SONG FROM "PARACELSUS"

OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave, To a speeding wind and a bounding wave — A gallant armament:

Each bark built out of a forest-tree,

Left leafy and rough as first it grew, And nail'd all over the gaping sides, Within and without, with black-bull hides, Seeth'd in fat and suppled in flame, To bear the playful billow's game; So each good ship was rude to see, Rude and bare to the outward view,

But each upbore a stately tent; Where cedar-pales in scented row Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine : And an awning droop'd the mast below, In fold on fold of the purple fine, That neither noontide, nor star-shine, Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad, Might pierce the regal tenement. When the sun dawn'd, oh, gay and glad We set the sail and plied the oar ; But when the night-wind blew like breath, For joy of one day's voyage more, We sang together on the wide sea, Like men at peace on a peaceful shore; Each sail was loos'd to the wind so free, Each helm made sure by the twilight star, And in a sleep as calm as death, We, the strangers from afar,

Lay stretch'd along, each weary crew In a circle round its wondrous tent, Whence gleam'd soft light and curl'd rich scent,

And, with light and perfume, music too : So the stars wheel'd round, and the darkness

We shouted, every man of us,
And steer'd right into the harbor thus,
With pomp and pæan glorious.

An hundred shapes of lucid stone !

All day we built a shrine for each A shrine of rock for every oneNor paus'd we till in the westering sun We sate together on the beach To sing, because our task was done ; When lo! what shouts and merry songs! What laughter all the distance stirs ! What raft comes loaded with its throngs Of gentle islanders?

"The isles are just at hand," they cried; "Like cloudlets faint at even sleeping, Our temple-gates are open'd wide,

Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping

For the lucid shapes you bring" - they

Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!

England, good cheer! Rupert is near! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here, (Chorus)

Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls

To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles !

Hold by the right, you double your might; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,

(Chorus)

March we along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!

THAT's my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands

Work'd busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said

“Frà Pandolf” by design: for never read Strangers like you that pictur'd counte

Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat :" such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart how shall I say?-too soon made glad,

Too easily impress'd; she lik'd whate'er She look'd on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, 't was all one! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopp'd together. There she stands

As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll

meet

The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munifi-

cence

Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallow'd ;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avow'd
At starting, is my object. Nay, we 'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune,
though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me?

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon : A mile or so away

On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming-day ;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms lock'd behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mus'd "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,

Let once my army leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,"

Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew

Until he reach'd the mound.

Row home? must we row home? Too surely
Know I where its front 's demurely
Over the Guidecca pil'd;
Window just with window mating,
Door on door exactly waiting,
All's the set face of a child :
But behind it, where 's a trace
Of the staidness and reserve,
And formal lines without a curve,
In the same child's playing-face?
No two windows look one way
O'er the small sea-water thread
Below them. Ah, the autumn day
I, passing, saw you overhead!
First, out a cloud of curtain blew,
Then a sweet cry, and last came you -
To catch your lory that must needs
Escape just then, of all times then,
To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds
And make me happiest of men.

I scarce could breathe to see you reach
So far back o'er the balcony,

To catch him ere he climb'd too high
Above you in the Smyrna peach,

That quick the round smooth cord of gold,
This coil'd hair on your head, unroll'd,
Fell down you like a gorgeous snake
The Roman girls were wont, of old,
When Rome there was, for coolness' sake