And briony-vine and ivy-wreath Ran forward to his rhyming, And from the valleys underneath Came little copses climbing. The linden broke her ranks and rent The woodbine wreaths that bind her, And down the middle buzz! she went With all her bees behind her: The poplars, in long order due, With cypress promenaded, The shock-head willows two and two By rivers gallopaded. Came wet-shot alder from the wave, Came yews, a dismal coterie; Each pluck'd his one foot from the grave, Poussetting with a sloe-tree: Old elms came breaking from the vine, The vine stream'd out to follow, And, sweating rosin, plump'd the pine From many a cloudy hollow. And was n't it a sight to see, When, ere his song was ended, As dash'd about the drunken leaves O, nature first was fresh to men, You moved her at your pleasure. Twang out, my fiddle! shake the twigs! And make her dance attendance; Blow, flute, and stir the stiff-set sprigs, And scirrhous roots and tendons. 'Tis vain! in such a brassy age I could not move a thistle; The very sparrows in the hedge Scarce answer to my whistle; Or at the most, when three-parts-sick With strumming and with scraping, A jackass heehaws from the rick, The passive oxen gaping. But what is that I hear? a sound Like sleepy counsel pleading; O Lord! 't is in my neighbor's ground, And Works on Gardening thro' there, And Methods of transplanting trees, By squares of tropic summer shut But these, tho' fed with careful dirt, That blows upon its mountain, Beside its native fountain. And I must work thro' months of toil, To grow my own plantation. ST. AGNES' EVE. DEEP on the convent-roof the snows As these white robes are soil'd and dark, As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round; So shows my soul before the Lamb, So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Thro' all yon starlight keen, He lifts me to the goiden doors; For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, One sabbath deep and wide- SIR GALAHAD. My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The horse and rider reel : And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend To save from shame and thrall: I never felt the kiss of love, A virgin heart in work and will. When down the stormy crescent goes, A light before me swims, I hear a voice, but none are there; The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chants resound between. Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers: I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail : With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! My spirit beats her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides, And star-like mingles with the stars. When on my goodly charger borne Thro' dreaming towns I go, The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, The streets are dumb with snow. The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. A maiden knight-to me is given I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven I muse on joy that will not cease, Whose odors haunt my dreams; "Cruel, cruel the words I said! Cruelly came they back to-day: 'You're too slight and fickle,' I said, 'To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.' "There I put my face in the grass Whisper'd, 'Listen to my despair : I repent me of all I did : Speak a little, Ellen Adair!' "Then I took a pencil, and wrote On the mossy stone, as I lay, 'Here lies the body of Ellen Adair; And here the heart of Edward Gray! And barren commonplaces break I pledge her silent at the board; Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans, Thro' many an hour of summer suns, My college friendships glimmer. I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Or that eternal want of pence, Ah yet, tho' all the world forsake, Let there be thistles, there are grapes ; We circle with the seasons. This earth is rich in man and maid; Head-waiter, honor'd by the guest My nerves have dealt with stiffer. For since I came to live and learn, Tho' soak'd and saturate, out and out, For I am of a numerous house, Or sometimes two would meet in one, Whether the vintage, yet unkept, Or, elbow-deep in sawdust, slept, Or stow'd (when classic Canning died) The gloom of ten Decembers. The Muse, the jolly Muse, it is! She answer'd to my call, She changes with that mood or this, She lit the spark within my throat, Used all her fiery will, and smote Her life into the liquor. And hence this halo lives about The waiter's hands, that reach His proper chop to each. He looks not like the common breed This whole wide earth of light and shade I think he came like Ganymede, Comes out, a perfect round. High over roaring Temple-bar, And, set in Heaven's third story, I look at all things as they are, From some delightful valley. The Cock was of a larger egg |