VII. But since I heard him make reply Is many a weary hour; 'Twere well to question him, and try If yet he keeps the power. VIII. Hail, hidden to the knees in fern, Broad oak of Sumner-chace, Whose topmost branches can discern The roofs of Sumner-place! IX. Say thou, whereon I carved her name, If ever maid or spouse, As fair as my Olivia, came To rest beneath thy boughs ? X. “O Walter, I have sheltered here Whatever maiden grace The good old Summers, year by year, Made ripe in Sumner-chace : XI. 6 Old Summers, when the monk was fat, And, issuing shorn and sleek, Would twist his girdle tight, and pat The girls upon the cheek, XII. “ Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence, And numbered bead, and shrift, Blufl' llarry broke into the spence, And turned the cowls adrift: XIII. " And I have seen some score of those Fresh faces, that would thrive When his man-minded offset rose To chase the deer at five; XIV. “ And all that from the town would stroll, Till that wild wind made work, In which the gloomy brewer's soul Went by me, like a stork: XV. “ The slight she-slips of loyal blood, And others, passing praise, Strait-laced, but all-too-full in bud For puritanic stays: XVI. “ And I have shadowed many a group Of beauties, that were born Or while the patch was worn; XVII. “ And, leg and arm with love-knots gay, About me leaped and laughed The modish Cupid of the day, And shrilled his tinsel shaft. XVIII. “I swear (and else may insects prick Each leaf into a gall) Is three times worth them all ; XIX. “ For those and theirs, by Nature's law, Have faded long ago ; Your own Olivia blow, XX. “ From when she gambolled on the greens, A baby-germ, to when Could number five from ten. XXI. “I swear, by leaf, and wind, and rain, (And hear me with thine ears,) That, though I circle in the grain Five hundred rings of years, XXII. “ Yet, since I first could cast a shade, Did never creature pass So slightly, musically made, So light upon the grass : XXIII. “For as to fairies, that will flit To make the greensward fresh, I hold them exquisitely knit, But far too spare of flesh.” XXIV. And overlook the chace; The roofs of Sumner-place. XXV. That oft hast heard my vows, To sport beneath thy boughs. XXVI. “ yesterday, you know, the fair Was holden at the town; Her father left his good arm-chair, And rode his hunter down. XXVII. " And with him Albert came on his. I looked at him with joy: As cowslip unto oxlip is, So seems she to the boy. XXVIII. An hour had past—and, sitting straight Within the low-wheeled chaise, Her mother trundled to the gate Behind the dappled grays. XXIX. “ But, as for her, she stayed at home, And on the roof she went, She looked with discontent. XXX. “ She left the novel half-uncut Upon the rosewood shelf; She left the new piano shut: She could not please herself. XXXI. “ Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, And livelier than a lark She sent her voice through all the holt Before her, and the park. XXXII. “ A light wind chased her on the wing, And in the chase grew wild, About the darling child: XXXIII. “ But light as any wind that blows So fleetly did she stir, The flower, she touched on, dipt and rose, And turned to look at her. XXXIV. “ And here she came, and round me played, And sang to me the whole About my.giant bole;' XXXV. * And in a fit of frolic mirth She strove to span my waist : Alas, I was so broad of girth, I could not be embraced. XXXVI. “I wished myself the fair young beech That here beside me stands, She might have locked her hands. XXXVII. “ Yet secmed the pressure thrice as sweet As woodbine's fragile hold, Or when I feel about my feet The berried briony fold.” XXXVIII. O muffle round thy knces with fern, And shadow Sumner-chace ! The roofs of Sumner-place! XXXIX. But tell me, did she read the name I carved with many vows, |