Puslapio vaizdai


THERE is a soul above the soul of each,

A mightier soul, which yet to each be-

longs : There is a sound made of all human

speech, And numerous as the concourse of all

songs : And in that soul lives each, in each that

Though all the ages are its lifetime vast;
Each soul that dies, in its most sacred

Receiveth life that shall forever last.
And thus forever with a wider span
Humanity o'erarches time and death ;
Man can elect the universal man,
And live in life that ends not with his

breath :
And gather glory that increases still
Till Time his glass with Death's last dust

shall fill.

Of the same wings that soar'd:

ceasest thou

that grew invisible with joys. Love bids thy fall begin; and thou art now Dropp'd back to earth, and of the earth

again, Because that love hath made thy heart to

bow. Thou hast thy mate, thy nest on lowly

plain, Thy timid heart by law ineffable Is drawn from the high heavens where thou

shouldst reign ; Earth summons thee by her most tender

spell; For thee there is a silence and a song : Thy silence in the shadowy earth must

Thy song in the bright heavens cannot be

- And best to thee those fates



compare Where weakness strives to answer bidding




Out of this town there riseth a high hill,

About whose sides live many anchorites Thou only bird that singest as thou flyest, In cells cut in the rock with curious skill, Heaven-mounting lark, that measurest And laid in terraces along the heights ; with thy wing

This holy hill with that where stands the The airy zones, till thou art lost in highest !

town Upon the branch the laughing thrushes The ancient Roman aqueduct unites ; cling,

And passing o'er the vale her chain of About her home the humble linnet wheels,

stone Around the tower the gather'd starlings Cuts it in two with line indelible ; swing ;

A work right marvellous to gaze upon. These mix their songs and weave their To one of those grave hermits there figur'd reels :

befell Thou risest in thy lonely joy away,

A curious thing, whereof the fame was new From the first rapturous note that from In our sojourn ; the which I here will tell. thee steals,

He found himself when night had shed Quick, quick, and quicker, till the exalted

her dew, lay

In a long valley, narrow, deep, and straight, Is steadied in the golden breadths of light, Like that which lay all day beneath his 'Mid mildest clouds that bid thy pinions

view. stay.

On each hand mountains rose precipitate, The heavens that give would yet sus- Whose tops for darkness he could nowise tain thy flight,

see, And o'er the earth for ever cast thy voice, Though wistful that high gloom to peneIf but to gain were still to keep the height. But soon thou sinkest on the fluttering And through this hollow, one, who poise

seem'd to be

trate ;

brink :

Of calm and quiet mien, was leading him Now while his mind was fill'd with ruth In friendly converse and society :

and fear, But whom he wist not : neither could be And with great horror stood his eyeballs trim

steep, Memory's spent torch to know what things Deeming that hell before him did apwere said,

pear, Nor about what, in that long way and And souls in torment toss'd from brink to

dim. But as the valley still before him spread, Upon him look'd the one who set him He saw a line, that did the same divide

there, Across in halves : which made him feel And said : “This is not hell, as thou dost great dread.

think, For he beheld fire burning on one side Neither those torments of the cold and Unto the mountains from the midmost

heat vale ;

Are those wherewith the damned wail and On the other, ice the empire did discide,

shrink." Fed from the opposing hill with snow And there with from that place he turn'd and hail.

his feet ; So dreary was that haunt of fire and And sometime on they walk'd, the while cold,

this man That nought on earth to equal might In anguish shuddering did the effect reavail.

peat : Fire ended where began the frozen Such spasms of horror through his body mould;

ran, Both in extreme at their conjunction: Walking with stumbling, and with glazed So close were they, no severance might be

eyes told :

Whither he knew not led, ghastly and wan. No thinnest line of separation,

Then said the other : “In those agonies Like that which is by painter drawn to No more than hell's beginning know : bepart

hold, One color in his piece from other one, The doom of hell itself is otherwise." So fine as that which held these realms Therewith he drew aside his vesture's apart.

fold, And through the vale the souls of men in And show'd his heart : than fire more hot pain

it burn'd From one to the other side did leap and One half : the rest was ice than ice more dart,

cold. From heat to cold, from cold to heat A moment show'd he this : and then he again :

turn'd, And not an instant through their anguish And in his going all the vision went : great

And he, who in his mind these things disIn either element might they remain.

cern’d, So great the multitude thus toss’d by Came to himself with long astonishment.

fate, That as a mist they seem'd in the dark

OF TEMPERANCE IN FORTUNE air. No shrimper, who at half-tide takes his HAPPY the man who so hath Fortune tried freight,

That likewise he her


relation When high his pole-net seaward he doth

knows : bear,

To whom both much is given and denied : Ever beheld so thick a swarm to leap

To riches and to poverty he owes Out of the brine on evening still and An equal debt : of both he makes acquist, fair,

And moderate in all his mind he shows. Waking a mist mile-long 'twixt shore But ill befalls the man who hath not and deep.


