And, if you see a beauteous thing, just say, he is not
here.

APPENDIX

TO THE INFALLIBLE

("Ionica," 1858, p. 60)

Old angler, what device is thine
To draw my pleasant friends from me?
Thou fishest with a silken line
Not the coarse nets of Galilee.

In stagnant vivaries they lie,
Forgetful of their ancient haunts;
And how shall he that standeth by
Refrain his open mouth from taunts?

How? by remembering this, that he,
Like them, in eddies whirled about,
Felt less: for thus they disagree:
He can, they could not, bear to doubt.

THE SWIMMER'S WISH

("Ionica," 1858, p. 81)

Fresh from the summer wave, under the beech,
Looking through leaves with a far-darting eye,
Tossing those river-pearled locks about,
Throwing those delicate limbs straight out,
Chiding the clouds as they sailed out of reach,
Murmured the swimmer, I wish I could fly.

Laugh, if you like, at the bold reply,
Answer disdainfully, flouting my words:
How should the listener at simple sixteen
Guess what a foolish old rhymer could mean
Calmly predicting, "You will surely fly"--
Fish one might vie with, but how be like birds?

Sweet maiden-fancies, at present they range
Close to a sister's engarlanded brows,
Over the diamonds a mother will wear,
In the false flowers to be shaped for her hair.--
Slow glide the hours to thee, late be the change,
Long be thy rest 'neath the cool beechen boughs!

Genius and love will uplift thee: not yet,
Walk through some passionless years by my side,
Chasing the silly sheep, snapping the lily stalk,
Drawing my secrets forth, witching my soul with talk.
When the sap stays, and the blossom is set,
Others will take the fruit, I shall have died.

AN APOLOGY

("Ionica," 1858, p. 115)

Uprose the temple of my love
Sculptured with many a mystic theme,
All frail and fanciful above,
But pillared on a deep esteem.

It might have been a simpler plan,
And traced on more majestic lines;
But he that built it was a man
Of will unstrung, and vague designs;

Not worthy, though indeed he wrought
With reverence and a meek content,
To keep that presence: yet the thought
Is there, in frieze and pediment.

The trophied arms an