Again is at the full: she promised this, Tho' when she promised I could not reply."

By all the Gods I pity thee! go on, Fear not my anger, look not on my shame,

For when a lover only hears of love
He finds his folly out, and is ashamed.
Away with watchful nights and lonely
days,

Contempt of earth and aspect up to heaven,

With contemplation, with humility, A tatter'd cloak that pride wears when deform'd,

Away with all that hides me from myself,

Parts me from others, whispers I am wise:

From our own wisdom less is to be reapt Than from the barest folly of our friend. Tamar! thy pastures, large and rich, afford

Flowers to thy bees and herbage to thy sheep,

But, battened on too much, the poorest

But where the land is dim from tyranny, There tiny pleasures occupy the place Of glories and of duties; as the feet Of fabled fairies when the sun goes down Trip o'er the grass where wrestlers strove by day. [above,

Then Justice, call'd the Eternal One Is more inconstant than the buoyant form That burst into existence from the froth Of ever-varying ocean: what is best Then becomes worst; what loveliest, most deformed.

The heart is hardest in the softest climes, The passions flourish, the affections die. O thou vast tablet of these awful truths, That fillest all the space between the seas, Spreading from Venice's deserted courts To the Tarentine and Hydruntine mole, What lifts thee up? what shakes thee?

'tis the breath

[life!

Of God. Awake, ye nations! spring to Let the last work of his right hand appear Fresh with his image, Man. Thou recreant slave

That sittest afar off and helpest not, O thou degenerate Albion! 3 with what shame

1 Rose Aylmer, the daughter of Henry, fourth Baron Aylmer, was Landor's companion in his walks about Swansea ("Abertawy) in Wales. She went to India, and died there in 1800. Landor speaks of her again in two poems written late in life: The Three Roses, 1858, (see page 457); and Abertawy, 1859, the concluding lines of which almost equal in beauty this early lyric, usually considered the most beautiful of his poems:

Where is she now? Call'd far away, By one she dared not disobey, To those proud halls, for youth unfit, Where princes stand and judges sit. Where Ganges rolls his widest wave She dropped her blossom in the grave; Her noble name she never changed, Nor was her nobler heart estranged. Inspired by the struggle of the Greek people for independence.

3" What those amongst us who are affected by a sense of national honor most lament, is, that England, whose generosity would cost her nothing and whose courage would be unexposed to fatality, stands aloof." (Landor, in the Dedica tion of Imaginary Conversations, 1829.)

For Tyranny to tread the more secure? From gold alone is drawn the guilty wire tone

That Adulation trills: she mocks the
Of Duty, Courage, Virtue, Piety,
And under her sits Hope. O how unlike
That graceful form in azure vest array'd,
With brow serene, and eyes on heaven
alore

In patience fixed, in fondness unobscured!

What monsters coil beneath the spreading tree

Of Despotism! what wastes extend around!

What poison floats upon the distant breeze!

But who are those that cull and deal its fruit?

Creatures that shun the light and fear the shade,

Bloated and fierce, Sleep's mien and Famine's cry.

Rise up again, rise in thy dignity, Dejected Man! and scare this brood 1824.

away.

CHILD OF A DAY, THOU KNOWEST NOT

CHILD of a day, thou knowest not

The tears that overflow thine urn, The gushing eyes that read thy lot,

Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return! And why the wish! the pure and blessed Watch like thy mother o'er thy sleep. O peaceful night! O envied rest! Thou wilt not ever see her weep. 1831.

LYRICS, TO IANTHE

AWAY my verse; and never fear,
As men before such beauty do;
On you she will not look severe,

She will not turn her eyes from you. Some happier graces could I lend

That in her memory you should live, Some little blemishes might blend, For it would please her to forgive.

When Helen first saw wrinkles in her face

("Twas when some fifty long had settled there

And intermarried and branched off a wide)

She threw herself upon her couch and

wept :

On this side hung her head, and over
that
Listlessly she let fall the faithless brass
That made the men as faithless.

But when you Found them, or fancied them, and would not hear

That they were only vestiges of smiles, Or the impression of some amorous hair Astray from cloistered curls and roseate band, [perhaps

Which had been lying there all night Upon a skin so soft, No, no," you said, Sure, they are coming, yes, are come, are here:

Well, and what matters it, while thou art too!"

Cried she," is large and sweet." She held one forth,

Whether for me to look at or to take She knew not, nor did I; but taking it Would best have solved (and this she felt) her doubt.

I dared not touch it; for it seemed a part

Of her own self; fresh, full, the most mature

Of blossoms, yet a blossom; with a touch To fall, and yet unfallen. She drew back The boon she tender'd, and then, finding

not

The ribbon at her waist to fix it in, Dropped it, as loth to drop it, on the rest. 1831.

FOR AN EPITAPH AT FIESOLE

Lo! where the four mimosas blend their shade

In calm repose at last is Landor laid, For ere he slept he saw them planted here

By her his soul had ever held most dear, And he had lived enough when he had dried her tear. 1831.

UPON A SWEET-BRIAR

My briar that smelledst sweet
When gentle spring's first heat

Ran through thy quiet veins,-
Thou that wouldst injure none,
But wouldst be left alone,

Alone thou leavest me, and nought of thine remains.

What! hath no poet's lyre

O'er thee, sweet-breathing briar,
Hung fondly, ill or well?
And yet methinks with thee
A poet's sympathy,

Whether in weal or woe, in life or death, might dwell.

Hard usage both must bear,
Few hands your youth will rear,
Few bosoms cherish you;
Your tender prime must bleed