She will order all things duly,

When beneath his roof they come. Thus her heart rejoices greatly,

Till a gateway she discerns

With armorial bearings stately, And beneath the gate she turns ;

Sees a mansion more majestic

Than all those she saw before:

Many a gallant gay domestic

Bows before him at the door.

And they speak in gentle murmur,
When they answer to his call,

While he treads with footstep firmer,
Leading on from hall to hall.

And, while now she wonders blindly, Nor the meaning can divine, Proudly turns he round and kindly,

"All of this is mine and thine."

Here he lives in state and bounty,

Lord of Burleigh, fair and free,

Not a lord in all the county

Is so great a lord as he.

All at once the colour flushes

Her sweet face from brow to chin:

As it were with shame she blushes,

And her spirit changed within.

Then her countenance all over

But he clasp'd her like a lover,

And he cheer'd her soul with love.

So she strove against her weakness, Though at times her spirits sank: Shaped her heart with woman's meekness To all duties of her rank:

And a gentle consort made he,

And her gentle mind was such That she grew a noble lady,

And the people loved her much.

But a trouble weigh'd upon her,

And perplex'd her, night and morn,

With the burthen of an honour

Unto which she was not born.

Faint she grew, and ever fainter,

As she murmur'd, "Oh, that he

Were once more that landscape-painter,

Which did win my heart from me!" So she droop'd and droop'd before him, Fading slowly from his side:

Three fair children first she bore him,

Then before her time she died.

Weeping, weeping late and early,
Walking up and pacing down,

Deeply mourn'd the Lord of Burleigh,
Burleigh-house by Stamford-town.

And he came to look upon her,

And he look'd at her and said,

"Bring the dress, and put it on her, That she wore when she was wed."

Then her people, softly treading,
Bore to earth her body, drest

In the dress that she was wed in,
That her spirit might have rest.

SIR LAUNCELOT & QUEEN GUINEVERE.

A Fragment.

LIKE souls that balance joy and pain,
With tears and smiles from heaven again
The maiden Spring upon the plain

Came in a sun-lit fall of rain.

In crystal vapour everywhere

Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between,

And, far in forest-deeps unseen,

The topmost linden gather'd green

From draughts of balmy air.

Sometimes the linnet piped his song:
Sometimes the throstle whistled strong:

Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along,

SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE.

Hush'd all the groves from fear of

wrong:

By grassy capes with fuller sound

In curves the yellowing river ran,
And drooping chestnut-buds began
To spread into the perfect fan,

Above the teeming ground.

Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,

With blissful treble ringing clear.

A

She seem'd a part of joyous Spring:

gown of grass-green silk she wore, Buckled with golden clasps before;

A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.

Now on some twisted ivy-net,
Now by some tinkling rivulet,

On mosses thick with violet,

Her cream-white mule his pastern set:

207

And now more fleet she skimm'd the plains