Through coral grottoes wandering and singing, The merry Nereid glided to her cave; Anon, with warm, luxurious motion flinging Her sinuous form above the moonlit wave, To the charmed mariner gave A glimpse of snowy arms and amber tresses, While on his startled ear The sea-nymph’s madrigal fell clear; Then to the far recesses, Where drowsy Neptune wears the emerald crown, Serenely floated down, Leaving the mariner all amort with fear. In the under-opening wood, What time the Gods had crowned the full-grown year, The Dryad and the Hamadryad stood Among the fallow deer; Bending the languid branches of their trees, With every breeze, To view their image in the fountains near:— The fountains! whence the white-limbed Naiads sang, Pouring upon the air melodious trills, And, while the echoes through the forest rang, The white-limbed Naiads of a thousand rills Far o’er the Arcadian vales a pæan spread. Led by Diana, in the dewy dawn, The Oread sisters chased the dappled fawn Through all the coverts of their native hills; Home, with the spoils, at sultry noon they fled,— Home to their shaded bowers, Where, with the ivy, and those sacred flowers That now have faded from the weary earth, Each laughing Oread crowned an Oread’s head. The mountains echoed back their maiden mirth, Rousing old Pan, who, from a secret lair, Shook the wild tangles of his frosty hair, And laid him down again with sullen roar: But now the frightened nymphs like statues stand, One balancing her body half in air, Dreading to hear again that tumult sore; One, with a liquid tremor in her eye, Waving above her head a glimmering hand; Till suddenly, like dreams, away they fly, Leaving the forest stiller than before! VI. Such was thy power, O Pastoral Romance! In that ambrosial age of classic fame, The spirit to entrance. Fain would I whisper of the latter days, When, in thy royal name, The mailéd knights encountered lance to lance, All for sweet Romance and fair ladies’ praise; But no! I bowed the knee And vowed allegiance to thee, As I beheld thee in thy golden prime, And now from thy demesne must haste away: Perchance that of the aftertime, Of nodding plumes and chivalrous array, In aftertime I sing a roundelay. VII. Fair Spirit of ethereal birth, In whom such mysteries and beauties blend! Still from thine ancient dwelling-place descend And idealize our too material earth; Still to the Bard thy chaste conceptions lend, To him thine early purity renew; Round every image grace majestic throw! Till rapturously the living song shall glow With inspiration as thy being true, And Poesy’s creations, decked by thee, Shall wake the tuneful thrill of sensuous ecstasy. 1850. ALICE OF MONMOUTH, AN _IDYL OF THE GREAT WAR_; AND OTHER POEMS. 1864.