SONG OF THE BROOK With many a curve my banks I fret And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, I wind about, and in and out, 41 5 10 And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling. And here and there a foamy flake With many a silvery water-break And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers; 15 20 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, I murmur under moon and stars And out again I curve and flow For men may come and men may go, "Oh! Yet We Trust" Oh! yet we trust that somehow good To pangs of nature, sins of will, That nothing walks with aimless feet; When God hath made the pile complete; That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP Is shrivel'd in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream: but what am I? A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow 15 10 15 20 25 Just as perhaps he mused "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in smiling joy, By just his horse's mane, a boy : (So tight he kept his lips compressed, You looked twice ere you saw his breast "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon ! The Marshal's in the market place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. The chief's eye flashed; but presently APPARITIONS A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes. "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead. Apparitions Such a starved bank of moss Till, that May-morn, Blue ran the flash across : Violets were born! Sky - what a scowl of cloud Ray on ray split the shroud: Splendid, a star! World-how it walled about Life with disgrace, Till God's own smile came out : That was thy face! - From "THE TWO POETS OF CROISIC." 45 5 10 15 |