VII.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,

To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:

40 The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,—
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.

SONNETS

CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON

I think we are too ready with complaint
In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope

Of yon grey blank of sky, we might grow faint 5 To muse upon eternity's constraint

Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope
Must widen early, is it well to droop,

For a few days consumed in loss and taint?
O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted

10 And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road,
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod
To meet the flints? At least it may be said,
"Because the way is short, I thank thee, God."

THE PROSPECT

Methinks we do as fretful children do,
Leaning their faces on the window-pane

To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's
stain,

And shut the sky and landscape from their view: 5 And thus, alas, since God the maker drew A mystic separation 'twixt those twain, The life beyond us, and our souls in pain,

We miss the prospect which we are called unto By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong, 10 O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong

That so, as life's appointment issueth,

Thy vision may be clear to watch along
The sunset consummation-lights of death.

WORK

What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil; Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. 5 God did anoint thee with His odorous oil, To wrestle, not to reign; and He assigns All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, For younger fellow-workers of the soil To wear for amulets. So others shall

10 Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand, From thy hand and thy heart and thy brave cheer, And God's grace fructify through thee to all. The least flower, with a brimming cup may stand, And share its dew-drop with another near.

(From Sonnets from the Portuguese, 1850)

I.

I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: 5 And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, 10 So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,-
"Guess now who holds thee?"- 66 Death," I said.
But, there,

The silver answer rang,-" Not Death, but Love."

VI.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door

Of individual life, I shall command
5 The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,

Without the sense of that which I forboreThy touch upon the palm. The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine 10 With pulses that beat double. What I do

And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

XXXV.

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange, 5 When I look up, to drop on a new range

Of walls and floors, another home than this? Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change? That's hardest. If to conquer love, has tried, 10 To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove;

For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me-wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.

XLIII.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being, and ideal Grace.
5 I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use

10 In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!-and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Charles kingsley

1819-1875

SONG

(From The Saint's Tragedy, 1848)

Oh! that we two were Maying

Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with violets playing

In the shade of the whispering trees.

5 Oh! that we two sat dreaming

On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down
Watching the white mist steaming

Over river and mead and town.

Oh! that we two lay sleeping

10 In our nest in the churchyard sod,

With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast,
And our souls at home with God.

5

THE THREE FISHERS

(1851)

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down;

Each thought on the woman who loved him the

best,

And the children stood watching them out of

the town,

For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went
down;

10 They looked at the squall, and they looked at the

shower,

And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and

brown.

But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbour bar be moaning.

15 Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands

For those who will never come home to the town;