Aught of his heart's desires, in plenty They burst in tumults, swollen with bloody nurs'd :

shame, For evil things he knows not to resist : Which old exploits aggrieve and not asAnd, aiding their assault, himself is

suage. worst

Past temperance doth the present feast Against himself, with self-destructive

inflame; rage.

Past grandeur like too heavy armor But states are with another evil curs'd,

weighs : For, falling into luxury with age,

Great without virtue is an evil name.

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Until I thought of your dear head,
Bow'd to the gillyflower bed,
The yellow flowers stain'd with red ;

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.
Crash ! how the swords met, “ giroflée!'
The fierce tune in my helm would play,
La belle! la belle jaune giroflée!

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Once more the great swords met again,
La belle ! la belle !but who fell then
Le Sieur Guillaume, who struck down

ten ;-
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

My hand was steady, too, to take
My axe from round my neck, and break
John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.
When I stood in my tent again,
Arming afresh, I felt a pain
Take hold of



was so fain-
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée
To hear: Honneur aux fils des preux !
Right in my ears again, and shew
The gillyflower blossom'd new.

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

And as, with maz'd and unarm'd face,
Toward my own crown and the Queen's

They led me at a gentle pace,

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée,

The Sieur Guillaume against me came,
His tabard bore three points of flame

I almost saw your quiet head
Bow'd o'er the gillyflower bed,
The yellow flowers stain'd with red, -

Häh! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

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And ever the chevron overhead Flapp'd on the banner of the dead ; (Was he asleep, or was he dead ?)

Lady Alice

He did not strike one blow,

For the recreants came behind,
In a place where the hornbeams grow,

A path right hard to find,
For the hornbeam boughs swing so

That the twilight makes it blind.
They lighted a great torch then ;

When his arms were pinion'd fast, Sir John the knight of the Fen,

Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, With knights threescore and ten,

Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. I am threescore and ten,

And my hair is all turn'd gray, But I met Sir John of the Fen

Long ago on a summer day,
And am glad to think of the moment when

I took his life away:
I am threescore and ten,

And my strength is mostly past,
But long ago I and my men,

When the sky was overcast,
And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the

Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.
And now, knights all of you,

pray you pray for Sir Hugh,
A good knight and a true,
And for Alice, his wife, pray too.

Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,
Two damozels wearing purple and green,
Four lone ladies dwelling here
From day to day and year to year :
And there is none to let us go ;
To break the locks of the doors below,
Or shovel away the heap'd-up snow ;
And when we die no man will know
That we are dead; but they give us leave,
Once every year on Christmas-eve,
To sing in the Closet Blue one song :
And we should be so long, so long,
If we dar'd, in singing ; for, dream on dream,
They float on in a happy stream ;
Float from the gold strings, float from the

Float from the open'd lips of Louise :
But, alas ! the sea-salt oozes through
The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;

And ever the great bell overhead
Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,
The wind plays on it a knell for the dead.

(They sing all together :) How long ago was it, how long ago, He came to this tower with hands full of


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“In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my

tears, But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old

years ;


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OF Heaven or Hell I have no power to

sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your

tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.

But rather, when aweary of your mirth From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days

die. Remember me a little then, I pray, The idle singer of an empty day.

The heavy trouble, the bewildering care That weighs us down who live and earn our

bread, These idle verses have no power to bear ; So let me sing of names remembered, Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, Or long time take their memory quite

away From us poor singers of an empty day. Dreamer of dreams, born out of my

due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked

straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring

rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory

gate, Telling a tale not too importunate


Through the floor shot up a lily red,
With a patch of earth from the land of the

dead, For he was strong in the land of the dead.

What matter that his cheeks were pale, His kind kiss'd lips all gray

? “0, love Louise, have you waited long ?

“O, my lord Arthur, yea.”

What if his hair that brush'd her cheek

Was stiff with frozen rime ? His eyes were grown quite blue again,

As in the happy time.

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