THE DEAD OF NIGHT. 'Neath the light of the moony cresset, Through the night, like a dragon from Pilate Over lake, over bowery vale, As a chime of bells, at twilight THE DEAD OF NIGHT. How lovely is the heaven of this night, How deadly still its earth! The forest brute Has crept into his cave, and laid himself. Where sleep has made him harmless like the lamb. Is still and innocent as the honied flower THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES. LOVE HAWKING. A ho! A ho! Love's horn doth blow, And he will out a-hawking go. His shafts are light as beauty's sighs, And bright as midnight's lightest eyes, And round his starry way The swan-winged horses of the skies, With summer's music in their manes, Curve their fair necks to Zephyr's reins, And urge their graceful play. A ho! A ho! Love's horn doth blow, And he will out a-hawking go. The sparrows flutter round his wrist, The feathery thieves that Venus kissed And taught their morning song, The linnets seek the airy list, And swallows too, small pets of spring, Beat back the gale with swifter wing, And dart and wheel along. A ho! A ho! Love's horn doth blow, And he will out a-hawking go. And woe to flies, whose airy ships JOHN STERLING. 1806-1844. THE SPICE-TREE. THE spice-tree lives in the garden green, And a fair bird sits the boughs between, No greener garden e'er was known Within the bounds of an earthly king; No lovelier skies have ever shone Than those that illumine its constant spring. That coil-bound stem has branches three, On each a thousand blossoms grow; And old as aught of time can be, The root stands fast in the rock below. In the spicy shade ne'er seems to tire Gush out, and sparkle amid the foam. The fair white bird of flaming crest, And azure wings bedropped with gold, Ne'er has he known a pause of rest, But sings the lament that he framed of old. "O! Princess bright! how long the night How sadly they flow from the depths below, 46 JOHN STERLING. The waters play, and the flowers are gay, I would that all would fade and fall, "O many a year so wakeful and drear I have sorrowed and watched, beloved, for thee! But there comes no breath from the chamber of death, While the lifeless fount gushes under the tree." The skies grow dark, and they glare with red, The waves of the fount in a black pool spread, Down springs the bird with a long shrill cry, And the face of the pool, as he falls from high, But sudden again upswells the fount, Finer and finer the watery mound. Softens and melts to a thin-spun veil, And tones of music circle around, And bear to the stars the fountain's tale. And swift the eddying rainbow screen |