Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly borne, BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away." THE PRINCESS: Á MEDLEY. PROLOGUE. SIR WALTER VIVIAN all a summer's day - the son A Walter too, with others of our set, Five others we were seven at Vivian-place. And me that morning Walter show'd the house, The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs And "this," he said, "was Hugh's at Agincourt; And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon : A good knight he! we keep a chronicle With all about him " - which he brought, and I Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings Who laid about them at their wills and died; And mixt with these, a lady, one that arm'd Her own fair head, and sallying thro' the gate, Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. "O miracle of women," said the book, "O noble heart who, being strait-besieged By this wild king to force her to his wish, Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunn'd a soldier's death, But now when all was lost or seem'd as lost Her stature more than mortal in the burst She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; And, I all rapt in this, "Come out," he said, "To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth And sister Lilia with the rest." We went (I kept the book and had my finger in it) Down thro' the park: strange was the sight to me; For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown With happy faces and with holiday. There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stons Dislink'd with shrieks and laughter: round the lake A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon And shadow, while the twangling violin Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbor seats: and there was Ralph himself, A broken statue propt against the wall, As gay as any. Half child half Lilia, wild with sport, woman as she was, had wound A scarf of orange round the stony helm, That made the old warrior from his ivied nook And there we join'd them: then the maiden Aunt And all things great; but we, unworthier, told But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought My book to mind: and opening this I read Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, And much I praised her nobleness, and "Where,” Ask'd Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay Beside him) "lives there such a woman now ?" Quick answer'd Lilia, "There are thousands now Such women, but convention beats them down: It is but bringing up; no more than that: You men have done it: how I hate you all! Ah, were I something great! I wish I were Some mighty poetess, I would shame you then, That love to keep us children! o I wish That I were some great Princess, I would build Far off from men a college like a man's, And I would teach them all that men are taught; We are twice as quick!" And here she shook aside The hand that play'd the patron with her curls. And one said smiling, "Pretty were the sight If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, If there were many Lilias in the brood, However deep you might embower the nest, Some boy would spy it.” At this upon the sward She tapt her tiny silken-sandal'd foot : "That's your light way; but I would make it death For any male thing but to peep at us." Petulent she spoke, and at herself she laugh'd; And sweet as English air could make her, she: They boated and they cricketed; they talk'd At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics; They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans; They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends, And caught the blossom of the flying terms, But miss'd the mignonette of Vivian-place. The little hearth-flower Lilia. Part banter, part affection. Thus he spoke, "True," she said, "We doubt not that. O yes, you miss'd us much. I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did.” |