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. 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, THE North-wind fall'n, in the newstarréd night Zidonian Hanno, voyaging beyond 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, 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. 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, Holy and bright, round and full, bright and blest, Mellowed in a land of rest; The luscious fruitage clustereth mellowly, Golden-kernelled, golden-cored, But the apple of gold hangs over the The sunlight driving down the lea, And flashes off a thousand ways But oftentimes they flash and glitter III. Come down, come home, my Rosalind, When we have lured you from above, or night, Is one of those who know no strife |