A

"A KING LIVED LONG AGO."

KING lived long ago,

In the morning of the world,

When earth was nigher heaven than now:
And the king's locks curled

Disparting o'er a forehead full

As the milk-white space 'twixt horn and horn

Of some sacrificial bull

Only calm as a babe new-born :

For he was got to a sleepy mood,
So safe from all decrepitude,

From age with its bane so sure gone by,
(The Gods so loved him while he dreamed,)
That, having lived thus long, there seemed
No need the king should ever die.

Among the rocks his city was:
Before his palace, in the sun,
He sat to see his people pass,

And judge them every one

From its threshold of smooth stone.

They haled him many a valley-thief
Caught in the sheep-pens, robber-chief,
Swarthy and shameless, — beggar cheat, -
Spy-prowler, or rough pirate found
On the sea-sand left aground;

And sometimes clung about his feet,
With bleeding lip and burning cheek,
A woman, bitterest wrong to speak
Of one with sullen thickset brows:
And sometimes from the prison-house

The angry priests a pale wretch brought,

Who through some chink had pushed and pressed, On knees and elbows, belly and breast,

Worm-like into the temple,

At last there by the very God,

caught

Who ever in the darkness strode

Backward and forward, keeping watch

Q'er his brazen bowls, such rogues to catch!

And these, all and every one,

The king judged, sitting in the sun.

His councillors, on left and right, Looked anxious up, but no surprise

Disturbed the king's old smiling eyes,
Where the very blue had turned to white.
'T is said, a Python scared one day
The breathless city, till he came,
With forky tongue and eyes on flame,
Where the old king sat to judge alway;
But when he saw the sweepy hair,
Girt with a crown of berries rare
Which the God will hardly give to wear
To the maiden who singeth, dancing bare
In the altar-smoke by the pine-torch lights,
At his wondrous forest rites,

Beholding this, he did not dare

Approach that threshold in the sun,

Assault the old king smiling there.

Such grace had kings when the world begun!

"OVERHEAD THE TREE-TOPS MEET.”

II

"YOU'LL LOVE ME YET!"

You

7OU 'LL love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:

June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now —

At least is sure to strike

some seed

And yield what you 'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like!

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:

Your look? - That pays a thousand pains.
What's death? - You'll love me yet!

"OVERHEAD THE TREE-TOPS MEET."

Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feetThere was naught above me, and naught below, My childhood had not learned to know!

For, what are the voices of birds,

The knowledge of that with my life begun!
But I had so near made out the sun,
And counted your stars, the Seven and One,
Like the fingers of my hand:

Nay, I could all but understand

Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges ;
And just when out of her soft fifty changes
No unfamiliar face might overlook me—
Suddenly God took me !

K

MARCHING ALONG.

ENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King,

Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:

And, pressing a troop unable to stoop

And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,
Marched them along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such carles
To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles!
Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,

Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup
Till you 're (Chorus) marching along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

Hampden to Hell, and his obsequies' knell

Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!
England, good cheer! Rupert is near!
Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here

(Cho.) Marching along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls
To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles !
Hold by the right, you double your might;
So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,

(Cho.) March we along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

GIVE A ROUSE.

K

GIVE A ROUSE.

ING CHARLES, and who 'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now?

Give a rouse here 's, in Hell's despite now,
King Charles!

Who gave me the goods that went since ?
Who raised me the house that sank once?
Who helped me to gold I spent since ?
Who found me in wine you drank once?

(Cho.) King Charles, and who 'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here 's, in Hell's despite now,
King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else,

By the old fool's side that begot him?
For whom did he cheer and laugh else,
While Noll's damned troopers shot him?

(Cho.) King Charles, and who 'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse here 's, in Hell's despite now,
King Charles!

133