11.

When in the darkness over me

The four-handed mole shall scrape, Plant thou no dusky cypress-tree, Nor wreathe thy cap with doleful crape, But pledge me in the flowing grape.

And when the sappy field and wood

Grow green beneath the showery gray, And rugged barks begin to bud, And thro' damp holts new-flush'd with May,

Ring sudden scritches of the jay,

Then let wise Nature work her will,
And on my clay her darnel grow;
Come only, when the days are still,
And at my headstone whisper low,
And tell me if the woodbines blow.

EARLY SONNETS.

I.

TO

As when with downcast eyes we muse and
brood,
And ebb into a former life, or seem
To lapse far back in some confused dream
To states of mystical similitude;
If one but speaks or hems or stirs his chair,
Ever the wonder waxeth more and more,
So that we say, 'All this hath been before,
All this hath been, I know not when or
where.'

So, friend, when first I look'd upon your face,

Our thought gave answer each to each, so

true

Opposed mirrors each reflecting each That tho' I knew not in what time or place, Methought that I had often met with you, And either lived in either's heart and

speech.

II.

TO J. M. K.

My hope and heart is with thee - thou wilt be

A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest

To scare church-harpies from the master's

feast;

Our dusted velvets have much need of thee: Thou art no Sabbath-drawler of old saws, Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily;

But spurr'd at heart with fieriest energy To embattail and to wall about thy cause With iron-worded proof, hating to hark The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone Half God's good sabbath, while the wornout clerk

Brow-beats his desk below. Thou from a throne

Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark

Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark.

111.

MINE be the strength of spirit, full and free, Like some broad river rushing down alone, With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was thrown

From his loud fount upon the echoing lea: Which with increasing might doth forward flee

By town, and tower, and hill, and cape,
and isle,
And in the middle of the green salt sea
Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a
mile.

Mine be the power which ever to its sway
Will win the wise at once, and by degrees
May into uncongenial spirits flow;
Ev'n as the warm gulf-stream of Florida
Floats far away into the Northern seas
The lavish growths of southern Mexico.

IV.

ALEXANDER.

WARRIOR of God, whose strong right arm debased

The throne of Persia, when her Satrap

bled At Issus by the Syrian gates, or fled Beyond the Memmian naphtha-pits, disgraced

For ever - thee (thy pathway sand

erased)
Gliding with equal crowns two serpents led
Joyful to that palm-planted fountain-fed
Ammonian Oasis in the waste.

There in a silent shade of laurel brown
Apart the Chamian Oracle divine
Shelter'd his unapproached mysteries:
High things were spoken there, unhanded
down;

Only they saw thee from the secret shrine Returning with hot cheek and kindled eyes.

V.

BUONAPARTE.

He thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak, Madman!-to chain with chains, and bind with bands

That island queen who sways the floods and lands

From Ind to Ind, but in fair daylight woke, When from her wooden walls, - lit by sure hands,

With thunders, and with lightnings, and with smoke,

Peal after peal, the British battle broke, Lulling the brine against the Coptic sands. We taught him lowlier moods, when El

sinore

Heard the war moan along the distant sea, Rocking with shatter'd spars, with sud

den fires

Flamed over: at Trafalgar yet once more We taught him: late he learned humility Perforce, like those whom Gideon school'd

with briers.

VI.

POLAND.

How long, O God, shall men be ridden down,

And trampled under by the last and least Of men? The heart of Poland hath not ceased

To quiver, tho' her sacred blood doth drown The fields, and out of every smouldering

town

Cries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased,

Till that o'ergrown Barbarian in the East Transgress his ample bound to some new

crown:

Cries to Thee, Lord, how long shall these things be?

How long this icy-hearted Muscovite Oppress the region?' Us, O Just and Good,

Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three;

Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right

A matter to be wept with tears of blood!

VII.

CARESS'D or chidden by the slender hand, And singing airy trifles this or that, Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand,

And run thro' every change of sharp and flat; And Fancy came and at her pillow sat, When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band,

And chased away the still-recurring gnat, And woke her with a lay from fairy land. But now they live with Beauty less and less,

For Hope is other Hope and wanders far, Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds; And Fancy watches in the wilderness, Poor Fancy sadder than a single star, That sets at twilight in a land of reeds.

VIII.

THE form, the form alone is eloquent!
A nobler yearning never broke her rest
Than but to dance and sing, be gaily
drest,

And win all eyes with all accomplish

ment:

Yet in the whirling dances as we went, My fancy made me for a moment blest To find my heart so near the beauteous breast

That once had power to rob it of content. A moment came the tenderness of tears, The phantom of a wish that once could move,

A ghost of passion that no smiles reFor ah! the slight coquette, she cannot love,

Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.

'Twere joy, not fear, claspt hand-in-hand with thee,

To wait for death- mute careless of all ills,

Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge Of some new deluge from a thousand hills Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge

Below us, as far on as eye could see.

XI.

THE BRIDESMAID.

see;

Ο BRIDESMAID, ere the happy knot was tied, Thine eyes so wept that they could hardly Thy sister smiled and said, 'No tears for me! A happy bridesmaid makes a happy bride.' And then, the couple standing side by side,

Love lighted down between them full of glee,

And over his left shoulder laugh'd at thee,

'O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride.' And all at once a pleasant truth I learn'd, For while the tender service made thee weep,

I loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide, And prest thy hand, and knew the press return'd, And thought, 'My life is sick of single sleep: O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride!'

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

PART I.

ON either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver'
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot :
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.'

PART 11.

THERE she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot:

There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot:
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:'
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights

And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott.

PART III.

A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily

As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra,' by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott.

PART IV.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complain-

ing,

Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;

Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance
With a glassy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right -
The leaves upon her falling light-
Thro' the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.