We lov'd that hall tho' white and cold, Those niched shapes of noble mould,

A princely people's awful princes, The grave, severe Genovese of old.

At Florence too what golden hours,
In those long galleries, were ours;

What drives about the fresh Cascinè, Or walks in Boboli's ducal bowers.

In bright vignettes, and each complete, Of tower or duomo, sunny-sweet,

Or palace, how the city glitter'd, Thro' cypress avenues, at our feet.

But when we cross'd the Lombard plain Remember what a plague of rain;

Of rain at Reggio, rain at Parma ; At Lodi, rain, Piacenza, rain.

And stern and sad (so rare the smiles
Of sunlight) look'd the Lombard piles;
Porch-pillars on the lion resting,
And sombre, old, colonnaded aisles.

O Milan, O the chanting quires,
The giant windows' blazon'd fires,

The height, the space, the gloom, the glory!

A mount of marble, a hundred spires!

I climb'd the roofs at break of day;
Sun-smitten Alps before me lay.

I stood among the silent statues,
And statued pinnacles, mute as they.

How faintly-flush'd, how phantom-fair, Was Monte Rosa, hanging there

A thousand shadowy-pencill'd valleys And snowy dells in a golden air.

Remember how we came at last
To Como; shower and storm and blast
Had blown the lake beyond his limit,
And all was flooded; and how we past

From Como, when the light was gray,
And in my head, for half the day,

The rich Virgilian rustic measure
Of Lari Maxume, all the way,

Like ballad-burthen music, kept,
As on The Lariano crept

To that fair port below the castle

Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept ;

Or hardly slept, but watch'd awake
A cypress in the moonlight shake,

The moonlight touching o'er a terrace One tall Agavè above the lake.

What more? we took our last adieu,
And up the snowy Splugen drew,

But ere we reach'd the highest summit I pluck'd a daisy, I gave it you.

It told of England then to me,
And now it tells of Italy.

O love, we two shall go no longer
To lands of summer across the sea;

So dear a life your arms enfold
Whose crying is a cry for gold:

Yet here to-night in this dark city,
When ill and weary, alone and cold,

I found, tho' crush'd to hard and dry,
This nursling of another sky

Still in the little book you lent me,
And where you tenderly laid it by :

And I forgot the clouded Forth,

The gloom that saddens Heaven and Earth,
The bitter east, the misty summer
And gray metropolis of the North.

Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain,
Perchance, to charm a vacant brain,
Perchance, to dream you still beside me,
My fancy fled to the South again.

THE FLOWER ONCE in a golden hour

I cast to earth a seed. Up there came a flower,

The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went

Thro' my garden-bower, And muttering discontent Curs'd me and my flower. Then it grew so tall

It wore a crown of light, But thieves from o'er the wall Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,

All night have the roses heard

The flute, violin, bassoon;

All night has the casement jessamine stirr❜d
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily," There is but one

With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine ?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seëst—if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)

To the island-valley of Avilion;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns

And bowery hollows crown'd with summer

sea,

Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Mov'd from the brink, like some fullbreasted swan

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere

Revolving many memories, till the hull

Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,

And on the mere the wailing died away.

RIZPAH

WAILING, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea

And Willy's voice in the wind, "O mother, come out to me."

Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go ?

For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow.

We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town.

The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down,

When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drench'd with the rain.

Anything fallen again? nay - what was there left to fall?

I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden them all. What am I saying? and what are you? do you come as a spy?

Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree falls so must it lie.

Who let her in? how long has she been? you what have you heard? Why did you sit so quiet? you never have spoken a word.

O to pray with me yes a ladynone of their spies

But the night has crept into my heart, and begun to darken my eyes.

Ah The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the fright?

- you, that have liv'd so soft, what should you know of the night,

I have done it, while you were asleep you were only made for the day. I have gather'd my baby together — and now you may go your way.

for it's kind of you, Madam, to sit by an old dying wife.

But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life.