The, Sultán rises, and the dark Ferrásh1 Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

XLVI

And fear not lest Existence closing your Account, and mine, should know the like no

more;

The Eternal Sákí from that Bowl has pour'd Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

XLVII

When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,

Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

XLVIII

A Moment's Halt a momentary taste
Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste-
And Lo!-the phantom Caravan has reach 'd
The NOTHING it set out from-Oh, make haste!

XLIX

Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About THE SECRET-quick about it, Friend!
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True-
And upon what, prithee, does life depend?

Of This and That endeavour and dispute; Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

LV

You know, my Friends, with what a brave

Carouse

I made a Second Marriage in my house; Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

LVI

For "Is" and "Is-NOT'' though with Rule and
Line,

And "UP-AND-DOWN" by Logic I define,
Of all that one should care to fathom, I
Was never deep in anything but-Wine.

LVII

Ah, but my Computations, People say,
Reduced the Year to better reckoning?5-Nay,
'Twas only striking from the Calendar
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.

LVIII

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air As not a True-believer passing by But shall be overtaken unaware.

XCIII

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done my credit in this World much

wrong:

Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup,

And sold my Reputation for a Song.

XCIV

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before

I swore-but was I sober when I swore?

Where I made One-turn down an empty

Glass!

TAMAM15

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH

(1819-1861)

IN A LECTURE-ROOM

hand

My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

XCV

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour-Well,
I wonder often what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.

XCVI

Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!

That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!

The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

XCVII

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield One glimpse-if dimly, yet indeed, reveal 'd, To which the fainting Traveller might spring, As springs the trampled herbage of the field.

XCVIII

Would but some wingéd Angel ere too late Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,

And make the stern Recorder otherwise Enregister, or quite obliterate!

XCIX

Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things Entire, Would not we shatter it to bits-and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's desire!

C

Yon rising Moon that looks for us againHow oft hereafter will she wax and wane;

vain!

CI

And when like her, oh Sákí, you shall pass

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,

And in your joyous errand reach the spot

To that, and your own selves, be true.

But O blithe breeze! and O great seas,
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past,
On your wide plain they join again,
Together lead them home at last.

One port, methought, alike they sought,
One purpose hold where'er they fare,-
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas!
At last, at last, unite them there!

SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT
AVAILETH

Say not the struggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.t

And not by eastern windows only,

When daylight comes, comes in the light, In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright.

ITE DOMUM SATURE, VENIT
HESPERUS‡

24

Cold, dreary cold, the stormy winds feel they
O'er foreign lands and foreign seas that strav
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie).

And doth he e'er, I wonder, bring to mind
The pleasant huts and herds he left behind? 20
And doth he sometimes in his slumbering see
The feeding kine, and doth he think of me,
My sweetheart wandering wheresoe'er it be?
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.

The thunder bellows far from snow to snow
(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La
Palie),

And loud and louder roars the flood below.
Heigho! but soon in shelter shall we be:
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.

30

The skies have sunk, and hid the upper snow
(Home, Rose, and home. Provence and La
Palie1),

The rainy clouds are filing fast below,
And wet will be the path, and wet shall we.
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.

Ah dear, and where is he, a year agone,
Who stepped beside and cheered us on and on?
My sweetheart wanders far away from me,
In foreign land or on a foreign sea,
Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.
The lightning zigzags shoot across the sky

9

(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie),

And through the vale the rains go sweeping by; Ah me, and when in shelter shall we be?

Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. 1 "The Pale One" a name of obvious significance,

like "Blanche" or "Brindle."

† "Perhaps Clough's greatest title to poetic fame is this exquisite and exquisitely expressed image of the rising tide."-George Saintsbury. "Go home, now that you have fed, evening

comes." Virgil, Eclog. x, 77.