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Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between,
And far, in forest-deeps unseen,
The topmost elm-tree gather'd green
From draughts of balmy air.

Sometimes the linnet piped his song:
Sometimes the throstle whistled strong:
Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along,
Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong:
By grassy capes with fuller sound
In curves the yellowing river ran,
And drooping chestnut-buds began
To spread into the perfect fan,
Above the teeming ground.

Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.

She seem'd a part of joyous Spring:
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,
Buckled with golden clasps before;
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.

Now on some twisted ivy-net,
Now by some tinkling rivulet,
In mosses mixt with violet

Her cream-white mule his pastern set:
And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains
Than she whose elfin prancer springs

By night to eery warblings,

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When all the glimmering moorland rings
With jingling bridle-reins.

As fast she fled thro' sun and shade,
The happy winds upon her play'd,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid:
She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd
The rein with dainty finger-tips,
A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.

1842.

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45

Lord Tennyson.

AMY WENTWORTH

HER fingers shame the ivory keys
They dance so light along;
The bloom upon her parted lips
Is sweeter than the song.

O perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles!

Her thoughts

are not of thee;

She better loves the salted wind,

The voices of the sea.

Her heart is like an outbound ship
That at its anchor swings;
The murmur of the stranded shell
Is in the song she sings.

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She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise,
But dreams the while of one

Who watches from his sea-blown deck
The icebergs in the sun.

She questions all the winds that blow,
And every fog-wreath dim,

And bids the sea-birds flying north
Bear messages to him.

She speeds them with the thanks of men
He perilled life to save,

And grateful prayers like holy oil

To smooth for him the wave.

Brown Viking of the fishing-smack!

Fair toast of all the town!

The skipper's jerkin ill beseems

The lady's silken gown!

But ne'er shall Amy Wentworth wear

For him the blush of shame

Who dares to set his manly gifts

Against her ancient name.

The stream is brightest at its spring,
And blood is not like wine;

Nor honored less than he who heirs
Is he who founds a line.

Full lightly shall the prize be won,

If love be Fortune's spur;

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And never maiden stoops to him
Who lifts himself to her.

Her home is brave in Jaffrey Street.
With stately stairways worn

By feet of old Colonial knights
And ladies gentle-born.

Still green about its ample porch
The English ivy twines,

Trained back to show in English oak
The herald's carven signs.

And on her, from the wainscot old,
Ancestral faces frown,-

And this has worn the soldier's sword,
And that the judge's gown.

But, strong of will and proud as they,
She walks the gallery floor

As if she trod on sailor's deck
By stormy Labrador!

The sweetbrier blooms on Kittery-side,
And green are Elliot's bowers;
Her garden is the pebbled beach,
The mosses are her flowers.

She looks across the harbor-bar
To see the white gulls fly;

His greeting from the Northern sea
Is in their clanging cry.

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160

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She hums a song, and dreams that he,

As in its romance old,

Shall homeward ride with silken sails

And masts of beaten gold!

Oh, rank is good, and gold is fair,
And high and low mate ill ;
But love has never known a law
Beyond its own sweet will!

1862.

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72

John Greenleaf Whittier.

ANNABEL LEE

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that was more than love

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

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