It is not on her gown
    She fears to tread;
    It is her hair
    Which tumbles down
    And strays
    About her ways
    That she must care.

    And she lives nigh this place:
    The dead would rise
    If they could see her face;
    The dead would rise
    Only to hear her sing:
    But death is blind, and gives not ear nor eye
    To anything.

    We would leave behind
    Both wife and child,
    And house and home;
    And wander blind,
    And wander thus,
    And ever roam,
    If she would come to us
    In Erris.

    Softly she said to me,
    Be patient till the night comes,
    And I will go with thee.

We reached the place by night,
And heard the waves breaking:
They came to meet us with candles alight
To show the path we were taking.
A myrtle, trained on the gate, was white
With tufted flowers down shaking.

With head beneath her wing,
A little wren was sleeping -
So near, I had found it an easy thing
To steal her for my keeping
From the myrtle-bough that with easy swing
Across the path was sweeping.

Down rocky steps rough-hewed,
Where cup-mosses flowered,
And under the trees, all twisted and rude,
Wherewith the dell was dowered,
They led us, where deep in its solitude
Lay the cottage, leaf-embowered.

The thatch was all bespread
With climbing passion-flowers;
They were wet, and glistened with raindrops, shed
That da...

When Love in myrtle shades reposed,
His bow and darts behind him slung;
As dewey twilight round him closed,
Lisette these numbers sung:
"O Love! thy sylvan bower
I'll fly while I've the power;
Thy primrose way leads maids where they
Love, honor, and obey!"

"Escape," the boy-god said, "is vain,"
And shook the diamonds from his wings:
"I'll bind thee captive to my train,
Fairest of earthy things!"
"Go, saucy archer, go!
I freedom's value know:
Begon, I pray--to none I'll say
Love, honor, and obey!"

"Speed, arrow, to thy mark!" he cried--
Swift as a ray of light it flew!
Love spread his purple pinions wide,
And faded from her view!
Joy filled that maiden's eyes--
Twin load-stars from the skies!--
And one bright day her li...

The sun is set; and in his latest beams
    Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
    Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,
    The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.
From the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams,
    The street-lamps of the ocean; and behold,
    O'erhead the banners of the night unfold;
    The day hath passed into the land of dreams.
O summer day beside the joyous sea!
    O summer day so wonderful and white,
    So full of gladness and so full of pain!
Forever and forever shalt thou be
    To some the gravestone of a dead delight,
    To some the landmark of a new domain.

    Moonlit woodland, veils of green,
    Caves of empty dark between;
    Veils of green from rounded arms
    Drooping, that the moonlight charms.
    Tranced the trees, grass beneath
    Silent....
            Like a stealthy breath,
    Mask and wand and silver skin,
    Sudden enters Harlequin.

    Hist!    Hist!    Watch him go,
    Leaping limb and pointing toe,
    Slender arms that float and flow,
    Curving wand above, below;
    Flying, gliding, changing feet;
    Onset fading in retreat.
    Not a shadow of sound there is
    But his motion's gentle hiss,
    Till one fluent arm and hand
    Suddenly circles, and the wand
    Taps a bough far overhead,
    "Crack," and then all noise is dead.
    For he halts, and a ...

Mine was the woman to me, darkling I found her:
Haling her dumb from the camp, held her and bound her.
Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved her;
Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran, none stood to guard us,
Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us,
Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen.
Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen.

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter,
Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water;
Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her,
Called she the God of the Wind that He should aid her.

Life had the tree at that word (Praise we the Giver!)
Otter-like left he the bank for the full river.
Far fell their axes behind, flashi...

"Theu theu, ti prosderkesthe m ommasin, tekna;"
[Alas, alas, why do you gaze at me with your eyes, my children.]
- Medea.


Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
The young birds are chirping in the nest;
The young fawns are playing with the shadows;
The young flowers are blowing toward the west
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.

Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so?
The old man may weep for his to-mor...

Methought I saw him but I knew him not;
He was so changed from what he used to be,
There was no redness on his woe-worn cheek,
No sunny smile upon his ashy lips,
His hollow wandering eyes looked wild and fierce,
And grief was printed on his marble brow,
And O I thought he clasped his wasted hands,
And raised his haggard eyes to Heaven, and prayed
That he might die, I had no power to speak,
I thought I was allowed to see him thus;
And yet I might not speak one single word;
I might not even tell him that I lived
And that it might be possible if search were made,
To find out where I was and set me free,
O how I longed to clasp him to my heart,
Or but to hold his trembling hand in mine,
And speak one word of comfort to his mind,
I struggled wildly but it was ...

Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky
    The orient sun expands his roseate ray,
And lovely to the Bard's enthusiast eye
    Fades the meek radiance of departing day;
But fairer is the smile of one we love,
    Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway.
And sweeter than the music of the grove,
    The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight
    EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight
From the hard durance of the empty throng.
    Too swiftly then towards the silent night
Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along,
    Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart,
    Pour out the feelings of my burthen'd heart.

Longfellow.


With a glory of winter sunshine
Over his locks of gray,
In the old historic mansion
He sat on his last birthday;

With his books and his pleasant pictures,
And his household and his kin,
While a sound as of myriads singing
From far and near stole in.

It came from his own fair city,
From the prairie's boundless plain,
From the Golden Gate of sunset,
And the cedarn woods of Maine.

