To Halbert

YOUTH of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me?
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee ?
He that seeks to deal with us must know no fear nor failing;
To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts are unavailing.
The breeze that brought me hither now must sweep Egyptian ground,
The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound ;
The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my stay,
For I must sail a thousand miles before the close of day.

WHAT I am I must not show--
What I am thou couldst not know --
Something betwixt heaven and hell--
Something that neither stood nor fell.
Something that through thy wit or will
May work thee good -- may work thee ill.
Neither substance quite, nor shadow,
Haunting lonely moor and meadow,
Dancing by the haunted spring.
Riding on the whirlwind's wing ;
Aping in fantastic fashion
Every change of human passion,
While o'er our frozen minds they pass
Like shadows from the mirror'd glass.
Wayward, fickle, is our mood,
Hovering betwixt bad and good,
Happier than brief-dated man,
Living twenty times his span ;
Far less happy, for we have
Help nor hope beyond the grave !
Man awakes to joy or sorrow ;
Ours the sleep that knows no morrow.
This is all that I can show--
This is all that thou may'st know.

AY ! and I taught thee the word and the spell,
To waken me here by the Fairies' Well:
But thou hast loved the heron and hawk,
More than to seek my haunted walk ;
And thou hast loved the lance and the sword,
More than good text and holy word ;
And thou hast loved the deer to track,
More than the lines and the letters black ;
And thou art a ranger of moss and of wood,
And scornest the nurture of gentle blood.

THY craven fear my truth accused ;
Thine idlehood my trust abused ;
He that draws to harbour late,
Must sleep without, or burst the gate.
There is a star for thee which burn'd,
Its influence wanes, its course is turn'd ;
Valour and constancy alone
Can bring thee back the chance that 's flown.

WITHIN that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries !
Happiest they of human race,
To whom God has granted grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, and force the way ;
And better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

MANY a fathom dark and deep
I have laid the book to sleep ;
Ethereal fires around it glowing--
Ethereal music ever flowing--
The sacred pledge of Heav'n
All things revere,
Each in his sphere,
Save man for whom 'twas giv'n :
Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye.

FEAR'ST thou to go with me ?
Still it is free to thee
A peasant to dwell ;
Thou may'st drive the dull steer,
And chase the king's deer,
But never more come near
This haunted well.

HERE lies the volume thou boldly hast sought;
Touch it, and take it, -- 'twill dearly be bought.

RASH thy deed,
Mortal weed
To immortal flames applying ;
Rasher trust
Has thing of dust,
On his own weak worth relying :
Strip thee of such fences vain,
Strip, and prove thy luck again.

MORTAL warp and mortal woof
Cannot brook this charmed roof;
All that mortal art hath wrought
In our cell returns to nought.
The molten gold returns to clay,
The polish'd diamond melts away ;
All is altered, all is flown,
Nought stands fast but truth alone.
Not for that thy quest give o'er :
Courage ! prove thy chance once more.

ALAS ! alas !
Not ours the grace
These holy characters to trace:
Idle forms of painted air,
Not to us is given to share
The boon bestow'd on Adam's race.

With patience bide,
Heaven will provide
The fitting time, the fitting guide.

THIS is the day when the fairy kind
Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot,
And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighing wind,
And the mermaiden weeps in her coral grot ;
For this is the day that a deed was wrought,
In which we have neither part nor share,
For the children of clay was salvation bought,
But not for the forms of sea or air !
And ever the mortal is most forlorn,
Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn.

DARING youth ! for thee it is well,
Here calling me in haunted dell,
That thy heart has not quail'd,
Nor thy courage fail'd,
And that thou couldst brook
The angry look
Of Her of Avenel.
Did one limb shiver,
Or an eyelid quiver,
Thou wert lost for ever.
Though I am form'd from the ether blue,
And my blood is of the unfallen dew,
And thou art framed of mud and dust,
'Tis thine to speak, reply I must.

A MIGHTIER wizard far than I
Wields o'er the universe his power ;
Him owns the eagle in the sky,
The turtle in the bower.
Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still,
He wields the heart of man at will,
From ill to good, from good to ill,
In cot and castle-tower.

ASK thy heart, whose secret cell
Is fill'd with Mary Avenel !
Ask thy pride, why scornful look
In Mary's view it will not brook?
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise
Among the mighty and the wise ?
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot ?
Why thy pastimes are forgot ?
Why thou wouldst in bloody strife
Mend thy luck or lose thy life ?
Ask thy heart, and it shall tell,
Sighing from its secret cell,
'Tis for Mary Avenel.

Do not ask me ;
On doubts like these thou canst not task me.
We only see the passing show
Of human passion's ebb and flow ;
And view the pageant's idle glance
As mortals eye the northern dance,
When thousand streamers, flashing bright,
Career it o'er the brow of night,
And gazers mark their changeful gleams.
But feel no influence from their beams.

BY ties mysterious link'd, our fated race
Holds strange connexion with the sons of men.
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel,
When Norman Ulric first assumed the name,
That star, when culminating in its orbit,
Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew,
And this bright font received it-- and a Spirit
Rose from the fountain, and her date of life
Hath co-existence with the House of Avenel,
And with the star that rules it.

LOOK on my girdle -- on this thread of gold--
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer,
And, but there is a spell on 't, would not bind,
Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe.
But when 'twas donn'd, it was a massive chain,
Such as might bind the champion of the Jews,
Even when his locks were longest : it hath dwindled,
Hath 'minish'd in its substance and its strength,
As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel.
When this frail thread gives way, I to the elements
Resign the principles of life they lent me.
Ask me no more of this ! -- the stars forbid it.

DIM burns the once bright star of Avenel,
Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh,
And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the light-house ;
There is an influence sorrowful and fearful,
That dogs its downward course. Disastrous passion,
Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect
That lowers upon its fortunes.

COMPLAIN not on me, child of clay,
If to thy harm I yield the way.
We, who soar thy sphere above,
Know not aught of hate or love ;
As will or wisdom rules thy mood,
My gifts to evil turn or good.

WHEN Piercie Shafton boasteth high,
Let this token meet his eye.
The sun is westering from the dell,
Thy wish is granted-- fare thee well !