Poetry.

Lyttelton Times, Volume VIII, Issue 530, 2 December 1857, Page 3

Poetry.

TH$ ROPE-WALK. BY HENBT; W. LONGFELLOW. In that building, long and low, "With its,, windows.all .a-row, Like the^port-holes of;'a hulk, Human spiders spin' and spin, : Backward down their threads so thin, Propping each a hempen bulk. At the end an open door, ; Squares of sunshine on .'the floor Light the. long and dusky lane: And the whirling of a wheel, Dull and drowsy, makes me feel All its spokes are in my brain. As the spinners to the end Downward go arid re-ascend, Gleam the long threads in the sun; While within this brain of mine, Cobwebs brighter and more fine, By the busy wheel are spun. Two fair maidens in a swing, Like white doves upon the wing, First before my vision pass; Laughing, as their gentle hands Closely clasp the twisted strands, At their shadows oh the grass. Then a booth of mountebanks, With its smell of tar and planks, And a girl poised high in air On a cord, in spangled dress, With a: faded loveliness, And a weary look of care! Then: a homestead among farms, And a woman with bare arms, Drawing water from a well; As ,the bucket mounts apace, With it mounts her own fair face, As with some magician's spell. Then an old man in a tower, Hinging loud the noontide hour, While the rope coils round and round, Like a serpent at his feet, And again in swift retreat, Almost lifts him from the ground. Then "within a prison yard, Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, Laughter and indecent mirth: Ah! it is ■■ the-gallows tree! Breath of Christian charity, Blow and sweep it from the earth! Then' a school-boy, with his kite, Gleaming in a sky of light, And an eager, upward look; Steeds pursued through land and field, Fowlers with their snares concealed; And an angler by the brook. _ Ships rejoicing in the breeze, Wrecks that float, in unknown seas, Anchors dragged through faithless sand, Sea-fog drifting overhead, And, with lessening line and lead, Sailors feeling for the land. All these scenes do I behold, These and many left untold, In that building long and low; While the wheels go round and ronnd, With a drowsy, dreaming sound, And the spinners backward go.