As this pale taper's earthly spark, So shows my soul before the Lamb, So in mine earthly house I am, Break up the heavens, oh Lord! and far, III. He lifts me to the golden doors; Roll back, and far within One sabbath deep and wide— A light upon the shining sea- SIR GALAHAD. I. My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. II. How sweet are looks that ladies bend For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill; So keep I fair through faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will. III. When down the stormy crescent goes, Then by some secret shrine I ride; Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, IV. Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I leap on board: no helmsman steers: A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white, V. When on my goodly charger borne I leave the plain, I climb the height; VI. A maiden knight-to me is given I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armor that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, VII. The clouds are broken in the sky, Swells up, and shakes and falls. EDWARD GRAY. 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: "Ellen Adair she loved me well, 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 grassWhispered, Listen to my despair: I repent me of all I did: Speak a little, Ellen Adair!' "Then I took a pencil, and wrote "Love may come, and love may go, "Bitterly wept I over the stone: WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE. MADE AT THE COCK. O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock, Go fetch a pint of port: But let it not be such as that You set before chance-comers, On Lusitanian summers. No vain libation to the Muse, And whisper lovely words, and use |