Drink to me first!-nay do not scorn

These sparkling dews of night;
I pledge thee in the silver horn
Of yonder moonlet bright:
'Tis stinted measure now, but soon
Thy cup shall overflow;

It half was spilled two hours agone,
That little flowers might grow,

And weave for me fine robes of silk;

For which good deed, stars drop them milk.

Nay, take the horn into thy hand,

The goodly silver horn,

And quaff it off. At my command
Each flower-cup, ere the morn,
Shall brimful be of glittering dews,
And then we'll have large store
Of heaven's own vintage ripe for use,
To pledge our healths thrice o'er;
So skink the can as maiden free,
Then troll the merry bowl to me!

Hush-drink no more! for now the trees,

In yonder grand old wood,

Burst forth in sinless melodies

To cheer my solitude;

Trees sing thus every night to me,

So mournfully and slow

They think, dear hearts, 'twere well for me,
Could large tears once forth flow
From this hard frozen eye of mine,
As freely as they stream from thine.

Ay, ay, they sing right passing well,
And pleasantly in tune,

To midnight winds a canticle

That floats up to the moon;

And she goes wandering near and far
Through yonder vaulted skies,

No nook whereof but hath a star

Shed for me from her eyes;—

She knows I cannot weep, but she
Weeps worlds of light for love of me!

Yes, in her bower of clouds she weeps

Night after night for me

The lonely man that sadly keeps

Watch by the blasted tree.

She spreads o'er these lean ribs her beams,

To scare the cutting cold;

She lends me light to read my dreams,

And rightly to unfold

The mysteries that make men mad,

Or wise, or wild, or good, or bad.

So lovingly she shines through me,

Without me and within,

That even thou, methinks, might'st see,

Beneath this flesh so thin,

A heart that like a ball of fire

Is ever blazing there,

Yet dieth not; for still the lyre

Of heaven soothes its despair

The lyre that sounds so sadly sweet,

When winds and woods and waters meet.

Hush! hush! so sang yon ghastly wood,

So moaned the sullen stream

One night, as Two on this rock stood
Beneath this same moonbeam:-

Nay, start not!-one was Flesh and Blood,
A dainty straight-limbed dame,
That clung to me and sobbed-O God!
Struggling with maiden shame,

She faltered forth her love, and swore-
"ON LAND OR SEA, THINE EVERMORE"!

By Wood, by Water, and by Wind,
Yea, by the blessed light

Of the brave moon, that maiden kind

Eternal faith did plight;

Yea, by the rock on which we stood

This altar-stone of yore

That loved one said, "On land or flood,

"Thine, thine for evermore!"

The earth reeled round, I gasped for breath,

I loved, and was beloved till death!

I felt upon my brow a kiss,
Upon my cheek a tear;

I felt that now life's sum of bliss

Was more than heart could bear. Life's sum of bliss? say rather pain, For heart to find its mate,

To love, and be beloved again,

Even when the hand of Fate

Motions farewell!-and one must be

A wanderer on the faithless sea.

Ay, Land or Sea! for, mark me now,

Next morrow o'er the foam,

Sword girt to side, and helm on brow,

I left a sorrowing home;

Yet still I lived as very part

Even of this sainted rock,

Where first that loved one's tristful heart

Its secret treasure broke

In my love-thirsting ear alone,

Here, here, on this huge altar-stone.