Part 9 (1/2)
ODE.
Bards of Pa.s.sion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wond'rous, And the parle of voices thund'rous; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease 10 Seated on Elysian lawns Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns Underneath large blue-bells tented, Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth; Philosophic numbers smooth; 20 Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries.
Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying.
Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week; 30 Of their sorrows and delights; Of their pa.s.sions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; What doth strengthen and what maim.
Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away.
Bards of Pa.s.sion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth!
Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new! 40
LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN.
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood 10 Would, with his maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can.
I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away, n.o.body knew whither, till An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story, Said he saw you in your glory, Underneath a new old-sign Sipping beverage divine, 20 And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac.
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
ROBIN HOOD.
TO A FRIEND.
No! those days are gone away, And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Of the leaves of many years: Many times have winter's shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest's whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor rent nor leases. 10
No, the bugle sounds no more, And the tw.a.n.ging bow no more; Silent is the ivory shrill Past the heath and up the hill; There is no mid-forest laugh, Where lone Echo gives the half To some wight, amaz'd to hear Jesting, deep in forest drear.
On the fairest time of June You may go, with sun or moon, 20 Or the seven stars to light you, Or the polar ray to right you; But you never may behold Little John, or Robin bold; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on an empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth his green way beguile To fair hostess Merriment, Down beside the pasture Trent; 30 For he left the merry tale Messenger for spicy ale.
Gone, the merry morris din; Gone, the song of Gamelyn; Gone, the tough-belted outlaw Idling in the ”grene shawe;”
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast Sudden from his turfed grave, And if Marian should have 40 Once again her forest days, She would weep, and he would craze: He would swear, for all his oaks, Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes, Have rotted on the briny seas; She would weep that her wild bees Sang not to her--strange! that honey Can't be got without hard money!
So it is: yet let us sing, Honour to the old bow-string! 50 Honour to the bugle-horn!