Then I remember'd one myself had made

What time I watch'd the swallow winging south

From mine own land, part made long since, and part

Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far

As I could ape their treble, did I sing.

'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.

'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.

O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light

Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,

And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.

'O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.

Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,

Delaying as the tender ash delays

To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?

O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South

But in the North long since my nest is made.

"O tell her, brief is life but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South.

'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.'

I ceased and all the ladies, each at each,

Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time,

Stared with great eyes, and laugh'd with alien lips,
And knew not what they meant; for still my voice

Rang false but smiling Not for thee,' she said,

'O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan

Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid,
Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake

Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this
A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend,

We hold them slight: they mind us of the time
When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men,
That lute and flute fantastic tenderness,
And dress the victim to the offering up,
And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise,
And play the slave to gain the tyranny.

Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once;

She wept her true eyes blind for such a one,

A

rogue of canzonets and serenades.

I loved her. Peace be with her! she is dead.

So they blaspheme the muse! but great is song
Used to great ends: ourself have often tried
Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dash'd
The passion of the prophetess; for song
Is duer unto freedom, force and growth

Of spirit than to junketing and love.

Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this

Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats,

Till all men grew to rate us at our worth,
Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes

To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered
Whole in ourselves and due to none. Enough!
But now to leaven play with profit, you,

Know you no song, the true growth of your soil,
That gives the manners of your countrywomen?'

She spoke and turn'd her sumptuous head with eyes Of shining expectation fixt on mine.

Then while I dragg'd my brains for such a song,

Cyril, with whom the bell-mouth'd flask had wrought,

Or master'd by the sense of sport, began

To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch

Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences
Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him,

I frowning; Psyche flush'd and wann'd and shook;

The lilylike Melissa droop'd her brows;

Forbear' the Princess cried; Forbear, Sir ' I;

And heated thro' and thro' with wrath and love,

I smote him on the breast; he started up;
There rose a shriek as of a city sack'd;

Melissa clamour'd Flee the death; 'To horse'

Said Ida; home! to horse!' and fled, as flies

A troop of

snowy

doves athwart the dusk,

When some one batters at the dovecote-doors,

Disorderly the women. Alone I stood

With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart,
In the pavilion there like parting hopes

I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof,
hoof a knell to my desires,

And every

Clang'd on the bridge; and then another shriek,
'The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head! '
For blind with rage she miss'd the plank, and roll'd
In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom:
There whirl'd her white robe like a blossom'd branch
Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave,