m
POEMS
NATIONAL AND NON-ORIENTAL
[WITH SOME NEW PIECES]
Selected from tbc llClorFis
OF
SIR EDWIN ARNOLD, M.A., K.CI.E., C.S.L
AUTHOR OF THE LIGHT OF ASIA, ETC. ETC. ETC.
LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO. LiP
DRYDEN HOUSE, GERRARD STREET, W. 1906
[All rights reserved]
rrintecl by Ballantynk. HANSON ^^ Co. At the Ballantyne Press
I HOC
PREFACE.
As it has been sometimes thought and said, — inaccurately, — that the Author is exchi- sively devoted to oriental subjects of verse, and as he may yet recur to those, he has here complied with the desire that a selection should be made from his non-oriental poems.
London, May 1888
247836
CONTENTS.
ICTORIA CROSS
THE FOrR CROWNS
TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES
THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE V
IN ME1M0RIA5I ....
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE .
CONGRATULATORY ADDRESS
THE ORDER OF VALOUR
ON THE DEATH OF THE PNIHCESS ALICE
HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER
TO AMERICA ....
ARMAGEDDON . . , .
TO MATTHEW ARNOLD . ■
SONG OF THE GERMAN SOLDIERS IN ALSACE .
BERLIN. — ^^THE SIXTEENTH OF MARCH
I
4
8
II
14 16 21
22
23 26 29 30 34 Z(> 38
HERO AND LEANDER .
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR
43
CONTENTS.
THE THREE ROSES HE AND SHE
"ON THE TH INSTANT, DROWNED
DREAM-LAND A MA FUTURE LLANGOLLEN THE TWO WREATHS . ALMOND BLOSSOM SONNET
ALL SAINTS' DAI- SERENADE THE EMIGRANT .
THE THREE STUDENTS
JAM SATIS .
ARISTIPPUS .
EFFIE ....
TO F. C. H. .
FROM SAPPHO
FROM ANACREON .
NEMESIS
LOVE AND LIFE .
TWO IDYLS OF THEOCRITUS BY THE FOUNTAIN THE SPELL .
LAMENT OF ADONIS .
PRAYER TO THE MUSES
A DEDICATION
WHILST BATHING
76
84
89
92
102
104
loS no III
114
115 116
iiS 1 22 126 128 130 132 134 135
136
142
155 164
167
CONTENTS.
WITH A VOLUME OF TRANSLATIONS DEDICATION OF A BOOK THE EPIC OF THE LION
NENCIA
THE STEATFOED PILGETMS .
" students' day " IN THE NATIONAL GALLEEY
THE KNIGHT'S TOMB AT SWANSCO^IBE CHURCH
ALLA MANO DELLA MIA DONNA
THE HYMN OF THE PRIESTESS OF DIANA
TO A SLEEPING LADY ....
TO STELLA
INSCEIBED UPON A SKULL PICKED UP ON THE ACROPOLIS
AT ATHENS
THE NEW LUCIAN .....
OXFOED REVISITED .....
A DUET .
THE ALTAR OF PITY
THE CHOLEPvA IN ITALY ....
THE WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN BELLE
A HOME SONG
FOND FANCIES
ON A DEAD LADY
LYDIA .
THE LOST PLEIAD
AMADIS OF GAUL TO DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCIIA
THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS
CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN
PAGE
1 68 169 170 189 212 247
-53 257 264
267 270
271 27 , 274
275 277 27S 28s 299
305 306
viii CONTENTS.
PAGE
ON A CYCLAMEN 333
THE TWELVE MONTHS 334
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 349
ATALANTA 353
LIFE 355
HADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL 356
THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA 357
THE HEAVENLY SECRET 360
AN ADIEU 361
JEANNE 362
A FAREWELL 364
A LOVE-SONG OF HENRI QUATRE ..... 366
IN MEMORY OF S. S 368
EPITAPH WRITTEN FOR THE SAME 370
OBSCURE MARTYRS 37 1
WILFRED H. ARNOLD 373
THE RHINE AND THE MOSELLE . . . . -374
Ube ffour Crowns,
Written upou the death of the Prince Consort.]
Throned before the people
Queen of land and sea, While from tower and steeple
Crashed the clangorous glee ; First of four — enamelled
All with kingdoms round — The crown of this our England
Upon thy brow was bound.
Next, in happiest hours, Came the crown of life ;
Love's fair wreath of flowers Diademed thee Wife :
Hailed, Princess and Woman, Honoured, Queen and Spouse,
THE FOUR CROWNS.
Half the golden burden Lightened on thy brows.
Yet a crown came after,
Waiting thee to wear ; Little children's laughter
Eippled in thine ear. At thy knee, most Noble !
Learning how to reign, Princes and princesses
Grew — a gracious train.
Then, that coronation,
Grander than of Queen, Making highest station
Higher than had been. Did betide thee ! binding
On thy drooping brow Sorrow's thorny circlet,
Death hath crowned thee now.
0 our Queen ! our Mother ! Thou, of all, know'st all ;
THE FOUR CROWNS.
Joy or sorrow — other
Cannot hence befall. Sad, imperial Forehead !
Sceptred, weary Hand Widowed Heart ! the Greatest
And Loneliest in the Land !
1862.
Zo 1F3,1RJx tbe Ipnncess of Males
ON HER FIRST ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.
FiETiCE, brown-bearded, enclad in the spoils of wolf
and of wild-cat, Keener in ravin than wolves, than wild-cats wilder
in onset. Came, in the days gone by, the Danes to the shore
of the Angles, Came on an errand of blood — to beleaguer, to burn,
and to ravage. Ploughing up furrows of foam on the grass-green
meads of the North Sea Steered the old Vikings their course, one hand on
the helm of their galley. One on the helves of their axes : and when from Flam- borough's foreland. Shading his eyes from the glimmer of sunrise, the
watcher beheld them
TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 5
Holding right on for the coast, with the signs and
the standards of battle, Loud through the wolds rang the cry, " The Dane !
the Dane cometh hither ! " Flickered with warning flames the crests of the hills.
and the cressets, Mothers and maidens fled inland — fast gathered the
bowmen and billmen. Grim the welcome awaiting those strangers ! — such
greeting as arrows Carry on wings of wrath, such kisses as edge of
sword renders ; — All their room in the land as much as the length of
their lances, Nay, or beneath its turf, the length of the Chieftains
who bore them.
Fair, golden-haired, and glad with the joy of her
youth and her beauty, Daughter herself of a Prince, of a Prince the loved
and the chosen. Comes in these happier days the Dane to the shores
of the Angles,
6 TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES.
Comes on an errand of love, to the music of soft
liymenseals. Over the silver-green seas, which kiss the keel of
her vessel, Bending their foreheads on this side and that to the
JNIaiden of Xorseland (Rightfully Lady of Waves by her Father's right
and her Husband's), Speeds the sweet Princess to land ; and all the voices
of gladness Tell that she is arrived whose hand the Prince of the
English Takes in the sight of God and man for the hand of
his consort — Consort in splendours and cares, in the gloom and the
glitter of ruling. Warm the welcome awaiting this lovely and winning
invader ! Such as men give with the lips when the heart has
gone forward before them ; Such as a nation of freemen, not apt to flatter for
fashion, Make, when the innocent past is a pledge of the
happy to-morrows.
TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 7
Princess ! weak is one voice in the throng and
clamour of voices, Poor one flower in the rain of the roses that shower
at thy footsteps, Faint one prayer in the anthem of litanies uttered
to bless thee ; Yet to thy young fair face I make an Englishman's
greeting, On thy path to the altar I lay this wreath from a
singer, I — of the men whose fathers encountered thy fathers
with battle, I — of the men whose mothers turned pale at the
galleys of Denmark, Heralds of happiness now, sea-birds that bring from
the Norland Unto our Prince his Bride — and to England omens
of gladness.
Ubc ffirst Bistribution ot tbe IDictoria
Cross*
To-day the people gather from the streets.
To-day the soldiers muster near and far ; Peace, with a glad look and a grateful, meets
Her rugged brother War.
To-day the Queen of all the English land,
She who sits high o'er Kaisers and o'er Kings,
Gives with her royal hand — th' Imperial hand Whose grasp the earth en-rings —
Her Cross of Valour to her worthiest ; — No golden toy with milky pearls besprent,
But simple bronze, and for a warrior's breast A fair, fit ornament.
And richer than red gold that dull bronze seems. Since it was bouo^ht with lavish waste of worth
FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS. 9
Whereto the wealth of Earth's gold-sanded streams Were but a lack, and dearth.
Muscovite metal makes this English Cross, Won in a rain of blood and wreath of flame ;
The guns that thundered for their brave lives' loss Are worn hence, for their fame !
Aye, listen ! all ye maidens laughing- eyed, And all ye English mothers, be aware !
Those who shall pass before ye at noontide Your friends and champions are.
The men of all the armv and the fleet, The very bravest of the very brave,.
Linesman and Lord — these fought with equal feet Firm-planted on their grave.
The men who, setting- lig-ht their blood and breath So they might win a victor's haught renown,
Held their steel straight agfainst the face of Death, And frowned his frowning down.
10 FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS.
And some tliat grasped the bomb, all fury- fraught, And hurled it far, to spend its spite away, —
Between the rescue and the risk, no thought, — Shall pass our Queen this day ;
And some who climbed the deadly glacis-side, For all that steel could stay, or savage shell ;
And some, whose blood upon the Colours dried Tells if they bore them well ;
Some, too, who, gentle-hearted even in strife, Seeing their fellow or their friend go down,
Saved his, at peril of their own dear life, Winning the Civic Crown.
Well done for them ; and, fair Isle, well for thee !
While that thy bosom beareth sons like those " The little gem set in the silver sea "
Shall never fear her foes !
1856.
5n /IDetnoriain,
[On the death of Lord Raglan.]
Ah! not because our Soldier died before his field
was won ; All ! not because life would not last till life's long
task were done, Wreathe one less leaf, grieve with less grief; — of all
our hosts who led Not least in work and worth approved, — Lord Eaglan
lieth dead.
His nobleness he had of none. War's Master taught
him war, And prouder praise that Master gave than meaner
lips can mar ; Gone to his grave, his duty done ; if farther any seek, He left his life to answer them, — a soldier's, — let it
speak !
12 IN MEMORIAM.
'Twas his to wield a blunted sword, — to fight a fated
field, While idle tongues talked victory, to struggle not to
yield ; Light task for placeman's ready pen to plan a day
for tight, Hard work and hot with steel and shot to win that
day aright.
Tears have been shed for the brave dead ; mourn
him who mourned for all ! Praise hath been given for strife well striven, praise
him who strove o'er all, Nor count that conquest little, though no banner
flaunt it far, That under him our Ensflish hearts with Frost and
Placrue wao^ed war.
And if he held those English hearts too good to pave
the path To idle victories, shall we grudge what noble palm
he hath ?
i
IN MEMORIAM.
13
Like ancient Chief he fought a-front, and 'mid his
soldiers seen, His work was aye as stern as theirs ; oh ! make his
grave as green.
They know him well, — the Dead who died that
Russian wrong should cease ; Where Fortune doth not measure men, — their souls
and his have peace ; Aye ! as well spent in sad sick tent as they in bloody
strife, For English Homes our English Chief gave what he
had, — his life.
1853-
^Florence IRlgbttuGale*
If on this verse of mine
Those eyes shall ever shine, Whereto sore-wounded men have looked for life,
Think not that for a rhyme^
Nor yet to fit the time, I name thy name, — true Victress in this strife !
But let it serve to say
That, when we kneel to pray, Prayers rise for thee thine ear shall never know ;
And that thy gallant deed,
For God, and for our need. Is in all hearts, as deep as love can go.
*Tis good that thy name springs From two of Earth's fair things — A stately city and a soft-voiced bird ;
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 15
'Tis well that in all homes, "When thy sweet story comes,
And brave eyes fill — that pleasant sounds be heard. Oh voice ! in night of fear, As night's bird, soft to hear,
Oh great heart ! raised like city on a hill ; Oh watcher ! worn and pale, Good Florence Nightingale,
Thanks, loving thanks, for thy large work and will ! England is glad of thee — Christ, for thy charity,
Take thee to joy when hand and heart are still !
1854-
CouGtatulatory B^bress,
[Recited in the Sheldonian Theatre at Oxford, on the Installation of the Earl of Derby as Chancellor of the University.]
Thrice welcome to the seat thy worth hath won ! Proud in her grief sad Isis hails her son ; Welcome ! but question not the tear that starts From the sealed sorrow of a thousand hearts. Welcome ! but ask not why in Sheldon's hall The voice must falter, and the greeting fall ; Greeting as warm, and joy as deep and proud, As though that greeting and that joy were loud, And faith as firm, and love as true we bear, Though Past and Present mingle smile and tear. We weave two wreaths, we twine two garlands now ; One of bright olive for thine honoured brow, And one of cypress for the mighty dust. Who is our memory, as Thou our trust :
CONGRATULATORY ADDRESS. 17
And therefore mourn we, therefore we rejoice, Shaping glad welcomes with a chastened voice, Because to-day great Arthur's seat we see Vacant of him, — held worthily of thee.
Sad and remindful task it were to say What hope and gladness graced the festal day, When, diademed with victory's brightest bays, As knight that entereth after herald's praise, Hither he came ; whose fame had come before From Spain's sierras, and the Belgic shore ; When Learning's self, forgetting doubt and dread. Unclasped the helmet from her warrior's head, Ungirt the good steel sword his thigh displayed, And wiped the bloody honour from its blade : Nor held unfitting, nor unworthy thought That gentle work her timid fingers wrought, For holiest is the war that winneth peace, And best the strife that biddeth striving cease. And now, (alas, but for our hopes in thee Too dark and mindful were such memory !) The sword that stayed not till the fight was
won. The heart that failed not till the right was done ;
B
l8 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESS.
Firm heart and faithful sword, their work is o'er, And the great Captain resteth evermore.
But Peace hath victories of deed and word, Won with a subtler weapon than the sword : And civic wreaths a greener gleam display Than the stained garlands of the finished fray : Peace hath her battle-fields, where they who fight Win more than honour, vanquish more than might, And strive a strife against a fiercer foe Than one who comes with battle-axe and bow. And this was thine ! War's tempest fled away. Leaving thy destinies a fairer day ; The eagles slept, the lion-flags were furled, No battle-thunder shook the weary world, No steel-clad legions, merciless of mood, Stained the sweet meadows with their mowers'
blood ; But Peace, yet bleeding from the lance of War, And Trust, and Truth, and Plenty, frighted far, Learning, uplooking from her lettered scroll, And Science, starting at the drum's deep roll. And angry Justice, with white spreading wings, Leaving for ever earth and earthly things ;
CONGRATULATORY ADDRESS. 19
These to win back, to comfort, and to calm, Till War's wild pcean sank to peaceful psalm, And Eoglisb homes, untenanted no more, Held hopes, and loves, and laughter, as before ; Senates to sway, and councillors to lead, With earnest eloquence and ready deed, And, sailing o'er a deep and dangerous flood, To watch one guiding- star, thy country's good. To hold to honour, for dear honour's sake, Till Faction envied what it might not shake ; The right to succour, and the wrong subdue; — This was thy triumph, these thy Waterloo ! Well through that bloodless fight thy virtue bore The Stanley's banner, stainless as of yore, The silver shield that wears no trait'rous blot, The legend of the faith that changes not.*
Then once again, glad greeting ! once again Joy dries the tear, and Pleasures banish Pain ; The stream-girt city of the tower and dome Bids thee high welcome to thine early home, — Thou hear'st from tongue to tongue the tributes borne, Where thy first laurel-w^reath was won and worn ;
* The motto of the Stanley family is " ^::'ans chanr/er."
20 CONGRATULATORY ADDRESS.
Here, in an old and well-reiriembered scene, — Here, where thy verse hath rung, thy voice hath
been, Oxford, who sent thee forth, receives in pride, Once her young son, now her grown guard and
guide. Bold in thy love, and steadfast in thy strength, Hope hath won Memory to smile at length : — Onlv, in other davs, if need there be To tell our grief for him, our love for thee, Be this the sign : — that when we sorrowed most, Mourning at once our Bulwark and our Boast, To solace best a deep and anxious grief. And best to honour England's buried chief, "We chose no meaner name, no lower line To grace his seat, and guard her fame, than thine.
1S54.
Zbc Qv^cv ot IDalour*
Thus saitli the Queen ! " For liim who gave
His blood as water in the fight, So he from Russian wrong might save
My crown, my people, and my right ; Let there be made a cross of bronze
And grave thereon my queenly crest ; Write VALOUR on its haughty scroll,
And hang it on his breast."
Thus saith the Land ! " He who shall beai
Victoria's cross upon his breast, In token that he did not fear
To die, had need been, for her rest ; For the dear sake of her who gives,
And the high deeds of him who wears, Shall, high or low, all honour have
From all, through all his years."
February 18^6.
®n tbe H)eatb of tbe princess Hlice,
[It will be remembered that Her Royal Highness died of diphtheria, contracted from the caresses of her little son, whom she was nursing.]
Tender and true ! whose virtue was tliy crown ! Whose royalty was royally to live ! Death, sent to fetch thee, laid his arrow down, And prayed that Love the bitter call would give ; But Love, who could not stop such gentle breath, Whispered thy child to give the Kiss of Death !
1f3a\>elock In Urafalaar Square^
The foot set firm ! the hand upon the liilt !
The warrior-gaze, as innocent of fear As any maid's of shame ! which, past the guilt,
And blood and battle, sees the triumph clear ;
Stand so in bronze ! large to thy levelled eye, In the supreme imperial peril dawning,
" Hoc sujno vinces " shines upon the sky ;
And, calm as one who knows his Master's warning,
Stand thou in bronze ! stand, what thou wert, a Rock, Whereon Rebellion's yeasty billows breaking Drove wave on wave — dashed high — and from the shock Fell back in shattered foam ; thyself unshaking :
24 HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.
So stand ! — the busy feet of men go by thee, Each one to-day the safer for that sword ;
Meeanee's just and valiant chief is nigh thee, Palmerston, Beaconsfield, the great Sea-lord, —
Well met in some far-off serenest session, The unimpassioned rest of great men gone ;
And here together set — love's poor profession! — In storied eflSgy and sculptured stone.
Ah ! speaking stone and bronze, cunningly graven To show these Champions of the English name,
Are men's hearts such, that knave and fool and craven Can pass ye daily, and be still the same ?
But, true and faithful servant ! somewhere plaining That labour multiplies and wage is none,
Read Havelock's history, and thereby gaining The comfort of his courage, copy one
Who all life's chilly spring and summer dreary Wrought in pure patience what he found to do,
Possessing his own soul — not once a- weary — Content, because God was contented too.
I
HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 25
Wherefrom he hived that honey which is sweetest, The fruit of all the flowers of all a life,
A wisdom so perfected, so completest,
Great soldiers gave him place to stem the strife :
Which never given, Havelock's highest glory
Had lacked our knowledge, not his Master's praise.
One splendid page been lost from England's story, But not one leaf from his immortal bays.
Go to ! and work — God's servant — serving men ;
Bethinking how the ranks closed up, and cried, " Way for the General /" and his answer then, —
" You have made loay^ my lads ! " — fair time for pride!
H^elaibe Unnc Procter*
"ILICET."
In Eoman householdsj when their clear ones died, Thrice by his name the living called the dead ;
And, silence only answering as they cried, I licet — " go thou then ! " — the mourners said.
Ilicet ! let her part ! the Poet's child, Herself a mistress of the lyric song :
Ilicet I — to a world so sad and wild
To wish her back were far less love than wrong.
Ilicet ! hard the word for those to say
Who know what gentleness is gone from earth ;
Harder for those whose dwelling, day by day. Shone with her presence — echoed to her mirth :
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. 27
Yet, if He wills it — whom she soars to meet, The Lord of this world's vineyard — shall I'se ask.
Who toil on, in the burden and the heat, A later wage for her — a longer task?
llicet ! let her go ! though it were brave, — In the hot vintage, where the strongest fail,
Weeding God's grapes from thistles — still to have Her silver hymns o'er weariness prevail !
To hear her gentle, certain spirit of ruth
Share its great sureties with less happy brothers.
And — from eyes bright with Heav'n's light — teach the truth Of '' litth children 'pleading for their mothers^
llicet ! Otherwhere they need those strains, Sounding so true for men — albeit low ;
A throne was vacant (though its steps were pains), For a soul, ti'ied, pure, perfect — let her go !
Sigh not " so young ! " — " such promise ! '' — " ah ! a flower That longer life had sunned to fruit of gold."
28 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
Be still and see ! — God's year, and day, and hour, By lapse of mortal minutes is not told.
Who go are called — ilicci ! let her go !
Though a sweet harp is silent in the land, A soft voice hushed — and, never more below,
Poet and poet's child join song and hand.
Ilicet ! ilicet ! nos ihimus ! —
To that divinest region of the skies, Whence with clear sight she sees, knows, pities us,
We shall attain ! — Vex not the dead with si^hs.
Zo Bmerica.
[Dedication of a Volume of Poems.]
Thou new Great Britain ! famous, free, and bright !
West of thy West sleepeth my ancient East ; Our sunsets make thy noons ; Daytime and Night
Meet in sweet morning-promise on thy breast.
Fulfil the promise, Lady of wide lands !
Where, as thine own, an English singer ranks : I, who found favour at thy sovereign hands,
Kiss them ; and at thy feet lay these, for thanks.
Hrmaoet)Don»
A WAR SONG OF THE FUTUEE.
Marching down to Armasreddon —
o
Brothers, stout and strong ! Let us cheer the way we tread on
With a soldier's song ! Faint we by the weary road,
Or fall we in the rout, Dirge or Paean, Death or Triumph ! —
Let the sonof ringr out !
We are thej^ who scorn the scoriiers —
Love the lovers — hate None within the world's four corners —
All must share one fate ; We are they whose common banner
Bears no badge or sign,
ARMAGEDDON. 3I
Save the Light which dyes it white — The Hope that makes it shine.
We are they whose bugle rings,
That all the wars may cease ; We are they will pay the Kings
Their cruel price for Peace ; We are they whose steadfast watchword
Is what Christ did teach, — " Each man for his Brother first —
And Heaven, then, for each."
We are they who will not falter —
Many swords or few — Till we make this Earth the altar
Of a worship new ; We are they who will not take
From palace, priest, or code, A meaner Law than " Brotherhood " —
A lower Lord than GoD.
Marchinof down to Armaofeddon — Brothers, stout and strong !
32
ARMAGEDDON.
Ask not why the way we tread on
Is so rough and long ! God will tell us when our spirits
Grow to grasp His plan ! Let us do our part to-day —
And help Him, helping Man !
Shall we even curse the madness,
Which for " ends of State " Dooms us to the long, long sadness
Of this human hate ? Let us slay in perfect pity
Those that must not live ; Vanquish, and forgive our foes —
Or fall — and still forgive !
We are those whose unpaid legions,
In free ranks arrayed, Massacred in many regions —
Never once were stayed : We are they whose torn battalions,
Trained to bleed, not fly. Make our agonies a triumph, — • Conquer, while w^e die !
ARMAGEDDON. 33
Til ere fore, down to Armageddon —
Brothers, bold and strong- — Cheer the glorious way we tread on
With this soldier's sonsr ! Let the armies of the old Flao-s
March in silent dread ! Death and Life are one to us,
Who fight for Quick and Dead !
Uo /iDattbew Hrnol^.
["from EDWIN ARNOLD."]
Suffer that — as thou takest boat to cross
Grim Charon's tide, on voyage, heavy loss
To England — but to thee gain manifold —
I plnck thee by the shroud, and press thy cold
Forgetful hand ; to lay this obolus
Into its honoured palm ! Ah ! think on us
In thy new walks upon the Asphodel ;
Nor quite forsake the sad sphere where we dwell,
Fighting thy battle, lending our small stress
To " stream which maketh unto Eighteousness ! "
Now, that thou better knowest friends and foes,
Good Friend ! dear Rival ! bear no grudge to those
Who had not time, in Life's hard fight, to show
How well they liked thee for thy " slashing blow; "
TO MATTHEW ARNOLD. 35
How "sweet" thy "reasonableness" seemed; liow
right Thy lofty pleading for the long-dimmed " light ! "
ThoUj that didst bear my Name, and deck it so That — coming thus behind — hardly I know If I shall hold it worthily, and be Meet to be mentioned in one Age with thee — Take, Brother ! to the Land where no strifes are, This praise thou wilt not need ! Before the Star Is kindled for thee let my funeral torch Light thee, great Namesake ! to th' Elysian Porch ! Dead Poet ! let a poet of thy House Lay, unreproved, these bay-leaves on thy brows ! We, that seemed only friends, were lovers : Now Death knows it ! and Love knows ! and I ! and Thou!
April 15, 1888.
Som of tbe (Berman SolMers in Hlsace^
In Alsace, over the Rhine, There lives a Brother of mine ;
It grieves my soul to say
He hath forgot the day We were one land and line.
Dear Brother, torn apart,
Is't true that changed thou art ?
The French have clapped on thee Red breeches, as we see ; Have they Frenchified thy heart ?
Hark ! that's our Prussian drum. And it tells the time has come.
We have made one " Germany," One " Deutchland," firm and free ; And our civil strifes are dumb.
SONG OF THE GERMAN SOLDIERS IN ALSACE. 37
Thee also, fighting sore,
Ankle-deep in German gore,
We've won. Ah ! Brother dear. Thou art German — dost thou hear?
They shall never part us more.
Who made this song of mine ?
Two comrades by the Ehine ; — A Suabian man began it. And a Pomeranian sangf it.
In Alsace, over the Rhine.
1871.
JSerlin,— XTbe Sijteentb of /ll>arcb»
[On the Burial of the Emperor William. ]
Thunder of Funeral Guns !
Deep, sad Bells ! with your boom : Sorrowful voices of Soldiers and Folk '
Whom lay ye here in the Tomb ?
" Whom ? " the Cannons reply —
Baying like Dogs of War Whose Master is gone on a path unknown-
" Our Glory, and Lord, and Star ! "
" William, Kaiser and King, For him our iron throats yell ;
Victor we hailed him on many a field, We make to his soul farewell ! "
BERLIN.— THE SIXTEENTH OF MARCH. 39
*' Whom ? " say the slow-swinging bells —
" William, pious and dear ! Ofttimes he knelt to the King of Kings
Where now he lies on his bier 1 '*
" He took from his God alone
The Crown of the Fatherland ; And now he hath given it back undimmed
To Death's all-masterful hand ! "
*'Whom?" shout the serried ranks —
Guardsmen and Jagers and all — " The lordliest Lord and the kingliest King
That ever raised battle-call ! "
" At his word we thronged to the Field,
Sure of success to betide ; Sure that the Kaiser would fight for peace,
Sure of Heaven on our side ! "
*' Whom ? " sigh women and men,
And fair-haired Germany boys, And girls, with eyes of his cornflower's hue,
" For our Father we raise our voice ! "
40 BERLIN.— THE SIXTEENTH OF MARCH.
" William the Emperor dead !
Lo ! lie made us one Land ! Thanks to him and his chosen chiefs,
Strong and secure we stand ! "
" Steadfast from birth to death, Whatso was Right he wrought !
Duty he loved, and his people, and home ! Now to dust he is brought ! "
Thunder of Funeral Guns !
We hear you with English ears ; In English breasts it echoes — sad bells !
This tiding your tolling bears !
Warriors, stalwart and fierce !
We see you are tender and true ; We are come of a kindred blood, we share
This sorrow, to-day, with you !
Folk of the Fatherland !
Our hearts for your grief are fain ! God guard your Kaiser Frederick,
And give ye good days again !
•ffDero an^ nLeaut>er»
Ring, Muse ! the signal lamp, gleaming above,
That lit the nightly swimmer to his Love ;
The unseen pathway of the silent tide
That bore the bridegroom to his watchful bride ;
The salt-soaked marriage robes, the moist embrace
Abydos' town, and Sestos, Hero's place ;
Longing Leander, on the black waves' crest,
Eyeing the light that led to Hero's breast ;
Kind light — Love's aster ! — which the mighty Jove
Might well have taken to the orbs above,
And set it shining in the spangled sky
To be Love's star of all Heaven's company ;
Seeing it was the planet of their bliss,
The glittering summons to the sleepless kiss,
Till the hard tempest ended him and this.
Help, then, high Muse ! and teach me how to sing
Leander's death, and lamp's extinguishing.
44 HERO AND LEANDER.
Sestos and white Abydos — cities twain — Fronted each other over Helle's main ; And there God Eros, setting notch to string, Wounded two bosoms with one shaft- shooting, A maiden's and a youth's — Leander he, And lovely Hero, Sestos' sweetest, she ; She of her town, and he of his, the boast ; A noble pair ! If ever to that coast Thou wendest, ask for Hero s tower, and come Where she Love's lighthouse nightly did illume Inquire for white Abydos, too, and muse Where young Leander life and love did lose ; But now to tell how he fair Hero loved. And how the maid to dote on him was moved.
Honey-sweet Hero, of a princely race. Was priestess to Queen Venus in that place ; And at her father's tower, by the sea set — Herself a Queen of Love, though maiden yet — Dwelt ; yet, for modesty and gracious shame. She never to the city markets came ; Nor mingled at the vintage in the dance. Lest envious eyes upon her path should glance ;-
HERO AND LEANDER. 45
For evil ones will flout at fairer faces, —
But ever, in the holy temple- spaces,
She worshipped foam-born Venus, Queen above,
And Eros eke, the tiny Lord of Love,
Beseeching that she might unscathed go ;
Yet none the more 'scaped she delicious woe.
It was the time of the great offering Made with high pomp at Sestos in the spring To Venus and Adonis, and each year A merry crowd did come from I'ar and near To keep this feast : all they that have their home Upon the rounded islets ringed with foam In Marmora and westward ; — Hoemony, And Cyprus, sent them, and the Cretan sea; Cythera, Phrygia, Libanus ; — with these The nigher towns and cities swarmed like bees To see the show ; but most of all the youth : — Ever they throng where feasts are ! — to tell truth, 'Tis not, methinks, the shrine which draws them so, — To see the maidens those light pilgrims go !
And Hero, eke, went up unto the shrine, Her face of alabaster all a-shine
46 HERO AND LEANDER.
Like the pure moon ^Yhen first it swims the sky ; Nathless her cheek was touched with tender dye Such as new rose-buds have — not white nor red, But sunlit-snow : in sooth you would have said She was ail made of rose-leaves, she did show So fair and fine under her thin gown's flow, Such rose-leaf arms ! such roseate shoulders ! —
see! Of old, they said, the Graces were but three; Yet each sweet charm of Hero, as it seemed, With love-spells of a hundred Graces gleamed. Well was she worthv to be Venus' maid !
And even as she walked — stately and staid, Liker a goddess than a priestess, fair Beyond the fairest — Hero, unaware. Took all eyes after her : no youth that day But his heart beat as Hero passed that way, Wishing such heavenly beauty his might be. Thus, up the steps to the great Temple, she Drew still the looks, the thoughts, the sighs of
men; And one among the strangers whispered then : —
HERO AND LEANDER. 47
" Gods ! — Helen's town I've seen, and Sparta's
dames, Whose charms make wars and give the world to
flames ; But never saw I one that could compare With form so goddess-like and face so rare ; — Queen Venus sure hath made the youngest Grace Her minister this morn ! oh, happy place Which owns her ! I could gaze until I die ! Would Zeus but grant me Hero, not his sky Could tempt me to a wish ! I would not be A God, so Hero were but wife to me ! Since she is sacred and past mortal prayer, Heaven send me soon a woman half so fair."
Thus he, and others passioned otherwise, Heart-stricken by the light of Hero's eyes.
But thou, Leander ! when those bright eyes shone One instant on thee, of the youths alone, — Beyond wild words, beyond fond wishes — felt The heart within thee by love's magic melt. Others to win her Avafted many a sigh. He alone knew that he must have or die.
48 HERO AND LEANDEK.
In one brief glance love's lightning-flasli did smite
All senses senseless with strange deep delight
Left thrilling, when her silken lashes sank,
And veiled the perilous glory his eyes drank.
What lightning strikes, in sooth, like a fair face ?
What arrow pierces like a woman's grace ?
'Tis the eyes slay, thence fly the subtle darts
Which deal swift wounds and hurt unguarded hearts.
So with Leander ; in his bosom strove
Passion with shame, and fear with forward love :
He trembled, and then blushed to tremble so ;
And vexed at blushing, straight did venturous grow ;
Eros at his heart's ear whispering amain
To lay shame by and speak : so was he fain
To steal a little closer, till he stood
Foot to foot with her : then in daring mood
Sidelong he glanced and murmured half a word, f
And checked it to a sigh, itself half heard :
Glance, word, and sigh so tender-timid were,
Their silent speaking could not anger her ;
Nay, but it pleased ! that gentle stratagem
To tell the love which burned so plain in him ;
And seeming to see naught, she saw, and bent
Her sweet head from him — not in discontent ;
HERO AND LEANDER. 49
And seeming not to hear, she heard, and sighed
A little silver sigh of pleasured pride ;
By signs unwitting giving him to know
It was not anger set her cheeks a-g-low :
Then turned, ashamed of nothing ; — but the boy
Knew that she knew, and all his heart was joy.
So, while he lingered, one slight word to win, Day — nigh to setting — drew his glories in ; And shadow-loving Hesperus shone high, A speck of splendour on the violet sky : Whereat, — the merry crowd thickening for home — With desperate courage closer hath he come ; So close, he touched her rosy opened hand, Heaving a deep breath, plain to understand ; And she, as one an angered, drew it in. But so that he might see 'twas no great sin ; Then, bolder, by her stole he took the maid, And drew imploring towards the Temple's shade ; Whereat, with pretty frown and faltering feet, She followed, while she said, in chiding sweet,
^' Sir, are you mad ? how dare you hold me so ? Leave plucking at my gown, and let me go !
D
50 HERO AND LEANDER.
If those who loved me saw, 'twould cost you dear ; Besides, I am a holy priestess here, Vowed to Qaeen Venus ! are you not afraid To stay me so, and I, an honest maid ? "
Thus, as the manner of all maidens is, Her soft lips rated, though her heart was his ; And he by love's quick instinct knew it so, And let her dear delicious accents flow In anger musical, for when maids scold, With looks that pardon, lovers may be bold: But when she ceased and stood, he bent his head Close to her pearly fragrant nape, and said, With lips which trembled like his trembling heart,
" Oh, Maid !— oh, Marvel !— if of earth thou art And not a goddess, not divine — to me Pallas or Cytheraea thou might' st be ! Art thou not sprung indeed of heavenly birth ? Scarce dare I deem thee denizen of earth ! But if of earth, ah, me ! how godlike then He who begot thee, of all mortal men ! How happy beyond happy mothers she Who bore and nursed thee, sweet one, on her knee ;
HERO AND LEANDER. 51
And if of eartli — oh ! be of earth, and hear
My pleading lips, my earnest humble prayer !
Since thou art Venus' priestess, then take heed
Thou vex her not by cruel word and deed ;
Be what thou seem'st by reverencing this shrine,
The glory of thy Goddess should be thine ;
She liketh not a votary cold and coy —
Love is her worship, and her service joy :
If thou would'st keep her tender, high decree,
My earnest passion should not anger thee,
Being so born for worship: therefore thou,
If thou lov'st Venus, listen to me now.
Dear servant of this temple — I am thine !
As thou dost pray, I pray ; ah ! then, incline —
As thou dost ask thv sfoddess — pitving- ears
Unto this suppliant sad with hopes and fears,
Wounded by love, and captive at thy feet,
As when, with wand of gold, Hermes the fleet
Brought Hercules — the strongest that could be —
Meek to the footstool of Queen Omphale.
Me Aphrodite, and not Hermes, sent ;
Think how thy goddess made that one repent
Arcadian Atalanta, she who vowed
To die a maid, rejecting — cold and proud —
52 HERO AND LEANDER.
Hippomenes ; and yet it did befall She grew to love liim — lieart, soul, mind, and all ; Yea ! even to frenzy — whom she did not love : Oh, Sweet ! be wise, nor Yenus' anger move."
So, with soft flood of loving argument, From coy reserve to yielding thoughts he bent The maiden's mind ; but she, as maidens will, Albeit convinced at heart, stood speechless still ; Her lustrous eyes upon the ground fast set, And hot face turned to hide the blush on it. Kow w^ith one sandal-tip the grass she beat. Now drew it back, close-wrapped from head to feet, Nought answering ; yet all these were signs to
bless, And silence — well he knew — is woman's yes ; She, too, was hurt with Eros' fatal dart ; His soft Hame flickered in her virgin heart ; Spite of herself it fluttered with delight To mark how fair he was — how bold — how bright; And, while her eyes stole from the ground to his And back again, he stood 'tween woe and bliss, Devouring still, with gaze she did not check. The flower-bright flushing of her face and neck ;
HERO AND LEANDER.
53
Till at the last she fouDcl some breath to speak, While, pearl by pearl, tears glimmered down her cheek.
"Friend! were I marble, I must answer thee. Who taught thee such deep eloquence ? Ah,
me ! Who brought thee hither, and procured us pain ? For all these sweet things said are said in vain. How should a stranger — never seen or known — Win me in marriage — if I would be won ? Thou could'st not ask me openly for wile, My parents would not give me ; and 'twere rife With untold dangers if you lingered here To meet me secretly ; for all is ear, All eye in Sestos ! Things in silence done Are said next morning at the market-stone. But tell me — and tell true — what town is thine, And whence thy birth and name ? Thou knowest
mine. Hero of Sestos ; yonder is my home, In that tall tower whose foot stands in the foam ; And there I dwell alone — but for one slave — Outside the walls, over the breaking wave ;
54 HERO AND LEANDER.
Having no neighbour but the rolling sea ! No song but his rude music ! none to be Friend or companion ! all the seasons there The thunder of the mournful main I hear."
So much she said — then stayed herself, and drew The gown before her cheek to hide its hue, And chid herself for speaking, sore ashamed : But he — rejoiced because her words proclaimed Hope of the prize — went meditating hard How he should run to win the dear reward. For Love hath many wiles to heal the heart Of those that bleed with his unshunned dart ; And, of himself, will counsel oft afford To those of whom th' Almighty Boy is Lord : So to Leander's heart he whispered low A way to bliss, albeit the end was woe.
" Sweet ! for thy love," he cried, " the sea I'd
cleave, Though foam were fire, and waves with flame did
heave ; J
I fear not billows if they bear to thee ; Nor tremble at the hissino- of the sea !
A
HERO AND LEANDER. 55
And I will come — oh ! let me come — each night, Swimming the swift flood to my dear delight : For white Abydos, where I live, doth front Thy city here, across our Hellespont. Do but this thing, set thine own lamp on high, To shine at evening through the dark'ling sky, And I will be Love's ship — my pilot-star That beam, whereto, oaring my way afar, I shall not see Bootes, nor his wain. And bright Orion will be bright in vain. Only take heed, Dear, of the winds, and shield The light, that when I toil, by waves concealed, It be not quenched by any envious blast. Lest I go down — a ship and venture lost : Sweetheart ! do this : my name if thou dost sue, I am Leander, Hero's lover true."
Nothing she answered, save by one soft kiss, "Which sealed the contract of their sudden bliss ; Then lip to lip they plighted faith for life, He to be husband leal, she loving wife. Albeit unwed ; and also did ao-ree That she should light the lamp, he swim the sea.
56 HERO AND LEANDER.
All which deep bargain being got by heart,
With lingering words and looks they tore apart, —
She to her tower; he through the gathering gloom,
Noting the landmarks, joyfully is come
Down to the beach, and ships with th' others there
For white Abydos, with its ramparts fair ;
Then waits till nio-ht o-ives him his new-w^on
bride, And Hero watches on the other side.
Soon o'er the sky Eve's purple curtains creep, To all but young Leander bringing sleep : He, when the darkness deepened, eager stood Beside the white marge of the rolling flood. His eyes quick-searching through the hollow night, To see the first flash of his lady's light ; Far-shining light, that gleams to make him blest ! Dear light, that guides to Hero's beating breast ! She, when the darkness covered land and sea, Kindled her lamp, and set it. Instantly Love with that spark lighted Leander's soul ; Eager he hailed the beam ; yet loud did roll The thundering breakers on the shingly shore ; — The first wave something chilled ; — but love is more
HERO AND LEANDER. 57
Than fear ; he laid his outer garb aside, And spake unto himself by the cold tide :
" Awful is love, and dreadful is the sea, But fire is more than water unto me ; And this that burns is stronger than much brine : Think most of Eros, foolish heart of mine ! Care not for tumbling billows ; let us go Straight over them to Hero ; why shrink so ? Hast thou forgotten that Queen Venus came Forth from the floods, and ever rules the same ? "
Then with both hands from off his fair, smooth skin He stripped his cloth, and tied his long locks in ; And ran upon the reef, and sprang, and clove The keen salt waves. So, swimming to his love, He steered with face set hard where that ray shone, Ship — pilot — rower — merchant, all in one.
