Clear and bright it should be ever, Flowing like a crystal river ; Bright as light, and clear as wind.

THE SEA-FAIRIES,

II.

Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear ;

All the place is holy ground;
Hollow smile and frozen sneer

Come not here.
Holy water will I pour

Into every spicy flower
Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around.
The flowers would faint at your cruel

cheer. In your eye there is death, There is frost in your breath Which would blight the plants. Where you stand you cannot hear

From the groves within

The wild-bird's din. In the heart of the garden the merry bird

chants, It would fall to the ground if you came

in.
In the middle leaps a fountain

Like sheet lightning,

Ever brightening
With a low melodious thunder;
All day and all night it is ever drawn

From the brain of the purple mountain

Which stands in the distance yonder : It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven

above, And it sings a song of undying love; And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and

full, You never would hear it ; your ears are

so dull; So keep where you are : you are foul

with sin; It would shrink to the earth if you came

Whither away, whither away, whither

away? fly no more. Whither away from the high green field.

and the happy blossoming shore? Day and night to the billow the fountain

calls : Down shower the gambolling waterfalls From wandering over the lea: Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white bells the clover-hill

swells High over the full-toned sea : O hither, come hither and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me : Hither, come hither and frolic and play ; Here it is only the mew that wails; We will sing to you all the day : Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dales, And merrily, merrily carol the gales, And the spangle dances in bight and

bay, And the rainbow forms and flies on the

land Over the islands free; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the

sand; Hither, come hither and see ;

15

Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell ;

But in a city glorious-
A great and distant city-have bought

A mansion incorruptible. Would they could have stayed with us !

And the rainbow hangs on the poising

wave, And sweet is the colour of cove and cave, And sweet shall your welcome be : 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 DYING SWAN.

THE plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere

An under-roof of doleful gray.
With an inner voice the river ran,
Adown it floated a dying swan,

And loudly did lament.
It was the middle of the day.
Ever the weary wind went on,

And took the reed-tops as it went.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

LIFE and Thought have gone away

Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they !

II. All within is dark as night : In the windows is no light ; And no murmur at the door, So frequent on its hinge before.

11.
Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
And white against the cold-white sky,
Shone out their crowning snows,

One willow over the river wept,
And shook the wave as the wind did sigh ;
Above in the wind was the swallow,

Chasing itself at its own wild will,
And far thro' the marish green and

still

The tangled water-courses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

III. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow : at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; And floating about the under-sky, Prevailing in weakness, the coronach

stole

III.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or thro' the windows we shall see

The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark deserted house.

iv.

Come away: no more of mirth

Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth,

And shall fall again to ground.

III.

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; Chaunteth not the brooding bee Sweeter tones than calumny?

Let them rave. Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;
As when a mighty people rejoice
With shawms, and with cymbals, and

harps of gold,
And the tumult of their acclaim is rollid
Thro' the open gates of the city afar,
To the shepherd who watcheth the even-

ing star. And the creeping mosses and clambering

weeds, And the willow-branches hoar and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing

reeds, And the wave-worn horns of the echoing

bank, And the silvery marish - flowers that

throng The desolate creeks and pools among, Were flooded over with eddying song.

IV. Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; The woodbine and eglatere Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.

Let them rave. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale.

Let them rave.
These in every shower creep
Thro' the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

A DIRGE.

Now is done thy long day's work ;
Fold thy palms across thy breast,
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.

Let them rave.
Shadows of the silver birk
Sweep the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

vi. The gold-eyed kingcups fine ; The frail bluebell peereth over Rare broidry of the purple clover.

Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

11.

VII.

Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; Nothing but the small cold worm Fretteth thine enshrouded form.

Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

Wild words wander here and there :
God's great gift of speech abused
Makes thy memory confused :

But let them rave.
The balm-cricket carols clear
In the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.