anything of the kind, nor have I discussed in the Lectures the legislation directed to the country circulation. I have avowedly left it out of the discussion, and have made no such lame defence of the Act' as the reviewer has imputed to me. Still less have I accepted the Act with praises.' It is hard to have to make such a contradiction to a writer of no ordinary intelligence. I flattered myself that I had written with clearness; but this must be a delusion, unless I may be permitted to believe that the reviewer, in the impetuosity of his outbreak against the Act of 1844, has not dwelt long enough on what I actually say to understand its bearing. BONAMY PRICE. SUNDAY UP THE RIVER: AN IDYLL OF COCKAIGNE. Dieu veuille garder les champs, les blés, Et les jeunes garçons à les aimer: C'est le mois, le joli mois, C'est le joli mois de mai. Carol of Lorraine. I. I LOOKED out into the morning, The trees were still like clouds there, I looked out into the morning, The sky was pale with fervour, The hill-lines drawn like waves of dawn I looked out into the morning; Looked east, looked west, with glee: O richest day of happy May, My Love will spend with me! II. 'O what are you waiting for here, young man? A little straw hat with the streaming blue ribbons Her heart beats the measure that keeps her feet dancing, Her heart pours the sunshine with which her eyes glancing The strange faces brighten in meeting her glances; O thousands and thousands of happy young maidens But none whose heart beats to a sweeter love-cadence III. In the vast vague grey, The trees to the south there, far away, In our dreams of the holy Eastern Land. There is not a cloud in the sky; The vague vast grey Warmth, and languor, and infinite peace! Hath fallen into a vision and a trance, Yet look how here and there Soft curves, fine contours, seem to swim, Into the quiet air: Like statues growing slowly, slowly out Then the sculpturing sunbeams smite, And soon, soon, soon, Crowning the floor of the land and the sea, The burning sapphire dome, With solemn imagery; vast shapes that stand Each like an island ringed with flashing foam, Black-purple mountains, creeks and rivers of light, Crags of cleft crystal blazing to the crest: Vast isles that move, that roam A tideless sea of infinite fathomless rest. Thus shall it be this noon : And thus, so slowly slowly from its birth Through the long morning's trance, sweet vague and dim, Doth build up in us, Heaven completing Earth, Our solemn Noon of Love. IV. The church bells are ringing: How green the earth, how fresh and fair The thrushes are singing: What rapture but to breathe this air! The church bells are ringing: O how the river dreameth there! The thrushes are singing: Green flames burn lightly everywhere! The church bells are ringing: How all the world breathes praise and prayer! The thrushes are singing: What Sabbath peace doth trance the air! I love all hardy exercise V. That makes one strain and quiver; And best of all I love and prize This boating on our river. I to row and you to steer, Gay shall be Life's trip, my dear: We push off from the bank; again The blue floats above us as we go: And you steer, and you steer, Framed in gliding wood and water, O my dear. I pull a long calm mile or two, Pull slowly, deftly feather: How sinful any work to do In this Italian weather! The blue floats above us as we go: While you steer, while you steer, Framed in gliding wood and water, O my dear. Those lovely breadths of lawn that sweep Adown in still green billows! And o'er the brim in fountains leap; Green fountains, weeping willows! And I row, and I row; The blue floats above us as we go: And you steer, and you steer, Framed in gliding wood and water, O my dear. We push amongst the flags in flower, And we are in a faerie bower All is bright where'er we go. A secret bower where we can hide Gay must be Life's trip, my dear; VI. I love this hardy exercise, This strenuous toil of boating: Glimpses dazzle of the blue and burning sky; Faerie Princess of the secret faerie scene. My shirt is of the soft red wool, My cap is azure braided By two white hands so beautiful, My tie mauve purple-shaded. As I lie, as I lie, Glimpses dazzle of white clouds and sapphire sky; As you lean, as you lean, Faerie Princess of the secret faerie scene. Your hat with long blue streamers decked, As I lie, as I lie, Glimpses dazzle of white clouds and sapphire sky; As you lean, as you lean, Faerie Princess of the secret faerie scene. If any boaters boating past Should look where we're reclining, They'll say, To-day green willows glassed Rubies and sapphires shining! As I lie, as I lie, Glimpses dazzle of the blue and burning sky; As you lean, as you lean, Faerie Princess of the secret faerie scene. |