Poems

IV.

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
I find a magic bark;

I leap on board: no helmsman steers:
I float till all is dark.

A gentle sound, an awful light!

Three angels bear the holy Grail:
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-light mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne
Through dreaming towns I go,

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow.

The tempest crackles on the leads,

And, ringing, spins from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads,

And gilds the driving hail.
I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields;
But blessed forms in whistling storms

A maiden knight

VI.

to me is given

Such hope, I know not fear;

I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven

That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,

Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace,

Whose odors haunt my

dreams;

And, stricken by an angel's hand,

This mortal armor that I wear,

This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touched, are turned to finest air.

VII.

The clouds are broken in the sky,
And through the mountain-walls
A rolling organ-harmony

Swells up, and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
“O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride on the prize is near."

So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;

By bridge and ford, by park and pale,

All-armed I ride, whate'er betide,

EDWARD GRAY.

SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town
Met me walking on yonder way,

"And have you lost your heart?" she said;
"And are you married yet, Edward Gray?"

Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me:
Bitterly weeping I turned away:
"Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more
Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.

"Ellen Adair she loved me well,

Against her father's and mother's will: To-day I sat for an hour and wept,

By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.

"Shy she was, and I thought her cold;

Thought her proud, and fled over the sea;

Filled I was with folly and spite,

VI.

A maiden knight to me is given

Such hope, I know not fear;

I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
Pure lilies of eternal peace,

Whose odors haunt my dreams;
And, stricken by an angel's hand,

This mortal armor that I wear,

This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touched, are turned to finest air.

VII.

The clouds are broken in the sky,

And through the mountain-walls

A rolling organ-harmony

Swells

up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear: "O just and faithful knight of God! Ride on the prize is near."