And his heart grew warm within him,
And his moistening eyes grew dim,
For he knew that his country's children
Were singing the songs of him,

The lays of his life's glad morning,
The psalms of his evening time,
Whose echoes shall float forever
On the winds of every clime.

All their beautiful consolation...

A Panegyric On His Coronation.

    In that wild deluge where the world was drown'd,
    When life and sin one common tomb had found,
    The first small prospect of a rising hill
    With various notes of joy the ark did fill:
    Yet when that flood in its own depths was drown'd,
    It left behind it false and slippery ground;
    And the more solemn pomp was still deferr'd,
    Till new-born nature in fresh looks appear'd.
    Thus, Royal Sir, to see you landed here,
    Was cause enough of triumph for a year:
    Nor would your care those glorious joys repeat,
    Till they at once might be secure and great:
    Till your kind beams, by their continued stay,
    Had warm'd the ground, and call'd the damps away,
    Such vapours, while your powerful influe...

Beaumont! it was thy wish that I should rear
A seemly Cottage in this sunny Dell,
On favoured ground, thy gift, where I might dwell
In neighbourhood with One to me most dear,
That undivided we from year to year
Might work in our high Calling, a bright hope
To which our fancies, mingling, gave free scope
Till checked by some necessities severe.
And should these slacken, honoured Beaumont! still
Even then we may perhaps in vain implore
Leave of our fate thy wishes to fulfil.
Whether this boon be granted us or not,
Old Skiddaw will look down upon the Spot
With pride, the Muses love it evermore.

When we as strangers sought
Their catering care,
Veiled smiles bespoke their thought
Of what we were.
They warmed as they opined
Us more than friends -
That we had all resigned
For love's dear ends.

And that swift sympathy
With living love
Which quicks the world maybe
The spheres above,
Made them our ministers,
Moved them to say,
"Ah, God, that bliss like theirs
Would flush our day!"

And we were left alone
As Love's own pair;
Yet never the love-light shone
Between us there!
But that which chilled the breath
Of afternoon,
And palsied unto death
The pane-fly's tune.

The kiss their zeal foretold,
And now deemed come,
Came not: within his hold
Love lingered-numb.
Why cast he on our port<...

    Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours,
    Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors;
    Lord grant mae duddie desperate beggar,
    Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger,
    May twin auld Scotland o' a life
    She likes, as lambkins like a knife.
    Faith, you and A----s were right
    To keep the Highland hounds in sight;
    I doubt na! they wad bid nae better
    Than let them ance out owre the water;
    Then up among the lakes and seas
    They'll mak' what rules and laws they please;
    Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin';
    May set their Highland bluid a ranklin';
    Some Washington again may head them,
    Or some Montgomery fearless lead them,
    Till God knows what may be effected
    When by such heads and hearts directed,
    P...

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire
In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart,
Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,
And pilgrim newly on his road with love
Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,
That seems to mourn for the expiring day:
When I, no longer taking heed to hear
Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark
One risen from its seat, which with its hand
Audience implor'd. Both palms it join'd and rais'd,
Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east,
As telling God, "I care for naught beside."

"Te Lucis Ante," so devoutly then
Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain,
That all my sense in ravishment was lost.
And the rest after, softly and devout,
Follow'd through all the hymn, with upward gaze
Directed to the...

When I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
In slender Book his vast Design unfold,
Messiah Crown'd, Gods Reconcil'd Decree,
Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree,
Heav'n, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All; the Argument
Held me a while misdoubting his Intent,
That he would ruine (for I saw him strong)
The sacred Truths to Fable and old Song
(So Sampson groap'd the Temples Posts in spight)
The World o'rewhelming to revenge his sight.

Yet as I read soon growing less severe,
I lik'd his Project, the success did fear;
Through that wide Field how he his way should find
O're which lame Faith leads Understanding blind;
Lest he perplex'd the things he would explain,
And what was easie he should render vain.

Or if a Work so infinite he spann'd,
Jealous I was that som...

'Neath saffron stars and satin skies, dark-blue,
Between dim sylvan isles, a happy two.
We sailed, and from the siren-haunted shore,
All mystic in its mist, the soft gale bore
The Siren's song, while on the ghostly steeps
Strange foliage grew, deeps folding upon deeps,
That hung and beamed with blossom and with bud,
Thick-powdered, pallid, or like urns of blood
Dripping, and blowing from wide mouths of blooms
On our bare brows cool gales of sweet perfumes.
While from the yellow stars that splashed the skies
O'er our light shallop dropped soft mysteries
Of calm and sleep, until the yellower moon
Rose full of fire above a dark lagoon;
And as she rose the nightingales on sprays
Of heavy, shadowy roses burst in praise
Of her wild loveliness, with boisterous pain

My ear is full of summer sounds,
Of summer sights my languid eye;
Beyond the dusty village bounds
I loiter in my daily rounds,
And in the noon-time shadows lie.

I hear the wild bee wind his horn,
The bird swings on the ripened wheat,
The long green lances of the corn
Are tilting in the winds of morn,
The locust shrills his song of heat.

Another sound my spirit hears,
A deeper sound that drowns them all,
A voice of pleading choked with tears,
The call of human hopes and fears,
The Macedonian cry to Paul!

The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows;
I know the word and countersign;
Wherever Freedom’s vanguard goes,
Where stand or fall her friends or foes,
I know the place that should be mine.

Shamed be the hands that idly ...