But bring not thou the battle's stormy | He who, exulting on the trumpet's breath, chorus, The tramp of armies, and the roar of fight, Not war's hot smoke to taint the sweet morn o'er us, Nor blaze of pillage, reddening up the night. O, let thy lays prolong that angel-singing, Girdling with music the Redeemer's star, And breathe God's peace, to earth 'glad tidings' bringing From the near heavens, of old so dim and far! ALEXANDER SMITH. [1830-1867.] LADY BARBARA. EARL GAWAIN Wooed the Lady Barbara, High-thoughted Barbara, so white and cold! 'Mong broad-branched beeches in the summer shaw, In soft green light his passion he has told. When rain-beat winds did shriek across the wold, The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear Framed passion-trembled ditties manifold; Silent she sat his amorous breath to hear, With calm and steady eyes; her heart was otherwhere. He sighed for her through all the summer weeks; Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful boughs Bore glorious apples with smooth, shining cheeks, Earl Gawain came and whispered, "Lady, rouse! Thou art no vestal held in holy vows; Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath." Her father's blood leapt up unto her brows, Came charging like a star across the lists of death, MATTHEW ARNOLD. Became a dreadful face which did oppress | The clouds are on the Oberland, Me with the weight of its unwinking 'Strange constellations burned above my head, Strange birds around the vessel shrieked and flew, Strange shapes, like shadows, through the clear sea fled, As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through, Angering to foam the smooth and sleeping blue.' The lady sighed, "Far, far upon the sea, My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you! The wind blows shrill between my love and me. Fond heart! the space between was but the apple-tree. There was a cry of joy, with seeking hands She fled to him, like worn bird to her nest; Like washing water on the figured sands, His being came and went in sweet unrest, As from the mighty shelter of his breast The Lady Barbara her head uprears With a wan smile, "Methinks I'm but half blest: Now when I've found thee, after weary years, I cannot see thee, love! so blind I am with tears. 265 The Jungfrau snows look faint and far; But bright are those green fields at hand, And through those fields comes down the Aar, And from the blue twin lakes it comes, Flows by the town, the churchyard fair, And 'neath the garden-walk it hums, The house, and is my Marguerite there? With spirit vanished, beauty waned, Of all that was my Marguerite's own? I will not know!-for wherefore try To things by mortal course that live A shadowy durability For which they were not meant to give? Like driftwood spars which meet and pass Upon the boundless ocean-plain, |