To the fairest! Then to thee Consecrate and bounden be, To the fairest! Winchester! this verse of mine. Then to thee Ah, that loveliness of thine! Consecrate and bounden be, To have lived enchaunted years Winchester! this verse of mine. Free from sorrows, free from fears, Ah, that loveliness of thine! Where thy Tower's great shadow falls To have lived enchaunted years Over those proud buttressed walls; Free from sorrows, free from fears, Whence a purpling glory pours Where thy Tower's great shadow falls From high heaven's inheritors, Over those proud buttressed walls; Throned within the arching stone! Whence a purpling glory pours To have wandered, hushed, alone, From high heaven's inheritors, Gently round thy fair, fern-grown Throned within the arching stone! Chauntry of the Lilies, lying To have wandered, hushed, alone, Where the soft night winds go sighing Gently round thy fair, fern-grown Round thy Cloisters, in moonlight Chauntry of the Lilies, lying Branching dark, or touched with white: Where the soft night winds go sighing Round old, chill aisles, where moon-smitten Round thy Cloisters, in moonlight Blanches the Orate, written Branching dark, or touched with white: Under each worn, old-world face Round old, chill aisles, where moon-smitten Graven on Death's holy place! Blanches the Orate, written To the noblest! Under each worn, old-world face None but thee. Graven on Death's holy place! Blest our living eyes, that see To the noblest! Half a thousand years fulfilled None but thee. Of that age, which Wykeham willed Blest our living eyes, that see Thee to win; yet all unworn, Half a thousand years fulfilled As upon that first March morn, Of that age, which Wykeham willed When thine honoured city saw Thee to win; yet all unworn, Thy young beauty without flaw, As upon that first March morn, Born within her water-flowing, When thine honoured city saw Ancient hollows, by wind-blowing Thy young beauty without flaw, Hills enfolded ever more. Born within her water-flowing, Thee, that lord of splendid lore, Ancient hollows, by wind-blowing Orient from old Hellas' shore, Hills enfolded ever more. Grocyn, had to mother: thee, Thee, that lord of splendid lore, Monumental majesty Orient from old Hellas' shore, Of most high philosophy Grocyn, had to mother: thee, Honours, in thy wizard Browne: Monumental majesty Tender Otway's dear renown, Of most high philosophy Mover of a perfect pity, Honours, in thy wizard Browne: Victim of the iron city, Tender Otway's dear renown, Thine to cherish is: and thee, Mover of a perfect pity, Laureate of Liberty; Victim of the iron city, Harper of the Highland faith, Thine to cherish is: and thee, Elf, and faery, and wan wraith; Laureate of Liberty; Chaunting softly, chaunting slowly, Harper of the Highland faith, Minstrel of all melancholy; Elf, and faery, and wan wraith; Master of all melody, Chaunting softly, chaunting slowly, Made to cling round memory; Minstrel of all melancholy; Passion's poet, Evening's voice, Master of all melody, Collins glorified. Rejoice, Made to cling round memory; Mother! in thy sons: for all Passion's poet, Evening's voice, Love thine immemorial Collins glorified. Rejoice, Name, august and musical. Mother! in thy sons: for all Not least he, who left thy side, Love thine immemorial For his sire's, thine earlier pride, Name, august and musical. Arnold: whom we mourn to-day, Not least he, who left thy side, Prince of song, and gone away For his sire's, thine earlier pride, To his brothers of the bay: Arnold: whom we mourn to-day, Thine the love of all his years; Prince of song, and gone away His be now thy praising tears. To his brothers of the bay: To the dearest! Thine the love of all his years; Ah, to thee! His be now thy praising tears. Hast thou not in all to me To the dearest! Mother, more than mother, been? Ah, to thee! Well toward thee may Mary Queen Hast thou not in all to me Bend her with a mother's mien; Mother, more than mother, been? Who so rarely dost express Well toward thee may Mary Queen An inspiring tenderness, Bend her with a mother's mien; Woven with thy sterner strain, Who so rarely dost express Prelude of the world's true pain. An inspiring tenderness, But two years, and still my feet Woven with thy sterner strain, Found thy very stones more sweet, Prelude of the world's true pain. Than the richest fields elsewhere: But two years, and still my feet Two years, and thy sacred air Found thy very stones more sweet, Still poured balm upon me, when Than the richest fields elsewhere: Nearer drew the world of men; Two years, and thy sacred air When the passions, one by one, Still