Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I. | Page 2

withered, blossom and bud.
VI.
A shady freshness, chafers whirring,
A little piping of leaf-hid birds;

A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring,
A cloud to the eastward snowy
as curds.
Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered
Round valleys like nests
all ferny-lined;
Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered,

Swell high in their freckled robes behind.
A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver,
When golden gleams to the
tree-tops glide;
A flashing edge for the milk-white river,
The beck,
a river--with still sleek tide.
Broad and white, and polished as silver,
On she goes under
fruit-laden trees;
Sunk in leafage cooeth the culver,
And 'plaineth of
love's disloyalties.
Glitters the dew and shines the river,
Up comes the lily and dries her
bell;
But two are walking apart forever,
And wave their hands for a
mute farewell.
VII.
A braver swell, a swifter sliding;
The river hasteth, her banks recede:

Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding
Bear down the lily and drown
the reed.
Stately prows are rising and bowing
(Shouts of mariners winnow the

air),
And level sands for banks endowing
The tiny green ribbon that
showed so fair.
While, O my heart! as white sails shiver,
And crowds are passing,
and banks stretch wide
How hard to follow, with lips that quiver,

That moving speck on the far-off side!
Farther, farther--I see it--know it--
My eyes brim over, it melts away:

Only my heart to my heart shall show it
As I walk desolate day by
day.
VII.
And yet I know past all doubting, truly--
A knowledge greater than
grief can dim--
I know, as he loved, he will love me duly--
Yea
better--e'en better than I love him.
And as I walk by the vast calm river,
The awful river so dread to see,

I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth forever
Are bridged by his
thoughts that cross to me."
HONORS.--PART I.
(A Scholar is musing on his want of success.)
To strive--and fail. Yes, I did strive and fail;
I set mine eyes upon a
certain night
To find a certain star--and could not hail
With them its deep-set light.
Fool that I was! I will rehearse my fault:
I, wingless, thought myself
on high to lift
Among the winged--I set these feet that halt
To run against the swift.
And yet this man, that loved me so, can write--
That loves me, I
would say, can let me see;
Or fain would have me think he counts but

light
These Honors lost to me.
(The letter of his friend.)
"What are they? that old house of yours
which gave
Such welcome oft to me, the sunbeams fall
Yet, down
the squares of blue and white which pave
Its hospitable hall.
"A brave old house! a garden full of bees,
Large dropping poppies,
and Queen hollyhocks,
With butterflies for crowns--tree peonies
And pinks and goldilocks.
"Go, when the shadow of your house is long
Upon the garden--when
some new-waked bird.
Pecking and fluttering, chirps a sudden song,
And not a leaf is stirred;
"But every one drops dew from either edge
Upon its fellow, while an
amber ray
Slants up among the tree-tops like a wedge
Of liquid gold--to play
"Over and under them, and so to fall
Upon that lane of water lying
below--
That piece of sky let in, that you do call
A pond, but which I know
"To be a deep and wondrous world; for I
Have seen the trees within
it--marvellous things
So thick no bird betwixt their leaves could fly
But she would smite her wings;--
"Go there, I say; stand at the water's brink,
And shoals of spotted
barbel you shall see
Basking between the shadows--look, and think

'This beauty is for me;
"'For me this freshness in the morning hours,
For me the water's clear
tranquillity;
For me the soft descent of chestnut flowers;
The cushat's cry for me.
"'The lovely laughter of the wind-swayed wheat
The easy slope of
yonder pastoral hill;
The sedgy brook whereby the red kine meet
And wade and drink their fill.'
"Then saunter down that terrace whence the sea
All fair with
wing-like sails you may discern;
Be glad, and say 'This beauty is for
me--
A thing to love and learn.
"'For me the bounding in of tides; for me
The laying bare of sands
when they retreat;
The purple flush of calms, the sparkling glee
When waves and sunshine meet.'
"So, after gazing, homeward turn, and mount
To that long chamber in
the roof; there tell
Your heart the laid-up lore it holds to count
And prize and ponder well.
"The lookings onward of the race before
It had a past to make it look
behind;
Its reverent wonder, and its doubting sore,
Its adoration blind.
"The thunder of its war-songs, and the glow
Of chants to freedom by
the old world sung;
The sweet love cadences that long ago
Dropped from the old-world tongue.

"And then this new-world lore that takes account
Of tangled star-dust;
maps the triple whirl
Of blue and red and argent worlds that mount
And greet the IRISH EARL;
"Or float across the tube that HERSCHEL sways,
Like pale-rose
chaplets, or like sapphire mist;
Or hang or droop