A Midsummer Holiday and Other Poems   By: Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)

AND OTHER POEMS

BY

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

THIRD EDITION

London CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1889

CONTENTS.

A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY:

I. THE SEABOARD 3 II. A HAVEN 6 III. ON A COUNTRY ROAD 9 IV. THE MILL GARDEN 12 V. A SEA MARK 16 VI. THE CLIFFSIDE PATH 19 VII. IN THE WATER 22 VIII. THE SUNBOWS 27 IX. ON THE VERGE 31

A NEW YEAR ODE 39

LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI 66

LES CASQUETS 70

A BALLAD OF SARK 84

NINE YEARS OLD 87

AFTER A READING 94

MAYTIME IN MIDWINTER 100

A DOUBLE BALLAD OF AUGUST 105

HEARTSEASE COUNTRY 109

A BALLAD OF APPEAL 112

CRADLE SONGS 115

PELAGIUS 122

LOUIS BLANC 125

VOS DEOS LAUDAMUS 128

ON THE BICENTENARY OF CORNEILLE 132

IN SEPULCRETIS 134

LOVE AND SCORN 139

ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD DOYLE 142

IN MEMORY OF HENRY A. BRIGHT 143

A SOLITUDE 144

VICTOR HUGO: L'ARCHIPEL DE LA MANCHE 145

THE TWILIGHT OF THE LORDS 147

CLEAR THE WAY! 153

A WORD FOR THE COUNTRY 156

A WORD FOR THE NATION 167

A WORD FROM THE PSALMIST 176

A BALLAD AT PARTING 185

A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY

TO THEODORE WATTS

THE SEABOARD.

The sea is at ebb, and the sound of her utmost word Is soft as the least wave's lapse in a still small reach. From bay into bay, on quest of a goal deferred, From headland ever to headland and breach to breach Where earth gives ear to the message that all days preach With changes of gladness and sadness that cheer and chide, The lone way lures me along by a chance untried That haply, if hope dissolve not and faith be whole, Not all for nought shall I seek, with a dream for guide. The goal that is not, and ever again the goal.

The trackless ways are untravelled of sail or bird; The hoar wave hardly recedes from the soundless beach. The silence of instant noon goes nigh to be heard, The viewless void to be visible: all and each, A closure of calm no clamour of storm can breach Concludes and confines and absorbs them on either side, All forces of light and of life and the live world's pride. Sands hardly ruffled of ripples that hardly roll Seem ever to show as in reach of a swift brief stride The goal that is not, and ever again the goal.

The waves are a joy to the seamew, the meads to the herd, And a joy to the heart is a goal that it may not reach. No sense that for ever the limits of sense engird, No hearing or sight that is vassal to form or speech, Learns ever the secret that shadow and silence teach, Hears ever the notes that or ever they swell subside, Sees ever the light that lights not the loud world's tide, Clasps ever the cause of the lifelong scheme's control Wherethrough we pursue, till the waters of life be dried, The goal that is not, and ever again the goal.