As often as that eager grasp was made.
The phantom parts-but parts to reunite,
And reassume his place before her sight.

"Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
This is our palace,-yonder is thy throne;
Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
Not to appal me have the gods bestow'd
This precious boon,-and bless'd a sad abode."

"Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave
His gifts imperfect :-Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive,
But in reward of thy fidelity.

And something also did my worth obtain;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

"Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold
That the first Greek who touch'd the Trojan strand
Should die; but me the threat did not withhold:
A generous cause a victim did demand;
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
A self-devoted chief-by Hector slain."

"Supreme of heroes-bravest, noblest, best!
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,

That then, when tens of thousands were depress'd By doubt, propell'd thee to the fatal shore;

Thou found'st-and I forgive thee-here thou art-
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

"But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And He, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
That thou shouldst cheat the malice of the grave;
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair

As when their breath enrich'd Thessalian air.

"No spectre greets me,--no vain shadow this :
Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day a second time thy bride!"
Jove frown'd in heaven; the conscious Parcæ throw
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past :
Know, virtue were not virtue if the joys
Of sense were able to return as fast
And surely as they vanish.-Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains:
Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.
"Be taught, O faithful consort, to control
Rebellious passion for the gods approve
The depth, and not the tumult of the soul;
The fervour-not the impotence of love.

Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn-

"Ah, wherefore ?-Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in beauty's bloom?
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
And Æson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.
"The gods to us are merciful-and they
Yet further may relent: for mightier far
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
Of magic, potent over sun and star,

Is love though oft to agony distress'd;

And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.

"But if thou go'st, I follow- " "Peace!" he said-
She look'd upon him and was calm'd and cheer'd ;
The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appear'd
Elysian beauty-melancholy grace-

Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel
In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
No fears to beat away-no strife to heal-
The past unsigh'd for, and the future sure;
Spake, as a witness, of a second birth
For all that is most perfect upon earth :

Of all that is most beauteous-imaged there
In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
An ampler æther, a diviner air,

And fields invested with purpureal gleams;

Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earn'd
That privilege by virtue.-" Ill," said he,
"The end of man's existence I discern'd,
Who from ignoble games and revelry*

Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight

While tears were thy best pastime,—day and night:
"And while my youthful peers, before my eyes
(Each hero following his peculiar bent),
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise
By martial sports,-or, seated in the tent,
Chieftains and kings in council were detain'd;
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchain'd.

"The wish'd-for wind was given :-I then revolved
Our future course, upon the silent sea;
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved

That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be

• For this feature in the character of Protesilaus, see the "Iphigenia in Aulis" of Euripides.

The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,-
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.
"Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife;
On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,—

The paths which we had trod-these fountains-flowers;
My new-plann'd cities, and unfinish'd towers.

"But should suspense permit the foe to cry,
'Behold they tremble -haughty their array,
Yet of their number no one dares to die?'-
In soul I swept the indignity away:

Old frailties then recurr'd:-but lofty thought,
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

"And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
In reason, in self-government too slow;

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek

Our bless'd reunion in the shades below.

Th' invisible world with thee hath sympathized;
Be thy affections raised and solemnized.
"Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend
Towards a higher object :-Love was given,
Encouraged, sanction'd, chiefly for this end:
For this the passion to excess was driven-
That self might be annull'd; her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love."

Aloud she shriek'd-for Hermes reappears!

Round the dear shade she would have clung-'tis vain :
The hours are past,-too brief had they been years;
And him no mortal effort can detain:

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way-
And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay.

Ah, judge her gently who so deeply loved!
Her, who, in reason's spite, yet without crime,
Was in a trance of passion thus removed;
Deliver'd from the galling yoke of time,
And these frail elements-to gather flowers
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.
Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourn'd by man, and not by man alone,
As fondly he believes.-Upon the side
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertain'd)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew

From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature they had gain'd
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The trees' tall summits wither'd at the sight
A constant interchange of growth and blight

H

Poems of the Fancy.

TO THE DAISY.

IN youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill, in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent,

Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make,—
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature's love partake
Of thee, sweet Daisy !

When soothed a while by milder airs,
Thee Winter in the garland wears
That thinly shades his few grey hairs;
Spring cannot shun thee;
Whole summer fields are thine by right;
And Autumn, melancholy wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight
When rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane;
If welcomed once, thou count'st it gain;
Thou art not daunted,

Nor car'st if thou be set at naught:
And oft alone in nooks remote

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

Be violets in their secret mews

The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews
Her head impearling;

Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
Yet hast not gone without thy fame;
Thou art indeed, by many a claim,
The poet's darling.

If to a rock from rains he fly,
Or, some bright day of April sky,
Imprison'd by hot sunshine lie
Near the green holly,

And wearily at length should fare;
He need but look about, and there
Thou art!-a friend at hand, to scare
His melancholy.

A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couch'd an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power
Some apprehension;

Some steady love; some brief delight;
Some memory that had taken flight;
Some chime of fancy, wrong or right,
Or stray invention.

If stately passions in me burn,

And one chance look to thee should turn,
I drink, out of an humbler urn,
A lowlier pleasure;

The homely sympathy that heeds
The common life, our nature breeds;
A wisdom fitted to the needs

Of hearts at leisure.

When, smitten by the morning ray,
I see thee rise, alert and gay,
Then, cheerful flower! my spirits play
With kindred gladness:

And when, at dusk, by dews oppress'd,
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast
Of careful sadness.

And all day long I number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,
To thee am owing;

An instinct call it, a blind sense;
A happy, genial influence,

Coming one knows not how, nor whence,
Nor whither going:

Child of the year! that round dost run
Thy course, bold lover of the sun,
And cheerful when the day's begun
As morning leveret,

Thy long-lost praise* thou shalt regain;
Dear thou shalt be to future men,

As in old time ;-thou not in vain,
Art Nature's favourite.

A WHIRL-BLAST from behind the hill
Rush'd o'er the wood with startling sound:
Then, all at once, the air was still,
And showers of hailstones patter'd round.
Where leafless oaks tower'd high above,
I sat within an undergrove

Of tallest hollies, tall and green;
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With wither'd leaves is cover'd o'er,

You could not lay a hair between :

See, in Chaucer and the elder poets, the honours formerly paid to this flower.