IV.

O solemn-beating heart Of nature! I have knowledge that thou art Bound unto man's by cords he cannot sever; And, what time they are slackened by him ever, So to attest his own supernal part, Still runneth thy vibration fast and strong The slackened cord along:

V.

For though we never spoke Of the grey water and the shaded rock, Dark wave and stone unconsciously were fused Into the plaintive speaking that we used Of absent friends and memories unforsook; And, had we seen each other's face, we had Seen haply each was sad.

_THE SEA-MEW._

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO M. E. H.

I.

How joyously the young sea-mew Lay dreaming on the waters blue Whereon our little bark had thrown A little shade, the only one, But shadows ever man pursue.

II.

Familiar with the waves and free As if their own white foam were he, His heart upon the heart of ocean Lay learning all its mystic motion, And throbbing to the throbbing sea.

III.

And such a brightness in his eye As if the ocean and the sky Within him had lit up and nurst A soul G.o.d gave him not at first, To comprehend their majesty.

IV.

We were not cruel, yet did sunder His white wing from the blue waves under, And bound it, while his fearless eyes Shone up to ours in calm surprise, As deeming us some ocean wonder.

V.

We bore our ocean bird unto A gra.s.sy place where he might view The flowers that curtsey to the bees, The waving of the tall green trees, The falling of the silver dew.

VI.

But flowers of earth were pale to him Who had seen the rainbow fishes swim; And when earth's dew around him lay He thought of ocean's winged spray, And his eye waxed sad and dim.

VII.

The green trees round him only made A prison with their darksome shade; And drooped his wing, and mourned he For his own boundless glittering sea-- Albeit he knew not they could fade.

VIII.

Then One her gladsome face did bring, Her gentle voice's murmuring, In ocean's stead his heart to move And teach him what was human love: He thought it a strange, mournful thing.

IX.

He lay down in his grief to die, (First looking to the sea-like sky That hath no waves) because, alas!

Our human touch did on him pa.s.s, And, with our touch, our agony.

_FELICIA HEMANS_

TO L. E. L.,

REFERRING TO HER MONODY ON THE POETESS.

I.

Thou bay-crowned living One that o'er the bay-crowned Dead art bowing, And o'er the shadeless moveless brow the vital shadow throwing, And o'er the sighless songless lips the wail and music wedding, And dropping o'er the tranquil eyes the tears not of their shedding!--

II.

Take music from the silent Dead whose meaning is completer, Reserve thy tears for living brows where all such tears are meeter, And leave the violets in the gra.s.s to brighten where thou treadest, No flowers for her! no need of flowers, albeit "bring flowers!" thou saidest.

III.

Yes, flowers, to crown the "cup and lute," since both may come to breaking, Or flowers, to greet the "bride"--the heart's own beating works its aching; Or flowers, to soothe the "captive's" sight, from earth's free bosom gathered, Reminding of his earthly hope, then withering as it withered:

IV.

But bring not near the solemn corse a type of human seeming, Lay only dust's stern verity upon the dust undreaming: And while the calm perpetual stars shall look upon it solely, Her sphered soul shall look on _them_ with eyes more bright and holy.

V.

Nor mourn, O living One, because her part in life was mourning: Would she have lost the poet's fire for anguish of the burning?

The minstrel harp, for the strained string? the tripod, for the afflated Woe? or the vision, for those tears in which it shone dilated?

VI.

Perhaps she shuddered while the world's cold hand her brow was wreathing, But never wronged that mystic breath which breathed in all her breathing, Which drew, from rocky earth and man, abstractions high and moving, Beauty, if not the beautiful, and love, if not the loving.

VII.

Such visionings have paled in sight; the Saviour she descrieth, And little recks _who_ wreathed the brow which on His bosom lieth: The whiteness of His innocence o'er all her garments, flowing, There learneth she the sweet "new song" she will not mourn in knowing.

VIII.

Be happy, crowned and living One! and as thy dust decayeth May thine own England say for thee what now for Her it sayeth-- "Albeit softly in our ears her silver song was ringing, The foot-fall of her parting soul is softer than her singing."