en such his gaze, who sees on high
His flag, for victory.

We wander forth unconsciously, because
The azure beauty of the evening draws;
When sober hues pervade the ground,
And universal life is drowned
Into hushed depths of sound.

We thread a copse where frequent bramble spray
With loose obtrusion from the side roots stray,
And force sweet pauses on our walk;
I lift one with my foot, and talk
About its leaves and stalk.

Or maybe that some thorn or prickly stem
Will take a prisoner her long garments' hem;
To disentangle it I kneel,
Oft wounding more than I can heal;
It makes her laugh, my zeal.

Or on before a thin-legged robin hops,
And leaping on a twig, he pertly stops,
Speaking a few clear notes, till nigh
We draw, when briskly he will fly
Into a bush close by.

A flock of goldfinches arrest their flight,
And wheeling round a birchen tree alight
Deep in its glittering leaves; and stay
Till scared at our approach, when they
Strike with vexed trills away.

I recollect My Lady in the wood,
Keeping her breath, while peering as she stood
There, balanced lightly on tiptoe,
To mark a nest built snug below,
Leaves shadowing her brow.

I recollect her puzzled, asking me,
What that strange tapping in the wood might be?
I told of gourmand thrushes, which,
To feast on morsels oosy rich,
Cracked poor snails' curling niche.

And then, as knight led captive, in romance,
Through postern and dark passage, past grim glance
Of arms; where from throned state the dame
He loved, in sumptuous blushes came
To him held dumb for shame:

Even so my spirit passed, and won, through fears
That trembled nigh despair; through foolish tears,
And hope fallen weak in breathless flight,
Where beamed in pure entrancing light
Love's beauty on my sight.

For when we reached a hollow, where the stone
And scattered fragments of the shells lay strown,
By margin of a weedy rill;
"This air," she said, "feels damp and chill,
We'll go home if you will."

"Make not my pathway dull so soon," I cried;
"See how yon clouds of rosy eventide
Roll out their splendour: while the breeze
Shifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these
Lithe saplings move at ease!"

Grateful, in her deep silence, one loud thrush
Startled the air with song; then every bush
Of covert songsters all awoke,
And all, as to th