Bear her down, and bearing, sing, Bear her down on spyless wing, Bear her down, and bearing, sing, With a sound of viola. _Angels_. Music as her name is, a Sweet sound of Viola! VIII. Wheeling angels, past espial, Danced her down with sound of viol; Wheeling angels, past espial, Descanting on “Viola.” Angels. Sing, in our footing, a Lovely lilt of “Viola!” IX. Baby smiled, mother wailed, Earthward while the sweetling sailed; Mother smiled, baby wailed, When to earth came Viola. And her elders shall say:— So soon have we taught you a Way to weep, poor Viola! X. Smile, sweet baby, smile, For you will have weeping-while; Native in your Heaven is smile,— But your weeping, Viola? Whence your smiles we know, but ah? Whence your weeping, Viola?— Our first gift to you is a Gift of tears, my Viola! TO MY GODCHILD FRANCIS M. W. M. THIS labouring, vast, Tellurian galleon, Riding at anchor off the orient sun, Had broken its cable, and stood out to space Down some frore Arctic of the aërial ways: And now, back warping from the inclement main, Its vaporous shroudage drenched with icy rain, It swung into its azure roads again; When, floated on the prosperous sun-gale, you Lit, a white halcyon auspice, ’mid our frozen crew. To the Sun, stranger, surely you belong, Giver of golden days and golden song; Nor is it by an all-unhappy plan You bear the name of me, his constant Magian. Yet ah! from any other that it came, Lest fated to my fate you be, as to my name. When at the first those tidings did they bring, My heart turned troubled at the ominous thing: Though well may such a title him endower, For whom a poet’s prayer implores a poet’s power. The Assisian, who kept plighted faith to three, To Song, to Sanctitude, and Poverty, (In two alone of whom most singers prove A fatal faithfulness of during love!); He the sweet Sales, of whom we scarcely ken How God he could love more, he so loved men; The crown and crowned of Laura and Italy; And Fletcher’s fellow—from these, and not from me, Take you your name, and take your legacy!