And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. II. How sweet are looks that ladies bend For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, III. When down the stormy crescent goes, Then by some secret shrine I ride; Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, IV. Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I leap on board: no helmsman steers: A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail : With folded feet, in stoles of white, V. When on my goodly charger borne I leave the plain, I climb the height; VI. A maiden knight-to me is given I muse on joy that will not cease, Whose odors haunt my dreams; This mortal armor that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touched, are turned to finest air. VII. The clouds are broken in the sky, And through the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear: "O just and faithful knight of God! Ride on the prize is near." So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-armed I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail. EDWARD GRAY. SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town Met me walking on yonder way, "And have you lost your heart?" she said; "And are you married yet, Edward Gray? Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me : "Ellen Adair she loved me well, By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill. "Shy she was, and I thought her cold; Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Filled I was with folly and spite, When Ellen Adair was dying for me. "Cruel, cruel the words I said! Cruelly came they back to-day: "You're too slight and fickle,' I said, To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.' "There I put my face in the grass— Whispered, Listen to my despair: I repent me of all I did: Speak a little, Ellen Adair!' "Then I took a pencil, and wrote "Love may come, and love may go, "Bitterly wept I over the stone: 99 WILL WATERPROOF'S LYRICAL MONOLOGUE. MADE AT THE COCK. O PLUMP head-waiter at The Cock, But let it not be such as that You set before chance-comers, But such whose father-grape grew fat On Lusitanian summers. No vain libation to the Muse, And whisper lovely words, and use To make me write my random rhymes, I pledge her, and she comes and dips And lays it thrice upon my lips, I pledge her silent at the board; Old wishes, ghosts of broken plans, Through many an hour of summer suns I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Or that eternal want of pence, Who hold their hands to all, and cry |