A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of sand; A star that with the choral starry dance Back on herself her serpent pride had curl'd. She, mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod, And death and life she hated equally, Remaining utterly confused with fears, Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, girt round Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound As in strange lands a traveller walking slow, A little before moon-rise hears the low And knows not if it be thunder or a sound Of great wild beasts; then thinketh, "I have found She howl'd aloud, "I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?" So when four years were wholly finished, She threw her royal robes away. "Make me a cottage in the vale," she said, "Yet pull not down my palace towers, that are (1853) LXXVI LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE LADY Clara Vere de Vere, Of me you shall not win renown : Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name, Too proud to care from whence I came. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, I could not stoop to such a mind. The lion on your old stone gates Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. (1853) But there was that across his throat When thus he met his mother's view, That scarce is fit for you to hear; Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. There stands a spectre in your hall : You changed a wholesome heart to gall. And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent 'Tis only noble to be good. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere: You pine among your halls and towers: In glowing health, with boundless wealth, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. If Time be heavy on your hands, Or teach the orphan girl to sew, And let the foolish yeoman go. LXXVII THE MAY QUEEN You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad Newyear; Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine ; There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline : If I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. ye should I see, As I came up the valley whom think yesterday, But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be: They say his heart is breaking, mother-what is that to me? There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckooflowers; And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass; There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad Newyear: To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. LXXVIII NEW-YEAR'S EVE If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year. |