_16 In the Valley of the Elwy_ I REMEMBER a house where all were good To me, God knows, deserving no such thing: Comforting smell breathed at very entering, Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood. That cordial air made those kind people a hood All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring: Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should. Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales, All the air things wear that build this world of Wales; Only the inmate does not correspond: God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales, Complete thy creature dear O where it fails, Being mighty a master, being a father and fond. _17 The Loss of the Eurydice Foundered March 24. 1878_ 1 THE Eurydice--it concerned thee, O Lord: Three hundred souls, O alas! on board, Some asleep unawakened, all un- warned, eleven fathoms fallen 2 Where she foundered! One stroke Felled and furled them, the hearts of oak! And flockbells off the aerial Downs' forefalls beat to the burial. 3 For did she pride her, freighted fully, on Bounden bales or a hoard of bullion?-- Precious passing measure, Lads and men her lade and treasure. 4 She had come from a cruise, training seamen-- Men, boldboys soon to be men: Must it, worst weather, Blast bole and bloom together? 5 No Atlantic squall overwrought her Or rearing billow of the Biscay water: Home was hard at hand And the blow bore from land. 6 And you were a liar, O blue March day. Bright sun lanced fire in the heavenly bay; But what black Boreas wrecked her? he Came equipped, deadly-electric, 7 A beetling baldbright cloud thorough England Riding: there did storms not mingle? and Hailropes hustle and grind their Heavengravel? wolfsnow, worlds of it, wind there? 8 Now Carisbrook keep goes under in gloom; Now it overvaults Appledurcombe; Now near by Ventnor town It hurls, hurls off Boniface Down. 9 Too proud, too proud, what a press she bore! Royal, and all her royals wore. Sharp with her, shorten sail! Too late; lost; gone with the gale. 10 This was that fell capsize, As half she had righted and hoped to rise Death teeming in by her portholes Raced down decks, round messes of mortals. 11 Then a lurch forward, frigate and men; 'All hands for themselves' the cry ran then; But she who had housed them thither Was around them, bound them or wound them with her. 12 Marcus Hare, high her captain, Kept to her--care-drowned and wrapped in Cheer's death, would follow His charge through the champ-white water-in-a-wallow. 13 All under Channel to bury in a beach her Cheeks: Right, rude of feature, He thought he heard say 'Her commander! and thou too, and thou this way.' 14 It is even seen, time's something server, In mankind's medley a duty-swerver, At downright 'No or yes?' Doffs all, drives full for righteousness.