LINES

SENT IN THANKS FOR A BOTTLE OF VERY

FINE OLD BRANDY

WRITTEN FOR LADY C

SPIRITS there were, in olden time,

Which wrought all sorts of wondrous things (As we are told in prose and rhyme)

With wands and potions, lamps and rings;

I know not, Lady fair, do you?

Whether those tales be false or true.

But in our day-our dismal day
Of sadder song and soberer mirth,
If any spirits ever play

Upon the faded fields of earth,
Whose magic, Lady fair, can fling

O'er winter's frosts the flowers of spring,

If any spirits haunt our Isle

Whose power can make old age look gay,

Revive the tone, relume the smile,

And chase three score of years away, Such spirits, Lady fair, must be Like those your kindness sends to me!

STANZAS

WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF KING'S

COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE

MOST beautiful! I gaze and gaze
In silence on the glorious pile,
And the glad thoughts of other days
Come thronging back the while.
To me dim memory makes more dear
The perfect grandeur of the shrine;
But if I stood a stranger here,

The ground were still divine.

Some awe the good and wise have felt,
As reverently their feet have trod
On any spot where man hath knelt
To commune with his God;
By sacred spring, or haunted well,

Beneath the ruined temple's gloom,

Beside the feeble hermit's cell,

Or the false Prophet's tomb.

But when was high devotion graced

With lovelier dwelling, loftier throne, Than here the limner's art hath traced From the time-honoured stone?

The Spirit here of Worship seems
To bind the soul in willing thrall,
And heavenward hopes and holy dreams
Come at her voiceless call;

At midnight, when the lonely moon
Looks from a vapour's silvery fold;
At morning, when the sun of June
Crests the high towers with gold;
For every change of hour and form

Makes that fair scene more deeply fair,

And dusk and daybreak, calm and storm, Are all Religion there.

LINES

WRITTEN FOR A BLANK PAGE OF THE KEEP

SAKE"

LADY, there's fragrance in your sighs,

And sunlight in your glances;

I never saw such lips and eyes
In pictures or romances;
And Love will readily suppose,

To make you quite enslaving,

That

you have taste for verse and prose,

Hot pressed, and line engraving.

And then, you waltz so like a Fay,
That round you envy rankles;
Your partner's head is turned, they say,

As surely as his ankles;

And I was taught, in days far gone,

By a most prudent mother,

That in this world of sorrow, one

Good turn deserves another.