Forth sprang their swords, and Balen slew Then spake the great king's wrathful will But when those weary days lay dead A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND. [Poems and Ballads, Second Series, 1878. Vorher in «Belgravia», 1876.] I HID my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, Why would it sleep not? why should it start, What made sleep flutter his wings and part? Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? What bids the lids of thy sleep dispart? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm encloses, The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard; No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart, Only the song of a secret bird. ENVOI. In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, WHAT IS DEATH? [Tristram of Lyonesse and other Poems, 1882.] LOOKING on a page where stood Graven of old on old-world wood Death, and by the grave's edge grim, Pale, the young man facing him, Asked my well-beloved of me Once what strange thing this might be, Gaunt and great of limb. Death, I told him: and, surprise Deepening more his wildwood eyes (Like some sweet fleet thing's whose breath Glorious with its seven year's grace, A JACOBITE'S FAREWELL. 1716. [Poems and Ballads, Third Series, 1889.] THERE'S nae mair lands to tyne, my dear, Though a man think sair to live nae mair, For a' things come and a' days gane O lands are lost and life's losing, Our king wons ower the sea's water, But I'll win out the morn's morrow, And ye'll see me nae mair. THE DEATH OF RICHARD WAGNER. [A Century of Roundels, 1883; vorher in The Musical Review, Febr. 24, 1883.] I. MOURNING on earth, as when dark hours descend, Wide-winged with plagues, from heaven; when hope and mirth: Wane, and no lips rebuke or reprehend Mourning on earth. The soul wherein her songs of death and birth, Winds that make moan and triumph, skies that bend, Thunders, and sound of tides in gulf and firth, Spake through his spirit of speech, whose death should send Mourning on earth. II. The world's great heart, whence all things strange and rare The fountain forces, whence like steeds that start Spake, and were turned to song: yea, all they were, III. From the depths of the sea, from the wellsprings of earth, from the wastes of the midmost night, From the fountains of darkness and tempest and thunder, from heights where the soul would be, The spell of the mage of music evoked their sense, as an unknown light From the depths of the sea. As a vision of heaven from the hollows of ocean, that none but a god might see, Rose out of the silence of things unknown of a presence, a form, a might, And we heard as a prophet that hears God's message against him, and may not flee. Eye might not endure it, but ear and heart with a rapture of dark delight, With a terror and wonder whose core was joy, and a passion of thought set free, Felt inly the rising of doom divine as a sundawn risen to sight From the depths of the sea. TWO PRELUDES. [A Century of Roundels, 1883.] I. LOHENGRIN. LOVE, out of the depth of things, From the heaven whence only springs Love, heard from the heights thereof, And the soul in it speaks and sings, Love. |