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Asleep! O sleep a little while

SLEEP! O sleep a little while, white pearl And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee, And let me call Heaven's blessing on thine eyes, And let me breathe into the happy air

That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,

My sudden adoration, my great love!

Where be ye going, you Devon Maid?

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HERE be ye going, you Devon maid? And what have ye there in the basket? Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

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I love your Meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,

But 'hind the door I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly.

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Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;

Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.

When he saw the churches seven,
Golden aisled, built up in heaven,
Gaz'd at such a rugged wonder.
As I stood its roofing under,
Lo! I saw one sleeping there,
On the marble cold and bare.
While the surges wash'd his feet,
And his garments white did beat
Drench'd about the sombre rocks,
On his neck his well-grown locks,
Lifted dry above the main,
Were upon the curl again.
"What is this? and what art thou?'
Whisper'd I, and touch'd his brow;
"What art thou? and what is this?'
Whisper'd I, and strove to kiss
The spirit's hand, to wake his eyes;
Up he started in a trice:
"I am Lycidas," said he,
"Fam'd in funeral minstrelsy!
This was architectur'd thus
By the great Oceanus !—
Here his mighty waters play
Hollow organs all the day;
Here by turns his dolphins all,
Finny palmers great and small,
Come to pay devotion due-

Each a mouth of pearls must strew.
Many a mortal of these days,
Dares to pass our sacred ways,
Dares to touch audaciously
This Cathedral of the Sea!
I have been the pontiff-priest
Where the waters never rest,
Where a fledgy sea-bird choir
Soars for ever; holy fire

I have hid from mortal man;
Proteus is my Sacristan.

But the dulled eye of mortal

Hath pass'd beyond the rocky portal;
So for ever will I leave

Such a taint, and soon unweave

All the magic of the place."

So saying, with a Spirit's glance
He dived!

ΙΟ

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A PROPHECY

To his brother George in America

'TIS

IS the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listenFor what listen they?

For a song and for a charm,

See they glisten in alarm,

And the moon is waxing warm

To hear what I shall say.

Moon! keep wide thy golden ears—

Hearken, stars! and hearken, spheres !—
Hearken, thou eternal sky!

I sing an infant's lullaby,

A pretty lullaby.

Listen, listen, listen, listen,
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten,
And hear my lullaby!

Though the rushes that will make
Its cradle still are in the lake-
Though the linen that will be
Its swathe, is on the cotton tree—
Though the woollen that will keep
It warm, is on the silly sheep—
Listen, starlight, listen, listen,
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten,
And hear my lullaby!

Child, I see thee! Child, I've found thee
Midst of the quiet all around thee!
Child, I see thee! Child, I spy thee!
And thy mother sweet is nigh thee!

Child, I know thee! Child no more,
But a Poet evermore !

See, see, the lyre, the lyre,
In a flame of fire,

Upon the little cradle's top
Flaring, flaring, flaring,
Past the eyesight's bearing.
Awake it from its sleep,
And see if it can keep
Its eyes upon the blaze--
Amaze, amaze !

It stares, it stares, it stares,
It dares what no one dares !

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