Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs:

In these, in those the life is stayed.
The mantles from the golden pegs
Droop sleepily: no sound is made,
Not even of a gnat that sings.

More like a picture seemeth all
Than those old portraits of old kings,
That watch the sleepers from the wall.

Here sits the Butler with a flask

Between his knees, half-drained; and there The wrinkled steward at his task,

The maid-of-honor blooming fair: The page has caught her hand in his: Her lips are severed as to speak : His own are pouted to a kiss :

The blush is fixed upon her cheek.

Till all the hundred summers pass,

The beams, that through the Oriel shine,

Make prisms in every carven glass,

And beaker brimmed with noble wine.

Each baron at the banquet sleeps,
Grave faces gathered in a ring.
His state the king reposing keeps.
He must have been a jolly king.

All round a hedge upshoots, and shows
At distance like a little wood;
Thorns, ivies, woodbine, mistletoes,
And grapes with bunches red as blood;
All creeping plants, a wall of green
Close-matted, bur and brake and briar,
And glimpsing over these, just seen,
High up, the topmost palace-spire.

When will the hundred summers die,
And thought and time be born again,
And newer knowledge, drawing nigh,

Bring truth that sways the soul of men?
Here all things in their place remain,
As all were ordered, ages since.

Come, Care and Pleasure, Hope and Pain, And bring the fated fairy Prince.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

Year after year unto her feet,

She lying on her couch alone,

Across the purple coverlet,

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown,

On either side her tranced form

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl: The slumbrous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broidered coverlid

Unto her limbs itself doth mould Languidly ever; and, amid

Her full black ringlets downward rolled, Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm With bracelets of the diamond bright : Her constant beauty doth inform

Stillness with love, and day with light.

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirred

That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps on either hand upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.

THE ARRIVAL.

All precious things, discovered late,
To those that seek them issue forth;
For love in sequel works with fate,

And draws the veil from hidden worth.

He travels far from other skies

His mantle glitters on the rocks A fairy Prince, with joyful eyes, And lighter-footed than the fox.

The bodies and the bones of those
That strove in other days to pass,
Are withered in the thorny close,
Or scattered blanching in the grass.
He gazes on the silent dead:

"They perished in their daring deeds.” This proverb flashes through his head, "The many fail: the one succeeds."

He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks: He breaks the hedge: he enters there: The color flies into his cheeks:

He trusts to light on something fair;

For all his life the charm did talk

About his path, and hover near With words of promise in his walk, And whispered voices in his ear.

More close and close his footsteps wind;
The magic music in his heart
Beats quick and quicker, till he find

The quiet chamber far apart.

His spirit flutters like a lark,

He stoops

Love, if thy tresses be so dark,

How dark those hidden eyes must be!"

THE REVIVAL.

A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt. There rose a noise of striking clocks, And feet that ran, and doors that clapt, And barking dogs, and crowing cocks; A fuller light illumined all,

A breeze through all the garden swept, A sudden hubbub shook the hall,

And sixty feet the fountain leapt.