"Mariana in the moated grange." MARIANA. Measure for Measure. WITH blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the gardenwall. [strange : The broken sheds look'd sad and Unlifted was the clinking latch: Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, “My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!" Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried : She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; Upon the middle of the night, crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change, In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, " The day is dreary, About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark : For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray. 9 She only said, “My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!" And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell She only said, "The night is dreary, All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creak'd; The blue fly sung in the pane; the [shriek'd, Behind the mouldering wainscot Or from the crevice peered about. mouse Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without. She only said, "My life is dreary, The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moated sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then said she, "I am very dreary, He will not come," she said; She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, O God, that I were dead!" A subtle, sudden flame, About thee breaks and dances; O'erflows thy calmer glances, Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest; The citron-shadows in the blue : Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard The outlet, did I turn away The boat-head down a broad canal Adown to where the water slept. A motion from the river won Of good Haroun Alraschid. In marvel whence that glory came Right to the carven cedarn doors, After the fashion of the time, Of good Haroun Alraschid. The fourscore windows all alight To celebrate the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone; The sweetest lady of the time, Six columns, three on either side, Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, Sole star of all that place and time, ODE TO MEMORY. I. THOU who stealest fire, From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present; oh, haste, Visit my low desire! Strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. 2. Come not as thou camest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; but robed in soften'd light Of orient state. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, When she, as thou, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight [shoots Of overflowing blooms, and earliest Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits, Which in wintertide shall star The black earth will brilliance rare. Come forth I charge thee, arise, Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes! [ing vines Thou comest not with shows of flauntUnto mine inner eye, Divinest Memory! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried: Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side, The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father's door, And chiefly from the brook that loves Whilome thou camest with the morning To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed mist, 3. And with the evening cloud, sand, Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my Drawing into his narrow earthen urn, open breast, In every elbow and turn, |