LE ROI EST MORT. AND shall I weep that Love's no more, And magnify his reign? Sure never mortal man before King Love is dead and gone for aye, A CLASSIC LANDSCAPE. THIS Wood might be some Grecian heritage gray the air where Oread fancies brood. Beyond, the fields are tall with purple sage; O tender wheat, O starry saxifrage, O deep-red tulips, how the fields are fair! How far they look, the Mountains of Mirage, O world, how worthy of a golden age! How might Theocritus have sung and found The Oreads here, the Naiads gathering round, Their pallid locks still dripping to the ground. For me, O world, thou art how mere a stage, Whereon the human soul must play alone, In a dead language, with the plot unknown, Nor learn what happens when the play is done. INVOCATIONS. O SONG in the nightingale's throat, O music, Dropt as it fell, by a falling star, All of the silence is filled with thy pain, O song in the nightingale's throat, O music, O space of the moon in the starless heaven, Raining a whiteness on moorland and sea, O silence of Death, O world of darkness, REMEMBRANCE. O NIGHT of death, O night that bringest all, Then let my face, pale as a waning moon, Thy name O Death-she could not brook to hear. WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. WOODSTOCK MAZE. 'O NEVER shall any one find you then!' Said he, merrily pinching her cheek; 'But why?' she asked, -- he only laughed, — 'Why shall it be thus, now speak!' 'Because so like a bird art thou, Thou must live within green trees, With nightingales and thrushes and wrens, Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day 'Nay, nay, you jest, no wren am I, And rather would keep this arras and wall 'Tween me and the wind's assail. I like to hear little Minnie's gay laugh, And the whistle of Japes the page, Or to watch old Madge when her spindle twirls, Oh, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, still fall, 'Yea, yea, but thou art the world's best Rose, And wall thee round with holly and beech, 'Nay, nay, sweet master, I'm no Rose, And love many things both great and small, Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day 'Aye, sweetheart, sure thou sayest sooth, But yet needs must I dibble the hedge, Then Minnie and Japes and Madge shall be Thy merry-mates all day long, And thou shalt hear my bugle-call For matin or even-song.' Ok, the leaves, brown, yellow, and red, still fall, Fall and fall over churchyard or hall. 'Look yonder now, my blue-eyed bird, But at his beck came a litter on wheels, He lifted her in by her lily-white hand, So left they the blithe sunny wall. Oh, the shower and the sunshine every day The gorse and ling are netted and strong, The wild briar-roses by runnels grow Seems never a pathway there. thick; Then come the dwarf oaks knotted and wrung |