Hero, the while, upon her turret-stair. Guarded the beacon-lamp from every air ; Spreading her gown that side and this, to keep The breezes off; but when, up from the deep,
58 HERO AND LEANDER.
Leander, breathless, came safe to the strand, Down flew she to the sea-gate — caught his hand — In gladness past all words, her white arms flung Round him, and on his heaving bosom hnng ; And led him from the cold and foamy beach Up to her tower ; and when her room they reach, She wiped his ivory body clean of brine. And took the salt smell off with unguents fine, Stained with rose-essences and scented rare. And then she clothed him in her long dark hair, Yet panting from his voyage ; while in his ear She poured these dulcet accents : —
" Husband dear ! Sore thou hast toiled, as never none save thee, Battling the horrid deep, to come to me ; Forget upon my lips the wave's harsh taste. The fierce sea-monsters and the roaring waste ; The port is reached ! Anchor, dear ship ! and have The goods you sailed for in your Hero's love."
"With that soft leave he loosed her virgin zone, And took her — pure and perfect — for his own.
HERO AND LEANDER. 59
No marriage-rite, no festal-dance was there,
None raised the hymn to Here for the pair ;
No nuptial-torches blazed around the bed,
The merry long procession was not led ;
No sire the hymen£eal blessing spoke,
No tender mother " Hymen " did invoke ;
But Silence spread their wedding-couch ; and she
Drew the close curtains of their ecstasy ;
The Night wore all her starry gems of pride.
To be bridesmaiden to that peerless bride ;
Hesper kept watch, and lingered over long,
Lest Dawn should find him there, and do them
wrong. Dawn never saw Leander 1 ere 'twas grey To still Abydos' walls he made his way, Full of love's comfort, bat insatiate yet ; While Hero in her turret did forget All things save him — in that one day of life Changed soul and body, grown from maid to wife ; And mightily did each on either shore Pray dusk to come and daylight to be o'er.
Thus many a summer night they met unseen, And had great bliss of love from Yenus queen :
6o HERO AND LEANDER.
But no joy long enduretli, and not long
Lived theirs, the gentle lovers of my song ;
For Winter came apace, with snow and frost,
And wild storms whistling up and down the
coast : Lashed to its depths the tortured ocean shrank. While the wind drove its billows, rank on rank. Scourging their crests milk-white ; all sailors then Drew up their ships upon the shore, for men Fear the fierce winter and the furious sea ; But no fear, vouno- Leander, hindered thee ! As oft as Hero showed the guiding light So oft, through storm, and foam, and murky night, Swam he with steadfast passion to that guide, Daring the dangers of the sweeping tide. Ah ! Hero, wherefore call o'er such a sea ? Too fond thou wert ; too bold and faithful he ! Thou should'st have left unlit thy lamp of love. And waited till kind spring made green the grove ; But love and fate compelled her ! so, o'ercome, She set her light, and lured him to his doom.
There came one night, the wildest of the year, When the wdnd smote like edge of hissing spear,
HERO AND LEANDER. 6i
And the pale breakers tlaundered on the beach ;
While in mid-sea Leander toiled to reach
The far off haven of his Hero's breast.
Sore-tossed he was from raging crest to crest ;
Billow on billow rolled, the great seas roared
Furiously leaping to the clouds, which poured
Sleet and brine back, with scream of w^inds that met
Midway from all the quarters : — Eur us set
His blast against the West Wind ; Not us blew
His cheeks to bursting, Boreas to subdue.
Ceaseless the tumult of the tempest was.
And young Leander in its midst, alas !
Battling th' inexorable bitter sea.
Called on the gods in his calamity.
To foam-born Venus many a prayer he made,
And oft the name of great Poseidon said ;
And oft grim Boreas he did implore
For Orithyia's sake to help him o'er.
Nothing he gained ! Fate w^as too strong for Love !
The chill spray-laden storm beat him above ;
Below, the monstrous buffets of the sea
Struck the strength from him ; till, all helplessly,
His feet dropped down, relinquishing the strife,
Though his poor hands kept feebly on for life.
62 HERO AND LEANDER.
O'er lip and nostril now the salt waves clomb ; Gasping for breath, he breathed but choking foam ; Yet gleamed that light, and still he strove for shore : Sudden — a cruel gust blew ! — all was o'er ! The gust extinguished Hero's lamp ; the sea Hid young Leander and his agony.
Hero, when that he came not, watched all night, Into the darkness straining hard her sight ; And morninsf breaking^ — and no sia^n of him — With aching heart she scanned the sea-face dim, Fearing to look, because that lamp went out. He was not there ! but, casting still about, Lo ! — at the turret's foot his body lay. Rolled on the stones, and soaked with breakino-
spray ! She rent her robe upon her, and leaped down Headlong, distracted, from the turret's crown. There on his corpse she breathed her dying breath ; And, linked in life, those two were one in death.
r
tTbe feast ot Belsba33ar»
(This poem gained the Newdigate Pi'ize in the University of Oxford in 1853.)
Not by one portal, or one path alone
God's holy messages to men are known ;
Waiting the glances of his awful eyes
Silver- winged Seraphs do him embassies ;
And stars interpreting his high behest
Guide the lone feet and glad the failing breast :
The rolling thunder and the raging sea
Speak the stern purpose of the Deity,
And storms beneath and rainbow hues above
Herald his anger or proclaim his love :
The still small voices of the summer day,
The red Sirocco and the breath of May,
The lino-erino' harmonv in Ocean shells,
The fairy music of the meadow bells.
64 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR.
Earth and void Air — Water and wastino- Flame Have words to whisper, tongues to tell his
name. Once — with no cloak of careful mystery Himself was herald of his own decree ; The hand that edicts on the marble drew Graved the stern sentence of their scorner too. Listen and learn ! Tyrants have heard the tale, And turned from hearing terror-struck and pale ; Spiritless captives sinking with the chain Have read this page and taken heart again. —
From sunlight unto starlight trumpets told Her King's command in Babylon the old, From sunlight unto starlight, west and east, A thousand satraps girt them for the feast, And reined their chargers to the palace hall Where King Belshazzar held high festival : A pleasant palace under pleasant skies With cloistered courts and gilded galleries, And gay kiosk and painted balustrade For winter terraces and summer shade ; By court and terrace, minaret and dome, Euphrates, rushing from his mountain home,
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR. 65
Rested his rage, and curbed his crested pride To belt that palace with his bluest tide ; Broad-fronted bulls with chiselled feathers barred In silent vigil keeping watch and ward, Giants of granite wrought by cunning hand Guard in the gate and frown upon the land : Nor summer's glow nor yellow autumn's glare Pierced the broad tamarisks that blossomed there ; The moonbeam darting through their leafy screen Lost half its silver in the softened green, And fell with lessened lustre, broken light, Tracing faint arabesque of dark and white ; Or dimly tinting on the graven stones The pictured annals of Chaldsean thrones. — There, from the rising to the setting day Birds of bright feather sang the light away, And fountain waters on the palace-Hoor Made even answer to the river's roar. Rising in silver from the crystal well And breaking into spangles as they fell ; Though now ye heard them not — for far along Rang the broad chorus of the banquet song, And sounds as gentle, echoes soft as these Died out of hearing from the revelries.
66 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR.
Higli. on a throne of ivory and gold, From crown to footstool clad in purple fold, Lord of the east from sea to distant sea The king Belshazzar feasteth royally : — And not that dreamer in the desert cave Peopled his paradise with pomp as brave. Vessels of silver, cups of crusted gold Blush with a brighter red than all they hold ; Pendulous lamps like planets of the night Flung on the diadems a fragrant light, Or slowly swinging in the midnight sky Gilded the ripples as they glided by : — And sweet and sweeter rang the cittern-string Soft as the beating of a Seraph's wing. And swift and swifter in the measured dance The tresses gather and the sandals glance. And bright and brighter at the festal board The flagons bubble and the wines are poured. No lack of goodly company was there, No lack of laughing eyes to light the cheer ; From Dara trooped they, from Daremma's grove The suns of battle and the moons of love ; From where Arsissa's silver waters sleep To Imla's marshes and the inland deep ;
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR. 67
From pleasant Calali and from Sittacene
The horseman's captain and the Harem's queen.
It seemed no summer-cloud of passing woe Could fling its shadow on so fair a show : It seemed the gallant forms that feasted there Were all too high for woe, too great for care : Whence came the anxious eye, the altered tone, The dull presentiment no heart would own, That ever chang'ed the smilinof to a sigfh Sudden as sea-bird flashing from the skj : — It is not that they know the spoiler waits Harnessed for battle at the brazen gates, It is not that they hear the watchman's call Mark the slow minntes on the leaguered wall ; The clash of quivers and the ring of spears Make pleasant music in a soldier's ears, And not a scabbard hideth sword to-night That hath not o^limmered in the front of fisfht : — May not the blood in every beating vein Have quick foreknowledge of the coming pain ? Even as the prisoned silver,* dead and dumb. Shrinks at cold Winter's footfall ere he come. —
* The quicksilver in the tube of the thermometer.
68 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR.
The kiug hath felt it and the heart's unrest Heaved the broad purple of his belted breast ; Sudden he speaks — " What ! doth the beaded
juice Savour like hyssop that ye scorn its use ? Wear ye so pitiful and sad a soul That tramp of foeman scares ye from the bowl ? Think ye the gods on yonder starry floor Tremble for terror, when the thunders roar? Are we not gods ? have we not fought with
God? And shall we shiver at a robber's nod? No — let them batter till the brazen bars Ring merry mocking of their idle wars ; Their fall is fated for to-morrow's sun, The lion rouses when his feast is done : Crown me a cup — and fill the bowls we brought From Judah's temple when the fight was fought — Drink, till the merry madness fill the soul To Salem's conqueror in Salem's bowl — Each from the goblet of a God shall sip And Judah's gold tread heavy on the lip." *
* "He never drinks But Timon's silver treads upon his lii^." — Shak. Tit. Andr,
r
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR, 69
The last loud answer dies along the line, The last light bubble bursts upon the wine ; His eager lips are on the jewelled brink, Hath the cup poison that he doubts to drink ? Is there a spell upon the sparkling gold, That so his fevered fingers quit their hold ? Whom sees he w^liere he gazes ? what is there Freezing his vision into fearful stare ? Follow his lifted arm and lighted eye And watch with them the wondrous mystery. —
There cometh forth a hand — upon the stone, Graving the symbols of a speech unknown ; Fingfers like mortal fing-ers — leaving* there The blank wall flashing characters of fear ; — And still it glideth silently and slow, And still beneath the spectral letters grow — Now the scroll endeth— now the seal is set —
The hand is gone— the
As one who waits th With pale lips parted a
record tarries yet.
warrant of his death, ad with bridled breath-
They watch the sign, a id dare not turn to seek Their fear reflected in Iheir fellows' cheek —
70 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR.
But stand as statues where the life is none, Half the jest uttered — half the laughter done — Half the flask empty — half the flagon poured, — Each where the phantom found him at the board Struck into silence — as December's moon Curbs the quick ripples into crystal swoon.
With wand of ebony and sable stole Chaldsea's wisest scan the spectral scroll : Strong in the lessons of a lying art Each comes to gaze, but gazes to depart : And still for mystic sign and muttered spell The graven letters guard their secret well : Gleam they for warning — glare they to condemn — God speaketh, — but he speaketh not for them. —
Oh ! ever, when the happy laugh is dumb, All the joy gone, and all the anguish come — When strong adversity and subtle pain Wring the sad soul and rack the throbbing brain — When friends once fttithful, hearts once all our own Leave us to weep, to bleed and die alone — When fears and cares the lonely thought employ And clouds of sorrow hide the sun of joy ;
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR. 71
When weary life, breathing reluctant breath
Hath no hope sweeter than the hope of death ; —
Then the best counsel and the last relief
To cheer the spirit or to cheat the grief,
The only calm, the only comfort heard
Comes in the music of a woman's word.
Like beacon-bell on some wild island-shore,
Silverly ringing in the tempest's roar,
Whose sound borne shipward through the midnight
gloom Tells of the path, and turns her from her doom.
So in the silence of that awful hour When baffled magic mourned its parted power — When kings were pale and satraps shook for fear, A woman speaketh — and the wisest hear. She — the high daughter of a thousand thrones Telling with trembling lip and timid tones Of him the Captive, in the feast forgot. Who readeth visions — him, whose wondrous lot Sends him to lighten doubt and lessen gloom, And gaze undazzled on the days to come — Daniel the Hebrew, such his name and race, Held by a monarch highest in his grace,
72 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR.
He may declare — Oh ! — bid them quickly send, So may the mystery have happy end !
Calmly and silent as the fair full moon Comes sailing upward in the sky of June — Fearfully as the troubled clouds of night Shrink from before the coming of its light — So through the hall the Prophet passed along, So from before him fell the festal throng. By broken wassail-cnp, and wine o'erthrown Pressed he still onward for the monarch's throne : His spirit failed him not — his qniet eye Lost not its light for earthly majesty ; His lip was steady and his accent clear, " The king hath needed me, and I am here." —
"Art thou the Prophet? read me yonder scroll Whose undeciphered horror daunts my soul — There shall be guerdon for the grateful task, Fitted for me to give, for thee to ask — A chain to deck thee — and a robe to grace, Thine the third throne and thou the third in place."
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR. 73
He heard — and turned him where the lighted wall Dimmed the red torches of the festival, Gazed on the sio-n with steadv o^aze and set. And he who quailed not at a kingly threat Bent the true knee and bowed the silver hair, For that he knew the Kino;' of kings was there : Then nerved his soul the sentence to unfold, While his tongue trembled at the tale it told — And never tongfue shall echo tale as strano-e Till that change cometh which must never change.
" Keep for thyself the guerdon and the gold — What God hath graved, God's prophet must unfold ; Could not thy father's crime, thy father's fate Teach thee the terror thou hast learnt too late — Hast thou not read the lesson of his life, Who wars with God shall strive a losing strife ? His was a kingdom mighty as thine own, The sword his sceptre and the earth his throne — The nations trembled when his awful eye Gave to them leave to live or doom to die — The Lord of Life — the Keeper of the grave, His frown could wither and his smile could save —
74 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR.
Yet when his heart was hard, his spirit higli,
God drave him frora his kingly majesty,
Far from the brotherhood of fellow men
To seek for dwelling in the desert den ;
Where the wild asses feed and oxen roam
He sought his pasture and he made his home,
And bitter-biting frost and dews of night
Schooled him in sorrow till he knew the right,
That God is ruler of the rulers still
And setteth up the sovereign that He will.
Oh ! hadst thou treasured in repentant breast
His pride and fall, his penitence and rest,
And bowed submissive to Jehovah's will,
Then had thy sceptre been a sceptre still.
But thou hast mocked the majesty of heaven,
And shamed the vessels to its service given ;
And thou hast fashioned idols of thine own —
Idols of gold, of silver, and of stone ;
To them hast bowed the knee, and breathed the breath,
And they must help thee in the hour of death.
Woe for the sign unseen, the sin forgot,
God was among ye, and ye knew it not !
Hear what He sayeth thus, ' Thy race is run,
The years are numbered and the days are done,
I
I
THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR. 75
Thy soul hath mounted in the scale of fate,
The Lord hath weighed thee and thou lackest weight ;
Now in thy palace porch the spoilers stand,
To seize thy sceptre, to divide thy land.' "
He ended — and his passing foot was heard, But none made answer, not a lip was stirred — Mute the free tongue and bent the fearless brow, — The mystic letters had their meaning now ! Soon came there other sound — the clash of steel. The heavy ringing of the iron heel — The curse in dying, and the cry for life. The storming voices of the battle strife. —
That night they slew him on his father's throne, The deed unnoticed and the hand unknown ; Crownless and sceptreless Belshazzar lay, A robe of purple, round a form of clay.
XTbe Ubree 1Roses»
Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down
Each with its lovehness as with a crown,
Drooped in a florist's window in a town.
The first a lover bought. It lay at rest,
Like flower on flower that night, on beauty's breast.
The second rose, as virginal and fair,
Shrank in the tangles of a harlot's hair.
The third a widow, with new grief made wild,
Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.
Aldrich, Floicer and Thorn.
These Eoses (in the world we do not see) Strove for the palm. Thus spake the beauteous Three :
THE MAIDEN'S ROSE.
I am the happiest flower. I lay
Dying, as suits sweet blossoms best ;
It was not pain to pass away
Upon her warm and fragrant breast.
THE THREE ROSES. 77
Blossom on blossoms, so we slept ;
My odours richer with her breath, My white leaves whitest where I crept
Closer, to die delightful death.
I heard her secrets, pure and soft ;
She kissed me, prayed for him, and laid His gift where, since, his cheek full oft
Nestles ; he knows what words she said,
And how, when morn oped the bright eyes, She locked me in a casket close ;
Nothing can take away my prize, The kiss she gave her faded Rose.
The crown, fair sisters, I must hold ;
I died upon that heavenly bed ; She buried me in silk and gold ;
I made them lovers, being dead.
THE WIDOW'S ROSE.
I am the wisest Rose : there lay A dew-drop on me when she shut The little ice-cold palm, and put
My blossom there to fade away.
78 THE THREE ROSES.
It was a tear for her and me
That she should grieve, and I should go Clasped in a hand that did not know,
And set to eyes that could not see.
Torn from my garden green and bright, As he too ; first-born of her spring, Once flower-fair, now a lost, dead thing,
Hidden with me in graveyard night.
But lo ! it was not thus at all !
I did not think that flowers could see The wonder of the worlds to be
When the poor leaves of this life fall.
For while they wept, and sadly threw The black earth on our coflin-lid, A lis^ht came there where we were hid.
A wind breathed softer than I knew.
There shine no sunbeams so on earth, There is no air blows in such wise As this that swept from Paradise,
And turned grave-gloom to grace and mirth.
THE THREE ROSES. 79
I saw liim rise unspeakably ;
I saw how subtle Life receives
New gifts from Death. It was but leaves — Dead leaves — we left there, I and he.
And clasped in that small hand I came- A spirit-Rose as he was spirit — The further marvels to inherit
Of Life, which is for all the same.
Crown me, white sisters ! When she bent- That tender mother by his grave — 'Twas I who, with a rose-waft gave
The thought that filled her with content.
THE HARLOT'S ROSE.
I was the blessed flower ! Give back The crown, dear sisters ! for you lack My joy — you ! that her bosom bore; You they entombed ! — my deeper lore.
8o THE THREE ROSES.
'Twas sweet in lovely death to fade, Eose-blossom on rose-bosom laid ; 'Twas rare in grasp of Death, to see The flower of Life blow changelessly.
But I, most happy of all three, Eejoice for what he did to me ; Binding my bud on locks that rolled Their wasted wealth in rippled gold.
For loveless love he set me there ;
With thankless thanks she found me fair ;
Laughed with sad eyes to hear him tell
The gold, with white and gi'een, " went well."
We did our kind : she to bestow God's grace in her rich beauty so That good grew evil : I to scent Her steps and be Sin's ornament.
Yet 'twas my duty to seem sweet, She had such bitter bread to eat ! She put me at her breast — I heard Her heart-beats speaking, without word.
THE THREE ROSES. 8i
" Each spring I plucked siicli long ago," She said — " Ah, God ! if we could grow Clean like spring-roses — white again — Forgetting last year's rain and stain ! "
She said, " Ah, God ! ah, mother ! — some Are blooming so about my home. The home-breath makes me dream — let be ! I have no lover that loves me."
*' What was it that we read in class ? * And she supj^osing Him. ' — alas ! ' The gardener ' — Fool ! as if God's Son Cares for the flowers that are done ! "
Thereat our lips and leaves did kiss —
I was as sweet and soft in this
To her as any Rose could be —
'' God's flowers forgive," she sighed, — " Doth He ? "
And fondling me, as though she felt Her mother's kisses on her melt. The tear-drops from her painted lids Ran on the rouge. " What eye forbids,"
F
82 THE THREE ROSES.
She said, *' to try if any hear ? " Mocking herself she sighed this prayer : " Oh, Christ ! I am Thy wilted Rose, Renew me ! Thou renewest those ! "
Then laughed, — but did not see, as I, The angels gather at her cry, Their fine plots weaving out of sight To help this soul that strove aright.
