Hath clear'd for me a broad and solid way,
Whence one more age, aye, haply more than one,
May be arrived at (all through thee), accept
No false or faint or perishable thanks.

From better men, and greater, friendship turn'd
Thy willing steps to me. From Eliot's cell
Death-dark, from Hampden's sadder battle-field,
From steadfast Cromwell's tribunitian throne,
Loftier than kings' supported knees could mount,
Hast thou departed with me, and hast climbed
Cecropian highths, and ploughed Ægean waves.
Therefore it never grieved me when I saw
That she who guards those regions and those seas
Hath lookt with eyes more gracious upon thee.
There are no few like that conspirator
Who, under prètext of power-worship, fell
At Cæsar's feet, only to hold him down
While others stabb'd him with repeated blows:
And there are more who fling light jibes, immerst
In gutter-filth, against the car that mounts.
Weighty with triumph up the Sacred Way.
Protect in every place my stranger guests,
Born in the lucid land of free pure song,
Now first appearing on repulsive shores,
Bleak, and where safely none but natives move,
Red-poll'd, red-handed, siller-grasping men.
Ah! lead them far away, for they are used
To genial climes and gentle speech; but most
Cymodameia: warn the Tritons off

While she ascends, while through the opening plain
Of the green sea (brighten'd by bearing it)
Gushes redundantly her golden hair.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

FROM

"THE LAST FRUIT OFF AN OLD TREE," 1853.

THE LAST FRUIT OFF AN OLD TREE.

EPIGRAMS.

Under the title of Epigrams some will be found here which the general reader may hardly recognise in that character. It will also easily be believed, from the subjects if not from the execution, that several of the lighter pieces were written in early youth. My thanks are now returned to those amiable friends who have thought them worthy of preservation so long. At the close of my seventy-ninth year I am amused in recollecting the occasions.

W. S. L.

1.

TO ONE WHO QUOTES AND DETRACTS.

Rob me and maim me! Why, man, take such pains
On your bare heath to hang yourself in chains?

II.

Who never borrow and who never lend,
Whate'er their losses, will not lose their friend.

III.

Poet! I like not mealy fruit; give me
Freshness and crispness and solidity;
Apples are none the better over-ripe,
And prime buck-venison I prefer to tripe.

IV.

The Rector of Saint Peter's, I know where,
Of erring ignorance takes special care;
Preaching, "It much behoves us that we pray
For these, our flock; none want it more than they.
For such benighted creatures all must feel..
Scarce can they tell a lamprey from an eel!"

V.

Seeing Loreto's holy house descend,

Two robbers were converted. Into what?

Into more robbers; robbers without end,

に

Who grind men's bones and feed upon men's fat.

VI.

ON CATULLUS.

Tell me not what too well I know
About the bard of Sirmio . .

Yes, in Thalia's son

Such stains there are . . as when a Grace
Sprinkles another's laughing face
With nectar, and runs on.

VII.

There falls with every wedding chime
A feather from the wing of Time.
You pick it up, and say "How fair
To look upon its colours are!"
Another drops day after day
Unheeded; not one word you say.
When bright and dusky are blown past,
Upon the hearse there nods the last.

VIII.

Across, up, down, our fortunes go,
Like particles of feathery snow,
Never so certain or so sound

As when they're fallen to the ground.

IX.

Erewhile exulting in its power

Rose thy bright form o'er worlds of sighs;

Graceful as then, at this late hour

Upon the scatter'd flowers it lies.

X.

Early I thought the worst of lies

In poets was, that beauty dies;
I thought not only it must stay,
But glow the brighter every day:
Some who then bloom'd on earth are gone,
In some the bloom is overblown.