KNIGHT FALSTAFF.
I saw the dusty curtain, ages old,
Its purple tatters twitched aside, and lo!
The fourth King Harry’s reign in lusty show
Behind, its deeds in living file outrolled
Of peace and war; some sage, some mad, and bold:
Last, near a tree, a bridled neighing row
With latest spoils encumbered, saints do know,
By Hal and Hal’s boon cronies; on the wold
Laughter of prince and commons; there and here
Travellers fleeing; drunken thieves that sang;
Wild bells; a tavern’s echoing jolly shout;
Signals along the highway, full of cheer;
A gate that closed with not incautious clang,
When that sweet rogue, bad Jack! came lumbering out.
THE POET.[C]
Listen! the mother
Croons o’er her darling;
Birds to the summer
Call from the trees;
Sailors in chorus
Chant of the ocean:
The poet’s heart singeth
Songs sweeter than these.
Thy lute, gentle lover,
To her thou adorest;
Ye troubadours! pæans
But Heaven’s own harpers
Breathe not in their music
The song that his happy heart
Sings to itself;
The changeless, soft song that it
Sings to itself!