poured balm upon me, when All sprang upward to the sun: Nearer drew the world of men; Two years have I lived, still thine; When the passions, one by one, Lost, thy presence! gone, that shrine, All sprang upward to the sun: Where six years, what years! were mine. Two years have I lived, still thine; Music is the thought of thee; Lost, thy presence! gone, that shrine, Fragrance, all thy memory. Where six years, what years! were mine. Those thy rugged Chambers old, Music is the thought of thee; In their gloom and rudeness, hold Fragrance, all thy memory. Dear remembrances of gold. Those thy rugged Chambers old, Some first blossoming of flowers In their gloom and rudeness, hold Made delight of all the hours; Dear remembrances of gold. Greatness, beauty, all things fair Some first blossoming of flowers Made the spirit of thine air: Made delight of all the hours; Old years live with thee; thy sons Greatness, beauty, all things fair Walk with high companions. Made the spirit of thine air: Then, the natural joy of earth, Old years live with thee; thy sons Joy of very health and birth! Walk with high companions. Hills, upon a summer noon: Then, the natural joy of earth, Water Meads, on eves of June: Joy of very health and birth! Chamber Court, beneath the moon: Hills, upon a summer noon: Days of spring, on Twyford Down, Water Meads, on eves of June: Or when autumn woods grew brown; Chamber Court, beneath the moon: As they looked, when here came Keats, Days of spring, on Twyford Down, Chaunting of autumnal sweets; Or when autumn woods grew brown; Through this city of old haunts, As they looked, when here came Keats Murmuring immortal chaunts; Chaunting of autumnal sweets; As when Pope, art's earlier king, Through this city of old haunts, Here, a child, did nought but sing; Murmuring immortal chaunts; Sang, a child, by nature's rule, As when Pope, art's earlier king, Round the trees of Twyford School: Here, a child, did nought but sing; Hours of sun beside Mead's Wall, Sang, a child, by nature's rule, Ere the may begin to fall; Round the trees of Twyford School: Watching the rooks rise and soar, Hours of sun beside Meads' Wall, High from lime and sycamore: Ere the may began to fall; Wanderings by old-world ways, Watching the rooks rise and soar, Walks and streets of ancient days; High from lime and sycamore: Closes, churches, arches, halls, Wanderings by old-world ways, Vanished men's memorials. Walks and streets of ancient days; There was beauty, there was grace, Closes, churches, arches, halls, Each place was an holy place: Vanished men's memorials. There the kindly fates allowed There was beauty, there was grace, Me too room; and made me proud, Each place was an holy place: Prouder name I have not wist! There the kindly fates allowed With the name of Wykehamist. Me too room; and made me proud, These thy joys: and more than these: Prouder name I have not wist! Ah, to watch beneath thy trees, With the name of Wykehamist. Through long twilights linden-scented, These thy joys: and more than these: Sunsets, lingering, lamented, Ah, to watch beneath thy trees, In the purple west; prevented, Through long twilights linden-scented, Ere they fell, by evening star! Sunsets, lingering, lamented, Ah, long nights of Winter! far In the purple west; prevented, Leaps and roars the faggot fire; Ere they fell, by evening star! Ruddy smoke rolls higher, higher, Ah, long nights of Winter! far Broken through by flame's desire; Leaps and roars the faggot fire; Circling faces glow, all eyes Ruddy smoke rolls higher, higher, Take the light; deep radiance flies, Broken through by flame's desire; Merrily flushing overhead Circling faces glow, all eyes Names of brothers, long since fled; Take the light; deep radiance flies, And fresh clusters, in their stead, Merrily flushing overhead Jubilant round fierce forest flame. Names of brothers, long since fled; Friendship too must make her claim: And fresh clusters, in their stead, But what songs, what memories end, Jubilant round fierce forest flame. When they tell of friend on friend? Friendship too must make her claim: And for them, I thank thy name. But what songs, what memories end, Love alone of gifts, no shame When they tell of friend on friend? Lessens, and I love thee: yet And for them, I thank thy name. Sound it but of echoes, let Love alone of gifts, no shame This my maiden music be, Lessens, and I love thee: yet Of the love I bear to thee, Sound it but of echoes, let Witness and interpreter, This my maiden music be, Mother mine: loved Winchester! Of the love I bear to thee, Witness and interpreter, Mother mine: loved Winchester! |