Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind seacaves!"

She smiled, she went up through the surf in the

bay.

Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?

"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say ; Come!" I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay.

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We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the whitewall'd town;

Through the narrow paved streets, where all

was still,

To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at

their prayers,

But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains,

And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes.

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She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
'Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here!
Dear heart," I said, we are long alone;
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Come away, children, call no more!

Come away, come down, call no more!

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80

Down, down, down!

Down to the depths of the sea!

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy,

For the humming street, and the child with its toy!

For the priest and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun!"

And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

Till the spindle drops from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

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She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,

And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,

A long, long sigh;

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden

And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away children;
Come, children, come down!
The hoarse wind blows coldly;
Lights shine in the town.

She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,

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ΙΙΟ

Will hear the waves roar.

We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,

A pavement of pearl.

Singing: "Here came a mortal,

But faithless was she!

And alone dwell for ever

The kings of the sea."

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow,
When clear falls the moonlight,
When spring tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom,
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanch'd sands a gloom;
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie,
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.

We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white, sleeping town;

At the church on the hill-side-
And then come back down.

Singing: "There dwells a loved one,

But cruel is she!

She left lonely for ever

The kings of the sea."

1849.

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140

Matthew Arnold.

MOTHER AND POET

TURIN,-AFTER NEWS FROM GAETA 1861

DEAD! One of them shot by the sea in the east, And one of them shot in the west by the sea. Dead! both my boys! When you sit at the

feast

And are wanting a great song for Italy free, Let none look at me!

Yet I was a poetess only last year,

And good at my art, for a woman, men said; But this woman, this, who is agonized here, -The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head

Forever instead.

What art can a woman be good at? O, vain! What art is she good at, but hurting her

breast

With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at

the pain?

Ah, boys, how you hurt! you were strong as you pressed,

And I proud by that test.

5

10

15

What art's for a woman? To hold on her

knees

Both darlings! to feel all their arms round her throat

Cling, strangle a little! to sew by degrees

And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat;

To dream and to dote.

To teach them . . . It stings there. I made them indeed

Speak plain the word "country," I taught them, no doubt,

That a country 's a thing men should die for at need.

I prated of liberty, rights, and about

The tyrant turned out.

And when their eyes flashed

ful eyes! ...

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25

O my beauti

I exulted; nay, let them go forth at the wheels Of the guns, and denied not.-But then the

surprise,

When one sits quite alone!-Then one weeps, then one kneels!

-God! how the house feels!

At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled With my kisses, of camp-life, and glory, and how

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They both loved me; and, soon, coming home to

be spoiled,