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Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear: “O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride on! the prize is near.”
By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
Until I find the holy Grail.
SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town
Met me walking on yonder way, “ And have you lost your heart ?” she said
“And are you married yet, Edward Gray ?"
Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me:
Bitterly weeping I turned away: 66 Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more
Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.
Ellen Adair she loved me well,
Against her father's and mother's will: To-day I sat for an hour and wept,
By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.
“ Shy she was, and I thought her cold;
Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Filled I was with folly and spite,
When Ellen Adair was dying for me.
“ 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
Whispered, '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 !!
- Love may come, and love may go,
And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree: But I will love no more, no more,
Till Ellen Adair come back to me.
“ Bitterly wept I over the stone:
Bitterly weeping I turned away: There lies the body of Ellen Adair!
And there the heart of Edward Gray!
WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL
MADE AT THE COCK.
O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock,
To which I most resort,
Go fetch a pint of port:
You set before chance-comers,
On Lusitanian summers.
No vain libation to the Muse,
But may she still be kind,
Her influence on the mind.
To make me write my random rhymes,
Ere they be half-forgotten; Nor add and alter, many times,
Till all be ripe and rotten.
I pledge her, and she comes and dips
Her laurel in the wine,
These favored lips of mine ;
New life-blood warm the bosom,
In full and kindly blossom.
I pledge her silent at the board ;
Her gradual fingers steal
Of all I felt and feel.
And phantom hopes assemble;
Begins to move and tremble.
Through many an hour of summer suns
By many pleasant ways,
The current of my days :
The gas-light wavers dimmer;
My college friendships glimmer.
I grow in worth, and wit, and sense,
Which vexes public men,
For that which all deny themWho sweep the crossings, wet or dry,
And all the world go by them.
Ah yet, though all the world forsake,
Though fortune clip my wings,
Half-views of men and things.
There must be stormy weather;
All parties work together.
Let there be thistles, there are grapes ;
If old things, there are new;
Yet glimpses of the true.
We lack not rhymes and reasons,
We circle with the seasons.
This earth is rich in man and maid ;
With fair horizons bound : This whole wide earth of light and shade
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,
But through a kind of glory.
Head-waiter, honored by the guest
Half-mused, or reeling-ripe,
That ever came from pipe.
My nerves have dealt with stiffer.
Or do my peptics differ?
For since I came to live and learn,
No pint of white or red
This wheel within my head,
Which bears a seasoned brain about,
Unsubject to confusion, Though soaked and saturate, out and out,
Through every convolution.
For I am of a numerous house,
With many kinsmen gay,
As who shall say me nay:
We drink, defying trouble,
And then we drank it double;
Whether the vintage, yet unkept,
Had relish fiery-new,
As old as Waterloo ;
In musty bins and chambers, Had cast upon its crusty side
The gloom of ten Decembers.
The Muse, the jolly Muse, it is !
She answered to my call,
Is all-in-all to all :
To make my blood run quicker,
Her life into the liquor.
And hence this halo lives about
The waiter's hands, that reach
His proper chop to each.
That with the napkin dally;
From some delightful valley.