3.

Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, Thy kingly intellect shall feed,

Until she be an athlete bold,

And weary with a finger's touch

Those writhed limbs of lightning speed; Like that strange angel which of old, Until the breaking of the light, Wrestled with wandering Israel,

Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, And heaven's mazed signs stood still In the dim tract of Penuel.

MADELINE.

1.

THOU art not steep'd in golden languors,
No tranced summer calm is thine,
Ever varying Madeline.

Thro' light and shadow thou dost range,
Sudden glances, sweet and strange,
Delicious spites and darling angers,
And airy forms of flitting change.

2.

Smiling, frowning, evermore,
Thou art perfect in love-lore.
Revealings deep and clear are thine
Of wealthy smiles: but who may know
Whether smile or frown be fleeter ?
Whether smile or frown be sweeter,
Who may know?

Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow
Light-glooming over eyes divine,

Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine,
Ever varying Madeline.

Thy smile and frown are not aloof

From one another,

Each to each is dearest brother;

Hues of the silken sheeny woof
Momently shot into each other.
All the mystery is thine;
Smiling, frowning, evermore,
Thou art perfect in love-lore,
Ever varying Madeline.

3.

A subtle, sudden flame,

By veering passion fann'd,

About thee breaks and dances; When I would kiss thy hand, The flush of anger'd shame

O'erflows thy calmer glances, And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown:

But when I turn away,

Thou, willing me to stay,

Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest;
But, looking fixedly the while,
All my bounding heart entanglest
In a golden-netted smile;

Then in madness and in bliss,
If my lips should dare to kiss
Thy taper fingers amorously,
Again thou blushest angerly;
And o'er black brows drops down
A sudden-curved frown.

SONG. THE OWL.

1.

WHEN cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,

And the whirring sail goes round,

And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

When

2.

merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch

Twice or thrice his roundelay,

Twice or thrice his roundelay;

Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

c

SECOND SONG.

TO THE SAME.

1.

THY tuwhits are lull'd I wot,
Thy tuwhoos of yesternight,
Which upon the dark afloat,
So took echo with delight,
So took echo with delight,
That her voice untuneful grown,
Wears all day a fainter tone.

2.

I would mock thy chaunt anew;
But I cannot mimick it;

Not a whit of thy tuwhoo,
Thee to woo to thy tuwhit,

Thee to woo to thy tuwhit,

With a lengthen'd loud halloo,

Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o.