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ADDITIONAL POEMS

289

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife ;

Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art ; I warmed both hands before the fire of life ; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

W. S. LANDOR.

290

ROSE AYLMER
Ah what avails the sceptred race !

Ah what the form divine !
What every virtue, every grace !

Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes

May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.

W. S. LANDOR.

5

291

THE MAID'S LAMENT
I loved him not; and yet now he is gone

I feel I am alone.
I checked him while he spoke ; yet could he speak,

Alas ! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, 5 And wearied all my thought

To vex myself and him : I now would give

My love, could he but live Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 'Twas vain, in holy ground

10 He hid his face amid the shades of death.

I waste for him my breath
Who wasted his for me : but mine returns,

And this lorn bosom burns
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 15

And waking me to weep
Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years

Wept he as bitter tears.
Merciful God! such was his latest prayer,
These may she never share !

20 Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold,

Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate,

His name and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, 25 Ind, 0, pray too for me!

W. S. LANDOR.

292 TO ROBERT BROWNING There is delight in singing, tho' none hear Beside the singer : and there is delight In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone And see the praised far off him, far above. Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, 5 Therefore on him no speech ! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walked along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. But warmer climes 10 Give brighter plumage, stronger wing : the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

W. S. LANDOR.

293 Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak

Four not exempt from pride some future day. Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek

Over my open volume you will say, • This man loved me!' then rise and trip away.

W. S. LANDOR.

294
Well I remember how you smiled

To see me write your name upon
The soft sea-sand ....'0! what a child !

You think you're writing upon stone !!
I have since written what no tide

5
Shall ever wash away, what men
Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide
And find Ianthe's name again.

W. S. LANDOR.

295
TO A WATERFOWL
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye

5 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,

10 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

On the chafed ocean side ?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-
The desert and illimitable air,-

15 Lone wandering, but not lost.

20

All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend,

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven 25 Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone,

31 Will lead my steps aright.

W. C. BRYANT. 296

RONDEAU
Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in ;
Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in !
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,

5
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me. J. H. LEIGH HUNT.

297
THE WAR SONG OF DINAS VAWR
The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter ;
We therefore deemed it meeter

To carry off the latter,
We made an expedition ;

5
We met a host, and quelled it ;
We forced a strong position,

And killed the men who held it.

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