With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And starlike mingles with the stars.

When on my goodly charger borne
Thro' dreaming towns I go,
The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow.
The tempest crackles on the leads,

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;

But o'er the dark a glory spreads,

And gilds the driving hail.

I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields: But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.

A maiden knight--to me is given

Such hope, I know not fear;

I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,

Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lilies of eternal peace,

Whose odors haunt my dreams; And, stricken by an angel's hand,

This mortal armor that I wear,

This weight and size, this heart and eyes,

Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.

The clouds are broken in the sky,
And thro' the mountain-walls

A rolling organ-harmony

Swells up and shakes and falls.
Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
"O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride on the prize is near."
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;

By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,
Until I find the Holy Grail. 1842.

A FAREWELL

FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet, then a river;
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

"Bitter barmaid, waning fast! See that sheets are on my bed. What! the flower of life is past; It is long before you wed.

'Slip-shod waiter, lank and sour, At the Dragon on the heath! Let us have a quiet hour,

Let us hob-and-nob with Death.

"I am old, but let me drink ;
Bring me spices, bring me wine;
I remember, when I think,
That my youth was half divine.

"Wine is good for shrive! lips, When a blanket wraps the day. When the rotten woodland drips,

And the leaf is stamp'd in clay.

"Sit thee down, and have no shame, Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee; What care I for any name?

What for order or degree?

"Let me screw thee up a peg;

Let me loose thy tongue with wine; Callest thou that thing a leg?

Which is thinnest? thine or mine? "Thou shalt not be saved by works, Thou hast been a sinner too; Ruin'd trunks on wither'd forks,

Empty scarecrows, I and you!

"Fill the cup and fill the can,

Have a rouse before the morn; Every moment dies a man,

Every moment one is born.

"We are men of ruin'd blood;

Therefore comes it we are wise. Fish are we that love the mud, Rising to no fancy-flies.

"Name and fame! to fly sublime Thro' the courts, the camps, the schools,

Is to be the ball of Time,

Bandied by the hands of fools.

"Friendship!-to be two in one-
Let the canting liar pack!
Well I know, when I am gone,

How she mouths behind my back.

"Virtue !-to be good and justEvery heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust,

Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.