Where long and largely we carouse, Or sometimes two would meet in one, Whether the vintage, yet unkept, Or, elbow-deep in sawdust, slept, Or stow'd (when classic Canning died) The gloom of ten Decembers. The Muse, the jolly Muse, it is! She changes with that mood or this, She lit the spark within my throat, To make my blood run quicker, Used all her fiery will, and smote Her life into the liquor. And hence this halo lives about He looks not like the common breed I think he came like Ganymede, The Cock was of a larger egg And cramm'd a plumper crop; A private life was all his joy, A something-pottle-bodied boy That knuckled at the taw: He stoop'd and clutch'd him, fair and good, His brothers of the weather stood But he, by farmstead, thorpe, and spire, A sign to many a staring shire, Right down by smoky Paul's they bore, And one became head-waiter. But whither would my fancy go? One shade more plump than common: I ranged too high: what draws me down Is it the weight of that half-crown, I sit (my empty glass reversed), Half fearful that, with self at strife, Lest of the fulness of my life I leave an empty flask: For I had hope, by something rare, But, while I plan and plan, my hair So fares it since the years began, The truth, that flies the flowing can, And others' follies teach us not, Nor much their wisdom teaches; Ah, let the rusty theme alone! But for my pleasant hour, 'tis gone, 'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt Away from my embraces, And fall'n into the dusty crypt Of darken'd forms and faces. Go, therefore, thou! thy betters went With twisted quirks and happy hits. The tavern-hours of mighty wits,- Hours, when the Poet's words and looke Not yet the fear of little books Had made him talk for show; So mix forever with the past, Like all good things on earth! For should I prize thee, could'st thou last. I hold it good, good things should pass: It is but yonder empty glass Head-waiter of the chop-house here, I too must part: I hold thee dear For this, thou shalt from all things suck But thou wilt never move from hence, Of thirty thousand dinners. We fret, we fume, would shift our skins, Thy care is, under polish'd tins, To serve the hot-and-hot; To come and go, and come again, And watch'd by silent gentlemen, The corners of thine eyes: Live long, nor feel in head or chest Our changeful equinoxes, Till mellow Death, like some late guest, Shall call thee from the boxes. But when he calls, and thou shalt cease And, laying down an unctuous lease Of life, shalt earn no more: No carved cross-bones, the types of Death, то AFTER READING A LIFE AND LETTERS. "Cursed be he that moves my bones." You might have won the Poet's name, But you have made the wiser choice, A life that moves to gracious ends And you have miss'd the irreverent doom Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold "Proclaim the faults he would not show: A song that pleased us from its worth; He gave the people of his best: His worst he kept, his best he gave. Who make it seem more sweet to be LADY CLARE. Ir was the time when lilies blow, I trow they did not part in scorn: "He does not love me for my birth, Nor for my lands so broad and fair: He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well," said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse, Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare "To-morrow he weds with me." "O God be thank'd!" said Alice the nurse, "Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse "The old Earl's daughter died at my breast "Falsely, falsely have ye donc, O mother," she said, "if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun So many years from his due." "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, When you are man and wife." "If I'm a beggar born," she said, "I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the broach of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by." "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse. "But keep the secret all ye can." She said "Not so: but I will know If there be any faith in man." "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, "Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, And bless me, mother, ere I go." She clad herself in a russet gown, The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower. "O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth ?" "If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born," she said, "And not the Lady Clare." ! My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, They reel, they roll in clanging lists, To save from shame and thrall: My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. Me mightier transports move and thrill; When down the stormy crescent goes, I hear a voice, but none are there: The tapers burning fair. Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chants resound between. Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers: I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! My spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And star-like mingles with the stars. When on my goodly charger borne I leave the plain, I climb the height; A maiden knight-to me is given I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams: And, stricken by an angel's hand, The clouds are broken in the sky, Swells up, and shakes and falls. So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail. TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE. ILLYRIAN Woodlands, echoing falls The vast Akrokerauuian walls, Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair, With such a pencil, such a pen, You shadow forth to distant men, I read and felt that I was there: And trust me while I turn'd the page, For me the torrent ever pour'd And glisten'd-here and there alone The broad-limb'd Gods at random thrown By fountain-urns ;-and Naiads oar'd A glimmering shoulder under gloom From him that on the mountain lea By dancing rivulets fed his flocks, To him who sat upon the rocks, And fluted to the morning sea. THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. In her ear he whispers gayly, "If my heart by signs can tell, "There is none I love like thee." Love will make our cottage pleasant, "Let us see these handsome houses Where the wealthy nobles dwell." So she goes by him attended, Hears him lovingly converse, Sees whatever fair and splendid Lay betwixt his home and hers; Parks with oak and chestnut shady, Parks and order'd gardens great, Ancient homes of lord and lady, Built for pleasure and for state. All he shows her makes him dearer : On that cottage growing nearer, O but she will love him truly! He shall have a cheerful home; Than all those she saw before: Bows before him at the door. "All of this is mine and thine." All at once the color flushes Her sweet face from brow to chin: As it were with shame she blushes, And her spirit changed within. Then her countenance all over Pale again as death did prove; But he clasp'd her like a lover, And he cheer'd her soul with love. So she strove against her weakness, And the people loved her much. Unto which she was not born. And he look'd at her and said, |