SIR GALAHAD. My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands shiver on the steel, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend To save from shame and thrall: My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. Me mightier transports move and thrill; When down the stormy crescent goes, I hear a voice, but none are there; The silver vessels sparkle clean, I leap on board: no helmsman steers: A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy grail: When on my goodly charger borne Through dreaming towns I go, And, ringing. spins from brand and mail; I leave the plain, I climb the height Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. A maiden knight-to me is given I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odours haunt my dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armour that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. The clouds are broken in the sky, And through the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls. So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my wo, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana: Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, In the yew-wood black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight I to thee my troth did plight, She stood upon the castle wall, She watch'd my crest among them all, She saw me fight, she heard me call, When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana: The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana: The damned arrow glanced aside, THE TALKING OAK. And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana ! Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana! Oh! narrow, narrow was the' space, Oriana. Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oh! deathful stabs were dealt apace, But I was down upon my face, They should have stabb'd me where I lay, How could I rise and come away, Oriana ? How could I look upon the day? They should have stabb'd me where I lay, Oriana They should have trod me into clay, Oriana. Oh! breaking heart that will not break, Oriana; Oh! pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Oriana. Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana: What wantest thou? whom dost thou seek, Oriana ? I cry aloud: none hear my cries, Oriana. Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana. I feel the tears of blood arise Up from my heart unto my eyes, Oriana. Within thy heart my arrow lies, Oriana. O cursed hand! O cursed blow! Oriana! O happy thou that liest low, Oriana ! All night the silence seems to flow Beside me in my utter wo, Oriana. A weary, weary way I go, Oriana. When Norland winds pipe down the sea Oriana, I walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana. Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree, I dare not die and come to thee, Oriana. I hear the roaring of the sea, Oriana. ONCE more the gate behind me falls; I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls, Beyond the lodge the city lies, For when my passion first began, To yonder oak within the field Than papist unto saint. For oft I talk'd with him apart And told him of my choice, I found him garrulously given, But since I heard him make reply Hail, hidden to the knees in fern, Say thou, whereon I carved her name, As fair as my Olivia, came To rest beneath thy boughs. "O Walter, I have shelter'd here The good old summers, year by year, "Old summers, when the monk was fat, “Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence, "And I have seen some score of those When his man-minded offset rose "And all that from the town would stroll, Till that wild wind made work In which the gloomy brewer's soul "The slight she-slips of loyal blood, "And I have shadow'd many a group And shrill'd his tinsel shaft. "I swear (and else may insects prick This girl, for whom your heart is sick, "For those and their's, by Nature's law But in these latter springs I saw Your own Olivia blow, "From when she gamboll'd on the greens, A baby-germ, to when The maiden blossoms of her teens Could number five from ten. "I swear by leaf, and wind, and rain (And hear me with thine ears,) That, though I circle in the grain Five hundred rings of years— "Yet, since I first could cast a shade, Did never creature pass So slightly, musically made, So light upon the grass: "For as to fairies, that will flit To make the greensward fresh, But far too spare of flesh." I look'd at him with joy: As cowslip unto oxlip is, So seems she to the boy. "An hour had past-and, sitting straight, And down the way you use to come "She left the novel half-uncut Upon the rosewood shelf; She left the new piano shut: She could not please herself. She sent her voice through all the holt "A light wind chased her on the wing, As close as might be would he cling "But light as any wind that blows The flower, she touch'd on, dipt and rose, And turn'd to look at her. "And here she came, and round me play'd, And sang to me the whole Of those three stanzas that you made "And in a fit of frolic mirth She strove to span my waist; Alas, I was so broad of girth, I could not be embraced. "I wish'd myself the fair young beech That here beside me stands, That round me, clasping each in each, She might have lock'd her hands. "Yet seem'd the pressure thrice as sweet As woodbine's fragile hold, Or when I feel about my feet The berried briony fold." Oh muffle round thy knees with fern, But tell me, did she read the name "Then flush'd her cheek with rosy light, She kiss'd me once again. That, trust me on my word, A pleasure I discern'd, Like those blind motions of the spring, 66 Thrice-happy he that may caress The ringlet's waving balm The cushions of whose touch may press The maiden's tender palm. "I, rooted here among the groves, But languidly adjust My vapid vegetable loves With anthers and with dust: "For ah! the dryad-days were brief Whereof the poets talk, When that, which breathes within the leaf, Could slip its bark and walk. "But could I, as in times foregone, From spray, and branch, and stem, Have suck'd and gather'd into one The life that spreads in them, I would have paid her kiss for kiss Oh flourish high, with leafy towers, Pursue thy loves among the bowers, Oh flourish, hidden deep in fern, A thousand thanks for what I learn ""Tis little more: the day was warm, "Her eyelids dropp'd their silken eaves: "I took the swarming sound of life- And lull'd them in my own. "A third would glimmer on her neck From head to ankle fine. "Then close and dark my arms I spread, "But in a pet she started up, As when I see the woodman lift "I shook him down because he was The finest on the tree. He lies beside thee on the grass Oh kiss him once for me. "Oh kiss him twice and thrice for me, That have no lips to kiss, For never yet was oak on lea Shall grow so fair as this." Step deeper yet in herb and fern, Look further through the chace, Spread upward till thy boughs discern The front of Sumner-place. This fruit of thine by Love is blest I kiss it twice, I kiss it thrice, The baby-oak within. But thou, while kingdoms overset, May never saw dismember thee, All throats that gurgle sweet! Balm-dews to bathe thy feet! All grass of silky feather growAnd while he sinks or swells The full south-breeze around thee blow The sound of minster bells. The fat earth feed thy branchy root, That under deeply strikes! Nor ever lightning char thy grain, Low thunders bring the mellow rain, That makes thee broad and deep! And hear me swear a solemn oath, That only by thy side Will I to Olive plight my troth, And gain her for my bride. And I will work in prose and rhyme, In which the swarthy ring-dove sat Wherein the younger Charles abode THE LADY OF SHALOTT. PART I. ON either side the river lie That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And up and down the people go, Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, By the margin, willow-veil'd, Skimming down to Camelot : But who hath seen her wave her hand? Only reapers, reaping early Down to tower'd Camelot : PART 11. THERE she weaves by night and day To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, The Lady of Shalott. And moving through a mirror clear There the river eddy whirls, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights PART III. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, Of bold Sir Lancelot. A redcross knight for ever kneel'd That sparkled on the yellow field, The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, As he rode down to Camelot. Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; As he rode down to Camelot. Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, |