FullReads

XLI.

“And we are near the mother when she sits
Beside her infant in its wicker bed;
And we are in the fairy scene that flits
Across its tender brain: sweet dreams we shed,
And whilst the tender little soul is fled,
Away, to sport with our young elves, the while
We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red,
And tickle the soft lips until they smile,
So that their careful parents they beguile.”

XLII.

“O then, if ever thou hast breathed a vow
At Love’s dear portal, or at pale moon-rise
Crush’d the dear curl on a regardful brow,
That did not frown thee from thy honey prize–
If ever thy sweet son sat on thy thighs,
And wooed thee from thy careful thoughts within
To watch the harmless beauty of his eyes,
Or glad thy fingers on his smooth soft skin,
For Love’s dear sake, let us thy pity win!”

XLIII.

Then Saturn fiercely thus:–“What joy have I
In tender babes, that have devour’d mine own,
Whenever to the light I heard them cry,
Till foolish Rhea cheated me with stone?
Whereon, till now, is my great hunger shown,
In monstrous dint of my enormous tooth;
And–but the peopled world is too full grown
For hunger’s edge–I would consume all youth
At one great meal, without delay or ruth!”

XLIV.

“For I am well nigh crazed and wild to hear
How boastful fathers taunt me with their breed,
Saying, ‘We shall not die nor disappear,
But, in these other selves, ourselves succeed
Ev’n as ripe flowers pass into their seed
Only to be renew’d from prime to prime,’
All of which boastings I am forced to read,
Besides a thousand challenges to Time,
Which bragging lovers have compiled in rhyme.”

XLV.

“Wherefore, when they are sweetly met o’ nights,
There will I steal and with my hurried hand
Startle them suddenly from their delights
Before the next encounter hath been plann’d,
Ravishing hours in little minutes spann’d;
But when they say farewell, and grieve apart,
Then like a leaden statue I will stand,
Meanwhile their many tears encrust my dart,
And with a ragged edge cut heart from heart.”

XLVI.

Then next a merry Woodsman, clad in green,
Step vanward from his mates, that idly stood
Each at his proper ease, as they had been
Nursed in the liberty of old Sherwood,
And wore the livery of Robin Hood,
Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup,–
So came this chief right frankly, and made good
His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up,
Doffing his cap, which was an acorn’s cup:–

XLVII.

“We be small foresters and gay, who tend
On trees, and all their furniture of green,
Training the young boughs airily to bend,
And show blue snatches of the sky between;–
Or knit more close intricacies, to screen
Birds’ crafty dwellings, as may hide them best,
But most the timid blackbird’s–she that, seen,
Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest,
Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast.”

XLVIII.

“We bend each tree in proper attitude,
And founting willows train in silvery falls;
We frame all shady roofs and arches rude,
And verdant aisles leading to Dryads’ halls,
Or deep recesses where the Echo calls;–
We shape all plumy trees against the sky,
And carve tall elms’ Corinthian capitals,–
When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply,
Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh.”

XLIX.

“Sometimes we scoop the squirrel’s hollow cell,
And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees’ rind,
That haply some lone musing wight may spell
Dainty Aminta,–Gentle Rosalind,–
Or chastest Laura,–sweetly call’d to mind
In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down;–
And sometimes we enrich gray stems with twined
And vagrant ivy,–or rich moss, whose brown
Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down.”