She did not feel the great wings fold Thenceforward o'er her locks of gold ; Nor know thenceforward that the place Was sentinelled by Shapes of grace.
But when again she bound her hair, And set me in its tresses fair, I did not " shrink," (as he has said :) I was too proud ! for we were led
By holy hands through lane and street, Past things to speak of is not meet ; Till when the tender plot had place, God's mercy met her face to face.
I
THE THREE ROSES. 83
In all this earth there is not one
So desolate and so undone,
Who hath not rescue if hearts knew
A heart- cry goes the whole world through.
Of thousands cruel one was kind ; We found the hand she could not find ; The fragrance of me brought her cry — We saved her : those Wise Ones and I,
I and her angels ! She hath rest ! Of all Rose-service mine was best. Oh, sisters sweet ! no longer boast ; Give me the crown ! My joy was most !
Ibe anC* Sbe»
" She is dead ! " tliey said to Mm. " Come away ; Kiss her ! and leave her ! — thy love is clay ! "
They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair ; On her forehead of marble they laid it fair :
Over her eyes, which gazed too much, They drew the lids with a gentle touch ;
With a tender touch they closed up well The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell ;
About her brows, and her dear, pale face They tied her veil and her marriage-lace ;
And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes ; — Which were the whiter no eye could choose !
HE AND SHE. 85
And over her bosom they crossed her hands ; " Come away," they said, — " God understands ! ''
And then there was Silence ; — and nothing there But the Silence — and scents of eglantere,
And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary ;
For they said, " As a lady should lie, lies she ! "
And they held their breath as they left the room, With a shudder to glance at its stillness and gloom.
But he — who loved her too well to dread The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead, —
He lit his lamp, and took the key,
And turn'd it ! — Alone asrain — he and she !
He and she ; but she would not speak.
Though he kiss'd, in the old place, the quiet cheek ;
He and she ; yet she would not smile, Though he call'd her the name that was fondest erewhile ;
86 HE AND SHE.
He and she ; and she did not move To any one passionate whisper of love !
Then he said, '' Cold lips ! and breast without breath Is there no voice — no language of death
" Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and to soul distinct, — intense ?
" See, now, — I listen with soul, not ear — What was the secret of dying, Dear ?
" Was it the infinite wonder of all,
How the spirit could let life's flower fall ?
" Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ?
"Was the miracle greatest to find how deep, Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep ?
*' Did life roll backward its record. Dear,
And show, as they say it does, past things clear ?
I
HE AND SHE. 87
" And was it the innermost heart of the bliss To find out so what a wisdom love is ?
'•' Oh, perfect Dead! oh, Dead most dear, I hold the breath of my soul to hear ;
" I listen — as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as glad heaven ! — and you do not tell !
" There must be pleasures in dying, Sweet, To make you so placid from head to feet !
*' I would tell 7/ou, Darling, if I were dead. And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed.
" I would say, though the Angel of death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid.
" You should not ask, vainly, with streaming eyes, Which in Death's touch was the chiefest surprise ;
" The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring."
88 HE AND SHE.
All ! foolish world ! Oh ! most kind Dead ! Though he told me, who will believe it was said ?
Who will believe that he heard her say,
With the soft rich voice, in the dear old way : —
" The utmost wonder is this, — I hear,
And see you, and love you, and kiss you, Dear ;
" I can speak, now you listen with soul alone ; If your soul could see, it would all be shown
" What a strange delicious amazement is Death, To be without body and breathe without breath.
" I should laugh for joy if you did not cry ; Oh, listen ! Love lasts ! — Love never will die !
'5
" I am only jour Angel who was your Bride ; And I know, that though dead, I have never died."
®n tbe — tb instant H)rownet) vvbtlst JBatbmg/'
Ho ! ho ! do ye tempt me so,
Pale dwellers upon the land; Seem I to come for love to your home,
Skirting the yellow sand ? When I doff my might and slumber in light
Under the summer skies, Do ye dream I unfold my purple and gold
To pleasure your dainty eyes ? I mind the day when my dancing spray
Clean over your hills was thrown ; And my waves evermore lash madly the shore
While the great Sea seeketh its own. Blithely ye play on the edge of my spray,
And dabble your feet in my fords, But little ye think how the Ocean's brink
Is athirst for its mortal lords.
90 " ON THE TH INSTANT, DROWNED
Ho ! ho ! how well he could row !
The youth ye sent me to-day ; How bravely his oar drove the shallop from shore
As he came to me out of the bay. — I watched him come from his cottage-home
Under the high green hill, I foamed and dashed as the quick stroke splashed,
And he worked his eager will. But ho ! ho ! 1 looked for it so !
He leapt to my green great arm, And felt how cold was my deep sea fold.
And chilled with a strange alarm. Did he deem me mild when the blue sky smiled,
Fierce only in stormy strife ? A boat ye sent — and a life ye lent —
But I kept the warm young life !
Ho ! ho ! fond fools would ye know
How I staid the panting breath, And weighed on the breast of the one ye loved best
And dragged him down to his death : — Down in the green where no sun could be seen
To a death in the sea- weed and shells : —
WHILST BATHING." 91
Down out of sight of the sweet sunlight,
Out of sound of the clear town bells ? Ho ! he struggled sore for the fading shore,
And fouo'ht with his failino- streng-th : But I swore he should die, and I smothered his cry.
And the life was mine at length. Ho ! take the bark back without rent or wrack,
Pale mourners alono- the strand ! A boatman and boat to the sea came out,
But only a boat to land !
185s.
5)ream*Xant)t
Wonderful Life ! So sad with partings, and so sweet with meetings, Made up of wild farewells, and wistful greetings ;
Oh word, with wonder rife !
What do we here ? Whence come we with this longing, loving breast? Why do we live to die ? we fear our rest ;
And are afraid to fear !
Ah ! tell us why, Why are our pleasures dead within the day, While pains make nesfc-homes of our hearts and stay ;
Wherefore comes misery ?
DREAM-LAND. 93
And wherefore Pain ? And why on our lone Planet, else so fair, Dwell Hate, and Cowardice, and pale Despair,
And the hot rage for gain ?
Moon and sweet Stars ! Hath God cursed us of all His orbs in Heaven ? Drive we alone, rayless and unforgiven,
Bloody with brother-wars ?
Speak if ye know ! Why lose we what we love longest and best ? Shine, Sisters ! shine upon our dark unrest,
Saying, it is not so !
I miss a face, A friend, whose love was to my life its heart ; Why are our eyes and hands riven apart ?
Why — even for a space ?
Sorrow and Pain ! Hope's tender lip is silenced when ye speak, Go to ! the settled colour of my cheek
Stirs not for her again :
94 DREAM-LAND.
A cheat Life seems ! We'll laugh it ofi, Brothers : though we have wept ! Therewith, aweary of my thoughts I slept,
And took them to my dreams : —
Ah, mystery ! Nay then ! believe it for the sweet dream's sake, Whether I dreamed asleep, or mused awake,
An Angel spake with me !
Spake from above, — I knew her though she floated from the skies, The noble presence, and the large deep eyes
Of her I loved, and love :
Spake low and clear; " Arise ! I have an errand unto thee ! The heart that dares to beat as thine does, free,
Heareth, what thou shalt hear."
Thereat I rose, Wondering to see her balanced pennons spread ; And keeping their white shadow overhead,
Followed her flying close.
DREAM-LAND.
95
Far, far away ; Till sound of mortal grief, and mortal mirth, Died from the sky, and — far below — the Earth
A quiet, bright globe lay ;
And I was 'ware Of solemn breath breathed in that stilly spot ; And that the heart spake, though the lips moved not ;
As though its home were there ;
As though its home Were high among the Angels of God's sky, Where the wild lights were wandering ; — and I
Waited for what should come ;
Nor waited long : For still wherever She and I went winging, Two voices ever in one key were singing
The measure of one song,
Song without word ; Whereto the soft fan of the silver feather, Made music as her great wings beat together.
And the blue ether stirred :
96 DREAM-LAND.
Then I— "Oh! whither?" And She — " Far past the farthest ken of mortal, To where the Star- Queen guards the Star- World's portal,
Thither, Love mine ! — aye ! thither ! "
So when her plumes, Heretofore high above me gleaming white, Wore the rich tint of Cassiopeia's light's
In crimson- coloured blooms,
Then from above Came down the breath of an entrancing pleasure ; Came round the burden of a boundless measure,
A seraph -chaunt of Love,
High love — whose strain Her heart and mine, in solemn symphony. Beating beyond our wills harmoniously,
Answered, answered again.
How did I bear The gracious glory of my Lady's eyes ? Save that the bright love in them calmed surprise
And dazzled off mv fear :
DREAM-LAND. 97
Nor only eyes ; Her sweet lips touched me once upon the brow, And whispered, " Love of mine, thou knowest now
The secret of the skies I —
" This land of Wings Hath rest for thee and me for aye and aye." Then I — " Sweet Saint, for my full comfort say
All that its music sings,
" All — all it sings : — Know'st thou on Earth the earnest love I have, Know'st thou that I could love thee in thy grave,
Better than livinof thing-s ? "
*0 ''-"'■"o*
" Not there " — she said, " Into this Dream-Land I have leave to come. To cheer thee with the sight of our high Home
When Thou and I are dead ;
"But there the veil Is over souls : — I know not if I know That thou and I shall e'er be tellinsr so
On Earth, our true-love tale."
G
98 DREAM-LAND.
" Sweet ! I shall seem Graceless," I said ! " but must there never be Home-fires — home-faces — and home-loves? — ah me!
Nought of my earthly dream ? "
The star-lisfht shone The brighter for a smile that filled her face : — No answer ! but a quick and kind embrace :
Save her kiss, — answer none !
Then I, " Ah me ! The brow should wear a crown that wears thy kiss ; Though I love patiently, I shall lack this,
Not being worthy thee."
She raised her hand, And my glance followed it — and I was 'ware Of a fine spirit floating down the air,
Whose forehead's thought ^vas grand ;
Fast, fast and free He smote a lyre's strings into magic measures. Whereto a Lad}' listed, tranced in pleasures,
Lo ! it was I and She !
DREAM-LAND. 99
And all the throng Of all fair things I thought of day by day, The words J would have said and could not say,
Came up into his song !
" Shall I be thus, And thou with me ? " — She said " Be true and brave, Follow thy Life out, e'en to thy Life's grave,
And such shall be thy bliss."
" Dear Saint "—I said, •' Lest I shall faint living a life so lone, Tell me that absence cannot chang-e the grone,
Nor death estrange the dead,
" They, first and last, The comfort of whose spirits was to mine Like Eain to Summer ; ah ! my heart will pine.
Its friendships seeming past.
" Say !— is it thus ? Are our hearts lower, weaker than our thinking, Can death divide the subtle spirit-linking
Whose fine chain fettered us ?
loo DREAM-LAND.
" Can they ? oh Life ! Why at the first or last of thy brief day Loose we the hand we clung to by the way,
And strive alone in the strife ? "
Thereat I wept : — But she — she touched me with a touch as mild As a fond mother might her frightened child
Who sighed, and sighing slept.
Saying, " Rash one ! Love's strength is perlect in love's utter weakness, Love's nobleness is noblest in love's meekness.
Love ever ! none are gone !
" None go ! none ever ! Know ! when two hearts are set to one true time. Always they make one music, chime one chime.
Look up ! and doubt it never ! "
Our starry torch Died in a bright white flood of brilliant flame, Wherein a myriad happy Angels came
Thronging an entrance- Porch
DREAM-LAND. lOi
Witli sunbeams groined ; Whence passed a voice that said, " Soul ! cease thy
wonder ! Not Death is strong enough to part asunder,
Whom Life and Love have joined ! "
For which word's sake, Seeing no stars, no Angels but mine own, I turned to kiss her hands : lo ! She was flown !
And I — I was awake !
Sept. 1854.
H /iDa jfuture.
Where waitest tliou, Lady I am to love ? thou comest not ! Thou knowest of my sad and lonely lot ;
I looked for thee ere now !
It is the May, And each fair sister- soul hath found its brother, Only we two seek fondly each the other,
And seeking, still delay.
Where art thou, sweet ? I long for thee, as thirsty lips for streams ! Oh, gentle promised Angel of my dreams,
Why do we never meet ?
A MA FUTURE. 103
Thou art as I, — Thy soul doth wait for mine, as mine for thee : We cannot live apart ; must meeting be
Never before we die ?
Dear soul, not so ! That time doth keep for us some happy years. That God hath portioned us our smiles and tears,
Thou knowest, and I know.
Yes, we shall meet ! And therefore let our searching be the stronger, Dark ways of life shall not divide us longer,
Nor doubt, nor danger, sweet !
Hence 'tis I bear This winter-tide as bravely as I may, Patiently waiting for the bright spring-day
That Cometh with thee, dear.
'Tis the May-light That crimsons all the quiet college gloom ; May it shine softly in thy sleeping-room :
And so, dear wife, good night !
1S53.
OLlanGoUem
Green fields and grey, corn-lands and mountain- lands,
Beautiful Valley, thou art fair as ever ! On the same hill the same old abbey stands.
And singing the same song goes down Dee river.
I swear I love thee with mine old warm love ;
My vision is not dimmed, nor my heart cold ; Wherefore then, sunny Slopes, can ye not move
My heart to gladness as ye did of old ?
I know it, Dear ! — these winds that fly for home Take my heart with them to thy tender arms.
And, nestled there, it leaves me here to roam, Half of myself, amid these wild Welsh farms.
October 1855.
XTbe Zvoo Mreatbs^
When the silver stars were throwing Soft lines on the silver sea,
Like a shade in the twilight showing, Came my life unto me.
Two garlands daintily bearing,
Unto me came my life, When the daylight was disappearing,
Save that in thine eyes, dear wife.
Glittered her cymar and kirtle,
Her garlands glimmered and shone ;
One twined with the laurel and myrtle, And one with the rose alone.
io6 THE TWO WREATHS.
" Which crown," she said, " shall I leave thee, The green or the crimson wreath ?
Of the chaplets thy fortune weaves thee, Choose one to deck thee till death.
"Love comes if the rose-crown rings thee, — Love tender and ever the same ;
And the bright leaf of laurel brings thee The minstrel's favour and fame.
" But the rose hath an angry briar. That wound eth wherever 'tis worn.
And, with laurel to lift thee higher. There are poisonous berries of scorn."
In the silence solemnly speaking,
In the darkness sombre to see. Answer to asking seeking,
Waited my life by me.
Then, with ready fingers upstarted Beside her, mine own wise wife.
The leaves from the berries parted. And the thorn from the rose of life.
THE TWO WREATHS. 107
And twined them, with gentle laughter,
In a new and unharmful wreath : And the roses and laurels hereafter
Have crowned me for life and death.
1857.
Hlmonb Blossom*
Blossom of the almond-trees, April's gift to April's bees, Birthday ornament of spring, Flora's fairest daughterling ; — Coming when no flow'rets dare Trust the cruel outer air ; When the royal king-cup bold Will not don his coat of gold; And the sturdy blackthorn spray Keeps his silver for the May ; — Coming when no flow'rets would, Save thy lowly sisterhood Early violets, blue and white, Dying for their love of light. Almond blossom, sent to teach us That the spring-days soon will reach us.
ALMOND BLOSSOM, 109
Lest, with longing over tried,
We die as the violets died.
Blossom, clouding all the tree
With thy crimson broidery,
Long before a leaf of green
On the bravest bongh is seen ;
Ah ! when winter winds are swinging
All thy red bells into ringing,
With a bee in every bell,
Almond bloom, we greet thee well !
1855.
Sonnet
Like one, who in the stormy crash of battle, With sword and shield too heavy for his hold,
Bleeding, and weak, and deafened with the rattle, Feels his limbs sinking and his heart a-cold.
Sudden a gentle eye, quiet and bold, —
A friendly look falls on him through the fight.
And once again his tired fingers fold
About the hilt, and strike a stroke aright. — So has thy gracious glance, lady, to-night
Nerved me with courage more than may be told ; So stand and strike I, fighting in thy sight,
Backward or forward be life's battle rolled ; And so I grasp my purpose, and I swear To win the name that I am sent to wear.
1^53-
Hll Saints' Da^*
Up from earth to heaven's wide regions Send your prayer and praise to-day,
For the glorious martyr-legions Hence triumphant passed away.
Sigh of doubt or shade of sorrow 111 beseemeth heart or brow ;
Theirs like ours seemed sad to-morrow, Who smile at our sadness now.
Let it go, a song of gladness, Unto brother-angels there : —
We alive in sin and sadness,
They " dead in His faith and fear."
112 ALL SAINTS' DAY.
Dead, but; on dead foreheads wearing^ Crowns that make their death a birth,
Won by hope that scorned despairing, Worn in heaven for wars on earth.
Nay ! and name not crowned ones, only Nobly known for death and life, —
Hero souls, unmoved and lonely, Fighting in the front of strife :
But those, too, who freely, gladly, Uncomplaining fought to die ;
Striving, striking all too madly To find time for battle-cry :
Those, the silent ones, who near them Planted foot, and fought, and fell,
With no clarion praise to cheer them, No voice crying ill or w^ell ;
These we owned not for God's angels, Shall not own before we die.
Though their lives were men's evangels, And their deaths our victory.
ALL SAINTS' DAY. 113
Those whose lives, unknown to others,
Silent went to silent ends ; Some to some of us own brothers,
All to all of us high friends ;
All saints now, all now abiding In glad homes beyond the sky,
Wearing, where salt tears were tiding, Smiles of set felicity;
Smiles that call us to sky portals,
Sayingj " On ! brave heart and brow;
Fail not, faint not, we were mortals That are tranquil spirits now."
Thank God for them meekly bending. That such soldiers lived and died.
Ask that thine be such an ending, Such a death on such a side.
1854.
Serena&e.
Lute ! breathe thy lowest in ray Lady's ear,
Sing while she sleeps, " Ah ! belle darae, aimez- voiis r Till dreaming still, she dream that I am here,
And wake to find it, as my love is, true ; Then, when she listens in her warm white nest,
Say in slow measure, — softer, stiller, yet. That lute-strings quiver when their tone's at rest,
And my heart trembles when my lips are set.
Stars ! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies.
Shine through the roses for a lover's sake, And send your silver to her lidded eyes ;
Kissing them very gently till she wake : Then while she wonders at the lay and light,
Tell her, though morning endeth star and song That ye live still, when no star glitters bright,
And my love lasteth, though it finds no tongue.
XTbe BmiGtant
It may be that the savage sea is foaming,
And wild winds roaming, where thy ship goes free ;
Yet still as dearly, brother, and sincerely,
As if more nearly, we will cling to thee.
The white sails wing thee fast through Biscay billows, Past English willows we are whirling on ; Though wider never did drear waste dissever, Better than ever we will love thee gone.
We shall not know by what fair isles of blossom. Thy bark's broad bosom ploughs the rippled blue; What storms are chiding, what soft winds are gliding, No longed-for tiding — yet our hearts are true :
For seeking still to know where thou art, Bover, We but discover that our love is there ; Far, far behind thee we are strong to find thee. Oh then remind thee of the love left here.
August 1854.
TTbe Hbree Stit^ents.
[From the German.]
There came three students from over the Rhine, To a certain good hostel they turned them for wine.
" Ho ! Landlady, have you strong wine and beer ? How fareth the Fraulein, your daughter dear ? "
"M}'- beer is fresh, and my wine is bright ;
My child will be shrouded and buried to-night."
They drew the door of her death-room back, There she slept in her coffin black : —
The first he lifted the veil from the dead, And bared his curls, and bended, and said,
THE THREE STUDENTS. n;
'' Ah ! could'st thou but live again, maiden, here From this day forth I would love thee dear ! "
The second spread softly the face-cloth again, And his tears fell fast as the midsummer rain :
'• Dead ! art thou, Lisbeth ? cold, lip and brow ? Ah God ! I learn how I loved thee now ! "
But the third in his hand did the little hand take, And kissed the white forehead, and smiled and spake,
" I love thee to-day as I loved thee before, I shall love thee as truly for evermore/'
5am Satis*
His mother was a Prince's child,
His father was a King ; There wanted not to his high lot,
What rank and riches bring : Proud nobles served him on the knee,
Strong captains did his will ; Bare fortune ! — yet it wearied him ! '
His spirit was not still.
