_Birds shall sing For thy delight each May morning._ 'Mid new-yean'd lambkins thou shalt play, Hardly less a lamb than they.
Then thy prison's lengthen'd bound Shall be the horizon skirting round: And, while thou fillest thy lap with flowers, To make amends for wintry hours, The breeze, the sunshine, and the place, Shall from thy tender brow efface Each vestige of untimely care, That sour restraint had graven there; And on thy every look impress A more excelling childishness.
So shall be thy days beguiled, THORNTON HUNT, my favorite child.
[Footnote 1: Hampstead.] * * * * * BALLAD.
FROM THE GERMAN.
The clouds are blackening, the storms threatening, And ever the forest maketh a moan: Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart acting, Thus by herself she singeth alone, Weeping right plenteously.
"The world is empty, the heart is dead surely, In this world plainly all seemeth amiss: To thy breast, holy one, take now thy little one, I have had earnest of all earth's bliss, Living right lovingly." * * * * * DAVID IN THE CAVE OF ADULLAM.
David and his three captains bold Kept ambush once within a hold.
It was in Adullam's cave, Nigh which no water they could have, Nor spring, nor running brook was near To quench the thirst that parch'd them there.
Then David, king of Israel, Straight bethought him of a well, Which stood beside the city gate, At Bethlem; where, before his state Of kingly dignity, he had Oft drunk his fill, a shepherd lad; But now his fierce Philistine foe Encamp'd before it he does know.
Yet ne'er the less, with heat opprest, Those three bold captains he addrest; And wish'd that one to him would bring Some water from his native spring.
His valiant captains instantly To execute his will did fly.
The mighty Three the ranks broke through Of armed foes, and water drew For David, their beloved king, At his own sweet native spring.
Back through their arm'd foes they haste, With the hard-earn'd treasure graced.
But when the good king David found What they had done, he on the ground The water pour'd ...

"Because," said he, "That it was at the jeopardy Of your three lives this thing ye did, That I should drink it, God forbid." * * * * * SALOME.
Once on a charger there was laid, And brought before a royal maid, As price of attitude and grace, A guiltless head, a holy face.
It was on Herod's natal day, Who o'er Judea's land held sway.
He married his own brother's wife, Wicked Herodias.

She the life Of John the Baptist long had sought, Because he openly had taught That she a life unlawful led, Having her husband's brother wed.
This was he, that saintly John, Who in the wilderness alone Abiding, did for clothing wear A garment made of camel's hair; Honey and locusts were his food, And he was most severely good.
He preached penitence and tears, And waking first the sinner's fears, Prepared a path, made smooth a way, For his diviner Master's day.
Herod kept in princely state His birthday.

On his throne he sate, After the feast, beholding her Who danced with grace peculiar; Fair Salome, who did excel All in that land for dancing well.
The feastful monarch's heart was fired, And whatsoe'er thing she desired, Though half his kingdom it should be, He in his pleasure swore that he Would give the graceful Salome.
The damsel was Herodias' daughter: She to the queen hastes, and besought her To teach her what great gift to name.
Instructed by Herodias, came The damsel back: to Herod said, "Give me John the Baptist's head; And in a charger let it be Hither straightway brought to me." Herod her suit would fain deny, But for his oath's sake must comply.
When painters would by art express Beauty in unloveliness, Thee, Herodias' daughter, thee, They fittest subject take to be.
They give thy form and features grace; But ever in thy beauteous face They show a steadfast cruel gaze, An eye unpitying; and amaze In all beholders deep they mark, That thou betrayest not one spark Of feeling for the ruthless deed, That did thy praiseful dance succeed.
For on the head they make you look, As if a sullen joy you took, A cruel triumph, wicked pride, That for your sport a saint had died.
* * * * * LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY LIONARDO DA VINCI.
The lady Blanch, regardless of all her lover's fears, To the Urs'line convent hastens, and long the Abbess hears, "O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life ye lead." Blanch look'd on a rose-bud and little seem'd to heed.
She look'd on the rose-bud, she look'd round, and thought On all her heart had whisper'd, and all the Nun had taught.
"I am worshipp'd by lovers, and brightly shines my fame, All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's name.
Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from the tree, My queen-like graces shining when my beauty's gone from me.
But when the sculptured marble is rais'd o'er my head, And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the noble dead, This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear, It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp'd here." * * * * * LINES ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO MAKE PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY TITIAN.
Who art thou, fair one, who usurp'st the place Of Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace?
Come, fair and pretty, tell to me, Who, in thy lifetime, thou might'st be.
Thou pretty art and fair, But with the lady Blanch thou never must compare.
No need for Blanch her history to tell; Whoever saw her face, they there did read it well.
But when I look on thee, I only know There lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago.
* * * * * LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA VINCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS.
While young John runs to greet The greater Infant's feet, The Mother standing by, with trembling passion Of devout admiration, Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty adoration; Nor knows as yet the full event Of those so low beginnings, From whence we date our winnings, But wonders at the intent Of those new rites, and what that strange child-worship meant.
But at her side An angel doth abide, With such a perfect joy As no dim doubts alloy, An intuition, A glory, an amenity, Passing the dark condition Of blind humanity, As if he surely knew All the blest wonder should ensue, Or he had lately left the upper sphere, And had read all the sovran schemes and divine riddles there.
* * * * * ON THE SAME.
Maternal lady with the virgin grace, Heaven-born thy Jesus seemeth sure, And thou a virgin pure.
Lady most perfect, when thy sinless face Men look upon, they wish to be A Catholic, Madonna fair, to worship thee.
SONNETS.
* * * * * I.
TO MISS KELLY.
You are not, Kelly, of the common strain, That stoop their pride and female honor down To please that many-headed beast _the town_, And vend their lavish smiles and tricks for gain; By fortune thrown amid the actors' train, You keep your native dignity of thought; The plaudits that attend you come unsought, As tributes due unto your natural vein.
Your tears have passion in them, and a grace Of genuine freshness, which our hearts avow; Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot trace, That vanish and return we know not how-- And please the better from a pensive face, A thoughtful eye, and a reflecting brow.
II.
ON THE SIGHT OF SWANS IN KENSINGTON GARDEN.
Queen-bird that sittest on thy shining-nest, And thy young cygnets without sorrow hatchest, And thou, thou other royal bird, that watchest Lest the white mother wandering feet molest: Shrined are your offspring in a crystal cradle, Brighter than Helen's ere she yet had burst Her shelly prison.

They shall be born at first Strong, active, graceful, perfect, swan-like able To tread the land or waters with security.
Unlike poor human births, conceived in sin, In grief brought forth, both outwardly and in Confessing weakness, error, and impurity.
Did heavenly creatures own succession's line, The births of heaven like to yours would shine.
III.
Was it some sweet device of Faery That mock'd my steps with many a lonely glade, And fancied wanderings with a fair-hair'd maid?
Have these things been?
or what rare witchery, Impregning with delights the charmed air, Enlighted up the semblance of a smile In those fine eyes?
methought they spake the while Soft soothing things, which might enforce despair To drop the murdering knife, and let go by His foul resolve.