Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe. And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped in universal law. So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye; Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint. Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point; Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire. Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns. What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's? Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more. Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest. Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn, They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn. Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing. Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's pleasure, woman's painNature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain. Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat, Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd ;- I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. Or to burst all links of habit-there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellow Never comes the trader, never floats an swings the trailer from the crag; Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited treeSummer isles of Eden lying in darkpurple spheres of sea. There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind. There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run. Catch the wild goat by the hair. and hurl their lances in the sun; Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks. Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild. But I count the gray barbarian lowez than the Christian child, I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains! Mated with a squalid savage-what to me were sun or clime! I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon! Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. Mother-Age,-for mine I knew not,-help me as when life begun; Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the sun. D, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. GODIVA 1842. Cry down the past, not only we, that prate Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, And loathed to see them overtax'd; but she Did more, and underwent, and over came, The woman of a thousand summers back, Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled In Coventry; for when he laid a tax Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!" She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode About the hall, among his dogs, alone, His beard a foot before him, and his hair A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And pray'd him, "If they pay this tax they starve." Whereat he amazed, stared, replying, half "You would not let your little finger ache For such as these ?"-" But I would die," said she. He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul, Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear: "O, ay, ay, ay, you talk”—“ Alas!” she said, "But prove me what it is I would not do." And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, He answer'd, "Ride you naked thro' the town, And I repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn, He parted, with great strides among his dogs. So left alone, the passions of her mind, As winds from all the compass shift and blow, Made war upon each other for an hour, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The hard condition, but that she would loose The people; therefore, as they loved her well, From then till noon no foot should pace the street, fall No eye look down, she passing, but that With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon [dred towers, Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hunOne after one; but even then she gain'd Her bower, whence reissuing, robed and crown'd, To meet her lord, she took the tax away And built herself an everlasting name. 1842. SIR GALAHAD My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands shiver on the steel, The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly, The horse and rider reel; They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend To save from shame and thrall; I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer When down the stormy crescent goes, Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice, but none are there; The stalls are void, the doors are wide, The tapers burning fair. Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chants resound between Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark. I leap on board; no helmsman steers; I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the Holy Grail; With folded feet, in stoles of white, When on my goodly charger borne And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields: But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. A maiden knight-to me is given Such hope, I know not fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armor that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. The clouds are broken in the sky, A rolling organ-harmony Swells up and shakes and falls. By bridge and ford, by park and pale, A FAREWELL FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, "Bitter barmaid, waning fast! See that sheets are on my bed. What! the flower of life is past; It is long before you wed. "Slip-shod waiter, lank and sour, At the Dragon on the heath! Let us have a quiet hour, Let us hob-and-nob with Death. "I am old, but let me drink; Bring me spices, bring me wine g I remember, when I think, . That my youth was half divine. "Wine is good for shrivell'd lips, When a blanket wraps the day. When the rotten woodland drips, And the leaf is stamp'd in clay. "Sit thee down, and have no shame, Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee; What care I for any name? What for order or degree? "Let me screw thee up a peg; Let me loose thy tongue with wine; Callest thou that thing a leg? Which is thinnest ? thine or mine? "Thou shalt not be saved by works, Thou hast been a sinner too; Ruin'd trunks on wither'd forks, Empty scarecrows, I and you! "Fill the cup and fill the can, Have a rouse before the morn, Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born. "We are men of ruin'd blood; Therefore comes it we are wise. Fish are we that love the mud, Rising to no fancy-flies. "Name and fame! to fly sublime Thro' the courts, the camps, the schools, Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied by the hands of fools. "Friendship!-to be two in one— Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell. |