How could ye quench the clear and living glow,
The world of bloom, the soul's transparent flow,
To make those cheeks but as a path for tears?

Thus all was changed;-save that her tresses fine
Were wreathed, in silky darkness, as before,
Over her smooth and lily-tinted brow ;

And still her form retained the grace divine
Of faultless elegance it ever wore :

Yet these remains of lesser beauties, now,
But told of each excelling charm, the more,
So lavished once on her-so soon bereft :
As, in the desert, some huge columns, left
Still towering, show the dreary site from whence
The boasted piles of old magnificence,

And the world's early grandeur, have been razed.
Mid such a waste, had I, then, musing, gazed

On some great ancient empire's desolate seat,
Where nought, around, the exploring eye could meet,
But broken burial-marks of many a dome

Whose vastness might have been a Titan's home ;—
Where once the hundred-gated Thebes arose,
And is not; or where the Assyrian's pride
Reared his great state, by rich Euphrates' side,
Or by swift Tigris; even such scenes as those,

So still, so bare, so gloomy, so decayed,

The dried-up course of a once-boundless tide
Of living power, whose funeral repose

Speaks of long-perished pomp, dethroned sway;-
Not such could move my soul as then 'twas moved,
Nor with such touching truth could e'er have proved
How dreamy are the nothings that do sweep
Before us, with us, from this land of sleep,
Seeming so real, half our little day,—

So steadfast, o'er the quicksands of decay,—
With such a witching light upon them shed,
Till comes the dull eclipse-and all is fled :
Not such could give me that unuttered sense
Of Time's unsparing power, those thoughts intense
Which stirred my heart, while sadly I surveyed
The faded beauty of that gentle maid.

A GOODLIE BALLADE

Of Sir Adomar, and of his faire ladye, with the greate love they bare eche unto other, and how that hee came backe from Holie Lande, but tarried not, taking with him awaie his true dame to a faire realme.

SIR ADOMAR stoode at his castle gate;
His steede is readie; his merrymen waite,
And his banner faire is spread :

For a holie vow that knight hath ta’en,
With lance and brand to cross the maine,

And that white banner, soone, to staine,

In Saracen gore, full redde.

66

Ladye, when backe I come, o'er the sea, "Be thou the firste to welcome mee,

"Or here I dwelle no more."

Then spake that young dame, tenderlie : "A living woman if I shall bee,

"I'll be the firste to welcome thee

"Backe from the Paynim shore."

That knighte hath hied, with the blessed hoste, To reare the crosse on the Paynim coaste,

And to bleede where Christe hath bledde.

For long years three, in Heathenrie,

He hath wielded sworde where the bravest bee,

And the boldest of them all is hee,

When weapons are reeking redde.

'Tis long, 'tis long, since tidinges came To gladde that well-beloved dame :

Her young cheeke waxeth white;

The mourner's weedes are her array;
But Hope beguiles her, day by day,

And manie an houre doth shee watche and pray

For her owne faithfull knighte.

From her castle-wall, at eventide,

Shee looked o'er the wave, and there shee spied

A trim barke faring neare:

But blacke, blacke were the sailes, I trow,
And blinde she grew, for a space, with woe;

She looked again, in haste; and, lo!

No barke was sailing there.

Midnight is come; and, from manie a tombe,

The restless sprites fleet forthe to roame,

In the sweete moone-light raies.

From manie a sea and manie a shore,

They glide through the night, for evermore,

And seeke the haunts they loved of

And walke their earthlie waies.

yore,

And the living who thinke upon the dead
Oft wake, at the houre of midnight dread,
To be alone with sorrowe.

Sir Adomar's bride hath forsaken sleepe,
Through these dim houres her watch to keepe.
Long hath shee wept; long may shee weepe,
Ere shee haileth a joyfull morrowe.

Who knockes so loude, and knockes so late,
At goode Sir Adomar's castle-gate?

Stranger, who mayst thou be?"

"I'm a lone wanderer of the gloome,

"And many a weary league I've come,

"From a far lande, over the colde sea-foame,

"With tidinges, ladie, to thee.