Sixteen Poems | Page 5

'Tis all in vain that I complain;
No use to coax or chide her there;

As far away from me as Spain,
Although I stand beside her there.
O
cruel Kate! since that's my fate,
I'll look for love no more in you;

The seagull's screech as soon would reach
Your heart, as me
implorin' you.
Tho' fair you are, and rare you are,
The loveliest flow'r of any, O,--

Too proud and high,--good-bye, say I,
To Kate o' Belashanny, O!

FOUR DUCKS ON A POND
Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,

White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for
years--
To remember with tears!
ÆOLIAN HARP
What is it that is gone, we fancied ours?
Oh what is lost that never
may be told?--
We stray all afternoon, and we may grieve
Until the
perfect closing of the night.
Listen to us, thou gray Autumnal Eve,

Whose part is silence. At thy verge the clouds
Are broken into
melancholy gold;
The waifs of Autumn and the feeble flow'rs

Glimmer along our woodlands in wet light;
Within thy shadow thou
dost weave the shrouds
Of joy and great adventure, waxing cold,

Which once, or so it seemed, were full of might.
Some power it was,
that lives not with us now,
A thought we had, but could not, could not
hold.
O sweetly, swiftly pass'd:--air sings and murmurs;
Green
leaves are gathering on the dewy bough;
O sadly, swiftly pass'd:--air
sighs and mutters;
Red leaves are dropping on the rainy mould.

Then comes the snow, unfeatured, vast, and white.
O what is gone
from us, we fancied ours?--
THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE
When the spinning-room was here
Came Three Damsels, clothed in
white,
With their spindles every night;
One and Two and three fair
Maidens,
Spinning to a pulsing cadence,
Singing songs of
Elfin-Mere;
Till the eleventh hour was toll'd,
Then departed through
the wold.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth
blow.
Three white Lilies, calm and clear,
And they were loved by every one;


Most of all, the Pastor's Son,
Listening to their gentle singing,

Felt his heart go from him, clinging
Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere.

Sued each night to make them stay,
Sadden'd when they went
away.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth
blow.
Hands that shook with love and fear
Dared put back the village
clock,--
Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock,
Flow'd the song with
subtle rounding,
Till the false 'eleven' was sounding;
Then these
Maids of Elfin-Mere
Swiftly, softly, left the room,
Like three doves
on snowy plume.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth
blow.
One that night who wander'd near
Heard lamentings by the shore,

Saw at dawn three stains of gore
In the waters fade and dwindle.

Never more with song and spindle
Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere,

The Pastor's Son did pine and die;
Because true love should never lie.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth
blow.
TWILIGHT VOICES
Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals
Drowse in the shade of their
whirling sphere,
Heaven and Hell from invisible portals
Breathing
comfort and ghastly fear,
Voices I hear;
I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,
Wavering by
on the dusky blast,--
'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;
Come,
let us go, for the day is past!'
Troops of joys are they, now departed?
Winged hopes that no longer

stay?
Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted?
Powers that have
linger'd their latest day?
What do they say?
What do they sing? I hear them calling,

Whispering, gathering, flying fast,--
'Come, come, for the night is
falling;
Come, come, for the day is past!'
Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted;
Mortal, thy sands of life run
low;
Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:
Time is
ending;--we go, we go.'
Sing they so?
Mystical voices, floating, calling;
Dim farewells--the
last, the last?
Come, come away, the night is falling;
'Come, come
away, the day is past.'
See, I am ready, Twilight voices!
Child of the spirit-world am I;

How should I fear you? my soul rejoices,
O speak plainer! O draw
nigh!
Fain would I fly!
Tell me your message, Ye who are calling
Out of
the dimness vague and vast;
Lift me, take me,--the night is falling;

Quick, let us go,--the day is past.
THE LOVER AND BIRDS
Within a budding grove,
In April's ear sang every bird his best,
But
not a song to pleasure my unrest,
Or touch the tears unwept of bitter
love;
Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.
To every word
Of every bird
I listen'd, and replied as it behove.

Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!'
'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb
awhile, in fear
Thy darling prove no