Through last year's fern, of the shy fallow-deer
Who come at noon down to the water here.
You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along
Under the thorns on the green sward; and strong
The blackbird whistled from the dingles near,
And the weird chipping of the woodpecker
Rang lonelily and sharp; the sky was fair,
And a fresh breath of spring stirr'd everywhere.
Merlin and Vivian stopp'd on the slope's brow,
To gaze on the light sea of leaf and bough
Which glistering plays all round them, lone and mild,
As if to itself the quiet forest smiled.

Upon the brow-top grew a thorn, and here

The grass was dry and moss'd, and you saw clear
Across the hollow; white anemonies

Starr'd the cool turf, and clumps of primroses
Ran out from the dark underwood behind.
No fairer resting-place a man could find.
'Here let us halt,' said Merlin then; and she
Nodded, and tied her palfrey to a tree.

They sate them down together, and a sleep
Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep.
Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose,
And from her brown-lock'd head the wimple throws,
And takes it in her hand, and waves it over
The blossom'd thorn-tree and her sleeping lover.
Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round,
And made a little plot of magic ground.
And in that daisied circle, as men say,
Is Merlin prisoner till the judgment-day;
But she herself whither she will can rove-
For she was passing weary of his love.

SAINT BRANDAN.

SAINT BRANDAN sails the northern main;
The brotherhoods of saints are glad.
He greets them once, he sails again;
So late-such storms!-The Saint is mad!

He heard, across the howling seas,
Chime convent-bells on wintry nights;
He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides,
Twinkle the monastery-lights;

But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer'd—
And now no bells, no convents more!
The hurtling Polar lights are near'd,
The sea without a human shore.

At last (it was the Christmas night;
Stars shone after a day of storm)—
He sees float past an iceberg white,
And on it-Christ!-a living form.
That furtive mien, that scowling eye,
Of hair that red and tufted fell

It is Oh, where shall Brandan fly?—
The traitor Judas, out of hell!

Palsied with terror, Brandan sate;

The moon was bright, the iceberg near.
He hears a voice sigh humbly: "Wait!
By high permission I am here.

'One moment wait, thou holy man!

On earth my crime, my death, they knew;
My name is under all men's ban-

Ah, tell them of my respite too!

'Tell them, one blessed Christmas-night(It was the first after I came, Breathing self-murder, frenzy, spite,

To rue my guilt in endless flame)

'I felt, as I in torment lay

'Mid the souls plagued by heavenly power, An angel touch mine arm, and say:

Go hence, and cool thyself an hour!

6.66

Ah, whence this mercy, Lord?" I said. The Leper recollect, said he,

Who ask'd the passers-by for aid,
In Joppa, and thy charity.

'Then I remember'd how I went,
In Joppa, through the public street,
One morn when the sirocco spent
Its storms of dust with burning heat;
'And in the street a leper sate,
Shivering with fever, naked, old;
Sand raked his sores from heel to pate,
The hot wind fever'd him five-fold.
'He gazed upon me as I pass'd,
And murmur'd: Help me, or I die!-
To the poor wretch my cloak I cast,
Saw him look eased, and hurried by.

Oh, Brandan, think what grace divine, What blessing must full goodness shower, When fragment of it small, like mine, Hath such inestimable power!

'Well-fed, well-clothed, well-friended, I
Did that chance act of good, that one!
Then went my way to kill and lie-
Forgot my good as soon as done.

'That germ of kindness, in the womb
Of mercy caught, did not expire;
Outlives my guilt, outlives my doom,
And friends me in the pit of fire.

'Once every year, when carols wake,
On earth, the Christmas-night's repose,
Arising from the sinner's lake,

I journey to these healing snows.
'I stanch with ice my burning breast,
With silence balm my whirling brain.
O Brandan! to this hour of rest
That Joppan leper's ease was pain.'-

Tears started to Saint Brandan's eyes;
He bow'd his head, he breathed a prayer--
Then look'd, and lo, the frosty skies!
The iceberg, and no Judas there!

THE NECKAN.

In summer, on the headlands,
The Baltic Sea along,

Sits Neckan with his harp of gold,
And sings his plaintive song.

Green rolls beneath the headlands,
Green rolls the Baltic Sea;

And there, below the Neckan's feet,
His wife and children be.

He sings not of the ocean,

Its shells and roses pale;

Of earth, of earth the Neckan sings,
He hath no other tale.

He sits upon the headlands,

And sings a mournful stave
Of all he saw and felt on earth,
Far from the kind sea-wave.

Sings how, a knight, he wander'd
By castle, field, and town-
But earthly knights have harder hearts
Than the sea-children own.

Sings of his earthly bridal

Priest, knights, and ladies gay.
And who art thou,' the priest began,
'Sir Knight, who wedd'st to-day?'-
I am no knight,' he answered;
'From the sea-waves I come.'-

The knights drew sword, the ladies scream'd
The surpliced priest stood dumb.

He sings how from the chapel
He vanish'd with his bride,
And bore her down to the sea-halls,
Beneath the salt sea-tide.

He sings how she sits weeping

'Mid shells that round her lie.

-False Neckan shares my bed,' she weeps; 'No Christian mate have I.'—

He sings how through the billows

He rose to earth again,

And sought a priest to sign the cross,
That Neckan Heaven might gain.

He sings how, on an evening,

Beneath the birch-trees cool,

He sate and play'd his harp of gold,
Beside the river-pool.