Felt within us as ourselves, the Powers of Good, the Powers of Ill, Strowing balm, or shedding poison in the fountains of the Will, Follow you the Star that lights a desert pathway, yours or mine. Forward, till you see the highest Human Nature is divine. Follow Light, and do the Right--for man can half control his doom Till you find the deathless Angel seated in the vacant tomb. Forward, let the stormy moment fly, and mingle with the Past. I that loathed, have come to love him. Love will conquer at the last. Gone at eighty, mine own age, and I and you will bear the pall; Then I leave thee Lord and Master, latest Lord of Locksley Hall. DUET FROM BECKET. First Voice: Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead? Second Voice: No; but the voice of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land. First Voice: Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand, One coming up with a song in the flush of the glimmering red? Second Voice: Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea. First Voice: Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have fled? Second Voice: Nay, let us welcome him, Love that can lift up a life from the dead. First Voice: Keep him away from the lone little isle. Let us be, let us be. Second Voice: Nay, let him make it his own, let him reign in it-he, it is he, Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea. MARJORY'S SONG FROM BECKET. BABBLE in bower Under the rose! Bee mustn't buzz, Whoop-but he knows. Kiss me, little one, Nobody near! Kiss in the bower, Tit on the tree! Bird mustn't tell, Whoop-he can see. ROSAMUND'S SONG FROM BECKET. RAINBOW, stay, But it passes away, SONGS FROM THE PROMISE OF MAY. I. The tower lay still in the low sunlight, II. O happy lark, that warblest high O brook, that brawlest merrily by O graves in daisies drest, THE PROGRESS OF SPRING. I. THE groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould, She comes! The loosen'd rivulets run; The frost-bead melts upon her golden hair; Her mantle, slowly greening in the Sun, Now wraps her close, now arching leaves her bare To breaths of balmier air; II. Up leaps the lark, gone wild to welcome her, Patient-the secret splendour of the brooks. |