And the down deadened it within the nest?"
He moved her gently from him, silent still,
And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,
Although she saw fate nearer: then with sighs,
"I thought to have laid down my hair before
Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed
Her polished altar with my virgin blood;

I thought to have selected the white flowers
To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each
By name, and with no sorrowful regret,
Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow;
And (after those who mind us girls the most)
Adore our own Athena, that she would
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes.
But, father! to see you no more, and see
Your love, O father! go ere I am gone
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
Bending his lofty head far over hers,
And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.
He turned away; not far, but silent still.
She now first shuddered; for in him so nigh,
So long a silence seemed the approach of death,
And like it. Once again she raised her voice.
"O father! if the ships are now detained,
And all your vows move not the Gods above,
When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer
The less to them: and purer can there be

Any, or more fervent than the daughter's prayer

For her dear father's safety and success?"

A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.
An aged man now entered, and without
One word, stept slowly on, and took the wrist
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.
Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried
"O father! grieve no more: the ships can sail."

555

556

557

558

559

'Do YOU REMEMBER ME?'

'Do you remember me? or are you proud?'
Lightly advancing thro' her star-trimm'd crowd,
Ianthe said, and looked into my eyes.

'A yes, a yes, to both: for Memory

Where you but once have been must ever be,
And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise.'

FOR AN EPITAPH AT FIESOLE

Lo! where the four mimosas blend their shade
In calm repose at last is Landor laid,

For ere he slept he saw them planted here

By her his soul had ever held most dear,

And he had lived enough when he had dried her tear.

ON LUCRETIA BORGIA'S HAIR

BORGIA, thou once wert almost too august
And high for adoration; now thou'rt dust;
All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,
Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.

ON HIS SEVENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY

I STROVE with none; for none was worth my strife,
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;

I warmed both hands before the fire of life,
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

TO MY NINTH DECADE

1

To my ninth decade I have totter'd on,
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.

560

561

562

DEATH STANDS ABOVE ME

DEATH stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear;
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear.

ON LIVING TOO LONG

Is it not better at an early hour

In its calm cell to rest the weary head,

While birds are singing and while blooms the bower,
Than sit the fire out and go starv'd to bed?

THOMAS HOOD

[1798-1845]

FAIR INES

O SAW ye not fair Ines?
She's gone into the West,
To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest:
She took our daylight with her,

The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast.

O turn again, fair Ines,

Before the fall of night,

For fear the Moon should shine alone,

And stars unrivall'd bright;

And blessed will the lover be

That walks beneath their light,

And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write!

Would I had been, fair Ines,

That gallant cavalier,

Who rode so gaily by thy side,

And whisper'd thee so near!

Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here,

That he should cross the seas to win

The dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners waved before;
And gentle youth and maidens gay,
And snowy plumes they wore:

It would have been a beauteous dream,-
If it had been no more!

'Alas, alas! fair Ines,

She went away with song,

With Music waiting on her steps,

And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong,

In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell, To her you've loved so long.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines!
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,

Nor danced so light before,—

Alas for pleasure on the sea,

And sorrow on the shore!

The smile that bless'd one lover's heart Has broken many more!