ADDITIONAL POEMS

289

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

W. S. LANDOR.

290

ROSE AYLMER

Ah what avails the sceptred race!
Ah what the form divine!

What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and of sighs

I consecrate to thee.

5

W. S. LANDOR.

291

THE MAID'S LAMENT

I loved him not; and yet now he is gone

I feel I am alone.

I checked him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, Alas! I would not check.

For reasons not to love him once I sought,

And wearied all my thought

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To vex myself and him: I now would give
My love, could he but live

Who lately lived for me, and, when he found
'Twas vain, in holy ground

He hid his face amid the shades of death.
I waste for him my breath

Who wasted his for me: but mine returns,
And this lorn bosom burns

With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,

And waking me to weep

Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years
Wept he as bitter tears.

Merciful God! such was his latest prayer,
These may she never share!

Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold,
Than daisies in the mould,

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Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate,
His name and life's brief date.

Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be,
And, O, pray too for me!

25

W. S. LANDOR.

292

TO ROBERT BROWNING

There is delight in singing, tho' none hear
Beside the singer and there is delight
In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone
And see the praised far off him, far above.
Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, 5
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,
No man hath walked along our roads with step
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue
So varied in discourse. But warmer climes
Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze
Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
W. S. LANDOR.

10

On Dyfed's richest valley,

Where herds of kine were browsing,

We made a mighty sally

To furnish our carousing.

Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;

We met them, and o'erthrew them : They struggled hard to beat us;

But we conquered them, and slew them.

As we drove our prize at leisure,
The king marched forth to catch us :
His rage surpassed all measure,

But his people could not match us.
He fled to his hall-pillars;

And, ere our force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off.

We there, in strife bewildering,
Spilt blood enough to swim in :
We orphaned many children,
And widowed many women.
The eagles and the ravens

We glutted with our foemen ;
The heroes and the cravens,

The spearmen and the bowmen.

We brought away from battle,

And much their land bemoaned them,

Two thousand head of cattle,

35

And the head of him who owned them: Ednyfed, King of Dyfed,

His head was borne before us;

His wine and beasts supplied our feasts,
And his overthrow, our chorus.

T. L. PEACOCK.

40

298

THREE MEN OF GOTHAM

Seamen three ! What men be ye?

Gotham's three wise men we be. Whither in your bowl so free?

To rake the moon from out the sea. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.

And our ballast is old wine.

And your ballast is old wine.

Who art thou, so fast adrift?
I am he they call Old Care.
Here on board we will thee lift.
No: I may not enter there.
Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,
In a bowl Care may not be.

In a bowl Care may not be.

Fear ye not the waves that roll?

No in charméd bowl we swim.

What the charm that floats the bowl ?
Water may not pass the brim.

The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine.

And your ballast is old wine.

T. L. PEACOCK.

299

THE GRAVE OF LOVE

I dug, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seem an elfin's grave;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst thy false affection gave.

I pressed them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.

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