Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dales, And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, O hither, come hither, and be our lords, For merry brides are we! We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee ! O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the sharp, clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea! Who can light on as happy a shore All the world o'er, all the world o'er ? Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner fly no more. THE DESERTED HOUSE. I. LIFE and Thought have gone away Side by side, Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they! II. All within is dark as night: III. Close the door, the shutters close, Of the dark, deserted house. IV. Come away; no more of mirth Is here or merry-making sound. V. Come away; for Life and Thought But in a city glorious A great and distant city-have bought Would they could have stayed with us. EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE. O ME, my pleasant rambles by the lake, Of city life! I was a sketcher then; See here, my doing: curves of mountain, bridge, When men knew how to build, upon a rock, O me! my pleasant rambles by the lake With Edwin Morris and with Edward Bull, The curate; he was fatter than his cure. But Edwin Morris, he that knew the names, And once I asked him of his early life, 66 My love for Nature is as old as I; But thirty moons, one honeymoon to that, And three rich sennights more, my love for her. To some full music rose and sank the sun, Or this or something like to this he spoke. Then said the fat-faced curate, Edward Bull, "I take it, God made the woman for the man, And for the good and increase of the world. A pretty face is well, and this is well, To have a dame indoors that trims us up, And keeps us tight; but these unreal ways Seem but the theme of writers, and, indeed, "Parson," said I, "you pitch the pipe too low; "Give? Give all thou art," he answered, and a light Were not his words delicious, I a beast "Friend Edwin, do not think yourself alone I have, I think,-Heaven knows,-as much within; Or something of a wayward modern mind So spoke I, knowing not the things that were. Then said the fat-faced curate, Edward Bull: "God made the woman for the use of man, And for the good and increase of the world." And I and Edwin laughed; and now we paused About the windings of the marge to hear The soft wind blowing over meadowy holms And alders, garden-isles; and now we left The clerk behind us, I and he, and ran By ripply shallows of the lisping lake, Delighted with the freshness and the sound. But, when the bracken rusted on their crags, My suit had withered, nipt to death by him That was a God, and is a lawyer's clerk, The rent-roll Cupid of our rainy isles. 'Tis true we met; one hour I had, no more, She sent a note, the seal an Elle vous suit, The close "Your Letty, only yours;" and this Thrice underscored. The friendly mist of morn Clung to the lake. I boated over, ran My craft aground, and heard with beating heart The Sweet-Gale rustle round the shelving keel; And out I stept, and up I crept; she moved, Like Proserpine in Enna, gathering flowers; Then low and sweet I whistled thrice; and she, She turned, we closed, we kissed, swore faith, I breathed In some new planet; a silent cousin stole Upon us and departed. "Leave," she cried, O leave me!" 66 Never, dearest, never; here |