The familiar door is re visited and his desolation even more keenly realized. 8. For now her father's chimney glows And thinking "This will please him best," She takes a riband or a rose; 9. For he will see them on to-night; And with the thought her color burns; Once more to set a ringlet right; 10. And, even when she turn'd, the curse Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford, 11. O what to her shall be the end? VII. 1. Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, 2. A hand that can be claspt no more- 3. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. VIII. A happy lover who has come To look on her that loves him well, Who 'lights and rings the gateway bell, And learns her gone and far from home, 2. He saddens, all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall, 3. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not. 4. Yet as that other, wandering there 5. So seems it in my deep regret, O my forsaken heart, with thee 6. But since it pleased a vanish'd eye, That if it can it there may bloom, SECTION II. THE POET FOLLOWS IN SPIRIT THE SHIP BRINGING ARTHUR'S BODY HOME FOR BURIAL: VARIOUS A prayer for a quiet voyage. To be buried at home is better than to be lost at sea. MOODS OF GRIEF IX. 1. Fair ship, that from the Italian shore With my lost Arthur's loved remains, 2. So draw him home to those that mourn Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead 3. All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, As our pure love, thro' early light 4. Sphere all your lights around, above; Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow; Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, My friend, the brother of my love; 5. My Arthur, whom I shall not see X. 1. I hear the noise about thy keel; I hear the bell struck in the night: I see the sailor at the wheel. 2. Thou bring'st the sailor to his wife, And travell❜d men from foreign lands; And letters unto trembling hands; And, thy dark freight, a vanish'd life. 3. So bring him: we have idle dreams: 4. To rest beneath the clover sod, That takes the sunshine and the rains, Or where the kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God, 5. Than if with thee the roaring wells XI. Reverie during 1. Calm is the morn without a sound, a walk on a calm autuma morning. Calm as to suit a calmer grief, The chestnut pattering to the ground; 2. Calm and deep peace on this high wold, And on these dews that drench the furze, And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold; 3. Calm and still light on yon great plain And crowded farms and lessening tow In imagination he visits the ship. An hour passes unheeded. 4. Calm and deep peace in this wide air, These leaves that redden to the fall; And in my heart, if calm at all, If any calm, a calm despair: 5. Calm on the seas, and silver sleep, And waves that sway themselves in rest, And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep. XII. 1. Lo, as a dove when up she springs To bear thro' heaven a tale of woe, 2. Like her I go; I cannot stay; I leave this mortal ark behind, A weight of nerves without a mind, And leave the cliffs, and haste away 3. O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large, And reach the glow of southern skies, And linger weeping on the marge, 4. And saying, "Comes he thus, my friend? "Is this the end? Is this the end?" 5. And forward dart again, and play |