
Ye merry souls, farewell.

The old earth
Had a birth,
As all men know,

Long ago.
And the old earth must die.
So let the warm winds range,
And the blue wave beat the shore;
For even and morn
Ye will never see
Thro' eternity.

LEONINE ELEGIACS. LOW-FLOWING breezes are roaming the

broad valley dimm'd in the gloaming : Thro' the black-stemm'd pines only the

far river shines. Creeping thro' blossomy rushes and bowers

of rose-blowing bushes, Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble

and fall. Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerly; the

grasshopper carolleth clearly; Deeply the wood-dove coos; shrilly the

owlet halloos; Winds creep; dews fall chilly: in her

first sleep earth breathes stilly: Over the pools in the burn water-gnats

murmur and mourn. Sadly the far kine loweth : the glimmer

ing water outfloweth : Twin peaks shadow'd with pine slope to

the dark hyaline. Low-throned Hesper is stayed between

the two peaks; but the Naiad Throbbing in mild unrest holds him

beneath in her breast. The ancient poetess singeth, that Hes

perus all things bringeth, Smoothing the wearied mind: bring me

my love, Rosalind. Thou comest morning or

even; she cometh not morning or even. False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my

sweet Rosalind ?

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS

OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND.

O Gon! my God! have mercy now.
I faint, I fall. Men say that Thou
Didst die for me, for such as me,
Patient of ill, and death, and scorn,
And that my sin was as a thorn
Among the thorns that girt Thy brow,
Wounding Thy soul. — That even now,
In this extremest misery

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