Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.

And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

THE POET AND THE BIRD.

Said a people to a poet--"Go out from among us straightway!

While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.

There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateway, Makes fitter music to our ear, than any song of thine!"

The poet went out weeping--the nightingale ceased chanting, "Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?"-- --"I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting, Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under the sun."

The poet went out weeping,--and died abroad, bereft there.

The bird flew to his grave and died amid a thousand wails.

And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there Was only of the poet's song, and not the nightingale's.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MATTHEW ARNOLD.]

THE NECKAN.

In summer, on the headlands, The Baltic Sea along, Sits Neckan with his harp of gold, And sings his plaintive song.

Green rolls beneath the headlands, Green rolls the Baltic Sea; And there, below the Neckan's feet, His wife and children be.

He sings not of the ocean, Its sh.e.l.ls and roses pale; Of earth, of earth the Neckan sings, He hath no other tale.

He sits upon the headlands, And sings a mournful stave Of all he saw and felt on earth, Far from the kind sea wave.

Sings how, a knight, he wandered By castle, field, and town-- But earthly knights have harder hearts Than the sea children own.

Sings of his earthly bridal-- Priests, knights, and ladies gay.

"--And who art thou," the priest began, "Sir Knight, who wedd'st to-day?"--

"--I am no knight," he answered; "From the sea waves I come."-- The knights drew sword, the ladies screamed, The surpliced priest stood dumb.

He sings how from the chapel He vanished with his bride, And bore her down to the sea halls, Beneath the salt sea tide.

He sings how she sits weeping 'Mid sh.e.l.ls that round her lie.

"--False Neckan shares my bed," she weeps; "No Christian mate have I."--

He sings how through the billows He rose to earth again, And sought a priest to sign the cross, That Neckan Heaven might gain.

He sings how, on an evening, Beneath the birch trees cool, He sate and played his harp of gold, Beside the river pool.

Beside the pool sate Neckan-- Tears filled his mild blue eye.

On his white mule, across the bridge, A ca.s.socked priest rode by.

"--Why sitt'st thou there, O Neckan, And play'st thy harp of gold?

Sooner shall this my staff bear leaves, Than thou shalt Heaven behold."--

But, lo, the staff, it budded!

It greened, it branched, it waved.

"--O ruth of G.o.d," the priest cried out, "This lost sea creature saved!"

The ca.s.socked priest rode onwards, And vanished with his mule; But Neckan in the twilight gray Wept by the river pool.

He wept: "The earth hath kindness, The sea, the starry poles; Earth, sea, and sky, and G.o.d above-- But, ah, not human souls!"

In summer, on the headlands, The Baltic Sea along, Sits Neckan with his harp of gold, And sings this plaintive song.

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT.

The stream was smooth as gla.s.s; we said, "Arise and let's away:"

The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay; And spread the sail, and strong the oar; we gayly took our way.

When shall the sandy bar be crossed? when shall we find the bay?

The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattle-dotted plains, The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains; The laborer looks up to see our shallop speed away.

When shall the sandy bar be crossed? when shall we find the bay?

Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large, Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke sinks flaming at their marge.

The waves are bright with mirrored light as jacinths on our way.

When shall the sandy bar be crossed? when shall we find the bay?

The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we see The spreading river's either bank, and surging distantly There booms a sudden thunder as of breakers far away.

Now shall the sandy bar be crossed, now shall we find the bay!

The seagull shrieks high overhead, and dimly to our sight The moonlit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the night.

We'll steal upon the mermaid soon, and start her from her lay, When once the sandy bar is crossed, and we are in the bay.

What rises white and awful as a shroud-enfolded ghost?

What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangor on the coast?