No More Learning

Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw,
Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold; and while they mused,
Whispering to each other half in fear,
Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more.
Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore?
Day and night to the billow the fountain calls;
Down shower the gambolling waterfalls
From wandering over the lea:
Out of the live-green heart of the dells
They freshen the silvery-crimsoned shells,
And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells
High over the full-toned sea:
O hither, come hither and furl your sails,
Come hither to me and to me:
Hither, come hither and frolic and play;
Here it is only the mew that wails;
We will sing to you all the day:
Mariner, mariner, furl your sails,
For here are the blissful downs and dales,
And merrily merrily carol the gales,
And the spangle dances in bight [1] and bay,
And the rainbow forms and flies on the land
Over the islands free;
And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand;
Hither, come hither and see;
And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave,
And sweet is the colour of cove and cave,

And sweet shall your welcome be:
O hither, come hither, and be our lords
For merry brides are we:
We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words:
O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten
With pleasure and love and jubilee:
O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten
When the sharp clear twang of the golden cords
Runs up the ridged sea.
Who can light on as happy a shore
All the world o'er, all the world o'er?
Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly no more.


[Footnote 1: Bight is properly the coil of a rope; it then came to mean
a bend, and so a corner or bay. The same phrase occurs in the 'Voyage of
Maledune', v. : "and flung them in bight and bay". ]






THE DESERTED HOUSE

First printed in 1830, omitted in all the editions till 1848 when it was
restored. The poem is of course allegorical, and is very much in the
vein of many poems in Anglo-Saxon poetry.


1

Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide:
Careless tenants they!


2

All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.
3

Close the door, the shutters close,
Or thro' [1] the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.


4

Come away: no more of mirth
Is here or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.


5

Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;
But in a city glorious--
A great and distant city--have bought
A mansion incorruptible.
Would they could have stayed with us!


[Footnote 1: 1848 and 1851. Through. ]






THE DYING SWAN

First printed in 1830.

The superstition here assumed is so familiar from the Classics as well
as from modern tradition that it scarcely needs illustration or
commentary. But see Plato, 'Phaedrus', xxxi. , and Shakespeare, 'King
John', v. , 7.


1

The plain was grassy, wild and bare,
Wide, wild, and open to the air,
Which had built up everywhere
An under-roof of doleful gray. [1]
With an inner voice the river ran,
Adown it floated a dying swan,
And [2] loudly did lament.
It was the middle of the day.
Ever the weary wind went on,
And took the reed-tops as it went.