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MARIAN.

SPIRIT of the summer breeze! Wherefore sleep'st thou in the trees? Come, and kiss the maiden rose, That on Marian's bosom blows! Come, and fawn about her hair! Kiss the fringes of her eyes! Ask her why she looks so fair, When she heedett. not my sighs? Tell her, murmuring summer air, That her beauty's all untrue; Tell her, she should not seem fair, Unless she be gentle too!

A REPOSE.

SHE sleeps among her pillows soft,

(A dove, now wearied with her flight,) And all around, and all aloft,

Hang flutes and folds of virgin white : Her hair out-darkens the dark night,

Her glance outshines the starry sky;
But now her locks are hidden quite,
And closed is her fringed eye!

She sleepeth: wherefore doth she start?
She sigheth: doth she feel no pain?
None, none! the Dream is near her heart:
The Spirit of sleep is in her brain.
He cometh down like golden rain,

Without a wish, without a sound;
He cheers the sleeper (ne'er in vain)
Like May, when earth is winter-bound.
All day within some cave he lies,

Dethroned from his nightly swayfar fading when the dawning skies

Our souls with wakening thoughts array. Two Spirits of might doth man obey;

By each he's wrought, from each he learns: 'The one is Lord of life by day;

The other when starry Night returns.

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All ready to live and die with thee.

Her heart was in the song;

It murmured in the measure ;
It touched the music, all along,
With a grave sweet pleasure.

Thou wilt not leave me behind, behind,
To the malice of fortune, harsh and blind?
I'll follow thy call, as a bird would flee,
And sing or be mute as thou biddest me.
What say'st thou, dear?

To my fond, fond fear?
Thou canst not banish thy love from thee!

Her heart was in the song;

It murmured in the measure;
It touched the music, all along,
With a grave sweet pleasure.

What say'st thou, my soldier, my love, my pride?
Thy answer? What, was I not born thy bride?
From thy cradle e'er cherished for love and thee,
And dar'st thou now banish or bid me flee ?
Smil'st thou at my fear?

Ah, then, my dear,

I know I may love-live--die with thee!

Her heart was in the song;

It murmured in the measure ; It touched the music, all along, With a grave sweet pleasure.

SING, MAIDEN, SING! SING, Maiden, sing!

Mouths were made for singing; Listen-Songs thou❜lt hear Through the wide world ringing; Songs from all the birds,

Songs from winds and showers, Songs from seas and streams, Even from sweet flowers. Hearest thou the rain,

How it gently falleth? Hearest thou the bird,

Who from forest calleth?
Hearest thou the bee

O'er the sunflower ringing?
Tell us, Maiden, now—
Shouldst thou not be singing?
Hearest thou the breeze
Round the rose-bud sighing?
And the small sweet rose
Love to love replying?
So shouldst thou reply,

To the prayer we're bringing;
So that bud, thy mouth,

Should burst forth in singing!

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I LOVE Wine! Bold bright Wine!

That maketh the Spirit both dance and shine!

Others may care

For water fare;

But give me-Wine!

Ancient Wine! Brave old Wine!

How it around the heart doth twine!
Poets may love

The stars above;
But I love-Wine!

Naught but Wine! Noble Wine,
Strong, and sound, and old, and fine.
What can scare

The devil Despair,

Like brave bright wine?

O brave Wine! Rare old Wine! Once thou wast deemed a God divine!

Bad are the rhymes,

And bad the times,
That scorn old Wine!

So, brave old Wine! Dear old Wine!
Morning, Noon, and Night, I'm thine!
Whatever may be,

I'll stand by thee,
Immortal Wine!

UNEQUAL LOVE.

"Wailing for his dæmon lover."

WILT not eat with me, my bride?
Wilt not drink my amorous wines?
Dainty meats are by thy side;
Mark how bright the Rhenish shines!
Come, be kind! What ills betide thee!
Is not he thou lov'st beside thee?
Wherefore sigh'st thot, maiden mine?
Must thou to the forest haste?
Nothing have I, meats or wine,
That thy fairy lips may taste?

Speak, love! must I vainly woo thee?
I-who gave my heart unto thee?

Dark one, thou hast bid me press
Human love upon thy lips;
But thou yieldst a cold caress,
And thy love is in eclipse!

Cold and dim while I am burning!
In Love is there no returning?

I have loved thee, sought-pursued—
Won thee from thy charmed springs.
O, that I, instead, had woned

The humblest girl that laughs and sings!
From the dust thy beauty won me;
But, sweet Love!-He hath undone me!

