Distaunce, cold, delay, and danger, Build the four walles of her bower; She’s noe Sweete for any stranger, She’s noe valley flower: And to winne Katheryn, To her height my heart can Tower! Uppe to Beautie’s promontory I will climb, nor loudlie call Perfect and escaping glory Folly, if I fall: Well to winne Katheryn! To be worth her is my all. COLUMBA AND THE STORK. The cliffs of Iona were red, with the moon to lee, A finger of rock in the infinite wind and the sea; And white on the cliffs as a volley of spray down-flying, The beautiful stork of Eiré indriven and dying. I stole from the choir; I fed him, I bathed his breast, Till in late sunshine he lifted his wing to the west. Oh, the bells of the Abbey were calling clearer and bolder, And I feared the pale admonishing face at my shoulder. Columb the saint’s! but I said, with mine arm in air, (Of that banished body and homesick spirit aware,) “The bird is of Eiré; out of the storm I bore him; And lo, he is free, with the valleys of Eiré before him.” Of the man that was Eiré-born, and in exile yet, This the reproach I had, and cannot forget, This the reproach I had, and never another: “Blessed art thou, to have lightened the heart of my brother!” THE CHANTRY. A loyal lady young; a knight for honour slain: All beauty and all quiet sealed of old upon Their images that lie in coif and morion. A moment since, through rifts and pauses of the rain, The day shot in; the lancet window showered again Its moth-like play of silver, rose, and sapphire; shone What arms of warring duchies glorious, bygone: Lombardy, Desmond, Malta, suitored Aquitaine! The while, aloft in Art’s immortal summertide, Fair is the carven hostel, fortunate either guest, And men of moodier England pass, and hear outside Fury of toil alone, and fate’s diurnal storm, Hearts with the King of Saints, hearts beating light and warm! To these your courage give, that these attain your rest. APRIL IN GOVILON. Slowly, slowly darken Primrose and pimpernel; Heather of the rock, a-shake On delicious air; Slanted seas of spreading grass, (Green glow and tidal swell,) Under wind and pausing light how variably fair! Larks from heaven descending Hush; not a cloud-shadow, Where so late the romping lambs Chased it, in a ring; High along a little wood Quick rain-sparkles go; Blorenge walls the faëry world: the sole substantial thing. April in Govilon, Filled with a bright heart-break; Evenfall on dying wing, Swanlike and supreme! Soon, unheard, the Hyades Run up the hills to take Seven lamps, and trail the seven all night in Isca stream. ON LEAVING WINCHESTER.