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 Of cliffs, and zoned below with cedar shade, Came voices, like the voices in a dream, Continuous, till he reached the outer sea.

SONG

I

The golden apple, the golden apple, the hal

lowed 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,

Dropping the eyelid over the eyes.
If the golden apple be taken,
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 fringed with even and dawn.

Hesper hateth Phosphor, evening hateth morn.

IV

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;

But when the full-faced sunset yellowly
Stays on the flowering arch of the bough,
The luscious fruitage clustereth mellowly,
Golden-kernelled, golden-cored,
Sunset-ripened above on the tree.

The world is wasted with fire and sword,
But the apple of gold hangs over the sea.
Five links, a golden chain are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,
Daughters three,

Bound about

AUTHOR'S NOTE. Perhaps the following lines may be allowed to stand as a separate poem; originally they made part of the text, where they were manifestly superfluous.

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?

Written in 1830. See Notes.

THEREFORE your Halls, your ancient Colleges,
Your portals statued with old kings and queens,
Your gardens, myriad-volumed libraries,
Wax-lighted chapels, and rich carven screens,

WHERE is the Giant of the Sun, which stood
In the midnoon the glory of old Rhodes,
A perfect Idol with profulgent brows
Far sheening down the purple seas to those
Who sailed from Mizraim underneath the star
Named of the Dragon- and between whose
limbs

Of brassy vastness broad-blown Argosies
Drave into haven? Yet endure unscathed
Of changeful cycles the great Pyramids
Broad-based amid the fleeting sands, and sloped
Into the slumberous summer noon; but where,
Mysterious Egypt, are thine obelisks
Graven with gorgeous emblems undiscerned?
Thy placid Sphinxes brooding o'er the Nile?
Thy shadowing Idols in the colitudes,
Awful Memnonian countenances calm
Looking athwart the burning flats, far off

Contributed to 'The Englishman's Maga zine for August, 1831; and reprinted in Friendship's Offering,' 1833.

CHECK every outflash, every ruder sally

Of thought and speech; speak low, and give up wholly

Thy spirit to mild-minded Melancholy; This is the place. Through yonder poplar alley

Below the blue-green river windeth slowly; But in the middle of the sombre valley The crispéd waters whisper musically,

And all the haunted place is dark and holy. The nightingale, with long and low preamble, Warbled from yonder knoll of solemn larches, And in and out the woodbine's flowery arches The summer midges wove their wanton gambol.

And all the white-stemmed pinewood slept above

When in this valley first I told my love.

WHAT time I wasted youthful hours,
One of the shining winged powers,
Show'd me vast cliffs with crown of towers.

As towards the gracious light I bow'd, They seem'd high palaces and proud, Hid now and then with sliding cloud.

He said, 'The labor is not small;
Yet winds the pathway free to all: -
Take care thou dost not fear to fall!'

BRITONS, GUARD YOUR OWN

Contributed to 'The Examiner,' January 31,

1852.

RISE, Britons, rise, if manhood be not dead;
The world's last tempest darkens overhead;
The Pope has bless'd him;
The Church caress'd him;
He triumphs; maybe we shall stand alone.
Britons, guard your own.

His ruthless host is bought with plunder'd gold,
By lying priests the peasants' votes controll'd.
All freedom vanish'd,
The true men banish'd,
He triumphs; maybe we shall stand alone.
Britons, guard your own.

Peace-lovers we -sweet Peace we all desire
Peace-lovers we- - but who can trust a liar?
Peace-lovers, haters

And murder was her freedom overthrown.

Britons, guard your own.

Vive l'Empereur' may follow by and by; 'God save the Queen' is here a truer cry.

God save the Nation,

The toleration,

ADDITIONAL VERSES

To God Save the Queen!' written for the marriage of the Princess Royal of England with the Crown Prince of Prussia, January 25, 1858. God bless our Prince and Bride! God keep their lands allied,

God save the Queen!
Clothe them with righteousness,
Crown them with happiness,
Them with all blessings bless,

God save the Queen!

Fair fall this hallow'd hour,
Farewell, our England's flower,
God save the Queen!
Farewell, first rose of May!
Let both the peoples say,
God bless thy marriage-day,
God bless the Queen!

THE WAR

THERE is a sound of thunder afar,

Storm in the South that darkens the day! Storm of battle and thunder of war! Well if it do not roll our way.

Form! form! Riflemen, form! Ready, be ready to meet the storm! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen, form! Be not deaf to the sound that warns! Be not gull'd by a despot's plea ! Are figs of thistles, or grapes of thorns? How should a despot set men Free? Form! form! Riflemen, form!