IT trembled on the grass

With a low, shadowy laughter;
The sounding river which rolled, for ever
Stood dumb and stagnant after :
"Brave knight thy brother is !

But better loveth he

Thy chaliced wine than thy chaunted song,

And better both than thee,

The lady did not heed

Margret, Margret."

The river's silence while

Her own thoughts still ran at their will,

And calm was still her smile.

"My little sister wears

The look our mother wore :

I smooth her locks with a golden comb,

I bless her evermore."

Margret, Margret.

“I gave hèr my first bird

When first my voice it knew;
I made her share my posies rare

And told her where they grew :
I taught her God's dear name
With prayer and praise to tell,
She looked from heaven into my face
And said, I love thee well."

Margret, Margret.

IT trembled on the grass

With a low, shadowy laughter;

You could see each bird as it woke and stared

Through the shrivelled foliage after.

"Fair child thy sister is!

But better loveth she

Thy golden comb than thy gathered flowers,

And better both than thee,

Margret, Margret."

Thy lady did not heed

The withering on the bough; Still calm her smile albeit the while

A little pale her brow:

"I have a father old,

The lord of ancient halls

An hundred friends are in his court

Yet only me he calls.

Margret, Margret.

"An hundred knights are in his court

Yet read I by his knee;

And when forth they go to the tourney show I rise not up to see :

'T is a weary book to read,

My tryst 's at set of sun,

But loving and dear beneath the stars

Is his blessing when I 've done."

Margret, Margret.

IT trembled on the grass

With a low, shadowy laughter;

And moon and star though bright and far

Did shrink and darken after.

"High lord thy father is !

But better loveth he

His ancient halls than his hundred friends,

His ancient halls, than thee,

The lady did not heed

Margret, Margret."

That the far stars did fail;

Still calm her smile, albeit the while . . .

Nay, but she is not pale!

"I have more than a friend

Across the mountains dim: No other's voice is soft to me, Unless it nameth him."

Margret, Margret.

"Though louder beats my heart

I know his tread again,

And his fair plume aye, unless turned away,
For the tears do blind me then :
We brake no gold, a sign

Of stronger faith to be,

But I wear his last look in my soul,

Which said, I love but thee!"

Margret, Margret.

IT trembled on the grass

With a low, shadowy laughter;

And the wind did toll, as a passing soul
Were sped by the church-bell after ;
And shadows, 'stead of light,

Fell from the stars above,

In flakes of darkness on her face

Still bright with trusting love.

Margret, Margret.

"He loved but only thee!

That love is transient too.

The wild hawk's bill doth dabble still
I' the mouth that vowed thee true :

Will he open his dull eyes,

When tears fall on his brow?

Behold, the death-worm to his heart

Is a nearer thing than thou,

Margret, Margret."

Her face was on the ground

None saw the agony;

But the men at sea did that night agree
They heard a drowning cry : -
And when the morning brake,
Fast rolled the river's tide,

With the green trees waving overhead
And a white corse laid beside.

Margret, Margret.

A knight's bloodhound and he

The funeral watch did keep;

With a thought o the chase he stroked its face
As it howled to see him weep.

A fair child kissed the dead,

But shrank before its cold;

And alone yet proudly in his hall

Did stand a baron old.

Margret, Margret.

Hang up my harp again!

I have no voice for song.

Not song but wail, and mourners pale
Not bards, to love belong.

O failing human love!

O light, by darkness known!

O false, the while thou treadest earth!

O deaf beneath the stone !

Margret, Margret.

A CHILD ASLEEP.

How he sleepeth, having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore!
From its pretty eyes have sunken

Pleasures to make room for more;

Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day before.

Nosegays! leave them for the waking ;

Throw them earthward where they grew;

Dim are such beside the breaking

Amaranths he looked unto :

Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do.

Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden
From the palms they sprang beneath,
Now perhaps divinely holden, .

Swing against him in a wreath :

We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath.

Vision unto vision calleth

While the young child dreameth on:

Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth

With the glory thou hast won!

Darker wast thou in the garden yestermorn by summer

sun.

We should see the spirits ringing

Round thee, were the clouds away :

'T is the child-heart draws them, singing
In the silent-seeming clay-

Singing! stars that seem the mutest go in music all the

way.

As the moths around a taper,

As the bees around a rose,
As the gnats around a vapour,

So the spirits group and close

Round about a holy childhood as if drinking its repose. Shapes of brightness overlean thee,

Flash their diadems of youth

On the ringlets which half screen thee,

While thou smilest . . . not in sooth

...

Thy smile, but the overfair one, dropt from some ætherial mouth.

Haply it is angels' duty,

During slumber, shade by shade

To fine down this childish beauty

To the thing it must be made

Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see

it fade.