As just and mere a serving-man As any, born of woman. I ranged too high: what draws me down Talt the weight of that half-crown. 'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt Of darken'd forms and faces. Go, therefore, thou! thy betters went Hours, when the Poet's words and Had yet their native glow : Nor yet the fear of little books Had made him talk for show; But, all his vast heart sherris-warm'd, So mix for ever with the past, At half thy real worth? I hold it good, good things should pass: Head-waiter of the chop-house here, I too must part: I hold thee dear For this, thou shalt from all things Marrow of mirth and laughter; But thou wilt never move from henco, AFTER READING A LIFE AND LETTERS. A life that moves to gracious ends Of those that wear the Poet's crown: Hereafter, neither knave nor clown Shall hold their orgies at your tomb. For now the Poet cannot die Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry: Proclaim the faults he would not show: Break lock and seal: betray the trust: Keep nothing sacred: 'tis but just The many-headed beast should know." Ah shameless! for he did but sing A song that pleased us from its worth; LUCRUL No public life was his on earth No blazon'd statesman ho, nor king. He gave the people of his best : His worst he kept, his best he gave. My Shakespeare's curse on clown and knave Who will not let his ashes rest! The little life of bank and brier, And drops at Glory's temple-gates, For whom the carrion vulture waits To tear his heart before the crowd! IT was the time when lilies blow, "It was my cousin." said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me." "But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, When you are man and wife." "If I'm a beggar born," she said, "I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by." "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, " "But keep the secret all ye can.' She said, "Not so: but I will know If there be any faith in man "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, "The man will cleave unto his right." "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Tho' I should die to-night.” "Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee." "O mother, mother, mother," she said, "So strange it seems to me. "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, My mother dear, if this be so, And lay your hand upon my head, And bless me, mother, e'er I go." She clad herself in a russet gown, She was no longer Lady Clare : She went by dale, and she went by down, With a single rose in her hair. The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Leapt up from where she lay, Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, And follow'd her all the way. Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower; "O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth ?" "If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are: I am a beggar born," she said, "And not the Lady Clare." "Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, "For I am yours in word and in deed. Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, "Your riddle is hard to read." O and proudly stood she up! Her heart within her did not fail : She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale. He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn; He turned and kiss'd her where she stood: "If you you are not the heiress born, And I," said he, "the next in blood"If you are not the heiress born, And I," said he," the lawful heir, We two will wed to-morrow morn, And you shall still be Lady Clare." THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. In her car he whispers gayly, "If my heart by signs can tell, Maiden, I have watch'd thee daily, And I think thou lov'st me well." She replies, in accents fainter, "There is none I love like thee." He is but a landscape painter, And a village maiden she. He to lips, that fondly falter, Presses his without reproof: Leads her to the village altar, And they leave her father's roof. "I can make no marriage present: Little can I give my wife. Love will make our cottage pleasant, And I love thee more than life." They by parks and lodges going See the lordly castles stand: Summer woods, about them blowing, Made a murmur in the land. From deep thought himself he rouses, Says to her that loves him well, "Let us see these handsome houses Where the wealthy nobles dwell." So she goes by him attended, Hears him lovingly converse, Sees whatever fair and splendid Lay betwixt his home and hers; Parks with oak and chestnut shady, Parks and order'd gardens great, Ancient homes of lord and lady, Built for pleasure and for state, |