Obrazy na stronie


So closed our tale, of whi

The random scheme as wil

The words are mostly mine
There came a minute's paus

I wish she had not yielded !
• What, if you drest it up poet
So pray'd the men, the women
Yet how to bind the scatter'd se
Together in one sheaf? What
The men required that I should
The sort of mock-heroic gigantesq
With which we banter'd little Lilia

The women and perhaps they felt t For something in the ballads which t.

Or in their silent influence as they sat.

Had ever seem'd to wrestle with burleso

And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close-
They hated banter, wish'd for something real,
A gallant fight, a noble princess—why

Not make her true-heroic-true-sublime ?

Or all, they said, as earnest as the close ?
Which yet with such a framework scarce could be.

Then rose a little feud betwixt the two,

Betwixt the mockers and the realists:

And I, betwixt them both, to please them both,

And yet to give the story as it rose,
I moved as in a strange diagonal,

And maybe neither pleased myself nor them.

But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part In our dispute : the sequel of the tale Had touch'd her; and she sat, she pluck'd the grass, She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt

A showery glance upon her aunt, and said,

You—tell us what we are' who might have told,

For she was cramm'd with theories out of books,

But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed

At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now,


To take their lea

The slope to Viviar
The happy valleys,
Far-shadowing from
Gray halls alone amor

Trim hamlets; here ar

Half-lost in belts of hop

The shimmering glimpse

A red sail, or a white; ar

Look there, a garden!
The Tory member's elder son

God bless the narrow sea whic

And keeps our Britain, whole w A nation yet, the rulers and the Some sense of duty, something or Some reverence for the laws oursel Some patient force to change them Some civic manhood firm against the

But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat,
The gravest citizen seems to lose his head,

The king is scared, the soldier will not fight,

The little boys begin to shoot and stab,


A kingdom topples over with a shriek

Like an old woman, and down rolls the world

In mock heroics stranger than our own;

Revolts, republics, revolutions, most

No graver than a schoolboys' barring out;

Too comic for the solemn things they are,

Too solemn for the comic touches in them,

Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream

As some of theirs—God bless the narrow seas !

I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.'

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Have patience,' I replied, 'ourselves are full

Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams

Are but the needful preludes of the truth :
For me, the genial day, the happy crowd,

The sport half-science, fill me with a faith.

This fine old world of ours is but a child

Yet in the go-cart. Patience! give it time


To learn its limbs : there is a hand that he's

In such discourse we gain d the garden nada And there we saw Sir Walter where he stoul


Before a tower of crimson holly-oaks,

Among six boys, head under head, and look'd

No little lily-handed Baronet he,
A great broad-shoulder'd genial Englishman,

A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep.
A raiser of huge melons and of pine,
A patron of some thirty charities,

pamphleteer on guano and on grain,
A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none;
Fair-hair'd and redder than a windy morn;
Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those
That stood the nearest--now address'd to speech
Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closed

Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year To follow: a shout rose again, and made The long line of the approaching rookery swerte From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer

From slope to slope thro' distant ferns, and rang

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