SING! WHO MINGLES WITH MY LAYS?
SING! Who mingles with my luys?
Maiden of the primrose days!
Sing with me, and I will show

All that thou in spring shouldst know,
All the names of all the flowers,
What to do with primrose hours!

Sing! who mingles with my song?
Soldier in the battle strong!
Sing, and thee I'll music teach,
Such as thunders on the beach,
When the waves run mad and white,
Like a warrior in the fight!

Sing! who loves the music tender?
Widow, who hath no defender !—
Orphan!-Scholar !-Mother wild,
Who hast loved (and lost) a child!
Maiden, dreaming of to-morrow!
Let us sing and banish sorrow!
Come!-Sweet music hath a smart,
And a balm for every heart!

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And breath like the sweets from the hawthorn tree; And his heart is a treasure,

Whose worth is past measure;

And yet he hath given all-all to me!

It crowns me with light

In the dead of the night,

It brightens my journey by land and sea;
And thus, while I wander,

I sigh and grow fonder,

For my love ever grows with his love for me

Why didst thou depart,
Tousweet rd my ear

Oh, come back to my bosom, and never flee:
I never will grieve thee,

I'll never deceive thee,

But love thee for ever, as--thou lov'st me.

MIRIAM. (RECITATIVE.)

DARKNESS and God's great wrath for many an age
Have lain on Israel! O what nights of wo!
What dreams of long and lonely banishment!
Spring cometh round, and Summer sweet returneth
Still to our father's land:-But where are WE?
Still Siloa murmurs: but we hear her not!
Still the rose opens, and the lilies pale
Are born beneath the sun: but we have lost
All suns, all seasons-music-fragrance-flowers!
Peace-Darkness hath her share of good, like day
Sleep and the world of dreams belong to her:
And, in our long dark exile, we have stars
That light us onward, and their beauty shed
Alone upon the sons of Israel!

Look-where one shines :-'tis-Miriam! Judah's child!
Her pride-her glory! Statelier than the palm,
Swift as the roe, dowered with love-she comes!
And thus I celebrate her grace in song!

(AIR.)

Oh, fairer than the fairest of the flowers!
Oh, sweeter than the bud when it blows!
Oh, brighter than the summer when it showers
Its riches on the red red rose!

Come-Show us that the color of the sky
Still lives in the Hebrew's eye,
Miriam!

Oh, show us there is truth in thy story;
That thy country is worthy of her fame!
Reappear-like the shadow of her glory!
Reappear-like the Spirit of her name!

Come-Show us all the starriness that les In the night of the Hebrew's eyes, Miriam! Look! Look! where a Spirit, like the lightning, Comes flashing from her dark deep gaze!

Is the tempest e'er more terrible or blighting, in
The strength of its storm-bright days?

Quick!-Show us all the terror that may lis
In the flash of a Hebrew's eye,

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O City, vast and old!

Where, where is thy grandeur fled?
The stream that around thee rolled,
Still rolls in its ancient bed!

But where, oh, where art Thou gone?
Oh, Babylon! Oh, Babylon!

The Giant, when he dies,

Still leaveth his bones behind, To shrink in the winter skies, And whiten beneath the wind!

But where, oh, where art Thou gone Oh, Babylon! Oh, Babylon! Thou liv'st! -for thy name still glows, A light in the desert skies; As the fame of the hero grows Thrice trebled because he dies!

Oh, Babylon! Oh, Babylon!

TALK NOT TO ME OF LOVE.

TALK not to me of love!

The deer that dies

Knows more of love than I,

Who seek the skies.
Strive not to bind my soul
With chains of clay!
I scorn thy poor control;
Away-Away!

Now wherefore dost thou weave
Thy falsehoods strange?
Sad words may make me grieve,
But never change.

A snake sleeps in thine eye;

It stirs thine heart:

Why dost thou vainly sigh?

Depart-Depart!

Thy dreams, when Fortune flew,

Did elsewhere range:

But love is always true,

And knows no change.

More firm in want, in strife,

Ay, firm through crime,

He looketh down on life,
The star of Time!

A DILEMMA.

WHICH is the maiden I love best? Twenty now are buzzing round me;

Three in their milk-white arms have wound me,
Gently-yet I feel no rest!

One hath showered her black locks o'er me,
Ten kneel on the ground before me,
Casting forth such beams of blue,

That I'm pierced-oh, through and through!
Bacchus! Gods! what can I do?

Which must I love best?

Tell me (ah, more gently take me,

Sweet one, in thy warm white arms!) Tell me, which will ne'er forsake me Through all life's ills and harms?

Is it she, whose blood's retreating

From that forehead crowned with pride?

Is it she, whose pulse is beating

Full against my unarmed side?
What do all these things betide?

