But in a tongue no man could understand; COME not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst no: save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: THE EAGLE. FRAGMENT. HE clasps the crag with hooked hands; The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; MOVE eastward, happy earth, and leave O, happy planet, eastward go; Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly borne, BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away." THE PRINCESS: A MEDLEY. PROLOGUE. SIR WALTER VIVIAN all a summer's day - the son A Walter too, with others of our set, Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. And me that morning Walter show'd the house, Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; And on the tables every clime and age Jumbled together; celts and calumets, Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, His own forefathers' arms and armor hung. And "this,” he said, "was Hugh's at Agincourt; With all about him"- which he brought, and I "O miracle of women," said the book, "O noble heart who, being strait-besieged By this wild king to force her to his wish, Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunn'd a soldier's death, Her stature more than mortal in the burst So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; And, I all rapt in this, "Come out," he said, "To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth And sister, Lilia with the rest." We went (I kept the book and had my finger in it) Down thro' the park: strange was the sight to me; For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown With happy faces and with holiday. There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stone Dislink'd with shrieks and laughter: round the lake And shook the lilies: perch'd about the knolls A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon And shadow, while the twangling violin Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch'd and ivy-claspt, Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house; but all within The sward was trim as any garden-lawn: And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbor seats: and there was Ralph himself, As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, That made the old warrior from his ivied nook And there we join'd them: then the maiden Aunt And all things great; but we, unworthier, told But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought My book to mind: and opening this I read Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, And much I praised her nobleness, and "Where,” Ask'd Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay Beside him) "lives there such a woman now?" |