CXXIII.

"Or when he goes the nimble squirrel's visitor, Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts, For, tell him, this is Nature's kind Inquisitor,-- Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience shuts, For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts,-- Nor yet shall bees uncase their jealous stings, However he may watch their straw-built huts;-- So let him learn the crafts of all small things, Which he will hint most aptly when he sings."

CXXIV.

Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand Waves thrice three splendid circles round his head; Which, though deserted by the radiant wand, Wears still the glory which her waving shed, Such as erst crown'd the old Apostle's head, To show the thoughts there harbor'd were divine, And on immortal contemplations fed:-- Goodly it was to see that glory shine Around a brow so lofty and benign!--

CXXV.

Goodly it was to see the elfin brood Contend for kisses of his gentle hand, That had their mortal enemy withstood, And stay'd their lives, fast ebbing with the sand.

Long while this strife engaged the pretty band; But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm, Challenged the dawn creeping o'er eastern land, And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm, Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm.

CXXVI.

And soon the rolling mist, that 'gan arise From plashy mead and undiscover'd stream, Earth's morning incense to the early skies, Crept o'er the failing landscape of my dream.

Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme-- A shapeless shade, that fancy disavowed, And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme, Then flew Titania,--and her little crowd, Like flocking linnets, vanished in a cloud.

HERO AND LEANDER.

TO S. T. COLERIDGE.

It is not with a hope my feeble praise Can add one moment's honor to thy own, That with thy mighty name I grace these lays; I seek to glorify myself alone: For that some precious favor thou hast shown To my endeavor in a bygone time, And by this token I would have it known Thou art my friend, and friendly to my rhyme!

It is my dear ambition now to climb Still higher in thy thought,--if my bold pen May thrust on contemplations more sublime.-- But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when We gain applauses from the great in name, We seem to be partakers of _their_ fame.

I.

Oh Bards of old! What sorrows have ye sung, And tragic stories, chronicled in stone,-- Sad Philomel restored her ravish'd tongue, And transform'd Niobe in dumbness shown; Sweet Sappho on her love forever calls, And Hero on the drown'd Leander falls!

II.

Was it that spectacles of sadder plights Should make our blisses relish the more high?

Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knights, Whose flourish'd fortunes prosper in Love's eye, Weep here, unto a tale of ancient grief, Traced from the course of an old bas-relief.

III.

There stands Abydos!--here is Sestos' steep, Hard by the gusty margin of the sea, Where sprinkling waves continually do leap; And that is where those famous lovers be, A builded gloom shot up into the gray, As if the first tall watch-tow'r of the day.

IV.

Lo! how the lark soars upward and is gone; Turning a spirit as he nears the sky, His voice is heard, though body there is none, And rain-like music scatters from on high; But Love would follow with a falcon spite, To pluck the minstrel from his dewy height.

V.

For Love hath framed a ditty of regrets, Tuned to the hollow sobbings on the shore, A vexing sense, that with like music frets, And chimes this dismal burthen o'er and o'er, Saying, Leander's joys are past and spent, Like stars extinguish'd in the firmament.

VI.

For ere the golden crevices of morn Let in those regal luxuries of light, Which all the variable east adorn, And hang rich fringes on the skirts of night, Leander, weaning from sweet Hero's side, Must leave a widow where he found a bride.

VII.

Hark! how the billows beat upon the sand!

Like pawing steeds impatient of delay; Meanwhile their rider, ling'ring on the land, Dallies with love, and holds farewell at bay A too short span.--How tedious slow is grief!

But parting renders time both sad and brief.

VIII.

"Alas!" (he sigh'd), "that this first glimpsing light, Which makes the wide world tenderly appear, Should be the burning signal for my flight From all the world's best image, which is here; Whose very shadow, in my fond compare, Shines far more bright than Beauty's self elsewhere."

IX.

Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark, Whose leaves close up and show the outward pale, And those fair mirrors where their joys did spark, All dim and tarnish'd with a dreary veil, No more to kindle till the night's return, Like stars replenish'd at Joy's golden urn.

X.

Ev'n thus they creep into the spectral gray, That cramps the landscape in its narrow brim, As when two shadows by old Lethe stray, He clasping her, and she entwining him; Like trees, wind-parted, that embrace anon,-- True love so often goes before 'tis gone.

XI.

For what rich merchant but will pause in fear, To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss?

So Hero dotes upon her treasure here, And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss, Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head, Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread.

XII.

She thinks how many have been sunk and drown'd, And spies their snow-white bones below the deep, Then calls huge congregated monsters round, And plants a rock wherever he would leap; Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream, Which she interprets of that fatal stream.

XIII.

Saying, "That honied fly I saw was thee, Which lighted on a water-lily's cup, When, lo! the flower, enamor'd of my bee, Closed on him suddenly and lock'd him up, And he was smother'd in her drenching dew; Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue."