Oh, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts!
Perhaps her voice is not a nightingale's,
Perhaps her teeth are not the fairest pearl;
Her eye-lashes may be, for aught I know,
Not longer than the May-fly's small fan-horns;
There may not be one dimple on her hand;
And freckles many; ah! a careless nurse,
In haste to teach the little thing to walk,
May have crumpt up a pair of Dian's legs,
And warpt the ivory of a Juno's neck.

The stranger lighted from his steed,
And ere he spake a word,
He seiz'd my lady's lilly hand,
And kiss'd it all unheard.

II.

The stranger walk'd into the hall,
And ere he spake a word,
He kiss'd my lady's cherry lips,
And kiss'd 'em all unheard.

III.

The stranger walk'd into the bower,-
But my lady first did go,-
Aye hand in hand into the bower,
Where my lord's roses blow.

IV.

My lady's maid had a silken scarf,
And a golden ring had she,

And a kiss from the stranger, as off he went
Again on his fair palfrey.

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven's blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,

That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,

My sudden adoration, my great love!

FAERY SONGS

I.

SHED no tear-O shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more-O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes-0 dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies-
Shed no tear.

Overhead-look overhead

'Mong the blossoms white and red-
Look up, look up-I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough-
See me 'tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill-
Shed no tear-O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu-Adieu-I fly, adieu,

I vanish in the heaven's blue-
Adieu, Adieu !

II.

Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
That I must chant thy lady's dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery, verge,-
Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me!

That I must see

These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!
Go, pretty page! and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near!
Softly tell her not to fear

Such calm favonian burial!

Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,-
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,

And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice

Upon her closed eyes,

That now in vain are weeping their last tears,
At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,-
Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,—

Alas! poor Queen!

10

10

SONNET

TO HOMER

STANDING aloof in giant ignorance,

Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.

So thou wast blind;-but then the veil was rent,
For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,
And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,

And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive ; Aye on the shores of darkness there is light, And precipices show untrodden green, There is a budding morrow in midnight, There is a triple sight in blindness keen; Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.

SONG

10

[Written on a blank page in Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, between "Cupid's Revenge" and "The Two Noble Kinsmen."]

I.

SPIRIT here that reignest!

Spirit here that painest!

Spirit here that burnest!

Spirit here that mournest!
Spirit, I bow

My forehead low,

Enshaded with thy pinions.
Spirit, I look

All passion-struck

Into thy pale dominions.

II.

Spirit here that laughest!
Spirit here that quaffest!
Spirit here that dancest!
Noble soul that prancest!
Spirit, with thee
I join in the glee

A-nudging the elbow of Momus.
Spirit, I flush

With a Bacchanal blush

Just fresh from the Banquet of Comus.

TEIGNMOUTH

"SOME DOGGEREL SENT IN A LETTER TO B. R. HAYDON

I.

HERE all the summer could I stay,
For there's Bishop's teign

And King's teign

And Coomb at the clear teign head-
Where close by the stream
You may have your cream
All spread upon barley bread.

II.

There's arch Brook

And there's larch Brook
Both turning many a mill;
And cooling the drouth
Of the salmon's mouth,
And fattening his silver gill.

III.

There is Wild wood,

A Mild hood

To the sheep on the lea o' the down,
Where the golden furze,

With its green, thin spurs,
Doth catch at the maiden's gown.

IV.

There is Newton marsh

With its spear grass harsh

A pleasant summer level

Where the maidens sweet
Of the Market Street,

Do meet in the dusk to revel.

V.

There's the Barton rich
With dyke and ditch

And hedge for the thrush to live in
And the hollow tree

For the buzzing bee

And a bank for the wasp to hive in.

VI.

And O, and O

The daisies blow

And the primroses are waken'd,

And violets white

Sit in silver plight,

And the green bud's as long as the spike end.

VII.

Then who would go

Into dark Soho,

And chatter with dack'd hair'd critics,
When he can stay

For the new-mown hay,

And startle the dappled Prickets?

THE DEVON MAID

STANZAS SENT IN A LETTER TO B. R. HAYDON

I.

WHERE be ye going, you Devon Maid?
And what have ye there in the Basket?
Ye tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

II.

I love your Meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,
But 'hind the door I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly.