English

CANTO II.

Long while an universal hubbub loud,
Deafening each ear, had drown'd each accent mild;
Till biting taunts, and harsh opprobrious words
Vile utterance found. How weak are human minds!
How impotent to stem the swelling tide,
And without insolence enjoy success!
The vale-inhabitants, proud, and elate
With victory, know no restraint, but give
A loose to joy. Their champion Hobbinol
Vaunting they raise, above that earth-born race
Of giants old, who piling hills on hills,

CANTO I.

What old Menalcas at his feast reveal'd,
I sing; strange feats of antient prowess, deeds
Of high renown, while all his listening guests
With eager Joy receiv'd the pleasing tale.
O thou who late on Vaga's flowery banks
Slumbering secure, with Stirom well bedew'd,
Fallacious cask, in sacred dreams wert taught
By ancient seers, and Merlin prophet old,
To raise ignoble themes with strains sublime,
Be thou my guide! while I thy track pursue
With wing unequal, through the wide expanse

Dame Wiggins of Lee
Was a worthy old soul
As e'er threaded a needle
Or washed in a bowl.

She held mice and rats
In such antipathee,
That seven fine cats
Kept Dame Wiggins of Lee.

The rats and mice scared
By this fierce-whiskered crew,
The seven poor cats
Soon had nothing to do;

So, as anyone idle
She ne'er loved to see,

A hound that they had them among,
In Gyllisland there was that brachell bred,
Sicker of scent to follow them that fled.
Sae was she erst on Esk and on Ledaill;
When she got blude nae fleeing micht avail.
Then said they all, Wallace micht nocht away,
He should be theirs for ought that he do may.
The Englishmen has missit him; in hy
The hound they took, and followit hastily.
At the Gask wood full fain he wald have been,
But this sleuth brach whilk sicker was and keen
On Wallace foot followit sae felon fast

(in Memoriam Charles Williams, d. April 1945)

Alone in a room Pope Gregory whispered his name
While the Emperor shone on a centreless world
From wherever he happened to be; the New City rose
Upon their opposition, the yes and no
Of a rival allegiance; the sword, the local lord
Were not all: there was home and Rome;
Fear of the stranger was lost on the way to the shrine.

The facts, the acts of the City bore a double meaning:
Limbs became hymns; embraces expressed in jest
A more permanent tie; infidel faces replaced

AN ODE AFTER EASTER

Cast wide the folding doorways of the East,
For now is light increased!
And the wind-besomed chambers of the air,
See they be garnished fair;
And look the ways exhale some precious odours,
And set ye all about wild-breathing spice,
Most fit for Paradise!
Now is no time for sober gravity,
Season enough has Nature to be wise;
But now discinct, with raiment glittering free,
Shake she the ringing rafters of the skies
With festal footing and bold joyance sweet,

What shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere I see thy face?
How shall I charm the interval that lowers
Between this time and that sweet time of grace?

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense,
Weary with longing? Shall I flee away
Into past days, and with some fond pretence
Cheat myself to forget the present day?

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin
Of casting from me God's great gift of time?
Shall I, these mists of memory locked within,

Take the world as it is! — with its smiles and its sorrow,
— Its love and its friendship — its falsehood and truth —
Its schemes that depend on the breath of tomorrow!
— Its hopes which pass by like the dreams of our youth —
Yet, oh! whilst the light of affection may shine,
— The heart in itself hath a fountain of bliss!
In the worst there's some spark of a nature divine,
— And the wisest and best take the world as it is .

Take the world as it is! — with its smiles and its sorrow,

These , as they change, Almighty Father! these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense, and every heart, is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the Summer-months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year:
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks,

See! Winter comes to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his varied train,
Vapours, and clouds, and storms: be these my theme,
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms!
Wished, wintry horrors, hail! With frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,
And sung of nature with unceasing joy,
Pleased have I wandered through your rough domains;
Trod the pure, virgin snows, myself as pure,