For him the glorious music rolled
Of singers silent long ; Great Scribes did write, on scrolls of might,
The strife of Right with Wrong ; For him Philosophy unveiled
Athenian Plato's lore, Micfht that not serve to stead a life ?
Not that ! — he sighed for more !
JAM SATIS. 119
He loved ; the newest, truest lip
That ever lover pressed, The queenliest mouth in all the South,
Long love for him confessed : Round him his children's joyousness
Rang silverly and shrill ; Soft life ! — sweet sounds 1 yet something lacked :
His spirit thirsted still !
To battle all his spears he brought
In streams of winding steel ; On breast and head of foemen dead,
His war-horse set its heel : The jewelled chevron on its flank
Was red with blood of kings : Yet Victory's laurel seemed but rank
For bitterness it brings !
The splendid passion seized him then
To break, with statutes sage, The chains that bind our hapless kind,
And social griefs assuage :
120 JAM SATIS.
And dear the people's blessing seemed,
The praises of the Poor ; Yet Evil stronger is than kings
And Hate no codes can cure.
He laid aside the sword, book, pen,
And lit his lamp to wrest From Nature's range the wonders strange
The secrets of her breast : And wisdom deep his guerdon was,
And mighty things he knew ; Yet from each unlocked mystery
Some harder marvel grew.
No pause— no standing-spot — no place
To stay the spirit's quest ; In all around not one thing found
So good as to be — " best " : Not even Love proved quite divine ;
Therefore his search did cease — Lord of all gifts that life could bring.
Saved the one chief gift — Peace.
JAM SATIS. 121
Then came it ! — crown — lance — scroll — lamp — grew Each a discarded thino- ;
o
The faneral-gold did bravely hold
The body of the king. And strange !— love, learning, statecraft, sway,
Looked always on before ; But those pale happy lips of clay
Asked nothing — nothing more !
Bristippus*
Let be, — let be ! These idle follies are not for the wise, A scholar's loves are fair philosophies ;
I prithee leave me free !
Nay, Lady, nay ! I read Greek legends sweeter than thy song, — Uncourteons ! thou tarriest overlong ;
I marvel at thy stay.
What ! the tears glisten ? Indeed I would not wound thy little heart ; We'll be good friends, and kiss ; but we must part,
In sootb, — I may not listen.
ARISTIPPUS. 123
Once then, and twice, — Ai, Cytherea ! are lips like to these ? Get thee away ! thy mouth hath witcheries
Strange for what is not wise.
Well, — yet again ; By Pan, it hath a soft and coral curl, I sorrow that I angered at thee, girl !
Dis pardon me thy pain !
But thou'lt go now, — Take hence the tresses of thy hyacinth hair. — Nay, nay ! unbind them not, — 'tis over fair, —
Keep the band on thy brow ;
I like it well! Its jewels, making quaint and equal strife With red and blue, mock lips and eyes to life ;
There let them ever dwell,
Shamed of their glow ; — Now, by Athene ! but I trifle long, If thou must stay, sweet lady, sing a song, —
Doric, and grave, and slow ;
124 ARISTIPPUS.
One melody, — Soft music to sage musing lends relief. — Nay, draw not near, thou wilt not turn the leaf
Of old philosophy!
Well, an' thou'lt learn, See how it saith, " That in the ancient date Priam of Troy " Ah ! but thou must not wait
To kiss before we turn.
Thy broad braids fell, Sweeping the page, Madonna ! let me lay On this white neck the glossy veil away,
Now we shall study well !
Oh me ! thou'rt ill, — The vermeil of thy cheek is fever-warm, Dear one, thy heart bea,ts ever on my arm,
And mine is never still.
What ailetli me ? Thev fade, — the dim dull characters of Greek, My lips lack all but kisses, if I speak
'Twill be to worship thee !
ARISTIPPUS. 125
Unlock thine arms, — Thy touch, — ai, ai ! thy sweet breath is a spell, Hide, Circe ! hide thy deep breasts' ivory swell !
Oh, white witch, spare thy charms !
Nay, spare not now ! Hence, grey-beard sage ! I love thee, Life of mine ; Kiss freer, faster, — I am all, all thine,
Kiss me on lip and brow. .
Btfie.
Wearie, wearie, the laiig hours wear,
They stap to keek at me, and winna gae ;
I count ilk ane o' their ticks wi' a tear, Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day
Aince I kenned na which was the fairest,
The shimmer o' moonlight or morning's ray ;
Noo I wist na which hours be the sairest, Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
He's aff, wha's " ever " was months twa three, Wi' his false fair mou', an' his steed o' the grey ;
He's left me to wale what time I'll dee, Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
EFFIE. 127
Bonnie he was whan he fleeched my heart, — I hadna the heart to gi'e him the nay ;
There wasna an hour then that saw us apart, Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
I'd love him again an' it were to do,
Aiblins I greet that I lo'ed him sae ; There wasna time to love him enoo,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
They tauld me the bee wi' his braw gold coat Flits fair to the flower, but he winna stay :
I've muckle room noo to remind me o't, Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
Whisht ! puir bairnie ! thou'lt madden thy mammie
If thou'rt life-weary, why I am sae ; We'se gang to the grey sea, an' sleep there, my lammie,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
XTo f. C. 1b*
We stood at the white gate and looked o'er the lea
In September, Fred ! We saw the great river grow broad into sea ;
Dost remember, Fred ? We watched grey sails while they faded away
In the grey weather, Fred ; And we asked to see whither went that seaway,
Close together, Fred !
Half was heard as it rose from the spot
With the blue smoke, Fred ; Half the Collector of Clouds heard not
That we then spoke, Fred ; By Necessity, fisher of men, caught now
Like a halibut, Fred ; Christians I teach here, and Mussulmans thou,
Close by Calicut, Fred !
TO F. C. H. 129
Come back, and take the things that are thine
In the old land, Fred : A warm corner, welcome, some rare Rhine wine,
And a true hand, Fred ; And, in token that these await thee, Fred,
Ere we ferry the Styx, I give thee, — 'tis paper currency, — Fred,
Page two- sixty-six.
Birmingham, 1S55.
Ah, lightly writ was that loving verse
In the old time, Fred ! That page was a leaf I let fall on thy hearse,
A flower to the Dead ! By Jumna thou sleepest, forgotten of men,
Except in this line. For I give thee — for days of our boyhood — again
Page one-twenty-nine.
London, 1888.
ffrom Sappbo.
SpLENDOUr.-THRONED Queeu ! immortal Aphrodite! Daughter of Jove — Enchantress ! I implore thee Vex not my soul with agonies and anguish ;
Slay me not, Goddess ! Come in thy pity — come, if I have prayed thee ; Come at the cry of my sorrow ; in the old times Oft thou hast heard and left thy father's heaven,
Left the gold houses, Yoking thy chariot. Swiftly did the doves fly, Swiftly they brought thee, waving plumes of wonder — Waving their pale plumes all across the tether,
All down the azure ! Very soon they lighted. Then didst thou, Divine one. Laugh a bright laugh from lips and eyes eternal, Ask me, "What ailed me — wherefore out of heaven
Thus I had called thee ?
FROM SAPPHO. 131
What it was made me madden in mv heart so ? "
ft/
Question me, smiling — say to me, " My Sappho, Who is it wrongs thee ? tell me who refuses
Thee, vainly sighing?" " Be it who it may be, he that flies shall follow ; He that rejects gifts, he shall bring thee many ; He that hates now shall love thee dearly, madly —
Ay, though thou wouldst not." So once again come. Mistress ; and, releasing Me from my sadness, give me what I sue for, Grant me my prayer, and be as heretofore now
Friend and protectress !
Hespekus brino^s all thino-s back Which the day-light made us lack ; Brings the sheep and goats to rest, Brings the baby to the breast.
dfrom Hnacteoiu
Love once amonsr tbe roses
Perceived a bee reposing,
And wondered what the beast was,
And touched it, so it stung him.
Sorely his finger smarted,
And bitterly he greeted,
And wrung his hands together ;
And half he ran, half fluttered
Unto Cytheras bosom,
Unto his fair, sweet mother.
Loud sobbed he, " Ai ! ai ! mother !
Olola ! I am murdered !
Olola ! it has killed me !
A small brown snake with winglets,
Which men the bumble-bee call,
Has bit me."' But Cythera
FROM ANACREON. 133
Said; laughing, " Ah, my baby, If bees' stings hurt so sorely, Bethink thee what the smart is Of those, Love, that thou piercest."
IRemests*
Daughter of Justice, winged Nemesis ;
Thou of the awful eyes, Whose silent sentence judgeth mortal life !
Thou with thy curb of steel,
Which proudest jaws must feel, Stayest the snort and champ of human strife ; And, hating miserable pride of men. Dost tame fierce hearts, and turn them meek agen.
Under thy wheel, unresting, trackless, all
Our joys and griefs befall ; In thy full sight our secret things go on ;
Step after step thy wrath
Follows the caitiff's path. And at his triumph breaks his vile neck-bone. To all alike thou metest out their due, Cubit for cubit, inch for inch — stern — true.
From Mesomedes.
%ovc anD Xit'e.
Life without golden love — what bliss is this ?
Oh, let me die when love is dead with me ! The stolen words, the honeyed gifts, the kiss,
These are the blossoms of youth's glorious tree.
Fkom Mimnekmus.
TWO IDYLS OF THEOCRITUS.
355p tbe jfountatn.
Thyesis.
Softly tlie sway of the pine-branches murmurs a
melody, Shepherd ! Down by the rim of the fountain, and softly dost
thou, on the Pan-pipes, Pipe to the pines : next to Pan thou bearest the bell
for rare music. Say that he wins a great-horn'd goat, then thine is
a she-goat ; Say that the she-goat is his, but thine is the kid,
then ; and tender Savours the meat of a kid — till she comes to the
bearing and milking.
BY THE FOUNTAIN. 137
Goatherd.
Sweeter I call thy strain than the tiakle of water
that trickles, Tinkling, and trickling, and rippling adown the
green shelves of the mountain. If we must grant the high Muses their prize from
the pick of the wethers, Certainly thine is a ewe : or if a ewe pleases their
fancy, Then at the least a lamb comes to thee — to drive to
thy sheep-folds.
Thyrsis.
Sit thee adown, good friend — sit down, and pipe to
us. Shepherd ! Here where the side of the hill slopes fair, and the
myrtles are thickest, Blow the fine melodies out : the yearlings can pasture
around us !
Goatherd.
Nay ! 'twere a sin, 'twere a sin — the sun's at his highest, my Thyrsis ;
138 BY THE FOUNTAIN.
Pan would be anger'd to hear me — ^just now, he
breaks off from hunting, Stretches his hairy limbs in the shade, and puffs his
great nostrils, Panting, and surly for lack of breath, and longing
for slumber. You now, Thyrsis, might sing ! you know the ballad
of Daphnis : None of our woodside singers have half such a trick
at the measure. Couch we here under these elms, on the grass at the
foot of the stone-god, Facing the fountain, and looking right on to the
mountains and meadows, Over the tops of the oaks ; and if you sing only so
deftly As you did once on that day when Chromis the
African dared you, Look ! I'll give you yon she-goat ; the dam of a
couplet of weanlings ; Udder she carries for both, and then to fill two of
thy milk-bowls. Her, and a cup cut in beech, two-handled and
polished with beeswax.
BY THE FOUNTAIN. 139
Clean and new, with the smell of the chisel and
fresh wood about it ; All round its rim, on the top, there creeps a string
of ground ivy Twisted and tangled with woodbine, while here and
there, in the circle, Tendrils curl and clasp — with bunches of berries
among them. Outside a damsel is carved — so fair the gods m.ight
have wrought her ! Neat and trim, with her mantle and net — and — this
hand and that hand — Two youths — both long-hair'd — both comely — con- tend for her favours Ano-rily — never a jot cares my pretty jade for their
anger ! Sometimes she flino-s a smile to one, and frowns to
his fellow, Sometimes she softens to t'other ; and there they
stand in the beechwood, Laugfh'd at, but mad with love — half-teased, half-
pleased at the wanton. Next a fisherman comes, cut out on a rock, and its ledo'es
I40 BY THE FOUNTAIN.
Jut up rough and stark; — the old boy, done to a
marvel, Stas"2:ers and sweats at his work — just like a fisher-
man hauling ; Looking upon it you'd swear the work was alive, and
no picture, So do the veins knot up and swell in his neck and
his shoulders. For, though he's wrinkled and grey, there's stuff
left yet in my ancient. Next to this old sea-dog yoa see a vine — all its
branches Heavy with globing grapes — a little lad sits by a
thicket, Guarding the grapes, but close at hand two foxes
come creeping. One in the vineyard munches the clusters — one's
after the wallet : Gods ! you can see his scheme — he'll keep his eye on
the youngster. Till that he finds a chance, and leaves him dinner- less. Blind one ! AYhy do you sit there weaving with grasses a cage
for your crickets,
BY THE FOUNTAIN. 141
Plaiting the grasses, and wholly forgetting your
wallet and dinner, Wholly forgetting your grapes — wrapped up in those
grasshopper-engines ? All the work in this cup's filled in with leaves of
acanthus ; 'Tis an ^olic thing — and sooth, of a wonderful fancy, Sirs ! it cost me to buy, of the Calydon sailor, a big- cheese Made of snow-white curds, and a she-goat into the
bargain ; Yet it has touch'd no lip, but lies this while in my
cottage. Look now ! I mean it for you ! 'tis yours, if you sing
us that ditty Half so well as you sang it before to the Himera
shepherds. No thanks ! do but sing ; — there's no more sunshine
or singing Under the grass — in the realm of the dead — where
all is forgotten !
Ube SpelL
Thestylis! where are the laurel-leaves? Quick,
girl ! bring me the love-spells ! Fasten the scarlet thread in and out round the brim
of the beaker ! Quick ! for I mean to charm my lover, my false- hearted lover. Twelve long days are passed, and he never has once
come to see me, Knows not if I be living or dead — never sends me a
message, No ! not even a word at my door ! Has he gone to
some new love. Light as the wings of Eros, and fleeting as Queen
Aphrodite ? Down to the town I will hasten to-morrow, and see
him, and ask him
THE SPELL. 143
Face to face, why he treats me so coldly : but
Thestylis ! thou now Help me to try him with charms, and oh Moon !
glitter thy brightest ! Shine, pale Moon ! for thee I invoke, and thy sister
and shadow Hecat — the under-world Moon, whom even the little
dogs howl at When she goes forth o'er the graves, and all her
footmarks are bloody : Make my magic to-night as strong as ever was Circe's, Potent as white Perimede's, and mighty as Colchian
Medea's !
Little bird ! whirl and scream, and whirl, and bring
me my lover ! Turn wheel, turn ! and burn, cake, burn ! Ah !
Thestylis, sprinkle ! What are you doing to tremble so ? sprinkle the salt
on the brazier ! Where are your wits gone, girl ? or is it that yon too
must vex me ? Sprinkle the salt, and say, "Flesh and blood of
Delphis I scatter ! "
144 THE SPELL.
Little bird ! scream, and whirl, and scream, and bring me my lover !
Delphis grieves me — in m}- turn I will grieve him. Laurel, burn ! As thy bright leaves curl and crack, Smoke and blaze and vanish black, Leaving not a leaf to see : ]\Iay his heart love-scorched be !
Little bird ! whirl, and scream, little bird ! and bring me my lover !
As I melt this waxen ball
May the great gods hear me call,
And Delphis melt with love for me !
And as this wheel turns rapidly
So may Queen Venus speed the charms
And bring him quickly to my arms !
Little bird, whirl, whirl, whirl ! scream ! scream ! and bring me my lover !
THE SPELL. 145
Now I scatter on the fiame Bran. Oh ! Artemis ! thy name Moves the Judge of Hell to fear. Rbadamanth himself! Then hear! Hear ! oh, hear me ! Thestylis, Did the dogs bark ? Yes, it is ! 'Tis the goddess in the street ! Beat the cymbals ! quick, girl ! beat !
Little bird, scream ! — scream louder ! and bring me my false-hearted lover !
Look ! the restless sea is sleeping, Milk-white ripples curling, creeping ; Listen ! all the winds are quiet, Folded up from rage and riot ; Only in my heart the pain Wakes, and will not sleep again I Bitter pain the sport to be Of him who hath unmaidened me.
Little bird, whirl — whirl fast ! scream sharp — scream ! call me my lover !
146 THE SPELL.
Thrice libations due 1 pay, Thrice, great goddess ! this I say, Whom he now loves I know not, But let her come to be forgot ! Clean forgot from head to feet As Ariadne was of Crete.
Scream, little wretch ! cry more ! and whirl, and fetch me my lover !
In Arcady there grows a flower, Stings the herds with subtle power, Drives them mad on vale and height : Would I had that flower to-night ! Delphis should come quick to me, Come, whate'er his company !
Scream for me still, little bird ! scream once, and call me my lover !
Delphis left this gift with me : In the fire I fling it. See ! Burn it red and burn it black, Angry hissing flames ! Alack !
THE SPELL. 147
It leaps away — he'll not return ! It only burnetii as I burn, And now 'tis aslies, pale and grey, As pale as I grow day by day.
Scream ere you die, little bird ! one cry to call me my lover !
Lizards green and gold I take
(Mighty magic this will make),
Slit them down from chin to tail,
Squeeze their cold blood, cold and pale.
Thestylis, take this to-morrow
(It can work him bliss or sorrow),
Lay it on his threshold stone,
Spit to the left, and say alone,
" She whose heart you tread on here
Charms you, Delphis! Love or fear!"
Dead are you, poor little fool ? and you could not bring me my lover !
Ah, me 1 what shall I do ? Alone, alone ! — I'll think the story over of my love,
148 THE SPELL.
How it began — what made the sweet pain come.
It was the day Anaxo was to walk
Bearing the basket for great Artemis.
With striped and spotted beasts in the procession.
Oh ' — and you recollect — a lioness !
Lady Moon ! listen and pity ! and help me, bringing my lover !
And mv old Thracian nurse, Theucharila,
«/ 7 7
Cauie — you remember — teasing, tempting me To go and see them pass, and so I went. 0 fool ! I went wearing the yellow bodice, And Clearista's purple train from Tyre.
Lady Moon ! listen and pity, and say where tarries my lover !
And when we came hard by wiiere Lycon lives Upon the paved way, there I saw him first, Delphis, with Eudamippus — oh, you know ! His hair danced back from off his brow, like sprays Of brio'ht amaracus, when west winds blow,
THE SPELL. 149
And all Ms neck, flushed with the heat of the games, Shone as thou shinest, Moon ! but rosier pearl !
Lady Moon ! Lady Moon, listen, and pity, and bring me my lover !
I saw him — looked ! loved ! oh, my foolish eyes !
Oh me ! the coward colour of my cheeks !
Oh, heart that straight went mad ! I did not mark
Those tame beasts anv more ; how I came home
I cannot call to mind ; you know I lay
Ten da^'s and nights indoors, and never rose.
Lady Moon ! sweet pale ]\[oon ! have mercy, and brino- me this lover !
I grew as pale — as white as thapsus-wood ! Say if I braided up my hair, or sang ! Say if I grew not to a ghost, with thinking ! When was the day you sought not who he was ? Where was the crone we did not plague for charms To brino- liim ? All in vain : he never came !
150 THE SPELL.
Oh, Moon ! hide not thy face. Oh, white Moon ! listen and pity !
So I grew sick with waiting, and I said, " Ah, Thestylis, help ! — heal me, or I die ! This Greek boy hath bewitched me. Go, my friend ! Watch at the gateway of the wrestling-school ; He Cometh there, I think, to play or sit.
Silver-faced Queen of the Stars, thou know'st we are not as immortals !
" And when he is alone, whisper full soft And say, ' Simoetha bids thee come,' and then, If he will, bring him ! " So you went and came Bringing my love to me. But when I heard His sandals on the step, and saw his face —
Lady Moon ! hear this now, and pity, and shine while I tell you !
And saw his face, I turned as cold as snow, And tears — I wot not why — sprang to my lids,
THE SPELL. 151
And how to speak I knew not ; not so much As little children startled in the night, That sob, and know it is all well — but sob, And will not stint even for their mother's voice. I was as dumb as dead thinofs, Thestvlis.
Queen of the planets and stars ! forgive, and listen, and pity I
For he with a bright gladness — not too bold — Entered; and once looked hard, and then looked
down, And sat against my feet ; and sitting, said, '' Only so little, sweet Simoetha ! thou Hast been the first to speak — as I was first Against Philinus in the race to-day, —
White- sandalled Mistress of Night ! have patience, and hear me and help me.
" I should have come, I swear it by my head I To-morrow at the dusk. I meant to bring- Some choice rose-apples in my breast. Mayhap You love them ; and a crown of poplar leaves Twisted with myrtle-buds and tied with red ;
152 THE SPELL.
Lady Moon, where is he now ? so soft, so gentle, so fickle !
" And if you had seemed kind I should have spoke. I was not hopeless, for I won the prize At running, and the maidens call me fair. The one prize I have longed for since the feast Was once to touch the goal of those dear lips ; Then I could rest — not else ! But had you frowned,^ And bade me go, and barred your door on me. Oh, Sweet ! I think I should have come with lamps And axes, and have stolen vou like a'old !"
Lady Moon, where is he now ? so gentle, so earnest, so winning !
" How shall I," he went on, " thank the gods first, And next you — you ! the queen and life of me ! My kindest love — who badst me hither come When I did burn for leave — yea ! for I think Hephaestus lights no flame as Eros doth ! "
Lady Moon, look out of heaven, and find him, and bring him for pity.
THE SPELL. 153
So lie spake, low and fair, and I, alas! What could I do, but reach my hand to him, And let him take it, and take me, and have The kiss he sued for, and another such ? My cheeks were white no more, nor my heart sad, Nor any trouble left ; but we sat close, And the soft talk bubbled from lip to lip Like fountains in the roses. All that time, And many a time we sat so : never once Failed he to keep his word, and never once Left, save with lino'erins: foot. But one ill dav He did not come, and then it was I heard Stories, that vexed me, of another love : Melixa's mother, and the harp-player Told me — and both are friends — he'd come no more. And that his house was loud with pipes and songs, And gay with crowns, not woven now lor me. Oh, Thestylis ! twelve days ago this was, And never have I seen him since that day. And never shall, unless my magic works : Therefore blow up the flame, and whirl the wheel !
Lady Moon ! speed this spell ; and fetch me my false-hearted lover.
154 THE SPELL.
Speed this spell ! if it brings you.
Delphis, love shall live anew :
If in vain I watch and wait,
Delphis, love will turn to hate !
Subtle drugs I treasure here,
Drugs of awful force and fear :
A Syrian witch culled these for me
In lonely caverns by the sea.
Delphis, if I brew this drink
It will send you, as I think,
Down to Hades' gate, to seek
A sweeter lip, a fairer cheek.
Oh, Moon ! spare me this at last !
Oh, Moon ! speed it — if I must.
And now farewell ! for one day more
I wait, and love him as before !
Farewell, pale Moon, and planets bright,
Watchers with me this silent night !
Xament of Hbonts*
Woe is me for Adouis! gone dead is the comely
Adonis ! Dead is the god-like Adonis ! the young Loves wail
for him, ai ! ai ! Sleep no more, wrapped in thy mantles of Tyrian,
lady of Cyprus ! Else, don thy raiment of azure, pale mourner, and
beat on thy bosom ! Tell out thy sorrow to all — he is dead, thy darling
Adonis.
Ai ! ai ! wail for Adonis ! — the young Loves wail
for him, ai ! ai ! Hurt on the hill lies Adonis the beautiful ; torn
with the boar's tusk, Torn on the ivory thigh with the ivory tusk, his
low gasping
156 la:\ient of adonis.
Anguishes Cypris' soul : the dark blood trickles in
rivers Down from his snowy side — his eyes are dreamily
dimminof Under their lids ; and the rose leaves his lip, and
the kisses upon it Fade, and wax fainter, and faintest, and die, before
Cypris can snatch them ; Dear to the Goddess his kiss, though it be not the
kiss of the living ; Dear — but Adonis wists nought of the mouth that
kissed him a-dvino-.
Ai ! ai ! wail for Adonis ! — ai ! ai ! say the Loves
for Adonis. Cruel ! ah, cruel the wound on the thigh of the
hunter Adonis, Yet in her innermost heart a deeper wears Queen
Cyther^ea. Round the fair dead boy his hounds pace, dismally
howling ; Round him the hill-spirits weep ; but chiefest of all
Aphrodite,
LAMENT OF ADONIS 157
Letting her bright hair loose, goes wild through the
dej^ths of the forest Passionate, panting, unkempt ; with feet unsandalled,
whose beauty Thorn-bushes tear as she passes, and drip with the
blood of the Goddess. Bitterly bitterly wailing, down all the long hollows
she hurries, Calling him Husband and Love — her Boy — her
Syrian Hunter. Meantime dead in his gore lieth he — from groin unto
shoulder Bloody ; from breast to thigh ; the fair young iiank
of Adonis, Heretofore white as the snow, dull now, and dabbled
with purple.
Ai ! ai ! woe for Adonis ! the Loves say, " woe for
Adonis!" That which hath killed her sweet lover hath killed
a grace which was god-like 1 Perfect the grace seemed of Cypris so long as Adonis
was living ;
158 LAMENT OF ADONIS.
Gone is her beauty now — ai ! ai ! gone dead with
Adonis : All the hills echo it — all the oaks whisper it, " Ah,
for Adonis ! " Even the river-waves ripple the sorrows of sad
Aphrodite, Even the springs on the hills drop tears for the
hunter Adonis ; Yea, and the rose-leaves are redder for grief; for
the grief Cyther^ea Tells in the hollow dells, and utters to townland
and woodland.
Ai ! ai ! Lady of Cyprus, " Lo ! dead is my darling
Adonis ! " Echo answers thee back, " Oh ! dead is thy darling
Adonis." Who, good sooth, but would say, Ai ! ai ! for her
passionate story ? "When that she saw and knew the wound of Adonis
— the death-wound — Saw the blood come red from the gash, and the
white thigh a-waning.
LAMENT OF ADONIS. . 159
Wide outraught she lier arms, and cried, " Ah 1
stay, my xidonis ! Stay for me, ill-starred love ! — stay ! stay 1 till I
take thee the last time. Hold thee and fold thee, and lips meet lips, and
mino'le too-ether. Rouse thee — a little, Adonis ! kiss back for the last
time beloved 1 Kiss me — kiss me — only so long as the life of a
kiss is ! So I ma}* suck from thy mouth to my mouth, to my
innermost heart-beat, All the breath of thy life, and take the last of its
love-spell Unto the uttermost end — one kiss ! I will tenderly
keep it As I did thee, my Adonis, sith thou dost leave me,
Adonis ! Far thou dost go and for long — thou goest to the
region of shadows. Unto a hateful and pitiless Power, and I, the
unhappy, Live ! and alack ! am a goddess, and cannot die
and go after.
i6o LAMENT OF ADONIS.
Take thou my spouse, dark Queen ! have here my
husband, as thou art Stronger by far than I, and to thee goeth all that
is goodly. Utterly hapless my fate, and utterly hopeless my
grief is, Weeping my love who is dead, and hating the Fate
that hath slain him. Fled is my joy, like a dream ; thou art dead, thrice
lovelv and lonp'ed for ! Queen Cythersea is widowed — the Loves in my bowers
are idle — Gone my charmed girdle with thee ; why, rash one,
went'st thou a-hunting ? Mad wert thou, being so fair, to match thee with
beasts of the forest."
So grieved the Lady of Cyprus — the young Loves
wept for her sorrow. Saying '•' Ai ! ai ! Cythertea ! gone dead is her darling
Adonis." Drop by drop as the hunter bleeds, the tears of the
Goddess
LAMENT OF ADONIS. i6i
Fall and blend with the blood, and both on the
ground become flowers ; Eose-blossoms grow from the blood, and wind-lilies
out of the tear-drops.
Ai ! ai I comely Adonis — gone dead is the god-like
Adonis ; Wander no longer bewailing in glade and in thicket,
sad lady ! Fair is his bed of leaves, and fragrant the couch
where thy love lies, Dead, but as lovely as life — yea, dead — but as lovely
as sleep is ; Lap him in mantles of silk — such robes as he once
took delight in When by thy side he passed in caresses the season
of starbeanis, Lulled on a couch of gold — though dead, the raiments
become him ; Heap on him garlands and blossoms and bnds, entomb
them together ; When that Adonis died, the flowers died too, and
were withered 1
i62 LAMENT OF ADONIS.
Rain on liim perfumes and odours, shed myrtle and
spices upon liim ; Let all delightful things die and go with him, for
dead is the dearest.
So lies he lovely, in death-shroud of purple, the fair
young Adonis ; Round about his couch the Loves go piteously wailing, Tearing their hair for Adonis ; and one has charge
of his arrows. One of his polished bow, and one of his well-feathered
quiver ; One unclasps his sandal, and one in a water-pot golden Brings bright water to lave his limbs ; and one, at
the bier-head, Fans with her pinions the forehead and eyes of the
sleeping Adonis.
Ah ! but for Cypris herself the young Loves sorrow
the sorest ; Quenched are the marriage-lamps in the halls of the
God Hymen^eus, Scattered his marriage crowns; no more he sings,
" Hymen, oh ! Hymen,"
LAMENT OF ADONIS. 163
'"' Hymen ! " no more is the song lie goes singing,
but evermore ai ! ai ! *' Ah, for Adonis," he cries, and '^ Ah ! " say the
Graces, " Adonis I " More than the marriage-god even, they weep for the
Syrian huntsman, One to the other still saying, " Dead — dead is the
lovely Adonis !" All the high Muses bewail — but he hears no more
music and singing, Nay, not if that he would : Fate holds him fast and
for ever.
Cease, Cy theraea, thy sobs ; a little while rest from thine anguish. Soon must thy tears flow again, and again come the season of sorrow.
From Bion.
pvaper to tbe /Dbuses,
Glory and praise to those sweet Lamps of earth, The nine fair Daughters of Almighty Jove,
Who, all the passage dark to death from birth,
Lead wandering souls with their bright beams of love.
Through cares of mortal life, through pain and woe, The tender solace of their counsel saves ;
The healing secrets of their songs forego
Despair; and when we tremble at the waves
On life's wild sea of murk incertitude.
Their gentle touch upon the helm is pressed. Their hand points out the beacon-star of good,
Where we shall make our harbour, and have rest —
PRAYER TO THE MUSES. i6:
The planet of our home wherefrom we fell, Allured by this poor show of lower things,
Tempted among earth's dull deceits to dwell :
But oh ! great Sisters, hear his prayer who sings,
And calm the restless flutter of his breast,
And fill him with the thirst for wisdom's stream ;
Nor ever suffer earthly sights unblest
To turn his vision from the eternal beam.
Ever and ever higher, from the throng Lawless and witless, lead his feet aright
Life's perils and perplexities among,
To the white centre of the sacred Light.
Feed him with food of that rich fruit which grows On stems of splendid learning — dower him still
With gifts of eloquence to vanquish those
Who err ; — let soft persuasion change their will.
Hear, heavenly Sisters, hear ! oh, ye who know The winds of wisdom's sea, the course to steer ;
Who light the flame that lightens all below, And bring the spirits of the perfect there
i66 PRAYER TO THE MUSES.
Where the immortals are, when this life's fever Is left behind as a dread gulf o'erpassed ;
And souls, like mariners, escaped for ever. Throng on the happy foreland, saved at last.
So bring, high Muses ! open me the scroll Where Truth is writ in characters of fire ;
Roll from my eyes the mists of life — oh ! roll. That I may have my spirit's deep desire,
Discerning the divine in undivine.
The god in man — the life of us in death ;
Nor let dire powers pluck this soul of mine
From its most precious hope — to merge beneath
Deep floods of black oblivion, far from bliss,
From light, from wisdom — never let dark doom
Shut my lost soul in such despair as this, My soul that is so weary of the gloom !
But hear and help, ye wise and shining Nine !
I yearn and strive towards your heavenly side; Teach me the secret of the mystic sign,
Give me the lore that guards, the words that guide.
Fkom Procltjs.
H H)eC>icatiom
TO MY DAUGHTER.
Because I know my verse sliall liencefortli live
On lips to be, in hearts as yet unbeating ; Because tbe East and West will some day give —
When Faith and Doubt are friends, at some far meeting — Late praise to him who dreamed it, — therefore, here,
As one that carves upon a growing willow The word it is to keep for many a year ;
As one that paints, before she breasts the billow, A dear name on his vessel's prow ; as one
Who, finishing a fane, makes dedication With golden letters on the polished stone,
Crowning his toil by loving celebration, — Here, while these last, our love I celebrate, For thy sake and thy Mother's, — writing " Kate."
Christmas, 1884.
Mitb a Dolutne of ITranslations*
Flowers from Greek gardens, Fannie ! old turned new ;
Doric, ^olic, Attic gathered here : You made the pleasant sunshine where they grew ;
Such as the growth is, have the blossoms, Dear !
BeDication ot a Booli.
[From the Sanskrit.]
Sweet ! on the daisies of your English grave I lav this little wreath of Indian flowers,
Fragrant for me, because the scent they have Breathes of the memory of our wedded hours ;
For others scentless ! and for you, in Heaven, Too pale and faded, dear dead wife ! to wear
Save that they say, which makes all fault forgiven, That he who brings them lays his heart too there.
1866.
XTbe 3£ptc of tfoe %ion.
[From the French of Victor Hugo's "L'Art d'etre Grandpere."
I.
A Lion in his jaws caught up a child —
Not harming it — and to the woodland, wild
With secret streams and lairs, bore off his prey ;
The beast, as one might cull a flower in May,
Had plucked this bud, not thinking wrong or right,
Mumbling its stalk, too proud or kind to bite, —
A lion's way, roughly compassionate !
Yet truly dismal was the victim's fate ;
Thrust in a cave which rumbled with each roar,
His food wild herbs, his bed the earthy floor,
He lived, half-dead with daily frightening.
It was a rosy boy, son of a king ;
A ten-year lad, with bright eyes shining wide ;
And, save this son, his Majesty beside
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 171
Had but one girl — two years of age — and so The monarch suffered, being old, much woe, His heir the monster's prey, while the whole land In dread both of the beast and king did stand ; Sore terrified were all.
By came a Knight That road, who halted, asking, " Y^hat's the fright ? " They told him, and he spurred straight for the den.
Oh, such a place ! the sunlight entering in
Grew pale — and crept, so grim a sight was shown
Where that gaunt Lion on the rock lay prone :
The wood, at this part thick of growth and wet,
Barred out the sky with black trunks closely set ;
Forest and forester matched wondrous well !
Great stones stood near, with ancient tales to
tell,— Such as make moorlands weird in Brittany, — And at its edge a mountain you might see. One of those iron walls which shut off heaven ; The Lion's den was a deep cavern driven Into this granite ridge, fenced round with oaks. Cities and caverns are discordant folks,
172 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
They bear each other grudges ! this did wave
A rustling threat to trespasser, — " Hence, knave !
Or meet my Lion ! "
In the champion went ! The den had all the sombre sentiment Which palaces display — deaths — murderings — Terrors ! — you felt " here dwells one of the kings : " Bones strewn around showed that this mighty lord Denied himself nought which his woods afford. A rock-rift, pierced by stroke of lightning, gave Such misty glimmer as a den need have : What eagles might think dawn, and owls the
dusk, Makes day enough for kings of claw and tusk. All else was regal, though ! you understood Why the majestic brute slept, as he should, On leaves, with no lace curtains to his bed ; And how his wine was blood — nay, or instead, Spring- water lapped sans napkin, spoon, or cup, Or lackeys.
Being from spur to crest mailed up. The champion enters.
In the den he spies Truly a Mighty One ! Crowned to the eyes
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 173
With shaggy golden fell — the Beast ! — It muses
With look infallible ; for, if he chooses,
The master of a wood may play at Pope,
And this one showed such claws, there was small hope
To argue with him on a point of creed !
The Knight approached — yet not too fast, indeed !
His footfall clanged, flaunted his rose-red feather ;
None the more notice took the beast of either,
Still in his own reflections plunged profound.
Theseus a-marching upon that black ground
Of Sisyphus, Ixion, and dire hell,
Saw such a scene, murk and implacable.
But duty whispered, " Forward ! " so the Knight
Drew forth his sword : the Lion at that sight
Lifted his head in slow wdse, grim to see.
The Knight said : " Greeting, monstrous brute, to
thee ! In this foul hole thon hast a child in keeping, — I search its noisome nooks with glances sweeping, But spy him not. That child I must reclaim ; Friends are we if thou renderest up the same ; If not — I too am lion, thou wilt find ; The king his lost son in his arms shall bind ;
174 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
While here tliy wicked blood runs, smoking-hot, Before another dawn."
" I fancy not ! " Pensive, the Lion said.
The Knight strode near, Brandished his blade and cried : " Sire ! have a
care I The Beast was seen to smile — ominous sight ! — Never make lions smile ! Then joined they fight, The man and monster, in most desperate duel Like warring giants, angry, huge, and cruel ; Like tigers crimsoning an Indian wood, The man with steel, the beast with claws as good ; Fang matching blade, hide mail, that sylvan lord Hurled himself foaming on the flashing sword : Stout though the Knight, the Lion stronger was, And tore his brave breast under its cuirass ; And, striking blow on blow with ponderous paw, Forced plate and rivet off", until you saw Through all the armour's cracks the bright blood spirt, As when clenched fingers make a mulberry squirt ; And piece by piece he stripped the iron sheath, Helm, armlets, greaves — gnawed bare the bones be- neath,
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 175
Scrunching that hero ; till he sprawled — alas ! Beneath his shield, all blood, and mud, and mess, Whereat the Lion feasted : then it went Back to its rocky couch and slept content.
II.
ISText came a hermit.
He found out the cave ; With girdle, gown, and cross — trembling and grave — He entered. There that Knight lay, out of shape. Mere pulp : the Lion, waking up, did gape. Opened his yellow orbs, heard some one grope, And — seeing the woollen coat bound with a rope, A black peaked cowl, and inside that a man — He finished yawning and to growl began : Then, with a voice like prison-gates which creak, Eoared, '' What wouldst thou ? " "My King!"
" King ? "
" May I speak ? " "Of whom?"
" The Prince."
" Is that what makes a King- ? '"
176 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
The monk bowed reverence: " Majesty ! I bring A message — wherefore keep this child ? "
" For that Whene'er it rains I've some one here to chat." " Return him ! "
" Not so ! "
" What then wilt thou do ? Wouldst eat him ? "
" Ay — if I have nought to chew ! " " Sire ! think upon his Majesty in woe ! " " They killed my dam," the Beast said, " long
ago." " Bethink thee, sire, a king implores a king." " Nonsense — he talks — he's man ! when my notes
ring, A Monarch's heard."
''His only boy!"
''Well, well! He hath a daughter."
" She's no heir."
" / dwell Alone in this my home, 'mid wood and rock, Thunder my music, and the lightning-shock My lamp ; — let his content him ! "
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 177
" Ah ! show pity." " What means that word ? is't current in your city ? " " Lion, thou'dst wish to go to heaven — see here ! I offer thee indulgence, and, writ clear, God's passport to His paradise — "
" Get hence. Thou holy rogue ! " bellowed the Beast immense. The hermit disappeared !
III.
Thereat left free, Full of a lion's vast serenity He slept again, letting the still night pass : The moon rose, starting spectres on the gi'ass, Shrouding the marsh with mist, blotting the ways, And melting the black woodland to gray maze ; No stir was seen below, above, no motion Save of the white stars trooping to the ocean : And while the mole and cricket in the brake Kept watch, the Lion's measured breath did make Slow symphony which held all creatures calm.
Sudden — loud cries and clamours, striking qualm Into the heart o' the quiet ! horn and shout
M
178 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
Causing the solemn wood to reel with rout, And all the nymphs to tremble in their trees ! The uproars of a midnight chase are these. Which shake the shades, the marsh, mountain and
stream, And spoil the silence of their sombre dream. The thicket Hashed with many a lurid spark Of torches borne 'mid wild cries through the dark ; Hounds, nose to earth, ran yelping through the wood, And armed groups, gathering in the alleys, stood. Terrific was the noise that rolled before ; It seemed a squadron ; nay, 'twas something more — A whole battalion, sent by that sad king With force of arms his little Prince to bring, Togetner with the Lion's bleeding hide.
Which here was right or wrong ? who can decide ? Have beasts or men most claim to live ? God wots I He is the unit, we the cipher- dots.
