"Obscure clouds moulded by the casual air; And of this stuff the car's creative ray

Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there,

"As the sun shapes the clouds. Thus on the

way

Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all. And, long before the day

"Was old, the joy which waked like heaven's glance

The sleepers in the oblivious valley died ; And some grew weary of the ghastly dance,

“And fell, as I have fallen, by the way-side ;Those soonest from whose

shadows passed,

forms

most

And least of strength and beauty did abide.

"Then, what is is life?' I cried."

V.

THE BOAT ON THE SERCHIO.

OUR boat is asleep on Serchio's stream,
Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream ;
The helm sways idly, hither and thither.

Dominic the boatman has brought the mast And the oars and the sails; but 'tis sleeping fast,

Like a beast unconscious of its tether.

The stars burnt out in the pale blue air,
And the thin white moon lay withering there;
To tower and cavern and rift and tree
The owl and the bat fled drowsily.
Day had kindled the dewy woods,

And the rocks above and the stream below, And the vapours in their multitudes,

And the Apennines' shroud of summer snow, And clothed with light of aery gold The mists in their eastern caves uprolled.

Day had awakened all things that be ;—
The lark and the thrush and the swallow free,
And the milkmaid's song, and the mower's

scythe,

And the matin-bell, and the mountain bee.
Fireflies were quenched on the dewy corn;

Glow-worms went out on the river's brim, Like lamps which a student forgets to trim; The beetle forgot to wind his horn;

The crickets were still in the meadow and
hill.

Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun,
Night's dreams and terrors, every one,
Fled from the brains which are their prey
From the lamp's death to the morning ray.

All rose to do the task He set to each

Who shaped us to His ends and not our own. The million rose to learn, and one to teach What none yet ever knew, nor can be known; and many rose

Whose woe was such that fear became desire. Melchior and Lionel were not among those ; They from the throng of men had stepped aside, And made their home under the green hill side.

It was that hill whose intervening brow

Screens Lucca from the Pisan's envious eye; Which the circumfluous plain waving below, Like a wide lake of green fertility,

With streams and fields and marshes bare, Divides from the far Apennines, which lie Islanded in the immeasurable air.

"What think you, as she lies in her green cove, Our little sleeping boat is dreaming of?"

"If morning dreams are true, why I should

guess

That she was dreaming of our idleness,

And of the miles of watery way

We should have led her by this time of day."

"Never mind!" said Lionel.

"Give care to the winds; they can bear it well

About yon poplar tops. And see!

The white clouds are driving merrily,
And the stars we miss this morn will light
More willingly our return to-night.

How it whistles, Dominic's long black hair;
List my dear fellow; the breeze blows fair;
Hear how it sings into the air."

"Of us and of our lazy motions,"
Impatiently said Melchior,

"If I can guess a boat's emotions;

And how we ought, two hours before,
To have been the devil knows where."
And then, in such transalpine Tuscan
As would have killed a Della-Cruscan,

So, Lionel according to his art

Weaving his idle words, Melchior said: "She dreams that we are not yet out of bed;

We'll put a soul into her, and a heart
Which like a dove chased by a dove shall beat."

"Ay, heave the ballast overboard, And stow the eatables in the aft locker." "Would not this keg be best a little lowered?" "No, now all's right." "Those bottles of

warm tea

(Give me some straw)-must be stowed tenderly;

Such as we used, in summer after six,
To cram in great-coat pockets, and to mix
Hard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton,
And, couched on stolen hay in those green
harbours

Farmers called gaps, and we schoolboys called arbours,

Would feast till eight."

With a bottle in one hand, As if his very soul were at a stand, Lionel stood when Melchior brought him steady:

"Sit at the helm-fasten this sheet-all ready!" The chain is loosed, the sails are spread,

The living breath is fresh behind,

As, with dews and sunrise fed,

Comes the laughing morning wind.