From wandering over the lea :

Out of the live-green heart of the dells

They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,

And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells

High over the full-toned sea:

O hither, come hither and furl your sails,

Come hither to me and to me:

Hither, come hither and frolic and play ;
Here it is only the mew that wails;
We will sing to you all the day :
Mariner, mariner, furl your sails,

For here are the blissful downs and dales,
And merrily merrily carol the gales,
And the spangle dances in bight and bay,
And the rainbow forms and flies on the land
Over the islands free;

And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand;

Hither, come hither and see;

And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave,

And sweet is the colour of cove and cave,

And sweet shall your welcome be:

O hither, come hither, and be our lords,

For merry brides are we :

We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words:

O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

With pleasure and love and jubilee :

O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords

Runs up the ridged sea.

Who can light on as happy a shore

All the world o'er, all the world o'er?

Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly

no more.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

I.

IFE and Thought have gone away
Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide:
Careless tenants they!

2.

All within is dark as night :
In the windows is no light;

And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

3.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or thro' the windows we shall see

The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark deserted house.

4.

Come away: no more of mirth

Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth, And shall fall again to ground.

5.

Come away for Life and Thought

Here no longer dwell;

But in a city glorious —

A great and distant city

A mansion incorruptible.

have bought

Would they could have stayed with us!

THE DYING SWAN.

THE

I.

'HE plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere

An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan,

And loudly did lament.

It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on,

And took the reed-tops as it went.

2.

Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
And white against the cold-white sky,
Shone out their crowning snows.

One willow over the river wept,

And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; Above in the wind was the swallow,

Chasing itself at its own wild will,

And far thro' the marish green and still

The tangled water-courses slept,

Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

3.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul

Of that waste place with joy

Hidden in sorrow at first to the ear

The warble was low, and full and clear ;
And floating about the under-sky,

Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole

Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;

As when a mighty people rejoice

With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd

Thro' the open gates of the city afar,

To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng
The desolate creeks and pools among,

Were flooded over with eddying song.

A DIRGE.

I.

OW is done thy long day's work;

Now

Fold thy palms across thy breast,
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.

Let them rave.

Shadows of the silver birk

Sweep the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

2.

Thee nor carketh care nor slander;
Nothing but the small cold worm
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.

Let them rave.

Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave.

3.

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed;
Chaunteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny?
Let them rave.

Thou wilt never raise thine head
From the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

4.

Crocodiles wept tears for thee;
The woodbine and eglatere

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.
Let them rave.

Rain makes music in the tree

O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave.

5.

Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble-roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale.

Let them rave.

These in every shower creep

Thro' the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave.

6.

The gold-eyed kingcups fine;

The frail bluebell peereth over

Rare broidry of the purple clover.
Let them rave.