Well warmed with meat and drink those soldiers were. Good hearts they bore — and many a bow and spear ; Their number large, and by a captain led
Valiant, whilst some in foreign wars had bled,
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 179
And all were men approved and firm in figlit. The Lion heard their cries, affronting night, For by this time his awful lids were lifted ; But from the rock his chin he never shifted, And only his great tail wagged to and fro.
Meantime, outside the cavern, startled so,
Came close the uproar of this shouting crowd.
As round a web flies buzzing in a cloud.
Or hive-bees swarming o'er a bear ensnared,
This hunter-legion buzzed, and swarmed, and flared.
In battle order all their ranks were set :
'Twas understood the Beast they came to get,
Fierce as a tiger's cunning — strong to seize —
Could aiunch up heroes as an ape cracks fleas,
Could with one glance make Jove's own bird look
down ; Wherefore they laid him siege as to a town. The pioneers with cixes cleared the way, The spearmen followed in a close array, The archers held their arrows on the string ; Silence was bid, lest any chattering Should mask the Lion's footstep in the wood ; The dogs — who know the moment when 'tis good
i8o THE EPIC OF THE LION.
To liolcl their peace — went first, nose to the ground, Givino- no tonsfue : the torches all around Hither and thither flickered, their long beams Through sighing foliage sending ruddy gleams ; — Such is the order a great hunt should have. And soon between the trunks they spy the cave, A black, dim-outlined hole, deep in the gloom, Gaping, but blank and silent as the tomb, Wide open to the night, as though it feared As little all that clamour as it heard. There's smoke where fire smoulders, and a town, When men lay siege, rings tocsin up and down ; Nothing so here ! therefore with vague dismay Each stood, and grasp on bow or blade did lay, Watchinof the horrid stillness of that chasm : The dogs among themselves whimpered : a spasm From the horror lurking in such voiceless places — Worse than the rage of tempests — blanched all faces Yet they were there to find and fight this Thing, So they advance, each bnsh examining, Dreading full sore the very prej^ they sought ; The pioneers held high the lamps they brought : " There ! that is it ! the very mouth of the den ! " The trees all round it muttered, warning men :
THE EPIC OF THE LION. i8i
Still they kept step and neared it — look you now Company's pleasant ! and there were a thou —
Good Lord ! — all in a moment, there's its face 1
Frightful I — they saw the Lion ! Not one pace
Further stirred any ma.n ; the very trees
Grew blacker with his presence, and the breeze
Blew shudders into all hearts present there :
Yet, whether 'twas from valour or wild fear.
The archers drew — and arrow, bolt, and dart
Made target of the Beast. He, on his part —
As calm as Pelion in the rain or hail —
Bristled majestic from the nose to tail,
And shook full fifty missiles from his hide;
Yet any meaner brute had found beside
Enough still sticking fast to make him yell
Or fly ; the blood was trickling down his fell.
But no heed took he, glaring steadfastly ;
And all those men of war, amazed to be
Thus met by such stupendous might and pride,
Thought him no beast, but some god brutified.
The hounds, tail down, slunk back behind the spears ;
And then the Lion, 'mid the silence, rears
His awful face, and over wood and marsh
i82 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
Roared a vast roar, hoarse, vibrant, vengeful, harsh, — A rolling, raging peal of wrath, which spread From the quaking earth to the echoing vault o'erhead, Making the half-awakened thunder cry, " Who thunders there ? " from its black bed of sky.
This ended all ! — sheer horror cleared the coast ! As fogs are driven by wind, that valorous host Melted, dispersed to all the quarters four, Clean panic-stricken by his monstrous roar ; Each with one impulse — leaders, rank and file. Deeming it haunted ground, where Earth somewhile Is wont to breed marvels of lawless might — They scampered, mad, blind, reckless, wild with
fright. Then quoth the Lion, "Woods and mountains ! see, A thousand men enslaved fear one Beast free ! "
As lava to volcanoes, so a roar Is to these creatures ; and, the eruption o'er In heaven- shaking wrath, they mostly calm. The gods themselves to lions yield the palm For magnanimity. When Jove was king, Hercules said, " Let's finish off the thing,
. THE EPIC OF THE LION. i8:
Not the Nemaean merely ; every one
We'll strangle — all the lions." Whereupon
The lions yawned a " much obliged ! " his way.
But this Beast, being whelped by night,
day- Offspring of glooms — was sterner ; one of those Who go down slowly when their storm's at close ; His anger had a savage ground-SA^ell in it : He loved to take his naps, too, to the minute, And to be roused up thus with horn and hound, — To find an ambush sprung — to be hemmed round — Targetted — 'twas an insult to his grove ! He paced towards the hill, climbed high above, Lifted his voice, and, as the sowers sow The seeds down wind, thus did that Lion throw His messasfe far enoug-h the town to reach. " King ! your behaviour really passes speech ! Thus far no harm I've wrought to him your son ; But now I give you notice — w^hen night's done I will make entry at your city- gate, Bringing the Prince alive ; and those that wait To see him in my jaws — your lackey-crew — Shall see me eat him in your palace too ! "
i84 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
Quiet the nio-ht passed, while the streamlets bubbled, And the clouds sailed across the vault untroubled.
Next morning this is what was viewed in town :
Dawn coming ! — people going ! — some ad own Praying, some crying ; pallid cheeks, swift feet, And a huge Lion stalking through the street !
IV.
The quaking townsmen in the cellars hid ;
How make resistance ? briefly, no one did ;
The soldiers left their posts, the gates stood wide
'Twas felt the Lion had upon his side
A majesty so godlike, such an air —
That den, too, was so dark and grim a lair —
It seemed scarce short of rash impiety
To cross its path as the fierce Beast went by.
So to the palace and its gilded dome
With stately steps unchallenged did he roam,
In many a spot with those vile darts scarred still.
As you may note an oak scored with the bill,
Yet nothing recks that giant-trunk ; so here
Paced this proud wounded Lion, free of fear.
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 185
While all the people held aloof in dread, Seeing the scarlet jaws of that great head Hold up the princely boy — aswoon.
Is't true Princes are flesh and blood ? Ah, yes ! and you Had wept with sacred pity, seeing him Swing in the Lion's mouth, body and limb : The tender captive gripped by those grim fangs, On either side the jowl helplessly hangs, Deathlike, albeit he bore no wound of tooth. And for the brute thus gagged it was, in sooth, A grievous thing to wish to roar, yet be Muzzled and dumb, so he walked savagely, His pent heart blazing through his burning eyes. While not one bow is stretched, no arrow flies ; They dreaded, peradventure, lest some shaft Shot with a trembling hand and faltering craft Might miss the Beast and pierce the Prince :
So, still As he had promised, roaring from his hill. This Lion, scorning town and townsfolk, sick To view such terror, goes on straight and quick To the King's house, hoping to meet there one Who dares to speak with him : — outside is none !
i86 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
The door's ajar, and flaps with every blast ; He enters it — within those walls at last ! — Ko man !
For, certes, though he raged and wept, His Majesty, like all, close shelter kept, Solicitous to live, holding his breath Specially precious to the realm. Now, death Is not thus viewed by honest beasts of prey, And when the Lion found him fled away, Ashamed to be so grand, man being so base, He muttered to himself in that dark place Where lions keep their thoughts : " This wretched Kino- !
'Tis well, I'll eat his boy !" Then, wandering, Lordly he traversed courts and corridors, Paced beneath vaults of gold on shining floors. Glanced at the throne deserted, stalked from hall To hall — green, yellow, crimson — empty all ! Rich couches void, soft seats unoccupied ! And as he walked he looked from side to side To find some pleasant nook for his repast. Since appetite was come to munch at last The princely morsel. Ah ! what sight astounds That grisly lounger ?
THE EPIC OF THE LION. 187
In the palace-grcunds An alcove on a garden gives, and there A tiny thing — forgot in the general fear, Lulled in the flower-sweet dreams of infancy, Bathed with soft sunlight falling brokenly Throug'h leaf and lattice — was that moment wakiuo- -. A little lovely maid, most dear and taking. The Prince's sister ; all alone — undressed — She sate up singing : children sing so best !
A voice of joy, than silver lute-string softer !
A mouth all rosebud, blossoming in laughter !
A baby-angel hard at play ! a dream
Of Bethlehem's cradle, or what nests would seem
If girls were hatched ! — all these ! Eyes, too, so
blue That sea and sky might own their sapphire new ! Neck bare, arms bare, pink legs and stomach bare ! Nouo'ht hid the roseate satin skin, save where A little white-laced shift was fastened free ; She looked as fresh, singing thus peacefully, As stars at twilight, or as April's heaven ; A floweret — you had said — divinely given, To show on earth how God's own lilies grov/ ;
i88 THE EPIC OF THE LION.
Such was this beauteous baby-maid ; and so The Beast caught sight of her, and stopped —
And then Entered ; the joists creaked as he stalked straight in !
Above the playthings by the little bed The Lion thrust his shaggy massive head, Dreadful with savage might and lordly scorn, More dreadful with that princely prey so borne ; Which she quick spying, " Brother ! brother ! " cried, " Oh ! my own brother ! " and, unterrified — Looking a living rose that made the place Brighter and warmer with its fearless grace — She gazed upon that monster of the wood, Whose yellow balls not Typhon had withstood ; And — well ! who knows what thoughts these small
heads hold ? She rose up in her cot — full height, and bold, And sliook her pink list angrily at him.
Whereon — close to the little bed's white rim.
All dainty silk and laces — this huge Brute
Set down her brother gently at her foot,
Just as a mother might, and said to her, —
'^ DoiiH he fut out^ now ! there he is, Dear ! there ! "
IRencla,
A PASTORAL POEM.
By LoREXZO de' Medici, surnamed "The Magnificent."
Translated for the first time, and in the original metre, from the Italian.
[This pastoral by the great Florentine Ruler, Lorenzo tiie Magnificent, is taken from the Italian text, printed at Bergamo in 1763 a.d. The Bergamese editor remarks, of the fifty stanzas composing it, " Sono hel loro genere inco7nparabili ;" and all may certainly admire the dramatic force with which the illustrious Medicean has, as it were, entered into the very heart and soul of his peasant, to depict a rural passion. The " Nencia" was probably written about A.D. 1480 — the dawn of the golden age of Italian art — when the " Magnificent" Lorenzo was chief of all the scholars and poets, as well as of his citizens of Florence, and gathered at his table such men as Michael Angelo, Luca Signorelli, Ghirlandajo, Filippino Lippi, Botticelli, Pulci, Poliziano, and Pico de IMirandola.]
I.
I BURX with love ; — love makes me bold to siDg Praise of the damsel who undoes my heart ;
Each time I think a little tender thing
About her, 'tis as if my breath would part :
190 NENCIA.
The world her match for beauty cannot bring, No other eyes such lovely lightnings dart ; In town and tower and city have 1 been, But seen none nowhere like my country-queen.
II.
To Monticelli, every market-day,
To Prato, Empoli, and San Casciano,
To Poggibonsi, and to Colle gay, By San Donato down to Dicamano ;
To Castelfranco, all Figline-way ;
San Pier', Montagna, Borgo, Gagliano,
Ofttimes I wend, — a-bnyiug and a-selling —
And Barberin, where mv Nenciozza's dwelling.
III.
But never once — saving at Barberin — See I a girl so dear, discreet, and taking,
With cheek, and neck, and nape, and dimpled chin So smooth and white; or of such perfect making.
Her eyes ! 'tis like torch-light, when feasts begin. To feel their lids lift, and their glance awaking
Joyance ; and 'twixt them comes the winsome nose
With proud pink nostrils, like the pits in a rose.
J
NENCIA. 191
IV.
Of pink sea-coral are her dear lips cliglit,
With, underneatli, two strings of sea-pearls plenty ;
A Tuscan foal's milk-row is not so white !
(To judge thereby my Xencia's come to twenty.)
Her stainless cheeks have all the softened light Of misted marble, chiselled smooth and dainty ;
Amid the blooms of Beautv she is Rose ;
The wide world no such lovely wonder shows !
V.
Beyond all noble fortunes fortunate
He'll be, who takes her to his happy bosom ;
Well might he call his star glorious and great Whose lot it is to wear this heavenly blossom :
Well may he make his peace thenceforth with Fate, And lightly bear whatever ills should cross him.
Who clasps fair Xencia as his wedded wife,
White as wild wax, aud with love's honey rife !
VI.
I'll liken thee to fairy cloudland gleams
Which mix the welkin and the world together ;
192 NENCIA.
I will compare thee unto Dian's beams
Who round poor cabins sheds her silver weather ; Spring-water none so fresh and sparkling seems,
Nor late- trod wine so luscious. Sweet one ! whether Early or late we see thee, 'tis as neat And fair and wholesome as new-bolted wheat !
vn.
Her eyes can steal a shepherd's soul away
Through wall of flesh, whenever she doth look ;
You see her, and you love, the selfsame day, Albeit the story goes her heart is rock ;
Troops of tamed lovers her behests obey. And live upon her will, a patient flock :
'Tis little she can lose giving one glance,
But, whoso wins it, how his heart doth dance !
VIII.
La Nencia mia ! Ah, the pearl she seems Going afoot, on Saints' Days, to hear matins !
She wears a bodice which right bravely gleams Of damask, and a skirt of brightest satins,
A golden girdle clasps her waist, and streams
Down to the knee with jewelled pins and patines ;
NENCIA. 193
When she hath heard the Mass, and paceth home, How like a heavenly angel she doth come !
IX.
She hath no fellow at the sheaf-tying,
She works and laughs when all the rest are sped ; Or else at home her merry wheel, fast-flying,
Spins ducats for her with its dancing thread : For whatso's deft and rich she will be trying,
Woollen or silk ; and all the while her head Droops like a snow-drop when the neighbours,
mustered. Praise her. She is as sweet as millet-custard !
X.
Thou hast so witched me with thy braided brow
I cannot ply my mattock as before ; For meat and drink I have no stomach now ;
No morsel can I swallow any more : I grow so thin, the withered winter-bough
Lets the blast through it with a sigh less sore :
Nor day nor night repose or comfort brings,
I am so tied to thee by twenty strings.
N
194 NENCIA.
XI.
I am so wild with utter love of thee,
All night I toss and groan and start and sigh ;
The kindly gossips say, to comfort me,
" Shepherd ! take heart ! thou'lt win her by- and-by."
The village damsels jest because they see I go with cornamuse, where thou dost lie,
At eve, and sing for love some little trifle,
But thou dost sleep, or with hushed laughter stifle.
XII.
Last night I could not sleep a single wink.
It seemed a thousand years ere dawn would break.
Bethinking thou wouldst take thy flock to drink At daytime, and wouldst wend down to the lake ;
So, not to miss one passing blessed blink
Of those black eyes, I, for their sweet light's sake,
Waited two hours against the bake-house close
Till the full moon set and my Nencia rose.
XIII.
My Nencia's beauty hath not any blot,
She's stately, straight, and tall as wench can be ;
NENCIA. 195
A dimple in her cliin my love hath got,
Which makes her bright laugh lovelier to see.
There is no single charm she boasteth not ; I think dame Nature framed her purposely
So fair, so fine, so noble, and so tender,
That all the world might homage to her render.
XIV.
I culled a posy of snow-blossomed spray,
With buds and berries gathered here and there, —
It was for thee ; but thou didst turn away So grand ! not deigning answer, foul or fair.
Then spake I to myself, " My love doth play The high and mighty ; I will match her here ! "
And ofttimes since, albeit I turn mine eye,
The folks may see how proud I pass them by.
XV.
Yesterday, all day long, I watched for thee Hard by the mill : I said : " If she comes now
It cannot happen but my chance will be ; The beasts are safe, grazing upon the brow :
We'll loiter by the kiln, Nencia and me ; We'll stroll together to the fountain, — thou
196 NENCIA.
And thy Yallera, — under th' biding vine ;
T will tend thy flock and thou shalt herd mine !**
XVI.
And when at last from your cot-door you came, Holding the hound from hurrying the sheep,
My heart swelled in my breast, and shook my frame, While tears of joy down either cheek did creep :
I started for the cross roads, all aflame.
Quickening my calves and heifers up the steep ;
And waited on the knoll where thou shouldst pass,
But at the by-path thou didst turn — alas !
XVII.
When next thou comest with thy water-pot, Wend, I beseech thee, hither to our well !
I'll draw" for thee, and make all toil forgot :
Who knows but there will be something to tell ?
Ofttimes I had a mind to hide it not
When thou wert by, but fear always befell ;
Yet, if this is to hap, why linger longer ?
The chestnut's on the bough, the grapes grow stronofer !
NENCIA. 197
XVIII.
It was in April that my heart was caught,
The day I saw thee plucking herbs and cresses ;
[ spake thee fair, but thou didst answer nought And frowned, because folks passed, tossing thy tresses ;
To know thy name and house I vainly sought, Lest love be lost for what one word expresses ;
And from that hour I was no more the same :
I grew thy thrall ; thou hadst me, meek and tame.
XIX.
Nenciozza mia ! I have a mind to go —
Now that my beasts are in the will to drink —
Down to the pool, where thou must come, I know. And there to sit me still upon the brink,
Till I shall spy thee cross. To loiter so Were pleasant, if it happen as I think.
I'll stay like stone until my sweet hath passed ;
Ah ! do not make my watching vain at last !
XX.
Nenciozza mia ! I go a' Saturday
To sell two loads of wood in Florence-town ;
198 NENCIA.
While the sleek heifers cropped the flowers away
I set me yesterday to cut it down. Ah ! if thou'dst come, Dear ! — But at least I may
Bring fardels for thee, buttons for thy gown, Powder, pomander, — not to beautify thee ! — Or pins, or needles : something let me buy thee !
XXI.
Jove ! when she dances, what a step and skill !
What lightness ! like a kid's her quick feet fly ! She turns as swiftly as the sails of a mill,
And marks the music, hand and foot and eye : And, when all's ended, courtesy low she will
And take two backward steps, so gracefully ! She makes the very prettiest salute. There's not in Florence any dame could do't !
XXII.
Ask rae. Dear ! some small trifle from the fair !
What shall I fetch thee, what slight dainty thing ? A brooch of carved shell for my love to wear ?
Or hooks and eyes, or buckles, or silk strings ? A broidered gipsire for thy kirtle. Dear !
Or lace to tie thy lappets, shall I bring ?
NENCIA. 199
Or wilt thou choose, to bind thy bodice close, A cord of sky-blue silk ? or none of those
XXIII.
But a long necklace for thy milky throat, Strung with round coral beads of rosy pink,
All with a cross to swing midway ; and, note,
They make them great and small ! which dost thou think
The prettier ? if my blood could drop, God wot ! Eound ruddy beads to please thee, 'twould not shrink !
So, if I find thy fancy, hold it thine.
Though I should pawn this jacket, Nencia mine !
XXIV.
If thou shouldst say, when Sieve rolls at flood,
" Fling thyself in ! " I'd headlong leap straightway!
If thou shouldst bid so end my life, I would Dash head against a rock, and die tbat way I
Command me any deed that seemeth good In those dear eyes and I shall straight obey.
I know some promise thus abundantly
Who would not spoil a pair of shoes for thee.
200 NENCIA.
XXV.
Yea ! and I know — my Xencia ! my heart's treasure !
There's some one whispers thee in my despite : Let him beware 1 I'll give him market measure ;
Six inches' in his midriff, sharp and bright ! Thou'st seen the knife I wear ! Dio ! 'tis pleasure
To mark it do its work at feast or fight ! If in my quarters it finds any man, By God ! the steel shall make him skip a span !
XXVI.
Oh, me ! a lass like this white maid of mine, So honey-sweet and winning, ne'er was seen !
She's lusty, large, and fresh , and still so fine, So fair and graceful, — of all feasts the queen.
But yet that mirth and modesty combine To keep her ever all she should have been ;
And how her singing all the feast enhances !
And, dancing, how all dancers she outdances !
XXVII.
I too know something ! — with the best I'd vie If, Nencia ! I dared open all my heart :
NENCIA. 201
There is no better judge porklings to buy ;
I sliine at plough and harrow, spade and cart : When, stripped, I tie my seed-bag on, or ply
The axe, they say, '' What a stout wight thou art ! " The mattock and the pick I wield like thunder, And blow the horn and cow-pipes till you wonder.
xxvin.
But Thou, but thou ! Ah, none is like to thee !
A well-scrubbed kneading-trough is not so white ! As syrup draws the flies thou drawest me ;
As figs tempt wasps so art thou my delight ; Richer than rape-blooms, sweet as what the bee
Sucks from their gold thou art ! Oh, if I might One kiss of honey from that red mouth rifle. New goat's cheese after such would seem a trifle.
XXIX.
I've waited all this while for thee to pass,
Musing my love where the quick waters shine ;
My beasts have grazed off every bite of grass, I must not tarry, or the fools will pme :
What doest, Nencia ! not to come ? Alas !
I looked to see thy wandering charge and mine
202 NENCIA.
Mix in the willows, then 'twere one hour's gain To let them seem one flock, though we be twain !
XXX.
Nenciozza mia ! ^tis time for me to go !
My yearlings must be tethered in the stall, God be with thee ! I send fond farewell so —
Far off; for Mona Masa loud doth call. My heart stays here ! have pity ! let me know
Thou giv'st me back some tittle, if not all, Of thine. Good-bye 1 Good-night ! la huo7ia sera ! Sleep soft, and think kind things of thy Vallera !
XXXI.
Nencia ! Nenciozza ! one day say you will
Climb the hill with me through the willows here !
Promise ! say, " Yes, I'll come !" and fear no ill, Nenciozza mia ! I'll deserve thee, Dear !
Nencia ! I iove thee so ; my love is still
So great and true, I'd die to bring thee cheer !
If thou wert stung by some beast fell and frightful,
I'd suck the poison, and think death delightful !
NENCIA. 203
XXXII.
Or we might meet farther away, where yonder The Gun's eye doth not shine in the green gloom ;
Don't say " you could not answer ! " do not ponder If we should hear them when they called from home :
But come, and lift thy hood, and let the wonder Of thy dark lovely eyes gleam on me ! Come !
Eyes which befit thy beauteous breast and brow
Being angelic, and an angel thou.
XXXIII.
Cara Nenciozza mia ! I hear the bleating One of thy flock makes in the close below.
Some wolf, maybe, is there — killing and eating, With deadly jaws, thy lambkin. Nay, 'tis so !
Wilt thou not take thy staff — wilt thou not? sweeting ! And with me in the lonely valley go,
To strike the caitiff dead ? I'll be with thee !
But all the folk shall say : " She killed him ! She ! "
XXXIV.
Ah, come ! I know a nest of speckled thrushes Ready to fly ; the prettiest feathered thing !
204 NENCIA.
'Tis hid away in a thick clump of bushes,
There are no caged birds that so sweetly sing !
To-morrow I will show you, for time pushes,
If thou'dst rear one ; and then, Dear ! I will bring
An oaten cake ; while — for a good excuse —
I shall pass, playing on my cornamuse.
XXXV.
Nenciozza mia I I shall not seem a clown
When I get home my broidered vest to wear,
And lace my shoes, and tie my long hair down, You'll take me for a sleek, rich townsman, Dear !
Just now I know I'm rough about the crown, The barber asks too much my locks to shear
And curl, but if my marketing goes fairly
I will be barbered properly and rarely.
XXXVI.
Farewell ! my Lily with the lovely bloom !
I see the beasts are breaking for the wheat ; To-morrow, Nencia ! when again I come,
I'll bring you wild wood strawberries — if they're sweet —
NENCIA. 20:
So, when you hear my cornamnsa boom,
Trip to the spot we wot, where the roads meet, At corner of the orchard. I can find Dittany there for thee, if thou'st a mind !
XXXVII.
I asked thee of thy father — dost thou know ?
Old Beco droned me out some doubtful word, And, taking counsel of thy mother so,
Gave me to understand I'm not preferred ; Yet look for me to come — ('less thou say'st " no " — )
With such a band some day to catch my bird That none shall let. I've told father and mother Thee I will have for wife, and never other !
xxxviri.
Oh, when I see thee compassed round with folk. Something inside me seems to boil and swim
But if one makes thee eyes, ah, I could choke. My heart leaps up my throat to come at him !
Alas ! poor heart ! by this 'twere burst and broke, So full of thee it is ; full to the brim !
But that its thousand sighs, each one an anguish,
Fly all day long to thee, saying " I languish ! "
2c6 NENCIA.
XXXIX.
Nenciozza ! Come at dinner-time ! we'll eat Salads together, and, it may be, cheese :
Be sure you keep your word to come, my sweet ! But so that no accursed gossip sees.
I bear my weapons, Dear ! if we did meet Some of old Beco's crew under the trees
There'd be wild words — I know — and blood, may be ; —
The Devil flay them, if they flout at me !
XL. I talk too fierce ! Ah, Nencia ! — when she goes.
On feast-days, what a pearl of grace she seems ! Smooth, white, and clean, and neat from top to toes :
A little ring on each midfinger gleams. For she hath store of trinkets, and bestows
So trimly here and there her beauty's beams. Pearls too — fine pearls — my love wears ! Not the
best Can anywhere compare with Nencia dressed !
XLI.
Ah, Nencia ! didst thou know the love immense, The burning love I bear for those bright eyes,
NENCIA. 207
The tears I pour, the grievous woe intense
That seems to crack and rend me with deep sighs ;
If thou knewedst this, and all — thy gentle sense Would melt — thou wouklsL. all lesser love despise,
And cry, " My poor Vallera ! thou art he
That lov'st me most, thou shalt not woful be ! "
XLH.
I marked thee, Nencia ! tripping home that day From Santo — oh, so splendid ! I was dazed.
Thou hadst a mind to take the meadow way And slipped adown where Beco's asses grazed.
I hid myself; quoth I, " Meet now we may ! "
Then while you singing tripped, I, breathless, gazed ;
And so drew closer ; but ere this could pass
You spied me, and you turned aside, alas !
XLIII.
Nenciozza mia ! it made me dumb with pleasure To see thy rose-fair face even thus near :
If I could once more come so nigh my treasure I'd live upon such joy a whole long year !
2o8 NENCIA.
If I could speak thee forth my love's full measure Meseems my life's luck would be perfect, Dear ! If in my grasp that dear hand I could hold, I'd not unclasp, to get mine filled with gold !
XLIV.
I'm here ! but Nencia does not come, nor wake : Nencia ! why art thou such a slug-a-bed ?
Thou hearest me ; thou know'st that for thy sake I blow this cornamuse ; why art thou hid ?
Thou wert not wont such heavy sleep to take ! Pleaseth no more the music, as it did ?
All day I conned this gentle strain to sing thee,
I meant it for a charm would surely bring thee.
XLV.
0 heart too hard ! what maiden would not render
Love to a lover loving her like me ? Who else would melt not, and wax honey- tender
Seeing me suffer thus ? Ah, Nencia ! see ! Thou knowest I am so faithful : must it end here
The pain which should be crowned with joy by thee?
NENCIA. 209
Ah, yield a little ! one kind tliought discover, Then deal with me as pitchforks do with clover !
XLVI.
Nay, when one speaks of forks, how deft she is !
There's no such nimble worker in the land ; She weaves a hat of straw that way and this,
With knots and ends so dexterously planned. You never saw such skill ! the neighbours press,
To see the plaits obey her cunning hand. She can make osier-pots, and baskets, too. And what the best doth, that will Nencia do.
XLvn.
Nencia ! ah, Nencia I I do love thee so !
As the poor moth the flame which crisps his wings ; Ah mia Nenciozza ! seeking thee I go
As flies to honey, when the sweetness brings Death. Must I die ? Then shine, dear Lantern ! oh,
Shed sweet death, Honey ! But if better things
Await me, then, kind Love ! be this now said
Before the chestnuts fall and grapes grow red,
o
2IO NENCIA.
XLVIII.
Peace, poor Vallera ! peace, thou foolish youth !
Wasted thy song is, and thy sorrow vain ! It seemed she liked me once, but now, in sooth,
She likes me not, I see : therefore sharp pain Eives me and drives me, sobbing : for no ruth
My love will show, and these hot tears again Tell to what anguish I am led, alas ! Who shake with passion, if she only pass.
XLIX.
Nencia ! Nenciozza ! thou wilt be my death !
Yet so to see me die can please thee not. Ah, would to God that I could keep my breath
Whilst I drew forth my heart, and laid it hot Upon thy hand, to hear how its beat saith,
" Nencia ! Nenciozza ! " — and to witness what A load it bears ! But, if thou didst so take My heart in hand, 'twould sigh, " Keep me ! " and break !
L.
Good-b3^e ! Nenciozza ! Heaven have guard of thee ! The weary beasts are to their homestead near ;
NENCIA. 211
I must not have, for any fault of me, Some lieifer left lowing outside iier lair ;
Tlie last one now will o'er the river be. (Yea ! yea ! Madonna Masa ! I can hear !
I come !) Farewell, cold Love ! She calls again,
There's Nanni bustling, and the wine to strain !
Ube Stratfotb HMlgnms.
"Ah ! the troop at the Tabard Inn,
Manciple, Miller, and Frankelyn,
Tightening the girths, and draining the ale,
And away on their wild ride by river and dale !
Gone, Dan Chaucer ! gone, but for thee
Is the clatter of that gay companie,
The rattle and ring of stirrup and spur,
Floating of plume, and folding of fur,
With the round of tales that held from town
To the sweet green slopes of tlie broad South Down.
Certes ! with such it were pleasant indeed
To patter an Ave, or finger a bead,
And forth each dawn by the cock to wend
From shrine to shrine unto Albion's end ;
But their day is done, and their course is run.
None goeth forth on a pilgrimage — none I "
THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 213
" Well ! but the woods are as green as then, And the sunshine as splendid on grey rock and
glen ; The linnet and missel-thrush sing, I trow, With as rich a trill in their little throats now ; Rivers will ripple, and beech-boughs wave, And the meadows be decked in a di'ess as brave, And the great glad sky build a roof as blue, Tho' it overarch only pilgrims two. Sweetheart, come ! let us do as they Did in old time on as fair a day : We lack but a chapel whereunto to wend, A shrine and a saint for our journey's end ; And of that gay ride — the shrine, God wot. Is the dusty goal that I envy them not."
" Nay, pardie ! " quoth she that I love, " Fit for thy mood as the hand for the glove. Or the hilt of his sword for the soldier's fist, Or a poet to be praised, or a lip to be kissed. Far on yon path, by the emerald lea, Fair Avon glideth ad own to the sea ; By the walls of a church, beneath whose stones Sleeps dust sacred as saintly bones, — His whom thou lovest."
214 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS.
" Eight good ! " I said, And forth a foot to the lea I led, With staff and scrip and a spirit in tune To the merry noise of a midsummer noon : — Two we were of one heart and age Going a pious pilgrimage.
Sooth ! I doubt if palmers as gay
Ever set forth on so fair a way.
Sooth ! I doubt if a day so rare
Ever made pilgrimage half so fair.
But, certes ! never did palmers go
To holier shrine than where he lies low,
Who miracles wrought for heart and eye :
The wonder of Imogen's constancy.
The airy marvels of Prospero's isle,
The magic of Queen Cleopatra's smile ;
Her barge that burned on the glowing water,
The patience and faith of Lear's leal daughter,
The Eoman Portia's fond, firm heart.
And the Veronese lovers death did not part.
Something I laughed, Heav'n 'ield it me.
At Beckett and Benedict saints, — not he !
So came we on where the wayfarer sees
VERNIER. 215
Red Warwick fading behind the trees,
And Guy's great castle beside the town,
That " setter up," and that " puller down."
For " Stratford — ho ! " our green road lay,
And I spake, with my heart in the ancient day ;
" Sweet ! thou art fair for a prioresse,
And I am an ' Oxenforde clerke,' no less ;
Tell out some fable of olden time !
I rede you to prove by line or rhyme,
That woman was true ! " — " Benedicite ! "
" Hearken my story and judge," quoth she.
VERNIER.
If ever thou shalt follow silver Seine
Through his French vineyards and French villages,
For love of love and pity turn aside
At Vernier, and bear to linger there !
The gentle river doth so — lingering long
Round the dccrk marshland, and the pool Grand'mer,
And then with slower ripple steals away
Down from his merry Paris. Do thou this ;
'Tis kind to keep a memory of the dead, —
The bygone, silent dead ; and these lie there,
Buried a twenty fathoms in the pool.
2i6 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS.
Whose rough cold wave is closed above their grave, Like the black cover of an ancient book Over a tearful story.
Very lovely Was Julie de Montargis : even now — After six hundred years are dead with her, Her village name — the name a stranger hears — Is, " La plus belle des belles ; " — they tell him yet, The glossy night-black pansies of the land Lost depth in her dark hair ; and that she owned The noble Norman eye — the violet eye, Almost — so far and fine its lashes drooped — Darkened to purple :
All the country-folk Went lightly to their work at sight of her ; And all their children learned a grace by heart, And said it with small lips when she went by, The Lady of the Castle.
Dear past words Was all this beauty and this gentleness Unto her first love and her playfellow, Roland le Vavasour.
Too dear to leave, Save that his knightly vow to pluck a palm,
VERNIER. 217
And bear the cross broidered above bis heart, To where upon the cross Christ died for him, Led him away from loving.
But a year, And they shall meet — alas ! to those who joy, It is a pleasant season, all too short, Made of white winter and of golden spring, With autumn fruitage after summer-nights : But parted lovers count the minutes up, And see no sunshine.
Julie heeded none, When she had belted on her Boland's sword. Buckled his breastplate, and upon her lip Taken his last long kisses.
Listen now ! She was no light-o'-love, to change and change, And, deeply written on her heart, she kept The night and hour the star of Love should see A true love-meeting. Walking by the pool. Many a time she longed to wear a wing, As fleet and white as the swift sea-bird spread, That she might hover over Roland's sails, Follow him to the field, and in the battle Shield the hot Syrian sun from dazing him :
2i8 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS.
High on the turret many an autumn eve,
When the wise, wandering swallow tried his plumes
For foreign flight, she gave him messages,- —
Fond messages of love, for Palestine,
Unto her knight. What wonder, loving so,
She greeted well the brother that he sent
From Ascalon with spoils — Claude Vavasour ?
Could she do less ? — he had so deft a hand
Upon the mandolin, and sang so well
What Roland did so bravely ; nay, in sooth.
She had not heart to frown upon his songs,
When they sang other love and other deeds
Than Eoland's, being brother to her lord.
Yet sometimes was she grave and sad of eye.
For knowledge of the spell her glance could work
Upon its watcher. Ah ! he came to serve,
And stayed to love her ; and she knew it soon,
Past all concealment. Oftentimes his eyes,
Fastened upon her face, fell suddenly.
For brother-love and shame ; but, once and twice,
Julie had seen them, through her tender tears,
Fixed on some messenger from Holy Land
With wild significance, the drawn white lips
Working for grief, because she smiled again.
VERNIER. 219
He spake no love — he breathed no passionate tale, Till there came one who told how Roland's sword, From heel to point, dripped with the Paynim blood ; How Ascalon had watched, and Joppa's lists, And Gaza, and Nicasa's noble fight, His chivalry ; and how, with palm-branch won. Bringing his honours and his wounds a-front, His prow was cleaving Genoa's sapphire sea. Bound homewards. Then, the last day of the year, Claude brought his unused charger to the gate. Sprang to the broad strong back, and reined its rage Into a marble stillness. Yet more still, Young Claude le Vavasour, thy visage was, More marble-white.
She stood to see him pass, And their eyes met ; and, full of tears were hers To mark his suffering ; and she called his name, And came below the gate ; but he bowed low, And thrust the vizor close over his face, So riding on.
Before St. Ouen's shrine That night the lady watched — a sombre night, "With fleeting beams of fitful moonlight sent 'Twixt driving clouds ; the grey stone statues gleamed
220 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS.
Thro ugh the gloom ghost-like ; the still effigies
Of knight and abbess had a show of life.
Lit by pale crimsons and faint amethysts
That fell along them from the oriels ;
And if she broke the silence with a step,
It seemed the echo lent them speech again
To speak in ghostly whispers ; while, o'er all.
With a weird paleness midnight might not hide,
Straight from the wall St. Ouen looked upon her.
Knitting his granite brows, bidding her hope
No lover's kiss that night — no loving kiss —
None — though there came the whisper of her name,
And a chill sleety blast of wintry wind
Moaning about the tombs, and striking her,
For fear, down to her knees.
That opened porch Brought more than wind and whisper ; there were
steps. And the dim wave of a white gaberdine — Horribly dim ; and then the voice again. As though the dead called Julie. Was it dead. That form which, at the holy altar foot. Stood spectral in the flickering window-lights ? It does not turn, nor speak, nor seek for her,
VERNIER. 221
But passes thro' the chancel, grim and still ! Ah, Holy Mother ! dead — and in its hand The pennon of Sir Eoland, and the palm, Both laid so stilly on the altar front ; A presence like a knight, clad in close mail From spur to crest, yet from his armed heel No footfall ; a white face, white as the stones, Lit by the moonlight long enough to know How the dead kept his tryst ; and It was gone, Leaving the lady on the flags, ice-cold.
Oh, gentle River ! thou that knowest all,
Tell them how for a while she mourned her Knight ;
How her grief withered all the rose-bloom off,
And wrote its record on her fading cheek ;
And say, bright River ! lest they do her wrong,
All the sad story of those twenty moons,
The true-love dead — the true-love that lived on —
Her clinging memories, and Claude's generous praise,
Claude's silent service, and her tearful thanks ;
And ask them, River, for Saint Charity,
To think not too much wrong, that so she gave,
222 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS.
Her heart being given and gone, her hand to him, The Brother of her Lord. —
Now banish care ! Soothe it with flutings, startle it with drums ! Trick it with gold and velvets, till it glow Into a seeming pleasure. Ah, vain ! vain ! When the bride weeps, what wedding-gear is gay ? And since the dawn she weeps — at orisons She wept — and while her women clasped the zone, Among its jewels fell her mocking tears. Now at the altar all her answers sigh ; Wilt thou ? — Ah ! fearful altar-memories — Ah ! spirit-lover — if he saw me now ! Wilt thou ? — " Oh me ! if that he saw me now ! " He doth, he doth ! beneath St. Ouen there. As white and still — yon tnonh lulwse cowl is hack ! Wilt thou ? — " Ah, dear love, listen and look up." He doth — ah God ! with hollow eyes a-fire. Wilt thou ? — pale quivering lips, pale bloodless lips- " I will not — never — never — Koland — never ! "
So went the bride a-swoon to Vernier ;
So doffed each guest his silken braveries ;
So followed Claude, heart-stricken and amazed,
VERNIER.
223
Aud left tlie Chapel. But the monk left last,
And down the hill-side, swift and straight and lone,
Sandals and brown serge brushed the yello^v broom,
Till to the lake he came and loosed his skiff,
And paddled to the lonely island-cell
Midway over the wavelets. Long ago
The people of the lonely water knew
He came alone to dwell there — 'twas the nio-ht
Of Lady Julie's vigil ; ever since
The simple fishers left their silver tithe
Of lake- fish for him on the wave- worn flag's,
Wherefrom he wandered not, save when that day
He went unasked, and marred the bridal show, —
Wherefore none knew, nor how, — save two alone,
A lady swooning — and a monk at prayers.
And now not Castle-gates, nor cell, nor swoon, Nor splashing waters, nor the flooded marsh, Can keep these two apart. The Chapel-bells Ring Angelus and Even-song, and then Sleep, like her waiting maidens — only Blanche, Her foster-sister, lying at the gate. Dreaming of roving spirits — starts at one. And marvels at the night-gear, scantly hid.
224 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS.
And, overdone with pity at her plaint, Lets her dear Lady forth, and watches her Gleaming from crag to crag — but lost at last, A white speck on the night.
More watchful eyes Follow her flying ; — down the water-path, Mad at his broken bridals, sore amazed With fear and pain, Claude tracks the wanderer — Waits, while the wild white fingers loose the cord- But when she drove the shallop through the lake Straio'ht for the island-cell, he brooked no stav. But doffed his steel-coat on the reedy rim. And gave himself to the quick-plashing pool, And swimming in the foam her fleetness made. Strove after — sometimes losing his white guide, Down-sinking in the dark wash of the waves.
Together to the island-cell they come,
The shallop and the swimmer — she alone
Thrusts at the wicket, — enters wet and wild.
What sees he there under the crucifix ?
What holds his eyesight to the ivied loop ?
Oh, Claude ! — oh furious heart ! be still, or break !
The Monk and Julie kneeling, not at prayer !
VERNIER. 225
She kisses liim with warm, wild, eager lips —
Weeps on his heart — that woman, nearly