Strong my doubts grow-strong-and stronger:
Quick! give answer to my call!

If ye pause a moment longer,

I shall love ye-ALL!

THE LAKE HAS BURST.

THE lake has burst! The lake has burst! Down through the chasms the wild waves flee;

They gallop along

With a roaring song,

Away to the eager awaiting sea!

Down through the valleys, and over the rocks,
And over the forests the flood runs free;
And wherever it dashes,

The oaks and the ashes

Shrink, drop, and are borne to the hungry sea!
The cottage of reeds and the tower of stone,
Both shaken to ruin, at last agree;

And the slave and his master
In one wide disaster

Are hurried like weeds to the scornful sea!
The sea-beast he tosseth his foaming mane;
He bellows aloud to the misty sky,

And the sleep-buried Thunder
Awakens in wonder,

And the Lightning opens her piercing eye!
There is death above, there is death around,
There is death wheresover the waters be,
There is nothing now doing
But terror and ruin,

On earth, and in air, and the stormy sea!

HER LARGE DARK LUMINOUS EYES ARE ON ME.

HER large dark luminous eyes are on me!

I can not fly-I can not move!
The beauty that in boyhood won me

Wins me still-to look and love!

The tongue that wound its music 'round me,
And might have charmed aside all pain,
Again all bare and weak hath found me,
And stings me to the heart again!

O Beauty, who my soul subdueth!

What mean the lightnings of thine eye?
Why is it that thy scorn pursueth

My love-yet leaves it not to die?

Sweet Music, cease! Bright Eyes, all beaming
With light that makes me mad-ah, close!
Give back my colder, calmer dreaming!
Give back my dull dark old repose!

KILL THE LOVE THAT WINDS AROUND THEE

KILL the love that winds around thee

With its snake-like death-like twine!

Where's the guardian steel that bound thee?

Where are all thy gifts divine?

Where is wisdom? Where is wine?

Where's the sad dark truth of story?

Where the Muse's mighty line?

Where the fame that burned before thee?

What is love, but life deformed

From its grand original aim?
Hero into slave transformed?

Worlds lost at a single game?
Whose the peril-whose the shame,

Shouldst thou die in love's fond slavery?
Rise! Earth's naught without its fame!
Rise! Life's naught without its bravery!

THE BEGGAR'S SONG.

I AM a merry beggar,
A beggar I was born,
Tossed about the wide world,
From evening till morn;
A plaything of the tempest,
A brother of the night,

A conqueror, a conjurer,

When 'tis merry star-light!
Oh! nothing can withstand me,
Whenever I do stoop,

From the warm heart of the housewife
To the chicken in the coop;
From the linen of the lady,
To the larder of the knight,
All come when I do conjure,
In the merry star-light!

I pay no tithes to parson,
Tho' I follow like his clerk;
For he takes his tenths by daylight,
I take mine in the dark;

I pay the king no window-tax;
From some it may be right,
But all I do beneath the blue,
Is by merry star-light!

I roam from lane to common,
From city unto town,
And I tell a merry story,

To gentleman or clown;
Each gives me bed or victuals,
Or ale that glitters bright,
Or-I contrive to borrow them
By merry star-light!

Oh, the tradesman he is rich, sirs,
The farmer well to pass,
The soldier he's a lion,

The alderman's an ass;
The courtier he is subtle, sirs,

And the scholar he is bright; But who, like me, is ever free In the merry star-light?

THE BLOODHOUND.

COME, Herol, my hound, from the stranger's floor!
Old friend-we must wander the world once more!
For no one now liveth to welcome us back:
So, come! let us speed on our fated track.
What matter the region-what matter the weather,
So you and I travel, till death, together?
And in death ?-why, e'en there I may still be found
By the side of my beautiful black bloodhound.

We've traversed the desert, we've traversed the sea,
And we've trod on the heights where the cagles be;
Been Tartar, and Arab, and swart Hindoo;

(How thou pull'dst down the deer in those skies of blue!)
No joy did divide us; no peril could part
The man from his friend of the noble heart;

Ay, his friend; for where, where shall there ever be found
A friend like his resolute fond bloodhound!

What, Herod, old hound! dost remember the day
When I fronted the wolves, like a stag at bay?
When downward they galloped to where we stood,
While I staggered with fear in the dark pine wood
Dost remember their howlings? their horrible speed?
God, God! how I prayed for a friend in need!

And he came! Ah! 'twas then, my dear Herod, I found
That the best of all friends was my bold bloodhound.

