TO H. F. BROWN (Written during a dangerous sickness) I SIT and wait a pair of oars On cis-Elysian river-shores. Where the immortal dead have sate, Without remorse, without regret; And lo, as my serener soul 1Life on the Lagoons, by H. F. Brown, originally burned in the fire at Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.'s. Whereon, despite my frowning fate, That all my fancies fled away Now, thanks to your triumphant care, Your pages clear as April air, The sails, the bells, the birds, I know, And the far-off Friulan snow; The land and sea, the sun and shade, For this, for these, for all, O friend, Perchance, reviving, yet may I D' TO ANDREW LANG EAR Andrew, with the brindled hair, Who glory to have thrown in air, And you again see hill and peel, With sound of happy mirth and sheen Still like a brook your page has shone, IN ET TU IN ARCADIA VIXISTI (TO R. A. M. S.) N ancient tales, O friend, thy spirit dwelt; There, from of old, thy childhood passed; and there High expectation, high delights and deeds, Thy fluttering heart with hope and terror moved. And thou hast heard of yore the Blatant Beast, And Roland's horn, and that war-scattering shout Of all-unarmed Achilles, ægis-crowned. And perilous lands thou sawest, sounding shores And seas and forests drear, island and dale And mountain dark. For thou with Tris tram rod'st Or Bedevere, in farthest Lyonesse. Thou hadst a booth in Samarcand, whereat |