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SONGS FOR BOYHOOD.
Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
I find a magic bark; I leap on board: no helmsman steers
I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light!
Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
A maiden knight�to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here. I muse on joys that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams, And lilies of eternal peace,
Whose odors haunt my dreams;
Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God !
My spirit bursts her mortal bars, As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-like mingles with the stars.
When, on my goodly charger borne,
Through dreamiug towns I go, The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
The streets are dumb with snow. The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, spins from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height;
No branchy thicket shelter yields: But blessed forms, in whistling storms,
Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.
Till, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armor that I wear,
This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touched, are turned to finest air.
The clouds are broken in the sky,
And through the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony
Swells up, and shakes, and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear : "O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride ou! the prize is near!" So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ;
By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All armed I ride, whate'er betide,
Until I find the holy Graii.