Yggdrasill, the populous Ash-tree

Whose leaves embroider heaven, Fills all the grey air with music :

To Gods and to men sweet sounds,
But speech to the fine-ear'd Maidens
Who evermore come and go.

That way to their domestead thrones
The Æsir ride each day,

And every one bends to the saddle
As they pass beneath the shade:
Even Odin, the strong All-Father,
Bends to the beautiful Maidens

Who cease not to come and go.

The tempest crosses the high boughs,
The great snakes heave below,
The wolf, the boar, and antler'd harts

Delve at the life-giving roots;
But all of them fear the wise Maidens,
The wise-hearted Water-bearers

Who evermore come and go.

And men far away, in the night hours
To the North-wind listening, hear,-
They hear the howl of the were-wolf,
And know he hath felt the sting
Of the eyes of the potent Maidens
Who sleeplessly come and go.

They hear on the wings of the North-wind
A sound as of three that sing;

And the skald, in the blae mist wandering
High on the midland fell,

Heard the very words of the o'ersong
Of the Norns, who come and go.

But alas for the ears of mortals

Chance-hearing that fate-laden song!

The bones of the skald lie there still :
For the speech of the leaves of the Tree
Is the song of the three Queen-Maidens
Who evermore come and go.

PARTING AND MEETING AGAIN.

Last time I parted from my Dear
The linnet sang from the briar-bush,
The throstle from the dell;

The stream too carol'd full and clear,
It was the spring-time of the year,
And both the linnet and the thrush
I love them well

Since last I parted from my Dear.

But when he came again to me
The barley rustled high and low,
Linnet and thrush were still;
Yellow'd the apple on the tree,

'Twas autumn merry as it could be,
What time the white ships come and go
Under the hill;

They brought him back again to me,
Brought him safely o'er the sea.

PYGMALION.

"Mistress of Gods and men! I have been thine
From boy to man, and many a myrtle rod
Have I made grow upon thy sacred sod,
Nor ever have I pass'd thy white shafts nine
Without some votive offering for the shrine,
Carved beryl or chased bloodstone ;-aid me now!
And I will live to fashion for thy brow

Heart-breaking priceless things: O, make her mine."
Venus inclined her ear, and through the Stone

Forthwith slid warmth like spring through sapling-stems,

And lo! the eyelid stirr'd, beneath had grown
The tremulous light of life, and all the hems
Of her zoned peplos shook-Upon his breast
She sank, by two dread gifts at once oppress'd.

ROSE-LEAVES.

Once a rose ever a rose, we say:
One we loved and who loved us
Remains beloved though gone from day :
To human hearts it must be thus,
The past is sweetly laid away.

Sere and seal'd for a day and year,
Smell them, dear Christina pray
So Nature treats its children dear,
So memory deals with yesterday :
The past is sweetly laid away.

WILLIAM JAMES LINTON.

1812

BRIDAL SONG.

Blessed Hours! approach her gently;
Peace! smile on her excellently;
Midnight Stars! attend her pleasure:
Veil thy splendour, Night!

Not even Love's own eyes should measure
Love's delight.

Touch life's chords with lightest finger;
Echoes sweet! around her linger;
By the love makes marriage holy,

Tame thy carriage, Fate!

Like a bridesmaid murmuring lowly-
Yet we wait!

THE HAPPY LAND.

The Happy Land!

Studded with cheerful homesteads, fair to see, With garden grace and household symmetry : How grand the wide-brow'd peasant's lordly mien, The matron's smile serene!

O happy, happy land!

The happy land!

Half-hid in the dewy grass the mower blithe
Sings to the day-star as he whets his scythe ;
And to his babės at eventide again

Carols as blithe a strain.

Q happy, happy land!

The happy land!

Where in the golden sheen of autumn eves

The bright hair'd children play among the sheaves; Or gather ripest apples all the day,

As ruddy-cheek'd as they.

O happy land!

O happy, happy land!

The thin smoke curleth through the frosty air;

The light smiles from the windows; hearken there To the white grandsire's tale of heroes old,

To flame-eyed listeners told !

O happy, happy land!

O happy, happy land!

The tender-foliaged alders scarcely shade
Yon loitering lover and glad blushing maid :
O happy land! the Spring that quickens thee
Is human liberty.

O happy, happy land!

IPHIGENEIA AT AULIS.

I am Achilles.

Thou wast hither brought

To be my wife, not for a sacrifice.

Greece and her kings may stand aside as nought
To what Thou art in my expectant eyes.

Or kings or Gods: I too am heaven-born.
I trample on their auguries and needs.
Where the foreboding dares to front my scorn
Or break the promise from my heart proceeds?

But thou Belovèd! smilèst down my wrath
So able to protect thee. Who should harm
Achilles' Bride?-Thou pointest to the path
Of sacrifice, yet leaning on my arm.

There is no need of words; from me reply.

As little requisite: Thy lightest hand Guideth me, as the helm the ship; Thine eye

Doth more than all the Atridæ could command.

Thou givèst life and love for Greece and Right:
I will stand by thee lest thou shouldst be weak-

Not weak of soul.-I will but hold in sight

Thy marvelous beauty. Here is She you seek!

AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE.

1814

SONG.

Seek not the tree of silkiest bark

And balmiest bud,

To carve her name while yet 'tis dark
Upon the wood!

The world is full of noble tasks

And wreaths hard won :