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His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness-to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook:-

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

540

GREAT SPIRITS NOW ON EARTH ARE
SOJOURNING

GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning;
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing;
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,

The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
And lo!-whose steadfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings in the human mart?
Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.

541

THE TERROR OF DEATH

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piléd books, in charact❜ry

Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

542

And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the fairy power
Of unreflecting love-then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

LAST SONNET

BRIGHT STAR! would I were steadfast as thou art:-
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors:

No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest;

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever, or else swoon to death.

543

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR
[1775-1864]

ROSE AYLMER

Ан, 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 sighs

I consecrate to thee.

544

TWENTY YEARS HENCE

TWENTY years hence my eyes may grow,
If not quite dim, yet rather so;

Yet yours from others they shall know,
Twenty years hence.

Twenty years hence, though it may hap
That I be call'd to take a nap

In a cool cell where thunder-clap
Was never heard,

There breathe but o'er my arch of grass
A not too sadly sigh'd Alas!'

And I shall catch, ere you can pass,
That winged word.

545

546

PROUD WORD YOU NEVER SPOKE

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.

ABSENCE

HERE, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change, no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk'd by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is-
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.

[blocks in formation]

STAND close around, ye Stygian set,
With Dirce in one boat convey'd!
Or Charon, seeing, may forget

That he is old and she a shade.

548

CORINNA TO TANAGRA, FROM ATHENS
TANAGRA! think not I forget

Thy beautifully storied streets;
Be sure my memory bathes yet
In clear Thermodon, and yet greets
The blithe and liberal shepherd-boy,
Whose sunny bosom swells with joy
When we accept his matted rushes

Upheav'd with sylvan fruit; away he bounds, and
blushes.

A gift I promise: one I see

Which thou with transport wilt receive,

The only proper gift for thee,

Of which no mortal shall bereave

In later times thy mouldering walls,

Until the last old turret falls;

A crown, a crown from Athens won,

A crown no God can wear, beside Latona's son.

There may be cities who refuse

To their own child the honours due,
And look ungently on the Muse;

But ever shall those cities rue
The dry, unyielding, niggard breast,
Offering no nourishment, no rest,

To that young head which soon shall rise
Disdainfully, in might and glory, to the skies.

549

550

Sweetly where cavern'd Dirce flows
Do white-arm'd maidens chant my lay,
Flapping the while with laurel-rose
The honey-gathering tribes away;
And sweetly, sweetly Attic tongues
Lisp your Corinna's early songs;

To her with feet more graceful come

The verses that have dwelt in kindred breasts at home.

O let thy children lean aslant

Against the tender mother's knee,
And gaze into her face, and want

To know what magic there can be
In words that urge some eyes to dance,
While others as in holy trance

Look up to heaven: be such my praise!

Why linger? I must haste, or lose the Delphic bays.

MOTHER, I CANNOT MIND MY WHEEL

MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel;
My fingers ache, my lips are dry:
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
But oh, who ever felt as I?
No longer could I doubt him true-
All other men may use deceit;
He always said my eyes were blue,
And often swore my lips were sweet.

WELL I REMEMBER

WELL I remember how you smiled
To see me write your name upon
The soft sea-sand-'O! what a child!
You think you're writing upon stone!'

I have since written what no tide
Shall ever wash away, what men
Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide
And find Ianthe's name again.

(o) HC XLI

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