, then, the form,--that, spent with effort and fasting and
fear,
Flings itself feebly and fails of the boat that is lying so near,--
Caught in the long-baffled clutch of the rapids, and rolled and
hurled
Headlong on to the cataract's brink, and out of the world.

BOPEEP: A PASTORAL.

"O, to what uses shall we put
The wildweed flower that simply blows?
And is there any moral shut
Within the bosom of the rose?"

TENNYSON.

I.

She lies upon the soft, enamoured grass,
I' the wooing shelter of an apple-tree,
And at her feet the tranced brook is glass,
And in the blossoms over her the bee
Hangs charmed of his sordid industry;
For love of her the light wind will not pass.

II.

Her golden hair, blown over her red lips,
That seem two rose-leaves softly breathed apart,
Athwart her rounded throat like sunshine slips;
Her small hand, resting on her beating heart,
The crook that tells her peaceful shepherd-art
Scarce keeps with light and tremulous finger-tips.

III.

She is as fair as any shepherdess
That ever was in mask or Christmas scene:
Bright silver spangles hath she on her dress,
And of her red-heeled shoes appears the sheen;
And she hath ribbons of such blue or green
As best suits pastoral people's comeliness.

IV.

She sleeps, and it is in the month of May,
And the whole land is full of the delight
Of music and sweet scents; and all the day
The sun is gold; the moon is pearl all night,
And like a paradise the world is bright,
And like a young girl's hopes the world is gay.

V.

So waned the hours; and while her beauteous sleep
Was blest with many a happy dream of Love,
Untended still, her silly, vagrant sheep
Afar from that young shepherdess did rove,
Along the vales and through the gossip grove,
O'er daisied meads and up the thymy steep.

VI.

Then (for it happens oft when harm is nigh,
Our dreams grow haggard till at last we wake)
She thought that from the little runnel by
There crept upon a sudden forth a snake,
And stung her hand, and fled into the brake;
Whereat she sprang up with a bitter cry,

VII.

And wildly over all that place did look,
And could not spy her ingrate, wanton flock,--
Not there among tall grasses by the brook,
Not there behind the mossy-bearded rock;
And pitiless Echo answered with