AGED CITIES

I have known cities with the strong-armed Rhine
Clasping their mouldered quays in lordly sweep;
And lingered where the Maine's low waters shine
Through Tyrian Frankfort; and been fain to weep
'Mid the green cliffs where pale Mosella laves
That Roman sepulchre, imperial Trèves.

Ghent boasts her street, and Bruges her moonlight

square;

And holy Mechlin, Rome of Flanders, stands,
Like a queen-mother, on her spacious lands;
And Antwerp shoots her glowing spire in air.
Yet have I seen no place, by inland brook,
Hill-top, or plain, or trim arcaded bowers,
That carries age so nobly in its look
As Oxford with the sun upon her towers.

BAMBERG

There are who blame sensations of delight,
Born of our happy strength and cheerful health,
As though we could lay by no moral wealth
From the pulsations of mere joyous might.

How poor they make themselves who thus disown
The fresh and temperate body's right to wait
Upon the soul, and to exhilarate

The heart with life from animal spirits thrown!

For me a very weight of moral wealth

From the bright sun upon the ivy wall

And white clouds in the sky, doth gaily fall,
Making my days a thanksgiving for health.

The whetting of the mower's scythe at morn,
The odorous withering of the new-cut grass,
Breeding, I know not what enjoyment, pass
Like a new world into my spirit borne.

O there are harvests from the buoyant mirth
Which hath such power my nature to unbind,
Letting my spirits flow upon the wind,
As though I were resolved into the earth.

When I have bounded with elastic tread,
Or floated, without root, a frolic breeze
Waked by the sunlight on the fields or seas,
Moods of ripe thought have thence been harvested.

I stood upon the Michaelsberg; below,
Into three cities cloven by the streams,

Was ancient Bamberg, and the morning beams
Had touched a thousand gables with their glow.
Around, a dull expanse, did cornfields shine,
The shallow Regnitz and the winding Maine
Were coiled in ruddy links upon the plain,
And lost beyond the pinewood's hard black line.
The radiance on the minster roof was poured,
And then above the convent's dusky bowers
Sprung all at once the four illumined towers,
As though St. Michael had unsheathed his sword.

I thought not, Bamberg! of thy bishops old,
The rich Franconian church, or abbots gone
To beard the emperor at Ratisbon,
With saucy squires and Swabian barons bold.

But there I stood upon the dizzy edge,
And saw a sight worth all the barons bold,
A woven web of purple and of gold,
A living web thrown o'er the rocky ledge.

It was a cloud of rooks in morning's beam,

Which, rising from the neighbouring convent trees,
With all their pinions open to the breeze,
Swam down the steep in one majestic stream.

It was a purple cataract that flung

Its living self adown a rocky rent,

And midway in its clamorous descent

The rainbow-glancing morning o'er it hung.

Some were of gold, which in a moment shifted
Into a purple or a brilliant black,

And some had silver dewdrops on their back,
Changing as through the beams the creatures drifted.
Beneath, the multitudinous houses lay:
The living cataract one instant flashed

Through the bright air, then on the roofs was dashed
In seeming shower of gold and sable spray.

I watched with joy the noisy pageant leap
Into the quiet city; and the thrill

Of health did so my glowing body fill,

That I would fain sail with it down the steep.

I was beside myself; I could not think;

A beauty is a thing entire, apart,

And may be flung into a passive heart,

And be a fountain there whence we may drink.

Ah me! the morning was so cool and bright,
And I so strong, and it was such a mirth

To be so far away upon the earth,

That I was overflowed with sheer delight.

Away, like stocks and stones, went serious thought, Now buried in the foamy inundation,

Now through the waves of exquisite sensation

From time to time unto the surface brought.

The Shadow of the Rock!
To angels' eyes

This Rock its shadow multiplies,

And at this hour in countless places lies.
One Rock, one shade,

O'er thousands laid,

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock.

The Shadow of the Rock!

To weary feet,

That have been diligent and fleet,

The sleep is deeper, and the shade more sweet. O weary! rest,

Thou art sore pressed,

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock.

The Shadow of the Rock!

Thy bed is made;

Crowds of tired souls like thine are laid This night beneath the self-same placid shade. They who rest here

Wake with Heaven near,

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock.

The Shadow of the Rock!

Pilgrim sleep sound;

In night's swift hours with silent bound The Rock will put thee over leagues of ground,

Gaining more way

By night than day,

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock.

The Shadow of the Rock!
One day of pain

Thou scarce wilt hope the Rock to gain,
Yet there wilt sleep thy last sleep on the plain;
And only wake

In Heaven's daybreak,

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock.

THE FLIGHT OF THE WILD SWANS

(From “Prince Amadis”)

But away and away, in the midnight blue,
That fleet of white creatures went steering through;
And away and away through the sweet daybreak
From the white Alps flashed, their road they take

Through the tingling noon and the evening vapour,
Which Hesper lights with his little taper,
Through the tremulous smiles of moonlight mirth,
And the balmy descents of dew to the earth.

Through the calms, through the winds, when the hailstones ring,

The convoy passed with untiring wing,

And oft from their course for hours they drove,

As though they winnowed the air for love.

And now they would mount and now they would stoop, And almost to earth or river droop,

And harshly would pipe through the sheer delight

Of their boisterous wings, and their strength of flight.

P