With sadder than the Niobean womb,

And in the hollow of her breasts a tomb. Content thee, howsoe'er, whose days are done; There lies not any troublous thing before,

Nor sight nor sound to war against thee more, For whom all winds are quiet as the sun, All waters as the shore.

811.

SWALL

Itylus

WALLOW, my sister, O sister swallow,
How can thine heart be full of the spring?

A thousand summers are over and dead.
What hast thou found in the spring to follow?
What hast thou found in thine heart to sing?

What wilt thou do when the summer is shed?

O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow,
Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south,
The soft south whither thine heart is set?

Shall not the grief of the old time follow?
Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth?
Hast thou forgotten ere I forget?

Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow,
Thy way is long to the sun and the south;
But I, fulfill'd of my heart's desire,
Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow,
From tawny body and sweet small mouth
Feed the heart of the night with fire.

I the nightingale all spring through,

O swallow, sister, O changing swallow,

All spring through till the spring be done, Clothed with the light of the night on the dew, Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow, Take flight and follow and find the sun.

Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow,

Though all things feast in the spring's guest-chamber,
How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet?

For where thou fliest I shall not follow,
Till life forget and death remember,
Till thou remember and I forget.

Swallow, my sister, O singing swallow,
I know not how thou hast heart to sing.
Hast thou the heart? is it all past over?
Thy lord the summer is good to follow,
And fair the feet of thy lover the spring:

But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover?

O swallow, sister, O fleeting swallow,

My heart in me is a molten ember

And over my head the waves have met.
But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow
Could I forget or thou remember,
Couldst thou remember and I forget.

O sweet stray sister, O shifting swallow,
The heart's division divideth us.

Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree;
But mine goes forth among sea-gulfs hollow"
To the place of the slaying of Itylus,
The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea.

O swallow, sister, O rapid swallow,
pray thee sing not a little space.

I

Are not the roofs and the lintels wet? The woven web that was plain to follow, The small slain body, the flower-like face, Can I remember if thou forget?

O sister, sister, thy first-begotten!

The hands that cling and the feet that follow,
The voice of the child's blood crying yet,
Who hath remember'd me? who hath forgotten?
Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow,
But the world shall end when I forget.

812.

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS

Earliest Spring

b. 1837

TOSSING his mane of snows in wildest eddies and

tangles,

Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath, Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and angles

[death. Round the shuddering house, threating of winter and

But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow

Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibres that lift Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow, Deep in the oak's chill core, under the gathering drift.

Nay, to earth's life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire [goes(How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and Rapture of life ineffable, perfect—as if in the brier, Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.

O rapture, to fly

And be free!

Be the battle lost or won,

Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love—the one
Born for me!

I shall know him where he stands
All alone,

With the power in his hands
Not o'erthrown;

I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace;
I shall hold him for a space
All my own!

It is he-O my love!
So bold!

It is I-all thy love

Foretold!

It is I-O love, what bliss!
Dost thou answer to my kiss?
O sweetheart! what is this

Lieth there so cold?

1839-1902

814.

JOHN TODHUNTER

Maureen

1839-1916

O YOU plant the pain in my heart with your wistful

eyes,

Girl of my choice, Maureen!

Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy, sweet mouth denies,

Maureen ?

Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo,

White rose of the West, Maureen :

For it's pale you are, and the fear that's on you is over

me too,

Maureen!

Sure it's one complaint that's on us, asthore, this day, Bride of my dreams, Maureen :

The smart of the bee that stung us his honey must cure,

they say,

Maureen !

I'll coax the light to your eyes, and the rose to your face, Mavourneen, my own Maureen!

When I feel the warmth of your breast, and your nest is my arm's embrace,

Maureen!

O where was the King o' the World that day-only me? My one true love, Maureen!

And you the Queen with me there, and your throne in my heart, machree,

2246

Maureen !

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