SONNET

THOUGH Night hath climbed her peak of high

est noon,

And bitter blasts the screaming autumn whirl, All night through archways of the bridgéd pearl,

And portals of pure silver, walks the moon.
Walk on, my soul, nor crouch to agony,
Turn cloud to light, and bitterness to joy,
And dross to gold with glorious alchemy,
Basing thy throne above the world's annoy.
Reign thou above the storms of sorrow and
ruth

That roar beneath; unshaken peace hath won thee;

So shalt thou pierce the woven glooms of truth;
So shall the blessing of the meek be on thee;
So in thine hour of dawn, the body's youth,
An honorable eld shall come upon thee.

SONNET

SHALL the hag Evil die with child of Good,
Or propagate again her loathéd kind,
Thronging the cells of the diseased mind,
Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood,
Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?
Oh! that the wind which bloweth cold or heat
Would shatter and o'erbear the brazen beat
Of their broad vans, and in the solitude

Of middle space confound them, and blow back Their wild cries down their cavern throats, and slake

With points of blast-borne hail their heated eyne !

So their wan limbs no more might come between

The moon and the moon's reflex in the night, Nor blot with floating shades the solar light.

SONNET

THE pallid thunder-stricken sigh for gain,
Down an ideal stream they ever float,
And sailing on Pactolus in a boat,

Drown soul and sense, while wistfully they strain
Weak eyes upon the glistering sands that robe
The understream. The wise, could he behold
Cathedraled caverns of thick-ribbéd gold
And branching silvers of the central globe,
Would marvel from so beautiful a sight
How scorn and ruin, pain and hate could flow:
But Hatred in a gold cave sits below;
Pleached with her hair, in mail of argent light
Shot into gold, a snake her forehead clips,
And skins the color from her trembling lips.

LOVE

I

THOU, from the first, unborn, undying Love, Albeit we gaze not on thy glories near,

Before the face of God didst breathe and move, Though night and pain and ruin and death reign here.

Thou foldest, like a golden atmosphere,
The very throne of the eternal God:
Passing through thee the edicts of his fear
Are mellowed into music, borne abroad
By the loud winds, though they uprend the sea,
Even from its central deeps: thine empery
Is over all; thou wilt not brook eclipse;
Thou goest and returnest to His lips
Like lightning: thou dost ever brood above
The silence of all hearts, unutterable Love.

II

To know thee is all wisdom, and old age
Is but to know thee: dimly we behold thee
Athwart the veils of evils which infold thee.
We beat upon our aching hearts in rage;
We cry for thee; we deem the world thy tomb.
As dwellers in lone planets look upon
The mighty disk of their majestic sun,
Hollowed in awful chasms of wheeling gloom,
Making their day dim, so we gaze on thee.
Come, thou of many crowns, white-robéd Love,
Oh! rend the veil in twain: all men adore thee;
Heaven crieth after thee; earth waiteth for
thee;

Breathe on thy wingéd throne, and it shall

And now - methinks I gaze upon thee now,
As on a serpent in his agonies

Awe-stricken Indians; what time laid low
And crushing the thick fragrant reeds he lies,
When the new year warm - breathéd on the
Earth,

Waiting to light him with her purple skies,
Calls to him by the fountain to uprise.
Already with the pangs of a new birth
Strain the hot spheres of his convulséd eyes,
And in his writhings awful hues begin
To wander down his sable-sheeny sides,
Like light on troubled waters: from within
Anon he rusheth forth with merry din,
And in him light and joy and strength abides;
And from his brows a crown of living light
Looks through the thick-stemmed woods by
day and night.

George for England! Merry England! England for aye!

The hollow at heart shall crouch forlorn,
He shall eat the bread of common scorn;
It shall be steeped in the salt, salt tear,
Shall be steeped in his own salt tear:
Far better, far better he never were born
Than to shame merry England here.

CHO. -Shout for England! etc.

There standeth our ancient enemy;
Hark! he shouteth - the ancient enemy!
On the ridge of the hill his banners rise;
They stream like fire in the skies;
Hold up the Lion of England on high
Till it dazzle and blind his eyes.

CHO.Shout for England! etc.

Come along! we alone of the earth are free; The child in our cradles is bolder than he; For where is the heart and strength of slaves? Oh! where is the strength of slaves?

He is weak! we are strong: he a slave, we are free;

Come along! we will dig their graves.
CHO.- Shout for England! etc.

There standeth our ancient enemy;
Will he dare to battle with the free?

Spur along! spur amain! charge to the fight:
Charge! charge to the fight!

Hold up the Lion of England on high!
Shout for God and our right!

CHO. - Shout for England! etc.

Two children lovelier than Love adown the lea are singing,

As they gambol, lily-garlands ever stringing:
Both in blosm-white silk are frockéd:
Like, unlike, they roam together
Under a summer vault of golden weather:
Like, unlike, they sing together
Side by side,

Mid-May's darling golden-locked,
Summer's tanling diamond-eyed.

THE SEA FAIRIES

This poem (see p. 15 above) was so much altered when it was included in the edition of 1853 that I give the original form in full here.

SLOW sailed the weary mariners, and saw
Between the green brink and the running foam
White limbs unrobéd in a crystal air,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold: and while they mused,
Whispering to each other half in fear,

Shrill music reached them on the middle sea.

SONG

Whither away, whither away, whither away? Fly no more:

Whither away wi' the singing sail? whither away wi' the oar?

Whither away from the high green field and the happy blossoming shore?

Weary mariners, hither away,
One and all, one and all,

Weary mariners, come and play;

We will sing to you all the day;

O BEAUTY, passing beauty! sweetest Sweet! How canst thou let me waste my youth in sighs?

I only ask to sit beside thy feet.

Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes. Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold

My arms about thee- - scarcely dare to speak. And nothing seems to me so wild and bold,

As with one kiss to touch thy blesséd cheek. Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control

Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke, The bare word KISS hath made my inner soul To tremble like a lutestring, ere the note Hath melted in the silence that it broke.

THE HESPERIDES

This poem is reprinted in the 'Memoir' (vol. i. p. 61) with the following note:

'Published and suppressed by my father, and republished by me here (with accents written by him) in consequence of a talk that I had with him, in which he regretted that he had done away with it from among his "Juvenilia."

The author of the 'Memoir' has since added 'Kate' (which he does not mention) to the 'Juvenilia' in the collected editions (see p. 23 above), but he has not restored this poem.

"Hesperus and his daughters three,
That sing about the golden tree."

Comus.

THE North-wind fall'n, in the new-starréd night

Zidoni in Hanno, voyaging beyond

The hoary promontory of Soloë

Past Thymiaterion, in calméd bays,

Between the southern and the western Horn,

Guard it well, guard it warily,
Singing airily,

Standing about the charméd root.

Round about all is mute,

As the snow-field on the mountain-peaks,
As the sand-field at the mountain-foot.
Crocodiles in briny creeks

Sleep and stir not: all is mute.

If ye sing not, if ye make false measure,
We shall lose eternal pleasure,
Worth eternal want of rest.

Laugh not loudly: watch the treasure
Of the wisdom of the West.

In a corner wisdom whispers. Five and three
(Let it not be preached abroad) make an awful
mystery.

For the blossom unto threefold music bloweth; Evermore it is born anew;

And the sap to threefold music floweth,

From the root

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, ever and aye,

Looking under silver hair with a silver eye.
Father, twinkle not thy steadfast sight;
Kingdoms lapse, and climates change, and races
die;

Honor comes with mystery;
Hoarded wisdom brings delight.
Number, tell them over and number
How many the mystic fruit-tree holds
Lest the red-combed dragon slumber
Rolled together in purple folds.

Look to him, father, lest he wink, and the golden apple be stol'n away,

For his ancient heart is drunk with overwatchings night and day,

Round about the hallowed fruit-tree curled Sing away, sing aloud evermore in the wind,

without stop, Lest his scaled eyelid drop,

For he is older than the world.
If he waken, we waken,
Rapidly levelling eager eyes.
If he sleep, we sleep,

Dropping the eyelid over the eyes.
If the golden apple be taken,
The world will be overwise.
Five links, a golden chain, are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,
Bound about the golden tree.

III

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, night and day,

Lest the old wound of the world be healéd,
The glory unsealed,

The golden apple stolén away,

And the ancient secret revealed.
Look from west to east along:

Father, old Himala weakens, Caucasus is bold and strong.

Wandering waters unto wandering waters call;
Let them clash together, foam and fall.
Out of watchings, out of wiles,
Comes the bliss of secret smiles.
All things are not told to all.

Half-round the mantling night is drawn,
Purple fringéd with even and dawn.

Hesper hateth Phosphor, evening hateth morn.

IV

Every flower and every fruit the redolent breath
Of this warm sea-wind ripeneth,
Arching the billow in his sleep;
But the land-wind wandereth,
Broken by the highland-steep,
Two streams upon the violet deep;

For the western sun and the western star,
And the low west-wind, breathing afar,

The end of day and beginning of night
Make the apple holy and bright;

Holy and bright, round and full, bright and blest,

Mellowed in a land of rest;
Watch it warily day and night;
All good things are in the west.
Till mid noon the cool east light
Is shut out by the tall hillbrow;

But when the full-faced sunset yellowly
Stays on the flowering arch of the bough,
The luscious fruitage clustereth mellowly,
Golden-kernelled, golden-cored,
Sunset-ripened above on the tree.

The world is wasted with fire and sword,
But the apple of gold hangs over the sea.
Five links, a golden chain are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,
Daughters three,

Bound about

ROSALIND

This poem (see p. 21 above) has been restored, but without the following note, which is appended to it in the 1833 volume:

AUTHOR'S NOTE. Perhaps the following lines may be allowed to stand as a separate poem; originally they made part of the text, where they were manifestly superfluous.

My Rosalind, my Rosalind,
Bold, subtle, careless Rosalind,
Is one of those who know no strife
Of inward woe or outward fear;

To whom the slope and stream of Life,
The life before, the life behind,
In the ear, from far and near,
Chimeth musically clear.
My falcon-hearted Rosalind,
Full-sailed before a vigorous wind,
Is one of those who cannot weep
For others' woes, but overleap
All the petty shocks and fears
That trouble life in early years,
With a flash of frolic scorn
And keen delight, that never falls
Away from freshness, self-upborne
With such gladness as, whenever
The fresh-flushing springtime calls
To the flooding waters cool,
Young fishes, on an April morn,
Up and down a rapid river,
Leap the little waterfalls
That sing into the pebbled pool.
My happy falcon, Rosalind,
Hath daring fancies of her own,
Fresh as the dawn before the day,
Fresh as the early sea-smell blown
Through vineyards from an inland bay.
My Rosalind, my Rosalind,
Because no shadow on you falls,
Think you hearts are tennisballs
To play with, wanton Rosalind?

You did late review my lays,
Crusty Christopher;

You did mingle blame and praise,

Rusty Christopher.

When I learnt from whom it came,

I forgave you all the blame,
Musty Christopher;

I could not forgive the praise,
Fusty Christopher.

V. OTHER DISCARDED AND

UNCOLLECTED POEMS

ON CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY

Written in 1830. See Notes.

THEREFORE your Halls, your ancient Colleges,
Your portals statued with old kings and queens,
Your gardens, myriad-volumed libraries,
Wax-lighted chapels, and rich carven screens,