XXI.

ANSTEY'S COVE

INSCRIBED TO W. A. P.

WALTER, when through the thirsty streets and squares
Of London, in the burning sun of June,
We wander, and the too-melodious tune
Of barrel-organs chafes us unawares,

What would we give to rise on sudden wings,

And fly where southward lay our mutual home, Where in the rock-pools boils the smitten foam, Or where from corn-fields soars the lark and sings! One day shall be to us for ever dear,

When on the quarried margin of the shore

We sat with the sea-music in our ear,

Until the solitude our spirits bore

Into sweet depths of thought, where grief and fear Sank, and were drown'd in love to rise no more !

XXII.

TO DEVON.

1.

GREAT Guardian of the dim unfathom'd West!
O Thou whose vast and rugged heart is set
'Mid storm-swept moorlands where thou dost beget
The battling hail and whirlwind! In thy quest,
Borne on the lone upheavings of thy breast,

A cloud I've wander'd where the clouds are met
Close-clasping peaks fantastic in the fret

Of rain-drift breaking o'er each granite crest!
Strength hath, O Spirit! in thy heart his home,

Rough and ungarnish'd; yet in what sweet guise Thou dost the springtime bless! from out the dome Of what blue depths dost thou with tender eyes O'erlook new flower-births, and, where zephyrs roam, Make dark moors lovely under summer skies!

XXIII.

TO DEVON.

2.

As some proud mistress whose unweeting scorn Disdains the heart that sigheth in her thrall, And thinks of him, if so she think at all,

As throned queen might think of beggar born; Yet he, the while in secrecy and pain,

By reason of the intensity of love,

Will never from his mind her thought remove,
And, past all rescue, holds his soul in chain;
So, though, dear land, alas! we parted are
By many leagues of meadow, vale, and hill,
And thou art all regardless of my care,

Yet thoughts of thee do my sad bosom fill,
And in
my dreams I tread thy solemn shores,
Thy blissful shadowy woods, and purple moors.

XXIV.

INSCRIBED TO I. L. T. B.

SAD and alone and weary, nigh despairing,
I sat in the old church above the sea,
And heard the organ sound a peal of glee,

Like some great solemn "bird of God" declaring Peace and good-will to all who, meek robes wearing, Hail'd the bright dawning advent; but for me There was no comfort till that minstrelsy

Had faded, and the silent air was bearing

One sweet clear voice, that said, "Unto Me come,
Ye heavy-laden! unto Me, and I

Will bear your burden!" Then my terror ceased,

And, gazing out, I saw, across the foam,
God's symbol smite along the wintry east,

Pale gold between the waters and the sky.

DEVONIANA.