20. Lady Clare

21. The Lord of Burleigh

22. Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere

23. A Farewell

24. The Beggar Maid

25. The Vision of Sin

233

234

236

239

240

240

241

33. Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington

255.

IDYLLS OF THE KING AND OTHER POEMS

41. Idylls of the King: Enid.

49. Ode at the Opening of Exhibition, 1862

50. A Welcome to Princess Alexandra

151. Experiments of Classic Metres .

464

506

526

559

575

583

585

589

590

591

592

I. No More .

2. The Sea-Fairies

3. As when a Man

4. To Christopher North

APPENDIX

5. The New Timon and the Poets

6

6. But she tarries in her place'

7. Verses from 'Lady of Shalott' (original version)

8. Concluding passage from 'The Lotos Eaters'

PA

5

5

5

5

5

5

"

EARLY AND OCCASIONAL POEMS

(1829-1852)

I

WHAT TIME I WASTED YOUTHFUL HOURS"

WHAT time I wasted youthful hours,
One of the shining wingèd powers

Show'd me vast cliffs, with crowns of towers,

As towards that gracious light I bow'd, They seem'd high palaces and proud, Hid now and then with sliding cloud. He said, "The labour is not small; Yet winds the pathway free to all :Take care thou dost not fear to fall!" Keepsake, 1851.

II

HANDS ALL ROUND

FIRST drink a health, this solemn night,
A health to England, every guest;
That man's the best cosmopolite,
Who loves his native country best.
May Freedom's oak for ever live
With stronger life from day to day;
That man's the true Conservative,
Who lops the moulder'd branch away.
Hands all round!

God the tyrant's hope confound!

To this great cause of freedom drink, my friends,
And the great name of England round and round.

A health to Europe's honest men!

Heaven guard them from her tyrants' jails!
From wrong'd Poerio's noisome den,

From iron'd limbs and tortured nails!
We curse the crimes of southern kings,
The Russian whips and Austrian rods—

B

We, likewise, have our evil things;

Too much we make our Ledgers, Gods.
Yet hands all round!

God the tyrant's cause confound!

To Europe's better health we drink, my friends,
And the great name of England round and round.

What health to France, if France be she,

Whom martial prowess only charms? Yet tell her-Better to be free

Than vanquish all the world in arms. Her frantic city's flashing heats

But fire, to blast, the hopes of men. Why change the titles of your streets? You fools, you'll want them all again. Yet hands all round!

God their tyrant's cause confound!

To France, the wiser France, we drink, my friends, And the great name of England round and round.

Gigantic daughter of the West,

We drink to thee across the flood,
We know thee most, we love thee best,
For art thou not of British blood?
Should war's mad blast again be blown,
Permit not thou the tyrant powers
To fight thy mother here alone,

But let thy broadsides roar with ours.
Hands all round!

God the tyrant's cause confound!

To our great kinsmen of the West, my friends,
And the great name of England round and round.

O rise, our strong Atlantic sons,

When war against our freedom springs!
O speak to Europe thro' your guns!
They can be understood by kings.

You must not mix our Queen with those
That wish to keep their people fools;
Our freedom's foemen are her foes,
She comprehends the race she rules.
Hands all round!

God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our dear kinsmen of the West, my friends,

And the great cause of freedom round and round. Examiner, Feb. 7, 1852.

III

THREE EARLY SONNETS

66

I. CHECK EVERY OUTFLASH."

CHECK every outflash, every ruder sally

Of thought and speech; speak low, and give up wholly
Thy spirit to mild-minded Melancholy;

This is the place. Through yonder poplar alley,
Below, the blue-green river windeth slowly;
But in the middle of the sombre valley,
The crispèd waters whisper musically,
And all the haunted place is dark and holy.
The nightingale, with long and low preamble,
Warbled from yonder knoll of solemn larches,
And in and out the woodbine's flowery arches
The summer midges wove their wanton gambol,
And all the white-stemmed pinewood slept above-
When in this valley first I told my love.

Englishman's Magazine, August, 1831.

66

II. ME MY OWN FATE TO LASTING SORROW DOOMETH."

ME my own Fate to lasting sorrow doometh :
Thy woes are birds of passage, transitory :
Thy spirit, circled with a living glory,
In summer still a summer joy resumeth.
Alone my hopeless melancholy gloometh,
Like a lone cypress, through the twilight hoary,
From an old garden where no flower bloometh,
One cypress on an inland promontory.
But yet my lonely spirit follows thine,

As round the rolling earth night follows day:
But yet thy lights on my horizon shine
Into my night, when thou art far away.
I am so dark, alas! and thou so bright,
When we two meet there's never perfect light.
Friendship's Offering, 1832.

III. "THERE ARE THREE THINGS."

THERE are three things which fill my heart with sighs,
And steep my soul in laughter (when I view
Fair maiden-forms moving like melodies)

Dimples, roselips, and eyes of any hue.

There are three things beneath the blessed skies
For which I live, black eyes and brown and blue :