HAWKING I I see them still, when poring o'er Old volumes of romantic lore, Ride forth to hawk, in days of yore, By woods and promontories: Knights in gold-lace, plumes and gems, Damsels crowned with anadems,-- Whose falcons perch on wrists, like milk, In hoods and jesses of green silk,-- From bannered Miraflores. II The laughing earth is young with dew; The deeps above are violet blue; And in the East a cloud or two Empearled with airy glories; And with merriment and singing, Silver bells of falcons ringing, Beauty, rosy with the dawn, Lightly rides o'er hill and lawn From towered Miraflores. III The torrent glitters from the crags; Down forest vistas browse the stags; And from wet beds of reeds and flags The frightened lapwing hurries: And the brawny wild-boar peereth At the cavalcade that neareth; Oft his shaggy-throated grunt Brings the king and court to hunt At royal Miraflores. IV The May itself, in soft sea-green, Is Oriana, Spring's high queen, And Amadis beside her seen, Some prince of Fairy stories: Where her castle's ivied towers Drowse above her woods and bowers, Flaps the heron through the sky, And the wild-swan gives a cry By knightly Miraflores. ORLANDO SUGGESTED BY ARIOSTO'S "ORLANDO FURIOSO" I When southern winds sowed woods and skies, Angelica! With bloom-storms of the flowering May; When hill and battle-field were gay With peace and purity of flowers, I sat to dream Beside a stream amid the bowers, Clear as the deeps of thy blue eyes: And near the stream I saw a grotto banked with flowers, From which the streamlet fell in showers, Cool-sparkling through the sunlit bowers, Angelica! II My casque I dofft to scoop the fount, Angelica! With liquid pureness bubbling cool It rose--then clashed into the pool ... Thy name I saw, hewn in the rock! And under it ... Ah no! I dreamed! my eyes did mock My senses!... Then I seemed to count, All fire-lit, The letters! deep, carved in the rock! _Medoro_ carved in every rock!-- My brain went round like some wild clock, Angelica! III O treachery! O lust of blood! Angelica! That one so fair should be so vile! No more for me again shall smile The brows of Beauty! As of old, With clarion call, No more shall Battle make me bold! Or Chivalry fire my soul!... The wood,-- Away from all, From love and lust,--shall house and hold My misery!... The dawn breaks cold! And I lie naked on the wold, Angelica! YOLANDA OF THE TOWERS