The page has caught her hand in his :
Her lips are sever'd as to speak:
His own are pouted to a kiss:

The blush is fix'd upon her cheek.

Till all the hundred summers pass,

The beamis, that thro' the Oriel shine, Make prisms in every carven glass,

And beaker brimm'd with noble wine.

Each baron at the banquet sleeps,
Grave faces gather'd in a ring.

His state the king reposing keeps.
He must have been a jolly king.

All round a hedge upshoots, and shows
At distance like a little wood;

Thorns, ivies, woodbine, misletoes,

And grapes with bunches red as blood;

All creeping plants, a wall of green
Close-matted, bur and brake and briar,
And glimpsing over these, just seen,

High up, the topmost palace-spire.

When will the hundred summers die,

And thought and time be born again, And newer knowlegde, drawing nigh,

Bring truth that sways the soul of men? Here all things in their place remain,

As all were order'd, ages since.

Come, Care and Pleasure, Hope and Pain, And bring the fated fairy Prince.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

YEAR after year unto her feet,

She lying on her couch alone,

Across the purpled coverlet,

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown,

On either side her tranced form

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous light is rich and warm,

And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broider'd coverlid

Unto her limbs itself doth mould

Languidly ever; and, amid

Her full black ringlets downward roll'd, Glows forth each softly-shadow'd arm

With bracelets of the diamond bright: Her constant beauty doth inform

Stillness with love, and day with light.

She sleeps her breathings are not heard

:

In palace chambers far apart.

The fragrant tresses are not stirr❜d

That lie upon her charmed heart.

She sleeps on either hand upswells

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells

A perfect form in perfect rest.

THE ARRIVAL.

ALL precious things, discover'd late,
To those that seek them issue forth;

For love in sequel works with fate,

And draws the veil from hidden worth.

He travels far from other skies

His mantle glitters on the rocks—

A fairy Prince, with joyful eyes,

And lighter-footed than the fox.

The bodies and the bones of those
That strove in other days to pass,
Are wither'd in the thorny close,
Or scatter'd blanching in the grass.

He

66

gazes on the silent dead :

They perish'd in their daring deeds."

his proverb flashes thro' his head,

"The many fail: the one succeeds."

He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks : He breaks the hedge: he enters there: The colour flies into his cheeks:

He trusts to light on something fair;

For all his life the charm did talk

About his path, and hover near

With words of promise in his walk,
And whisper'd voices in his ear.

More close and close his footsteps wind

The magic music in his heart

Beats quick and quicker, till he find

The quiet chamber far apart.

His spirit flutters like a lark,

He stoops-to kiss her-on his knee.

"Love, if thy tresses be so dark,

;