Grass of Parnassus | Page 4

thy
singing clear
Through all the murmur of the streams of hell
Wins to
the Maiden's ear!
May she, perchance, have pity on thee and call

Thine eager spirit to sit beside her feet,
Passing throughout the long
unechoing hall
Up to the shadowy throne,
Where the lost lovers of
the ages meet;

Till then thou art alone!
AVE.
'Our Faith and Troth
All time and space controules
Above the

highest sphere we meet
Unseen, unknowne, and greet as Angels
greet'
Col. Richard Lovelace. 1649
CLEVEDON CHURCH.
[In memoriam H. B.]
Westward I watch the low green hills of Wales,
The low sky silver
grey,
The turbid Channel with the wandering sails
Moans through
the winter day.
There is no colour but one ashen light
On tower and
lonely tree,
The little church upon the windy height
Is grey as sky
or sea.
But there hath he that woke the sleepless Love
Slept through
these fifty years,
There is the grave that has been wept above
With
more than mortal tears.
And far below I hear the Channel sweep

And all his waves complain,
As Hallam's dirge through all the years
must keep
Its monotone of pain.

Grey sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies,
My heart flits forth from
these
Back to the winter rose of northern skies,
Back to the northern
seas.
And lo, the long waves of the ocean beat
Below the minster
grey,
Caverns and chapels worn of saintly feet,
And knees of them
that pray.
And I remember me how twain were one
Beside that
ocean dim,
I count the years passed over since the sun
That lights
me looked on him,
And dreaming of the voice that, save in sleep,

Shall greet me not again,
Far, far below I hear the Channel sweep

And all his waves complain.
TWILIGHT ON TWEED.
Three crests against the saffron sky,
Beyond the purple plain,
The
kind remembered melody
Of Tweed once more again.

Wan water from the border hills,
Dear voice from the old years,

Thy distant music lulls and stills,
And moves to quiet tears.
Like a loved ghost thy fabled flood
Fleets through the dusky land;

Where Scott, come home to die, has stood,
My feet returning stand.
A mist of memory broods and floats,
The Border waters flow;
The
air is full of ballad notes,
Borne out of long ago.
Old songs that sung themselves to me,
Sweet through a boy's day
dream,
While trout below the blossom'd tree
Plashed in the golden
steam.

Twilight, and Tweed, and Eildon Hill,
Fair and too fair you be;
You
tell me that the voice is still
That should have welcomed me.
1870.
METEMPSYCHOSIS.
I shall not see thee, nay, but I shall know
Perchance, the grey eyes in
another's eyes,
Shall guess thy curls in gracious locks that flow
On
purest brows, yea, and the swift surmise
Shall follow and track, and
find thee in disguise
Of all sad things, and fair, where sunsets glow,

When through the scent of heather, faint and low,
The weak wind
whispers to the day that dies.
From all sweet art, and out of all old rhyme,
Thine eyes and lips are
light and song to me;
The shadows of the beauty of all time,
In song
or story are but shapes of thee;
Alas, the shadowy shapes! ah, sweet
my dear,
Shall life or death bring all thy being near?
LOST IN HADES.

I dreamed that somewhere in the shadowy place,
Grief of farewell
unspoken was forgot
In welcome, and regret remembered not;
And
hopeless prayer accomplished turned to praise
On lips that had been
songless many days;
Hope had no more to hope for, and desire
And
dread were overpast, in white attire
New born we walked among the
new world's ways.
Then from the press of shades a spirit threw
Towards me such apples
as these gardens bear;
And turning, I was 'ware of her, and knew

And followed her fleet voice and flying hair,--
Followed, and found
her not, and seeking you
I found you never, dearest, anywhere.
A STAR IN THE NIGHT.
The perfect piteous beauty of thy face
Is like a star the dawning
drives away;
Mine eyes may never see in the bright day
Thy pallid
halo, thy supernal grace;
But in the night from forth the silent place

Thou comest, dim in dreams, as doth a stray
Star of the starry flock
that in the grey
Is seen, and lost, and seen a moment's space.
And as the earth at night turns to a star,
Loved long ago, and dearer
than the sun,
So in the spiritual place afar,
At night our souls are
mingled and made one,
And wait till one night fall, and one dawn rise,

That brings no noon too splendid for your eyes.
A SUNSET ON YARROW.
The wind and the day had lived together,
They died together, and far
away
Spoke farewell in the sultry weather,
Out of the sunset, over
the heather,
The dying wind and the dying day.
Far in the south, the summer levin
Flushed, a flame in the grey soft
air:
We seemed to look on the hills of heaven;
You saw within, but
to me 'twas given
To see your face, as an angel's, there.

Never again, ah surely never
Shall we wait and watch, where of old
we stood,
The low good-night of the hill and the