It sang in the golden moonlight I think of you in the day-time; I wake would you were near me ! The wind is floating through, Is longing, longing for you. Nor think I can forget you! I could not though I would! I see you in all around me, The stream, the night, the wood; The flowers that sleep so gently, The stars above the blue, Oh! heaven itself, my darling, Is praying, praying for you. CARPE DIEM TO-DAY, what is there in the air Last night the full moon's frozen stare To-day is here:- come! crown to-day Walter Herries Pollock BELOW THE HEIGHTS I SAT at Berne, and watched the chain Of icy peaks and passes, That towered like gods above the plain, In stern majestic masses. I waited till the evening light I saw the red spread o'er the white, A tag, and is it thus that women suffer? We can inflict so little on such natures; We cannot make reprisals. Slavish tears For Edric, and, O Hel! a bloody gleam Across her eyes, when I proclaimed the rights Of Edmund's children. I am cut adrift, Far, far from the great, civilizing God, Dull, speechless, unappraised. [A voice singing.] Is that a child I see all clear, how as they moved they chanted, And made a mute procession in the stream. [Gazing abstractedly on the water.] Merrily sang the monks of Ely, Still are they singing? It was Candlemas, tened Without the door. A wail, a litany! Child. Miserere mei, Deus, secundam Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam. Can. How perfectly he sings the music! Child, Who art thou with that voice, those dying cheeks? Art thou an angel sent to wring my heart, Or is it mortal woe? Thine arms are full. Child. Green, country herbs, they say, will staunch a wound, And I have run about the fields and Was leaping all the while. But here is clary, The blessed thistle, yarrow, sicklewort, And all-heal red as gore. I knew a wood So dark and cool, I crept for lily-leaves; Then it grew lonely, and I lost the way. But, oh, you must not beat me; it is done. Father, I stabbed him, throw away the whip! Now God will scourge me. So I plucked the flowers, And sang for mercy in the holy words Can. This He looked. Oh, quickly tell me where he lies Next room? or down the passage? Do you know He was my uncle, and was kissing me, Come along, How can I go? time of day. Can the blood And take me where he is. Can. Come hurtling through my brain. I am a To our sweet Saviour Christ; I cannot pray; He is chill and fainting; Across the stream, · Canute the king passed Give me these hands. So kindly. Oh, he smiles down all the way, Are slipping down. I cannot bear his by, And listened. They shall sing about thy grave. [He bows himself over the child and weeps.] THE BURIAL OF ROBERT UPON St. Michael's Isle That he might feel the Ocean's full em- And wedded be To that wide sea The subject and the passion of his race. Springing, she girds him round And silent space : Then, on more honor bent, She sues the firmament, And bids the hovering, western clouds com bine To spread their sabled amber on her lustrous brine. It might not be |