Men tell us, dear friend, that the noble hound
Must for ever be lost in the worthless ground:
Yet, "Courage"-" Fidelity"—"Love"-(they say)
Bear Man, as on wings, to his skies away.
Well, Herod-go tell them, whatever may be,
I'll hope I may ever be found by thee.

If in sleep-in sleep: if with skies around,

May'st thou follow e'en thither, my dear bloodhound!

THE FAREWELL OF THE SOLDIER.

I LOVE thee, I love thee,

Far better than wine,

But the curse is above me;
Thou'lt never be mine!

As the blade wears the scabbard,

The billow the shore,

So sorrow doth fret me

For evermore.

Fair beauty, I leave thee,
To conquer my heart;
I'll see thee, I'll bless thee,
And then-depart.
Let me take, ere I vanish,
One look of thine eyes-
One smile for remembrance,
For life soon flies!
-And now for the fortune,
That hangeth above;
And to bury in battle,
My dream of love!

THE NIGHT-SHADE.

TREAD aside from my starry bloom!
I am the nurse who feed the tomb

(The tomb, my child)
With Jainties piled,

Until it grows strong as a tempest wild.
Trample not on a virgin flower!

I am the maid of the midnight hour;
I bear sweet sleep

To those who weep,

And lie on their eyelids dark and deep.
Tread not thou on my snaky eyes!
I am the worm that the weary prize,
The Nile's soft asp,

That they strive to grasp,

And one that a queen has loved to clasp! Pity me! I am she whom man

Hath hated since ever the world began;

I sooth his brain,

In the night of pain,

But at morning he waketh-and all is vain!

THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE.

How many Summers, love,

Have I been hine? How many days, thou dove, Hast thou been mine? Time, like the winged wind When't bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind,

To count the hours!

Some weight of thought, though keth,
On thee he leaves;

Some Ines of care round both
Perhaps he weaves;

Some fears-a soft regret

For joys scarce known;
Sweet looks we half forget:
All else is flown!

Ah! with what thankless heart
I mourn and sing!

Look, where our children start,
Like sudden Spring!

With tongues all sweet and low,
Like a pleasant rhyme,
They tell how much I owe
To thee and Time!

TO SOPHIE.

WILT thou be a nun, Sophie?
Nothing but a nun?

Is it not a better thing

With thy friends to laugh and sing? To be loved and sought?

To be woo'd and-won?

Dost thou love the shadow, Sophie,
Better than the sun?

I'm a poor lay-brother, Sophie;
Yet, I this may say-

Thou hadst better bear with love,
Than dwell here, a prison'd dove,
Weeping life away.

Oh!-I'd bear love's pangs, rather, Fifty times a day!

WHAT SAY THE CLOUDS ON THE HILL AND

PLAIN?

WHAT say the clouds on the hill and plain? "We come, we go."

What say the springs of the dreaming brain? "We shrink, we flow."

What say the maids in their changeful hours? "We laugh, we cry."

What say the budding and fading flowers?
"We live, we die."

And thus all things go ranging,
From riddle to riddle changing,
From day into night, from life into decík,
And no one knows why, my song saith.

A fable is good, and a truth is good,

And loss, and gair;

And the ebb and the flood, and the black pine wood,
And the vast bare plain;

To wake and to sleep, and to dream of the deep,
Are good, say I;

And 'tis good to laugh, and 'tis good to weep;
But who knows why?

Yet thus all things go ranging, &e.
We cumber the earth for a hundred years;
We learn, we teach;

We fight amid perils, and hopes, and fears,
Fame's rock to reach.

We boast that our fellows are sages wrought
In toil and pain;

Yet the common lesson by Nature taught,
Doth vex their brain!

Oh all things here go ranging, e

THE

SONGS AND
AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

OF

BARRY CORNWALL.

PART II.

TO A FLOWER. DAWN, gentle flower,

From the morning earth! We will gaze and wonder At thy wondrous birth! Bloom, gentle flower!

Lover of the light, Sought by wind and shower, Fondled by the night!

Fade, gentle flower!

All thy white leaves close; Having shown thy beauty, Time 'tis for repose.

Die, gentle flower,

In the silent sun!
So all pangs are over,

All thy tasks are done!

Day hath no more glory,

Though he soars so high; Thine is all man's story,

Live-and love—and die!

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Let her leave thee with no strife, Tender mournful, murmuring Life! She hath seen her happy day;

She hath had her bud and blossom; Now she pales and shrinks away, Earth, into thy gentle bosom! She hath done her bidding here, Angels dear!

Bear her perfect soul above,

Seraph of the skies-sweet Love! Good she was, and fair in youth,

And her mind was seen to soar, And her heart was wed to truth; Take her, then for evermoreFor ever-evermore!

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