A fairy shield your Genius made And gave you on your natal day. Your sorrow, only sorrow’s shade, Keeps real sorrow far away. You move not in such solitudes, You are not less divine, But more human in your moods, Than your twin-sister, Adeline. Your hair is darker, and your eyes Touch’d with a somewhat darker hue, And less aerially blue, But ever trembling thro’ the dew[4] Of dainty-woeful sympathies. 5 O sweet pale Margaret, O rare pale Margaret, Come down, come down, and hear me speak: Tie up the ringlets on your cheek: The sun is just about to set. The arching lines are tall and shady, And faint, rainy lights are seen, Moving in the leavy beech. Rise from the feast of sorrow, lady, Where all day long you sit between Joy and woe, and whisper each. Or only look across the lawn, Look out below your bower-eaves, Look down, and let your blue eyes dawn Upon me thro’ the jasmine-leaves.[5] [1] All editions except 1833 and 1853. Though. [2] 1833. Lion-souled Plantagenet. For songs supposed to have been composed by Richard I. during the time of his captivity see Sismondi, _Littérature du Midi de l’Europe_, vol. i., p. 149, and _La Tour Ténébreuse_ (1705), which contains a poem said to have been written by Richard and Blondel in mixed Romance and Provençal, and a love-song in Norman French, which have frequently been reprinted. See, too, Barney’s _Hist. of Music_, vol. ii., p. 238, and Walpole’s _Royal and Noble Authors_, sub.-tit. “Richard I.,” and the fourth volume of Reynouard’s _Choix des Poésies des Troubadours_. All these poems are probably spurious. [3] Chatelet was a poet-squire in the suite of the Marshal Damville, who was executed for a supposed intrigue with Mary Queen of Scots. See Tytler, _History of Scotland_, vi., p. 319, and Mr. Swinburne’s tragedy. [4] 1833. And more aërially blue, And ever trembling thro’ the dew. [5] 1833. Jasmin-leaves. The Blackbird Not in 1833. This is another poem placed among the poems of 1833, but not printed till 1842. The espaliers and the standards all Are thine; the range of lawn and park: The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark, All thine, against the garden wall. Yet, tho’ I spared thee all the spring,[1] Thy sole delight is, sitting still, With that gold dagger of thy bill To fret the summer jenneting.[2] A golden bill! the silver tongue, Cold February loved, is dry: Plenty corrupts the melody That made thee famous once, when young: And in the sultry garden-squares,[3] Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse, I hear thee not at all,[4] or hoarse As when a hawker hawks his wares. Take warning! he that will not sing While yon sun prospers in the blue, Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, Caught in the frozen palms of Spring. [1] 1842. Yet, though I spared thee kith and kin. And so till 1853, when it was altered to the present reading. [2] 1842 to 1851. Jennetin, altered in 1853 to present reading.