Short Poems

Ah , of those better tides of dark and melancholy —
When one's abroad, in a field — the night very deep, very holy;
The turf very sodden a-foot, walking heavy — the small ring of light,
O' the lanthorn one carries, a-swinging to left and to right,
Revealing a flicker of hedgerow, a flicker of rushes — and Night
Ev'rywhere; ev'rywhere sleep and Ahushing to sleep —
I know that I never shall utter the uttermost secrets aright,
They lie so deep.

These roses with the dew on, and this fine
Thick bowery creeper, be they yours, ye Nine:
And, Phaebus, thine the dark-leaved laurels be,
For so the Delphian cliff does grace to thee
A goat shall stain the altar, — he with hair
Thick-set, and nibbling the young fir-tree there.

H ERE'S the place to seat us, love!
A perfect arbour! Look above,
How the delicate sprays, like hair,
Bend them to the breaths of air!
Listen, too! It is a rill,
Telling us its gentle will.
Who that knows what luxury is,
Could go by a place like this?

T ERROR'S and wrath's brave champion, Doctor Ban,
Scorning us holders to the loving plan,
Asks if we " take God for a gentleman?"

The scandal of the question match who can!
God's not, we own, to be defined by man;
But why must he resemble Doctor Ban?

O would God call a halt, — one moment's halt
To that procession marching through my brain!
I would awake in thankful quiet, lie
And watch the long defile begin again;
Would make no further dry-mouthed moans for sleep;
Would take up patience in sweet hope's default,
And mutely bear the burthen of the hours, —
If God would call a halt, — one moment's halt!

Of Circumspection.

In hope to scape the law, do nought amisse,
The penance euer in the action is.

A LEXANDER , and Caesar, and Henry, and Fred'rick, the mighty,
On me would gladly bestow half of the glory they earn'd,
Could I but grant unto each one night on the couch where I'm lying;
But they, by Orcus's night, sternly, alas! are held down.
Therefore rejoice, oh thou living one, blest in thy love-lighted homestead,
Ere the dark Lethe's sad wave wetteth thy fugitive foot.

Ah , my maiden is going! she mounts the vessel! My monarch,
Æolus! potentate dread! keep ev'ry storm far away!
" Oh, thou fool! " cried the god: " ne'er fear the blustering tempest;
When Love flutters his wings, then may'st thou dread the soft breeze. "

Gleaming the ocean appear'd, the beauteous billows were smiling,
While a fresh, favouring wind, filling the sails, drove us on.
Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances
Turn'd themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-cover'd hills.
Treasures unnumber'd are southwards lying. Yet one to the northwards
Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in force.

In the twilight of morning to climb to the top of the mountain, —
Thee to salute, kindly star, earliest herald of day, —
And to await, with impatience, the gaze of the ruler of heaven, —
Youthful delight, oh how oft lur'st thou me out in the night!
Oh ye heralds of day, ye heavenly eyes of my mistress,
Now ye appear, and the sun evermore riseth too soon.