The voices of glad birds and brooks,
And eke of greenwood tree,
With all the long-remembered looks*
Of earth, and sky, and sea,

Danced madly through my 'wildered brain,
And shook me like a wind-swung chain.

Men marvelled at the ghastly form

That sat before the sun

That laughed to scorn the pelting storm,
Nor would the thunders shun;

The bearded Shape that gibbered sounds
Of uncouth lore and lands,

Struck awe into these Heathen hounds,
Who, lifting up their hands,

Blessed the wild prophet, and then brought
Raiment and food unthanked, unsought.

I have a dreaming of the sea-
A dreaming of the land—

A dreaming that again to me

Belonged a good knight's brand—
A dreaming that this brow was pressed
With plumed helm once more,

That linked mail reclad this breast

When I retrod the shore,

The blessed shores of my father-land,
And knelt in prayer upon its strand.

"Years furrow brows and channel cheeks, But should not chase old loves away; The language which true heart first speaks, That language must it hold for aye."

* And all the long-remembered looks. MS. copy.

This poesie a war-worn man

Did mutter to himself one night, As upwards to this cliff he ran, That shone in the moonlight; And by the moonlight curiously,

He scanned the bark of this old tree.

"No change is here, all things remain As they were years ago;

With selfsame voice the old woods playne, When shrilly winds do blow—

Still murmuring to itself, the stream

Rolls o'er its rocky bed—

Still smiling in its quiet dream,

The small flower nods its head;

And I stand here," the War-worn said,

"Like Nature's heart, unaltered."

Now, Flesh and Blood, that sits by me
On this bare ledge of stone,

So sat that Childe of chivalrie,
One summer eve alone.

I saw him, and methought he seemed
Like to the Bearded Form
That sat before the sun, and gleamed
Defiance to the storm;

I saw him in his war-weed sit,
And other Two before him flit.

Yes, in the shadow of that tree,
And motionless as stone,
Sat the War-worn, while mirthfully
The other Two passed on ;-
By heaven! one was a comely bride,
Her face gleamed in the moon,

As richly as in full-fleshed pride,
Bright roses burst in June ;

Methought she was the maiden mild,*
That whilome loved the wandering Childe!

But it was not her former love

That wandered with her there

Oh, no! long absence well may move
A maiden to despair;

Old loves we cast unto the winds,

Old vows into the sea,

'Tis lightsome for all gentle minds,
To be as fancy free.

So the Vow-pledged One loved another,
And wantoned with a younger brother.

I heard a dull, hoarse, chuckle sound,
Beside that trysting-tree;

I saw uprising from the ground,

A ghastly shape like me.

But no! it was the War-worn wight,

That pale as whited wall,

Strode forth into the moonshine bright,

And let such hoarse sounds fall.

A voice uprushing from the tomb
Than his, were less fulfilled with doom.

66 Judgment ne'er sleeps!" the War-worn said, As striding into light,

He stood before that shuddering maid,
Between her and that knight.

Judgment ne'er sleeps! 'tis wondrous odd,

One gurgle, one long sigh,

*Methought she SEEMED the maiden mild.-MS. copy.

Ended it all. Upon this sod

Lay one with unclosed eye,

And then the boiling linn that night,
Flung on its banks a lady bright.

She tripped towards me as you have tripped,

Pale maiden! and as cold;

She sipped with me as you have sipped,

Night dews, and then I told

To her as you my weary tale

Of double life and pain;

And thawed her fingers chill and pale
Upon my burning brain;—

That daintiest piece of Flesh on earth,
I welcomed her to all my mirth.

And then I pressed her icy hand
Within my burning palm,
And told her tales of that far land,
Of sunshine, flowers, and balm ;
I told her of the damp, dark hole,
The fetters and the tree,

And of the slimy things that stole
O'er shuddering flesh so free:
Yea, of the Bearded Ghastliness,
That sat in the sun's loveliness.

I welcomed her, I welcome thee,
To sit upon this stone,

And meditate all night with me,

On ages that are gone :

To dream again each marvellous dream,

Of passion and of truth,

And re-construct each shattered beam

That glorified glad youth.

These were the days !—hearts then could feel, Eyes weep, and slumbers o'er them steal.

E

But not so now. The second life

That wearied hearts must live,

Is woven with that thread of strife-
Forget not, nor Forgive!

Fires, scorching fires run through our veins,

Our corded sinews crack,

And molten lead boils in our brains,

For marrow to the back,

Ha! ha! What's life? Think of the joke, The fiercest fire still ends in smoke.

Fill up the cup! fill up the can!

Drink, drink, sweet Flesh and Blood, The health of the grim-bearded man That haunteth solitude ;

The wood pours forth its melodies,

And stars whirl fast around;

Yon moon-ship scuds before the breeze

Hark, how sky-billows sound!

Drink, Flesh and Blood! then trip with me, One measure round the Madman's Tree !

VII.

HALBERT THE GRIM.

THERE is blood on that brow,

There is blood on that hand; There is blood on that hauberk, And blood on that brand.

Oh! bloody all o'er is

His war-cloak, I weet;

He is wrapped in the cover
Of murder's red sheet.