When all the house is mute. So sigh'd | And colorless, and like the wither'd the King, Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick! I fear it is too late, and I shall die." But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd, Larger than human on the frozen hills. He heard the deep behind him, and a cry Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them; and descending they were And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls That made his forehead like a rising sun High from the daïs-throne-were parch'd with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shatter'd column lay the King; Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedi Pray for my soul. More things are wrought | If, knowing God, they lift not hands of by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, mas morn. GARDENER'S DAUGHTER; OR, THE PICTURES. THIS morning is the morning of the day, When I and Eustace from the city went To see the Gardener's Daughter; Iand he, Brothers in Art; a friendship so complete Portion'd in halves between us, that we grew The fable of the city where we dwelt. My Eustace might have sat for Hercules; So muscular he spread, so broad of breast. He, by some law that holds in love, and draws The greater to the lesser, long desired oar, That sought to sow themselves like Born out of everything I heard and saw, balm To one that travels quickly, made the air Of Life delicious, and all kinds of thought, That verged upon them, sweeter than the Dream'd by a happy man, when the dark Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn. And sure this orbit of the memory folds squares, Beneath a broad and equal-blowing wind, Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloud : Drew downward but all else of Heaven was pure Up to the Sun, and May from verge to Waves all its lazy lilies, and creeps on, And all about the large lime feathers low, In that still place she, hoarded in herself, Grew, seldom seen not less among us lived Her fame from lip to lip. Who had not So blunt in memory, so old at heart, So gross to express delight, in praise of her Grew oratory. Such a lord is Love, And if I said that Fancy, led by Love, As tho' 't were yesterday, as tho' it were (For those old Mays had thrice the life graze, Leaning his horns into the neighbor field, woods Came voices of the well-contented doves. The lark could scarce get out his notes for joy, But shook his song together as he near'd The cuckoo told his name to all the hills; "Hear how the bushes echo! by my life, | But, ere it touch'd a foot, that might have These birds have joyful thoughts. Think you they sing Like poets, from the vanity of song? And I made answer, ing else "Were there noth For which to praise the heavens but only love, That only love were cause enough for praise." Lightly he laugh'd, as one that read my thought, And on we went; but ere an hour had pass'd, We reach'd a meadow slanting to the North; Down which a well-worn pathway courted And one warm gust, full-fed with perfume, blew Beyond us, as we enter'd in the cool. The garden stretches southward. In the midst A cedar spread his dark-green layers of shade. The garden-glasses shone, and momently The twinkling laurel scatter'd silver lights. “Eustace,” I said, "this wonder keeps the house." He nodded, but a moment afterwards He cried, "Look! look!" Before he ceased I turn'd, And, ere a star can wink, beheld her there. For up the porch there grew an Eastern rose, That, flowering high, the last night's gale had caught, And blown across the walk. One arm aloft Gown'd in pure white, that fitted to the shape Holding the bush, to fix it back, she stood. A single stream of all her soft brown hair Pour'd on one side: the shadow of the flowers Stole all the golden gloss, and, wavering Lovingly lower, trembled on her waist Ah, happy shade - and still went wavering down, danced The greensward into greener circles, dipt, And mix'd with shadows of the common ground! But the full day dwelt on her brows, and sunn'd |