ΤΟ CL I. 'LEAR-HEADED friend, whose joyful scorn, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn Roof not a glance so keen as thine: 2. Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit; A gentler death shall Falsehood die, 3. Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, Thy kingly intellect shall feed, Until she be an athlete bold, And weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed; Like that strange angel which of old, Wrestled with wandering Israel, Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, MADELINE. I. THO HOU art not steep'd in golden languors, Ever varying Madeline. Thro' light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. 2. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Revealings deep and clear are thine Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Thy smile and frown are not aloof From one another, Each to each is dearest brother; Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other. All the mystery is thine; Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore, Ever varying Madeline. 3. A subtle, sudden flame, By veering passion fann'd, About thee breaks and dances; When I would kiss thy hand, The flush of anger'd shame O'erflows thy calmer glances, And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown: But when I turn away, Thou, willing me to stay, Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest; Then in madness and in bliss, WHEN cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, 2. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay: Alone and warming his five wits, SECOND SONG. TO THE SAME. I. HY tuwhits are lull'd I wot, ΤΗ Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, So took echo with delight, That her voice untuneful grown, Wears all day a fainter tone. 2. I would mock thy chaunt anew; Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, With a lengthen'd loud halloo, Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. WHEN the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free WE In the silken sail of infancy, The tide of time flow'd back with me, Anight my shallop, rustling thro' By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide, |