And truly might they, in times old Have deemed her one of fairy mould Keeping some ancestral queen Deathless, in a bow'r serene;
For oft she might be noticed walking
Where the seas at night were talking;
Or extracting with deep look
Power from out some learned book;
Or with pencil or with pen
Charming the rapt thoughts of men :
And her eyes! they were so bright, 30
They seemed to dance with elfin light,
Playmates of pearly smiles, and yet
So often and so sadly wet,
That Pity wondered to conceive
How lady so beloved could grieve.
And oft would both those ladies
rare,
Like enchantments out of air,
In a sudden shower descend
Of balm on want, or flowers on friend;
No matter how remote the place, 40
For fairies laugh at time and space.
From their hearts the gifts were
given,
As the light leaps out of heaven.
Their very house was fairy :-none Might find it without favour won For some great zeal, like errantknight,
Or want and sorrow's holy right;
23 a om, in Lit. H.
And then they reached it by long rounds
Of lanes between thick pastoral
Nest like, and alleys of old trees, 50
Until at last, in lawny ease,
Down by a garden and its fountains,
In the ken of mild blue mountains,
Rose, as if exempt from death,
Its many-centuried household breath.
The stone-cut arms above the door
Were such as earliest chieftains bore,
Of simple gear, long laid aside;
And low it was, and warm and wide,-
A home to love, from sire to son,
By white-grown servants waited on.
Here a door opening breathed of
bowers
Behold me in this green domain
Leading a palfrey by the rein,
On which the fairy lady sat
In magic talk, which men call' chat ',
Over mead, up hill, down dale,
While the sweet thoughts never fail,
39 flowers] flow'r Monthly Repository.
But now that I have seen thy face,
Thy fields, and ever youthful race,
And women's lips of rosiest word
(So rich they open), and have heard
The harp still leaping in thy halls,
Quenchless as the waterfalls,
I know thee full of pulse as strong
As the sea's more ancient song,
And of a sympathy as wide;
And all this truth, and more beside,
I should have known, had I but seen,
O Flint, thy little shore; and been
Where Truth and Dream walk, hand-
in-hand,
Bodryddan's living Fairy-land.
85 talked] thought Lit. H. For 90, 91 Lit. H. has:
And seats for poet-friend renown'd
Or where a sire was duly found
To watch the sun, with brow as even
Making his golden grave in Heaven.
94 A garden] An orchard Lit. H.
[First printed in Joseph Ablett's Literary Hours, 1837. First published, in a notice of that unpublished volume', as some verses of our own
country-seat of its Editor', in The Monthly Repository, February, 1838. reprinted.]
QUITTING dear friends with homeward care
In the sweet land that held the Druid,
I touched at thee, Llanbedr fair,
Thou lily of the Vale of Clwyd.
Gardens I saw, home's fringes bright,
A homestead church, and pastoral valleys,
And mountains green of gentle might,
Luring ascent with leafy alleys.
A page from out a poet's book
It was,-choice Nature's own adorning,-
A landscape worth an angel's look,-
A smile of God on Eden's morning.
And me its lord and lady pressed
To stop and taste it's tranquil hours,
He, with his books and pictures blest,
And she, amidst her happy flowers.
I could not stay; I was not fit
For aught but what my troubles tasked me:
Forced was my smile, and dulled my wit,
I scarcely heard the lips that asked me.
Yet all that scene in Memory's frame
I bore away, a dream excelling :
And they in turn, true pardoners, came
To see me in my own poor dwelling,
They brought me faces, void of art,
Grasps of the hand, and warm expressions;
And then I knew, that either's heart
Was larger than their fair possessions.
Oh, sweet are fair Llanbedr's slopes,
Its mansion rich, its manners even:
But man's a world of boundless hopes,
Whose heart contains both earth and heaven.
A HYMN TO BISHOP ST. VALENTINE
[First published in The Monthly Repository, February 1838; reprinted 1844-60.]
THE day, the only day returns,
The true redde letter day returns,
When summer time in winter burns;
When a February dawn
Is opened by two sleeves in lawn
Fairer than Aurora's fingers,
And a burst of all bird singers,
And a shower of billet-doux,
Tinging cheeks with rosy hues,
See, he 's dawning! See, he comes
With the jewels on his thumbs
Glancing us a ruby ray
(For he 's sun and all to-day)
See his lily sleeves! and now
See the mitre on his brow!
See his truly pastoral crook,
And beneath his arm his book
(Some sweet tome De Arte Amandi): And his hair, 'twixt saint and dandy,
Lovelocks touching either cheek, And black, though with a silver streak,
And like a proper rubric star,
Hath given us a new Calendar ',
So full of flowers and birdly talking,
'Tis like an Eden bower to walk in.
Such another See is thine,
O thou Bishop Valentine;
Such another, but as big
To that, as Eden to a fig;
For all the world's thy diocese,
All the towns and all the trees,
And all the barns and villages :
The whole rising generation
Is thy loving congregation:
Enviable 's indeed thy station;
Tithes cause thee no reprobation,
Dean and chapter 's no vexation,
Heresy no spoliation.
Begged is thy participation;
No one wishes thee translation, Except for some sweet explanation. All decree thee consecration!
Beatification!
Canonization !
All cry out, with heart-prostration,
Sweet thy text-elucidation,
Sweet, oh sweet 's thy visitation,
And Paradise thy confirmation.
70 decree] decreed 1838.
[First published in The Monthly Chronicle, November 1838; reprinted 1844-60.]
JENNY kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in:
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
AN OFFERING OF GRATITUDE ON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY
[First published in The Morning Chronicle, May 28, 1840; reprinted 1844-60.]
THE lark dwells lowly, Madam,-on the ground,
And yet his song within the heavens is found:
The basest heel may wound him ere he rise,
But soar he must, for love exalts his eyes.
Though poor, his heart must loftily be spent,
And he sings free, crowned with the firmament.
A poet thus (if love and later fame
May warrant him to wear that sacred name)
Hoped, in some pause of birth-day pomp and power,
His carol might have reached the Sovereign's bower;
Voice of a heart twice touched; once in its need,
Once by a kind word, exquisite indeed:
But Care, ungrateful to a host that long
Had borne him kindly, came and marred his song,
Marred it, and stopped, and in his envious soul
Dreamt it had ceased outright, and perished whole.
Dull god to know not, after all he knew,
What the best gods, Patience and Love, can do.
The song was lamed, was lated, yet the bird
High by the lady's bower has still been heard,
Thanking that balm in need, and that delightful word.
Blest be the queen! Blest when the sun goes down;
When rises, blest. May love line soft her crown.
May music's self not more harmonious be,
Than the mild manhood by her side and she.
May she be young for ever-ride, dance, sing,
'Twixt cares of state carelessly carolling,
And set all fashions healthy, blithe, and wise,
From whence good mothers and glad offspring rise.
May everybody love her. May she be
As brave as will, yet soft as charity;
And on her coins be never laurel seen,
But only those fair peaceful locks serene,
Beneath whose waving grace first mingle now
The ripe Guelph cheek and good straight Coburgh brow,
Pleasure and reason! May she, every day,
See some new good winning its gentle way
By means of mild and unforbidden men!
And when the sword hath bowed beneath the pen,
May her own line a patriarch scene unfold,
As far surpassing what these days behold
E'en in the thunderous gods, iron and steam,
As they the sceptic's doubt, or wild man's dream!
38 unforbidden] unforbidding 1840.
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