Part 2 (2/2)

The nuns they came from the convent gate By one, by two, by three; They sang for the soul of a lady bright Who died for the love of a traitor knight: It was his own lady.

He stayed the corpse beside the grave; 'A sign, a sign!' quod he.

'Mary Mother who rulest heaven, Send me a sign if I be forgiven By the woman who so loved me.'

A white dove out of the coffin flew; Earl Harold's mouth it kist; He fell on his face, wherever he stood; And the white dove carried his soul to G.o.d Or ever the bearers wist.

Durham, 1840.

PALINODIA

Ye mountains, on whose torrent-furrowed slopes, And bare and silent brows uplift to heaven, I envied oft the soul which fills your wastes Of pure and stern sublime, and still expanse Unbroken by the petty incidents Of noisy life: Oh hear me once again!

Winds, upon whose racked eddies, far aloft, Above the murmur of the uneasy world, My thoughts in exultation held their way: Whose tremulous whispers through the rustling glade Were once to me unearthly tones of love, Joy without object, wordless music, stealing Through all my soul, until my pulse beat fast With aimless hope, and unexpressed desire-- Thou sea, who wast to me a prophet deep Through all thy restless waves, and wasting sh.o.r.es, Of silent labour, and eternal change; First teacher of the dense immensity Of ever-stirring life, in thy strange forms Of fish, and sh.e.l.l, and worm, and oozy weed: To me alike thy frenzy and thy sleep Have been a deep and breathless joy: Oh hear!

Mountains, and winds, and waves, take back your child!

Upon thy balmy bosom, Mother Nature, Where my young spirit dreamt its years away, Give me once more to nestle: I have strayed Far through another world, which is not thine.

Through sunless cities, and the weary haunts Of smoke-grimed labour, and foul revelry My flagging wing has swept. A mateless bird's My pilgrimage has been; through sin, and doubt, And darkness, seeking love. Oh hear me, Nature!

Receive me once again: but not alone; No more alone, Great Mother! I have brought One who has wandered, yet not sinned, like me.

Upon thy lap, twin children, let us lie; And in the light of thine immortal eyes Let our souls mingle, till The Father calls To some eternal home the charge He gives thee.

Cambridge, 1841.

A HOPE

Twin stars, aloft in ether clear, Around each other roll alway, Within one common atmosphere Of their own mutual light and day.

And myriad happy eyes are bent Upon their changeless love alway; As, strengthened by their one intent, They pour the flood of life and day.

So we through this world's waning night May, hand in hand, pursue our way; Shed round us order, love, and light, And s.h.i.+ne unto the perfect day.

1842.

THE POETRY OF A ROOT CROP

Underneath their eider-robe Russet swede and golden globe, Feathered carrot, burrowing deep, Steadfast wait in charmed sleep; Treasure-houses wherein lie, Locked by angels' alchemy, Milk and hair, and blood, and bone, Children of the barren stone; Children of the flaming Air, With his blue eye keen and bare, Spirit-peopled smiling down On frozen field and toiling town-- Toiling town that will not heed G.o.d His voice for rage and greed; Frozen fields that surpliced lie, Gazing patient at the sky; Like some marble carven nun, With folded hands when work is done, Who mute upon her tomb doth pray, Till the resurrection day.

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