II.

Spring high into the shuddering stars, O florid sunset, burning gold! Flash on our eyeballs lurid bars To beam them with air-fires cold! The blowing dingles soak with light, The purple coppice hang with blaze; But where we stand a meeker white Bloom on us thro' the hill's soft haze, For Oriana stars the night!

Float from the East, O silver world, Unto the ocean of the West; And the foam-sparkles upward hurled, That fringe the twilight's surging crest, Snatch up and gather 'round thy brow In lustrous twine of rosy heat, And rain on us its starry glow,-- O fragment of the evetide's sheet,-- And Oriana's eyes o'erflow.

O courting cricket, with thy pipe Now shrill true love thro' the warm grain O feathered buds, that nodding stripe The blue glen's night, sigh love again! Thou glimmering bird, that aye doth wail From some wind-wavered branch of snow, Sweep down the moonlit, hay-sweet dale Thy bubbled anguish, swooning low, For Oriana walks the vale!

The moon comes sowing all the eve With myriad star-grains of her light; The torrent on the crag doth grieve; The glittering lake is smooth with night. O mellow lights that o'er us slide, O wrinkled woods that ridge the steep, O bearded stems that billowing glide, With laughing night-dews happy weep, For Oriana'll be my bride!

THE IDEAL.

Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old, A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream, With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold, And features like a dream.

Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet, A silver poniard chased with imageries Hung at a buckled belt, while at thy feet The gasping heron dies.

Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keep A maiden in chaste samite, and her mien Like that of loved ones visiting our sleep, Or of a fairy queen.

She, where the cushioned ivy dangling hoar Disturbs the quiet of her sable hair, Pores o'er a volume of romantic lore, Or hums an olden air.

Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just, Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn, At heathen castles, demons' dens of lust, Winding her bugle horn.

Just as stern Artegal; in chastity A second Britomart; in hardihood Like him who 'mid King Charles' chivalry A pillared sunbeam stood.

Or one in Avalon's deep-dingled bowers, On which old yellow stars and waneless moons Look softly, while white downy-lippèd flowers Lisp faint and fragrant tunes.

Where haze-like creatures with smooth houri forms Stoop thro' the curling clouds and float and smile, While calm as hope in all her dreamy charms Sleeps the enchanted isle.

And where cool, heavy bow'rs unstirred entwine, Upon a headland breasting purple seas, A crystal castle like a thought divine Rises in mysteries.

And there a sorceress full beautiful Looks down the surgeless reaches of the deep, And, bubbling from her lily throat, songs lull The languid air to sleep.

About her brow a diadem of spars, At her fair casement seated fleecy white Heark'ning wild sirens choiring to the stars Thro' all the raven night.

And when she bends above the glow-lit waves She sees the sea-king's templed city old Wrought from huge shells and labyrinthine caves Ribbed red with rusty gold.

But nor the sirens' nor the ocean king's Love will she heed, but still sits yearning there To have the secret bird that vaguely sings Her aching heart to share.

TREACHERY.

Came a spicy smell of showers On the purple wings of night, And a pearl-encrusted crescent On the lake looked still and white, While a sound of distant singing From the vales rose sad and light.

Dripped the musk of sodden roses From their million heavy sprays, And the nightingales were sobbing Of the roses amorous praise Where the raven down of even Caught the moonlight's bleaching rays.

And the turrets of the palace, From its belt of ancient trees, On the mountain rose romantic White as foam from troubled seas; And the murmur of an ocean Smote the chords of ev'ry breeze.

Where the moon shone on the terrace And its fountain's lisping foam; Where the bronzen urns of flowers Breathed faint perfume thro' the gloam, By the alabaster Venus 'Neath the quiet stars we'd roam.

And we stopped beside the statue Of the marble Venus there Deeply pedestaled 'mid roses, Who their crimson hearts laid bare, Breathing out their lives in fragrance At her naked feet and fair.