In silence lay the cloistral court
And shadows of the convent towers:
Well order'd now in stately sort
Those royal halls and bowers.
The choral chaunt had just swept by ;
Bright arms lay quivering yet on high:
Thereon the warriors gaz'd, and then
Glanced lightly at the Queen again.
While from her lip the wild hymn floated,
Such grace in those uplifted eyes
And sweet, half absent looks, they noted
That, surely, through the skies
A Spirit, they deem'd, flew forward ever
Above that song's perpetual river,
And, smiling from its joyous track,
Upon her heavenly face look'd back.
I LEARN'D his greatness first at Lavington: The moon had early sought her bed of brine,
But we discours'd till now each starry sign Had sunk : our theme was one and one
"Two minds supreme," he said, "our earth has known;
One sang in science; one serv'd God in song;
Flung on the canvas by old art divine;
Or vision of shap'd stone;
Or the far glory of some starry sign
Which hath a beauty unapproachable
To aught but sight, - a throne
High in the heavens and out of reach;
Therefore with this low speech
HE sang so wildly, did the Boy,
That you could never tell
If 't was a madman's voice you heard,
Or if the spirit of a bird
Within his heart did dwell:
A bird that dallies with his voice
Among the matted branches;
Or on the free blue air his note
To pierce, and fall, and rise, and float,
With bolder utterance launches.
None ever was so sweet as he,
The boy that wildly sang to me;
Though toilsome was the way and long,
He led me not to lose the song.
But when again we stood below
The unhidden sky, his feet
Grew slacker, and his note more slow,
But more than doubly sweet.
He led me then a little way
Athwart the barren moor,
And then he stayed and bade me stay
Beside a cottage door;
I could have stayed of mine own will,
In truth, my eye and heart to fill
With the sweet sight which I saw there,
At the dwelling of the cottager.
A little in the doorway sitting,
The mother plied her busy knitting,
And her cheek so softly smil'd,
You might be sure, although her gaze
Was on the meshes of the lace,
Yet her thoughts were with her child.
But when the boy had heard her voice,
As o'er her work she did rejoice,
His became silent altogether,
And slily creeping by the wall,
He seiz'd a single plume, let fall
By some wild bird of longest feather;
And all a-tremble with his freak,
He touch'd her lightly on the cheek.
Oh, what a loveliness her eyes
Gather in that one moment's space,
While peeping round the post she spies
Her darling's laughing face!
Oh, mother's love is glorifying,
On the cheek like sunset lying;
In the eyes a moisten'd light,
Softer than the moon at night!
SHE wore a wreath of roses
The night that first we met;
Her lovely face was smiling
Beneath her curls of jet.
Her footstep had the lightness,
Her voice the joyous tone,
The tokens of a youthful heart,
Where sorrow is unknown.
I saw her but a moment,
Yet methinks I see her now,
With the wreath of summer flowers
Upon her snowy brow.
A wreath of orange-blossoms,
When next we met, she wore ;
The expression of her features
Was more thoughtful than before; And standing by her side was one Who strove, and not in vain,
To soothe her, leaving that dear home She ne'er might view again.
I saw her but a moment,
Yet methinks I see her now,
With the wreath of orange-blossoms
Upon her snowy brow.
And once again I see that brow;
No bridal-wreath is there,
The widow's sombre cap conceals
Her once luxuriant hair.
She weeps in silent solitude,
And there is no one near
To press her hand within his own,
And wipe away the tear.
I see her broken-hearted;
Yet methinks I see her now,
In the pride of youth and beauty,
With a garland on her brow.
OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS?
OH! where do fairies hide their heads
When snow lies on the hills,
When frost has spoil'd their mossy beds,
And crystalliz'd their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o'er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip
Till green leaves come again.
Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells,
They plunge beneath the waves, Inhabiting the wreathed shells That lie in coral caves; Perhaps, in red Vesuvius,
Carousals they maintain; And cheer their little spirits thus,
Till green leaves come again.
When they return there will be mirth,
And music in the air,
And fairy wings upon the earth,
And mischief everywhere.
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
Will bar the doors in vain ;
No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
When green leaves come again.
THE baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea;
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
The baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea;
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
WHEN on the breath of autumn breeze,
From pastures dry and brown,
Goes floating like an idle thought
The fair white thistle-down,
Oh then what joy to walk at will
Upon the golden harvest hill!
What joy in dreamy ease to lie
Amid a field new shorn,
And see all round on sun-lit slopes
The pil'd-up stacks of corn;
And send the fancy wandering o'er
All pleasant harvest-fields of yore.
I feel the day-I see the field,
The quivering of the leaves,
And good old Jacob and his house
Binding the yellow sheaves;
And at this very hour I seem
To be with Joseph in his dream.
I see the fields of Bethlehem
And reapers many a one,
Bending unto their sickles' stroke,
And Boaz looking on;
And Ruth, the Moabite so fair,
Among the gleaners stooping there.
Again I see a little child,
His mother's sole delight,
God's living gift of love unto
The kind good Shunammite;
To mortal pangs I see him yield,
And the lad bear him from the field.
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