And his clear laugh fled ringing through the gloom,
And his mirth quailed not at the mild reproof
Sighed out by winter's sad tranquillity;
Nor, palled with its own fulness, ebbed and died
In the rich languor of long summer-days;
Nor withered when the palm-tree plumes, that roofed
With their mild dark his grassy banquet-hall,
Bent to the cold winds of the showerless spring;
No, nor grew dark when autumn brought the clouds.
So six long years he revelled, night and day.
And when the mirth waxed loudest, with dull sound
Sometimes from the grove's centre echoes came,
To tell his wondering people of their king;
In the still night, across the steaming flats,
Mixed with the murmur of the moving Nile.
THE CHURCH OF BROU.
I.
The Castle.
Down the Savoy valleys sounding,
Echoing round this castle old,
'Mid the distant mountain-chalets
Hark! what bell for church is tolled?
In the bright October morning
Savoy's Duke had left his bride.
From the castle, past the drawbridge,
Flowed the hunters' merry tide.
