The garden, once fair, became cold and foul, Swift summer in to the autumn flowed, The rose-leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, The lilies were drooping, and white, and wan, And Indian plants, of scent and hue Were massed into the common clay. And the leaves, brown, yellow, and gray, and red, And the gusty winds waked the winged seeds Till they clung round many a sweet flower's stem, The water-blooms under the rivulet Then the rain came down, and the broken stalks Between the time of the wind and the snow, Whose coarse leaves were splashed with many a speck Like the water-snake's belly and the toad's back. And thistles, and nettles, and darnels rank, And plants, at whose names the verse feels loath, Filled the place with a monstrous undergrowth, Prickly, and pulpous, and blistering, and blue, Livid, and starred with a lurid dew. And agarics and fungi, with mildew and mould, Their moss rotted off them, flake by flake, Spawn, weeds, and filth, a leprous scum, And hour by hour, when the air was still, At night they were darkness no star could melt. And unctuous meteors from spray to spray The Sensitive Plant, like one forbid, For the leaves soon fell, and the branches soon For Winter came : the wind was his whip; His breath was a chain which without a sound The earth, and the air, and the water bound; He came, fiercely driven in his chariot-throne By the tenfold blasts of the arctic zone. Then the weeds which were forms of living death, Fled from the frost to the earth beneath : Their decay and sudden flight from frost Was but like the vanishing of a ghost! And under the roots of the Sensitive Plant bare. First there came down a thawing rain, And a northern whirlwind, wandering about And snapped them off with his rigid griff. When winter had gone and spring came back, darnels, Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels. CONCLUSION. WHETHER the Sensitive Plant, or that Whether that lady's gentle mind, I dare not guess; but in this life It is a modest creed and yet That garden sweet, that lady fair, For love, and beauty, and delight, There is no death nor change; their might Or like sulphur-flakes hurled from a mine of pale fire, In fountains spout o'er it. In many a spire The great ship seems splitting! it cracks as a tree, While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast [past. Of the whirlwind that stript it of branches has The intense thunder-balls which are raining from heaven Have shattered its mast, and it stands black and riven. The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk, Like a corpse on the clay which is hung'ring to fold Its corruption around it. Meanwhile, from the hold, One deck is burst up from the waters below, blow O'er the lakes of the desert! Who sit on the other? Is that all the crew that lie burying each other, Like the dead in a breach, round the foremast? Are those Twin tigers, who burst, when the waters arose, In the agony of terror, their chains in the hold (What now makes them tame, is what then made them bold) Who crouch, side by side, and have driven, like, a crank, [plank? The deep grip of their claws through the vibrating Are these all? Nine weeks the tall vessel had lain On the windless expanse of the watery plain, Where the death-darting sun cast no shadow at noon, And there seemed to be fire in the beams of the moon, Till a lead-coloured fog gathered up from the deep, Whose breath was quick pestilence; then, the cold sleep Crept, like blight through the ears of a thick field of corn, O'er the populous vessel. And even and morn, With their hammocks for coffins the seamen aghast Like dead men the dead limbs of their comrades cast Down the deep, which closed on them above and around, And the sharks and the dog-fish their grave-clothes unbound, And were glutted like Jews with this manna rained down From God on their wilderness. One after one His scorn of the embalmer; the seventh, from the deck An oak splinter pierced through his breast and his back, And hung out to the tempest, a wreck on the wreck. No more? At the helm sits a woman more fair Than heaven, when unbinding its star-braided hair, It sinks with the sun on the earth and the sea. Of the air and the sea, with desire and with wonder Is outshining the meteors; its bosom beats high, child, But sleep deeply and sweetly, and so be beguiled Will it rock thee not, infant? "Tis beating with dread! Alas! what is life, what is death, what are we, That when the ship sinks we no longer may be? What! to see thee no more, and to feel thee no more? To be after life what we have been before? [eyes, Not to touch those sweet hands, not to look on those Those lips and that hair, all that smiling disguise Thou yet wearest, sweet spirit, which I, day by day, Have so long called my child, but which now fades away Like a rainbow and I the fallen shower?" Lo! the ship Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip; and cyne, Stand rigid with horror; a loud, long, hoarse cry Rebounding, like thunder, from crag to cave, Of an elephant, bursts through the brakes of the waste. Black as a cormorant the screaming blast, Which based on the sea and to heaven upcurled, As a flood rends its barriers of mountainous crag: And the dense clouds in many a ruin and rag, Like the stones of a temple ere earthquake has past, Like the dust of its fall, on the whirlwind are cast; They are scattered like foam on the torrent; and where The wind has burst out through the chasm, from the air Of clear morning, the beams of the sunrise flow in, And that breach in the tempest is widening away, And the long glassy heave of the rocking sea, The deep calm of blue heaven dilating above, Beneath the clear surface reflecting it slide Tremulous with soft influence; extending its tide From the Andes to Atlas, round mountain and isle, Round sea-birds and wrecks, paved with heaven's azure smile, The wide world of waters is vibrating. With her left hand she grasps it impetuously, With her right she sustains her fair infant. Death, Fear, Love, Beauty, are mixed in the atmosphere, Which trembles and burns with the fervour of dread Around her wild eyes, her bright hand, and her head, Like a meteor of light o'er the waters! her child Is yet smiling, and playing, and murmuring: so smiled The false deep ere the storm. Like a sister and brother Its ardours of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove." IV. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, The child and the ocean still smile on each other, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, Whilst THE CLOUD. I. I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shades for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under,. II. I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,. This pilot is guiding me, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The stars peep behind her and peer; 、 And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, I am the daughter of earth and water, I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; For after the rain, when with never a stain, And the winds and the sunbeams with their convex I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the I arise and unbuild it again.. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. THE fountains mingle with the river, All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle- [tomb, |