Oldalképek
PDF
ePub
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

HE thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak,

Madman!-to chain with chains, and bind with bands

That island queen that sways the floods and lands

From Ind to Ind, but in fair daylight woke,

When from her wooden walls, lit by sure hands,

With thunders, and with lightnings, and with smoke,

Peal after peal, the British battle broke,

Lulling the brine against the Coptic sands.

We taught him lowlier moods, when Elsinore

Heard the war moan along the distant

sea,

Rocking with shattered spars, with sudden fires

Flamed over: at Trafalgar yet once

more

We taught him: late he learned humility

Perforce, like those whom Gideon schooled with briers.

[blocks in formation]

But were I loved, as I desire to be, What is there in the great sphere of the earth,

And range of evil between death and birth;

That I should fear,-if I were loved by thee?

All the inner, all the outer world of pain

Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine,

As I have heard that, somewhere in the main,

Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.

'Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand-inhand with thee,

To wait for death-mute-careless of all ills,

[blocks in formation]

THE North-wind fall'n, in the newstarréd night

Zidonian Hanno, voyaging beyond
The hoary promontory of Soloë
Past Thymiaterion, in calméd bays,
Between the southern and the western
Horn,

Heard neither warbling of the nightingale,

Nor melody of the Libyan lotus flute Blown seaward from the shore; but from a slope

That ran bloom-bright into the Atlantic blue, Beneath a highland leaning down a weight

Of cliffs, and zoned below with cedar shade,

Came voices, like the voices in a dream,

[blocks in formation]

eye.

Father, twinkle not thy steadfast sight: Continuous, till he reached the outer Kingdoms lapse, and climates change,

sea.

SONG.

I.

and races die;

Honor comes with mystery;

Hoarded wisdom brings delight. Number, tell them over and number How many the mystic fruit-tree holds

The golden apple, the golden apple, Lest the red-combed dragon slumber

the hallowed fruit,

Guard it well, guard it warily,

Singing airily.

Standing about the charméd root.
Round about all is mute,

As the snow-field on the mountainpeaks,

As the sand-field at the mountain-foot. Crocodiles in briny creeks

Rolled together in purple folds. Look to him, father, lest he wink, and the golden apple be stol'n away, For his ancient heart is drunk with overwatchings night and day, Round about the hallowed fruit-tree curled

Sing away, sing aloud evermore in the wind, without stop,

[blocks in formation]

Holy and bright, round and full, bright and blest,

Mellowed in a land of rest;
Watch it warily day and night;
All good things are in the west.
Till mid noon the cool east light
Is shut out by the tall hillbrow;
But when the full-faced sunset yellowly
Stays on the flowering arch of the
bough,

The luscious fruitage clustereth mellowly,

Golden-kernelled, golden-cored,
Sunset-ripened above on the tree.
The world is wasted with fire and
sword,

But the apple of gold hangs over the

[blocks in formation]

The sunlight driving down the lea,
The leaping stream, the very wind,
That will not stay, upon his way,
To stoop the cowslip to the plains,
Is not so clear and bold and free
As you, my falcon Rosalind.
You care not for another's pains,
Because you are the soul of joy,
Bright metal all without alloy.
Life shoots and glances thro' your
veins,

And flashes off a thousand ways
Through lips and eyes in subtle rays.
Your hawkeyes are keen and bright,
Keen with triumph, watching still
To pierce me through with pointed
light;

But oftentimes they flash and glitter
Like sunshine on a dancing rill,
And your words are seeming-bitter,
Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter
From excess of swift delight.

III.

Come down, come home, my Rosalind,
My gay young hawk, my Rosalind :
Too long you keep the upper skies;
Too long you roam and wheel at will:
But we must hood your random eyes;
That care not whom they kill,
And your cheek, whose brilliant hue
Is so sparkling-fresh to view,
Some red heath-flower in the dew,
Touched with sunrise. We must bind
And keep you fast, my Rosalind,
Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind,
And clip your wings, and make you
love :

When we have lured you from above,
And that delight of frolic flight, by day

or night,

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Is one of those who know no strife
Of inward woe or outward fear;
To whom the slope and stream of Life,
The life before, the life behind,
In the ear, from far and near,
Chimeth musically clear.
My falcon-hearted Rosalind,
Full-sailed before a vigorous wind,
Is one of those who cannot weep
For others' woes, but overleap
All the petty shocks and fears
That trouble life in early years,
With a flash of frolic scorn
And keen delight, that never falls
Away from freshness, self-upborne
With such gladness as, whenever
The fresh-flushing springtime calls
To the flooding waters cool,
Young fishes, on an April morn,
Up and down a rapid river,
Leap the little waterfalls
That sing into the pebbled pool,
My happy falcon, Rosalind,
Hath daring fancies of her own,
Fresh as the dawn before the day.
Fresh as the early sea-smell blown
Through vineyards from an inland bay.
My Rosalind, my Rosalind,
Because no shadow on you falls,
Think you hearts are tennis balls
To play with, wanton Rosalind?

« ElőzőTovább »