* '" ‘'wJ.V; ‘ * -r&L ■ H \ / I%I%uaiIP7(P - POEMS. Z 0 >i f^" /tf'f f- ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING’S POETICAL WORKS, ELEVENTH EDITION. IN FIVE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE.- 1877- T \ H O 170153 CONTENTS, — ♦ — PAGE THE ROMAUNT OP THE PAGE 1 THE LAY OP THE BROWN ROSARY. FIRST PART . . 17 SECOND PART 22 THIRD PART 30 FOURTH PART 38 A ROMANCE OF THE GANGES 42 RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY 52 THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN’S NEST .... 83 BERTHA IN THE LANE 88 lady Geraldine’s courtship 100 CONCLUSION 131 THE RUNAWAY SLAVE AT PILGRIM’S POINT . . . 141 THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN 148 A CHILD ASLEEP 156 THE FOURFOLD ASPECT ....... 160 NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN 166 EARTH AND HER PRAISERS ...... 171 VI CONTENTS, PAGE THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS . . . 180 AN ISLAND 188 THE SOUL’S TRAVELLING 196 TO BETTINE 205 MAN AND NATURE 208 A SEA- SIDE WALK ,210 THE SEA-MEW 212 FELICIA HEMANS . ■ 215 L. E. L.’S LAST QUESTION 218 CROWNED AND WEDDED . . 222 CROWNED AND BURIED 227 TO FLUSH, MY DOG 286 THE DESERTED GARDEN 242 MY DOVES 247 HECTOR IN THE GARDEN 251 SLEEPING AND WATCHING 256 SOUNDS ......... 259 \ SONNETS. THE soul’s expression 265 THE SERAPH AND POET . .... 266 BEREAVEMENT 267 CONSOLATION 268 TO MARY RUSSELL MITFORD IN HER GARDEN '. . . 269 ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH BY B. B. HAYDON . 270 CONTENTS Til PAST AND FUTURE .... IRREPARABLENESS . TEARS GRIEF SUBSTITUTION ..... COMFORT . . . • * • PERPLEXED MUSIC .... WORK ....... FUTURITY ..... THE TWO SAYINGS . THE LOOK ..... THE MEANING OF THE LOOK . / A THOUGHT FOR A LONELY DEATH-BED WORK AND CONTEMPLATION . PAIN IN PLEASURE .... — FLUSH OR FAUNUS . . . • FINITE AND INFINITE AN APPREHENSION . DISCONTENT . . • • PATIENCE TAUGHT BY NATURE . > CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON EXAGGERATION ADEQUACY TO GEORGE SAND. A DESIRE TO GEORGE SAND. A RECOGNITION . PAGE 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 the prisoner viii CONTENTS. INSUFFICIENCY .... TWO SKETCHES. I. . . . TWO SKETCHES. II. ... MOUNTAINEER AND POET . . THE POET ..... HIRAM POWERS’ GREEK SLAVE LIFE ;..... LOVE HEAVEN AND EARTH ... THE PROSPECT . . • . HUGH STUART BOYD. HIS BLINDNESS HUGH STUART BOYD. HIS DEATH PAGE 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 « 305 306 307 308 309 HUGH STUART BOYD, LEGACIES POEMS. THE BOMAUNT OF THE PAGE. I ♦ 1 . A knight of gallant deed3 And a young page at his side, From the holy war in Palestine Did slow and thoughtful ride, As each were a palmer and told for beads The dews of the eventide. n. * 0 young page,’ said the knight, * A noble page art thou ! Thou fearest not to steep in blood The curls upon thy brow ; And once in the tent, and twice in the fight, Didst ward me a mortal blow.’ B 2 THE BOMAUNT OF THE PAGE. ni. ‘ 0 brave knight,’ said the page, ‘ Or ere we hither came, We talked in tent, we talked in field, Of the bloody battle-game ; But here, below this greenwood bough, I cannot speak the same. IV. ‘ Our troop is far behind, The woodland calm is new : Our steeds, with slow grass-muffled hoofs. Tread deep the shadows through ; And, in my mind, some blessing kind Is dropping with the dew. v. ‘ The woodland calm is pure — I cannot choose but have A thought from these, o’ the beechen-trees, Which in our England wave, And of the little finches fine Which sang there while in Palestine The warrior-hilt we drave. VI. ‘ Methinks, a moment gone, I heard my mother pray ! I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me THE KOMAUNT OE THE PAGE. 3 Wherein she passed away ; And I know the heavens are leaning down To hear w'hat I shall say.’ VII. The page spake calm and high, As of no mean degree ; Perhaps he felt in nature’s broad Pull heart, his own was free : And the knight looked up to his lifted eye, Then answered smilingly — VIII. ‘ Sir page, I pray your grace ! Certes, I meant not so To cross your pastoral mood, sir page, With the crook of the battle-bow ; But a knight may speak of a lady’s face, I ween, in any mood or place, If the grasses die or grow. IX. And this I meant to say — My lady’s face shall shine As ladies’ faces use, to greet My page from Palestine ; Or, speak she fair or prank she gay, She is no lady of mine. 4 THE B.OMATTNT OE THE PAGE. X. ‘ And this I meant to fear — Her bower may suit thee ill ; For, sooth, in that same field and tent, Thy talk was somewhat still : And fitter thy hand for my knightly spear Than thy tongue for my lady’s will !’ XI. Slowly and thankfully The young page bowed his head ; His large eyes seemed to muse a smile, Until he blushed instead, And no lady in her bower, pardie, Could blush more sudden red : ‘ Sir Ivnight, — thy lady’s bower to me Is suited well,’ he said. XII. Seati, beati, mortui ! From the convent on the sea, One mile off, or scarce so nigh, Swells the dirge as clear and high As if that, over brake and lea, Bodily the wind did carry The great altar of St. Mary, And the fifty tapers burning o’er it, And the lady Abbess dead before it, And the chanting nuns whom yesterweek the eomatjnt oe tiie page. 5 Her voice did charge aad bless, — Chanting steady, chanting meek, Chanting with a solemn breath, Because that they are thinking less Upon the dead than upon death. JBeati, beati , mortui ! How the vision in the sound Wheeleth on the wind around ; How it sweepeth back, away — The uplands will not let it stay To dark the western sun : Mortui ! — away at last, — Or ere the page’s blush is past ! And the knight heard all, and the page heard none. xm. ‘ A boon, thou noble knight, If ever I served thee ! Though thou art a knight and I am a page, How grant a boon to me ; And tell me sooth, if dark or bright, If little loved or loved aright Be the face of thy ladye.’ xiv. Gloomily looked the knight — * As a son thou hast served me, And would to none I had granted boon Except to only thee ! # 0 THE liOHAENT OE THE PAGE. For haply then I should love aright, For then I should know if dark or bright Were the face of my ladye. xv. ‘ Yet it ill suits my knightly longue To grudge that granted boon, That heavy price from heart and life I paid in silence down ; The hand that claimed it, cleared in fine My father’s fame : I swear by mine, That price was nobly won ! XVI. * Earl Walter was a brave old earl, He was my father’s friend ; And while I rode the lists at court And little guessed the end, My noble father in his shroud Against a slanderer lying loud> He rose up to defend. XVII. ‘ Oh, calm below the marble grey My father’s dust was strown l Oh, meek above the marble grey His image prayed alone ! TUB EOMATTNT OB THE PAGE. 7 The slanderer lied : the wretch was brave — Eor, looking up the minster-nave, He saw my father’s knightly glaive Was changed from steel to stone. XVIII. ‘Earl Walter’s glaive was steel, With a brave old hand to wear it, And dashed the lie back in the mouth Which lied against the godly truth And against the knightly merit : The slanderer, ’neath the avenger’s heel, Struck up the dagger in appeal Erom stealthy lie to brutal force — And out upon the traitor’s corse Was yielded the true spirit. XIX. ‘ I would mine hand had fought that fight And justified my father ! I would mine heart had caught that wound And slept beside him rather ! I think it were a better thing Than murdered friend and marriage-ring Forced on my life together xx. ‘ Wail shook Earl Walter’s house ; His true wife shed no tear ; 8 THE ROMAUNT OE THE PAGE. She lay upon her bed as mute As the earl did on his bier : Till — ‘Ride, ride fast,’ she said at last, * And bring the avenged’s son anear ! Ride fast, ride free, as a dart can flee, Por white of blee with waiting for me Ts the corse in the next ehambere.’ XXI. ‘ I came, I knelt beside her bed ; Her calm was worse than strife . ‘ My husband, for thy father dear, Gave freely when thou wast not here His own and eke my life. A boon ! Of that sweet child we make An orphan for thy father’s sake, Make thou, for ours, a wife.’ XXXL. ‘ I said, * My steed neighs in the court, My bark rocks on the brine, And the warrior’s vow I am under now To free the pilgrim’s shrine ; But fetch the ring and fetch the priest And call that daughter of thine, And rule she wide from my castle on Nyde "While I am in Palestine.’ THE KOMATJNT OE THE PAGE. 9 XXIII. ‘ In the dark chambere, if the bride was fair, Xe wis, I could not see, But the steed thrice neighed, and the priest fast prayed, And wedded fast were we. Her mother smiled upon her bed As at its side we knelt to wed, And the bride rose from her knee And kissed the smile of her mother dead, Or ever she kissed me. XXIV. ‘ My page, my page, what grieves thee so, That the tears run down thy face ?’ — ‘ Alas, alas ! mine own sister Was in thy lady’s case : But she laid down the silks she wore And followed him she wed before, Disguised as his true servitor, To the very battle-place.’ xxv. And wept the page, but laughed the knight, A careless laugh laughed he : ‘ Well done it were for thy sister, But not for my ladye ! My love, so please you, shall requite No woman, whether dark or bright, Unwomaned if she be.’ 10 THE BOMATHSTT OE THE PAGE. XXVI. The page stopped weeping and smiled cold- 1 Your wisdom may declare That womanhood is proved the best By golden brooch and glossy vest The mincing ladies wear ; Yet is it proved, and was of old, Anear as well, I dare to hold, By truth, or by despair.’ xxvn. He smiled no more, he wept no more, But passionate he spake — ‘ Oh, womanly she prayed in tent, When none beside did wake ! Oh, womanly she paled in fight, Bor one beloved’s sake ! — And her little hand, defiled with blood, Her tender tears of womanhood Most woman-pure did make ! ’ XXVIII. — 1 Well done it were for thy sister, , Thou tellest well her tale ! But for my lady, she shall pray I’ the kirk of Hydesdale. INot dread for me but love for me Shall make my lady pale ; THE ROMATOT OE THE PAGE. 11 No casque shall hide her woman’s tear — • It shall have room to trickle clear Behind her woman’s veil.’ XXIX. — ‘ But what if she mistook thy mind Aud followed thee to strife, Then kneeling did entreat thy love As Paynims ask for life ?’ — ‘I would forgive, and evermore W ould love her as my servitor, But little as my wife. xxx. ‘Look up — there is a small bright cloud Alone amid the skies ! So high, so pure, and so apart, A woman’s honour lies.’ The page looked up — the cloud was sheen — A sadder cloud did rush, I ween, Betwixt it and his eyes. XXXI. Then dimly dropped his eyes away Prom welkin unto hill — Ha ! who rides there ?— the page is ’ware, Though the cry at his heart is still : 12 THE BOMAUNT OF THE PAGE. And the page seeth all and the knight seeth none, Though banner and spear do fleck the sun. And the Saracens ride at will. XXXII. He speaketh calm, he speaketh low, — ‘ Hide fast, my 1 master, ride, Or ere within the broadening dark The narrow shadows hide.’ ‘ Yea, fast, my page, I will do so, And keep thou at my side.’ XXXIII. ‘ How nay, now nay, ride on thy way, Thy faithful page precede. Tor I must loose on saddle-bow My battle-casque that galls, T trow, The shoulder of my steed ; And I must pray, as I did vow, For one in bitter need. XXXIV. ‘Ere night I shall be near to thee, — How ride, my master, ride ! Ere night, as parted spirits cleave To mortals too beloved to leave, I shall be at thy side.’ The knight smiled free at the fantasy, And adown the dell did ride. THE EOMAUNT OE THE PAGE. 13 XXXV. Had the knight looked up to the page’s face, JS"o smile the word had won ; Had the knight looked up to the page’s face, I ween he had never gone : Had the knight looked back to the page’s geste, I ween he had turned anon, For dread was the woe in the face so young, And wild was the silent geste that flung Casque, sword to earth, as the boy down-sprung And stood — alone, alone. i XXXVI. He clenched his hands as if to hold His soul’s great agony — - ‘ Have I renounced my womanhood, For wifehood unto thee , And is this the last, last look of thine That ever I shall see ? xxxvn. ‘ Tet God thee save, and may’st thou have A lady to thy mind, More woman-proud and half as true As one thou leav’st behind ! And God me take with Him to dwell — For Him I cannot love too well, As I have loved my kind.’ J-4 THE EOMAUNT OF THE PAGE, XXXVIII. She looketh up, in earth’s despair, The hopeful heavens to seek ; That little cloud still floateth there, Whereof her loved did speak : How bright the little cloud appears ! Her eyelids fall upon the tears, And the tears down either cheek. XXXIX. The tramp of hoof, thp flash of steel — The Paynims round her coming ! The sound and sight have made her calm, Palse page, but truthful woman ; She stands amid them all unmoved : A heart once broken by the loved Is strong to meet the foeman. XL. * Ho, Christian page ! art keeping sheep, Prom pouring wine-cups resting ?’ — ‘ I keep my master’s noble name, Por warring, not for feasting ; And if that here Sir Hubert were, My master brave, my master dear, Ye would not stay the questing.’ THE KOMATJETT OE THE PAGE. 15 XLI. 1 "Where is thy master, scornful page, That we may slay or bind him ?’ — ‘Now search the lea and search the wood, And see if ye can find him ! Nathless, as hath been often tried, Tour Paynim heroes faster ride Before him than behind him.’ XLII. ‘ Give smoother answers, lying page, Or perish in the lying !’ — ‘ I trow that if the warrior brand Beside my foot, were in my hand, ’Twere better at replying!’ They cursed her deep, they smote her low, They cleft her golden ringlets through ; The Loving is the Dying. XLIII. She felt the scimitar gleam down, And met it from beneath With smile more bright in victory Than any sword from sheath, — Which flashed across her lip serene, Most like the spirit-light between The darks of life and death. THE BOMAUNT OB THE PAGE. SLIV. Ingemisco, ingemisco ! From the convent on the sea, Now it sweepeth solemnly, As over wood and over lea Bodily the wind did carry The great altar of St. Mary, And the fifty tapers paling o’er it, And the Lady Abbess stark before it, And the weary nuns Avith hearts that faintly Beat along their voices saintly — Ingemisco , ingemisco ! Dirge for abbess laid in shroud Sweepeth o’er the shroudless dead, Page or lady, as we said, "With the dews upon her head, All as sad if not as loud. Ingemisco , ingemisco ! Is ever a lament begun t By any mourner under sun, Which, ere it endeth, suits but one ? the lay of the brown rosary. FIRST PART. I. ‘ Ox oka, Onora,’ — her mother is calling, She sits at the lattice and hears the dew falling Drop after drop from the sycamores laden With dew as with blossom, and calls home the maiden, ‘ Night cometh, Onora.’ ii. She looks down the garden-walk caverned with trees, To the limes at the end where the green arbour is — £ Some sweet thought or other may keep where it found her, AVhile, forgot or unseen in the dreamlight around her, Night cometh — Onora!’ hi. She looks up the forest whose alleys shoot on Like the mute minster-aisles when the anthem is done And the choristers sitting with faces aslant Feel the silence to consecrate more than the chant — * Onora, Onora !’ VOL. II. c 18 THE LAY OP THE BROWN ROSARY. IV. And forward she looketh across the brown heath — ‘ Onora, art coming ?’ — what is it she seeth? Nought, nought but the grey border-stone that is wist To dilate and assume a wild shape in the mist — £ My daughter ! ’ Then over v. The casement she leanetli, and as she doth so She is ’ware of her little son playing below : ‘Now where is Onora?’ He hung down his head And spake not, then answering blushed scarlet-red, — ‘ At the tryst with her lover.’ VI. But his mother was wroth : in a sternness quoth she, ‘ As thou play’st at the ball art thou playing with me ? When we know that her lover to battle is gone, And the saints know above that she loveth but one And will ne’er wed another?’ VII. Then the boy wept aloud ; ’twas a fair sight yet sad To see the tears run down the sweet blooms he had : He stamped with his foot, said — ‘ The saints know I lied Because truth that is wicked is fittest to hide Must I utter it, mother ? ’ THE LAY OE THE BE OWN BOSAEY. 19 Till. In his vehement childhood he hurried within And knelt at her feet as in prayer against sin, But a child at a prayer never sobbeth as he — ‘ Oh ! she sits with the nun of the brown rosary, At nights in the ruin — xx. ‘ The old convent ruin the ivy rots off, Where the owl hoots by day and the toad is sun-proof, Where no singing-birds build and the trees gaunt and grey As in stormy sea-coasts appear blasted one way — But is this the wind’s doing ? x. ‘ A nun in the east wall was buried alive "Who mocked at the priest when he called her to shrive, And shrieked such a curse, as the stone took her breath, The old abbess fell backwards and swooned unto death AVlth an Ave half-spoken. XI. ‘ I tried once to pass it, myself and my hound, Till, as fearing the lash, down he shivered to ground — A brave hound, my mother ! a brave hound, ye wot ! And the wolf thought the same with his fangs at her throat In the pass of the Brocken 20 TILE LAY OP THE BBOWN BOSUIS. XII. ‘ At dawn and at eve, mother, who sitteth there With the brown rosary never used for a prayer ? Stoop low, mother, low ! If we went there to see, What an ugly great hole in that east wall must be At dawn and at even ! XIII. ‘ Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even ? Who meet by that wall, never looking to heaven ? 0 sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee The ghost of a nun with a brown rosary And a face turned from heaven ? XIV. ‘ St. Agnes o’erwatcheth my dreams and erewhile 1 have felt through mine eyelids the warmth of hei smile ; But last night, as a sadness like pity came o’er her, She whispered — ‘ Say two prayers at dawn for Onora : The Tempted is sinning.’ ’ xv. 4 Onora, Onora ! ’ they heard her not coming, Not a step on the grass, not a voice through the gloaming ; But her mother looked up, and she stood on the floor Fair and still as the moonlight that came there before, And a smile just beginning : THE EAT OF TIIE BROWH ROSARY. 21 XVI. It touches her lips but it dares not arise To the height of the mystical sphere of her eyes, And the large musing eyes, neither joyous nor sorry, Sing on like the angels in separate glory Between clouds of amber ; XVII. For the hair droops in clouds amber-coloured till stirred Into gold by the gesture that comes with a word; While — O soft ! — her speaking is so interwound Of the dim and the sweet, ’tis a twilight of sound And floats through the chamber. XYIII. ‘ Since thou shnvest my brother, fair mother,’ said she, ‘ I count on thy priesthood for marrying of me ; And I know by the hills that the battle is done, That my lover rides on, will be here with the sun, ’Neath the eyes that behold thee.’ A XIX. Her mother sate silent — too tender, I wis, Of the smile her dead father smiled dying to kiss : But the boy started up pale with tears, passion- wrought — 0 wicked fair sister, the hills utter nought ! If he cometh, who told thee ?’ 22 THE LAY OE THE BBOWN BOSABY. XX. * I know by the hills,’ she resumed calm and clear, ‘ By the beauty upon them, that he is anear : Did they ever look so since he bade me adieu P Oh, love in the waking, sweet brother, is true As St. Agnes in sleeping ! ’ XXI. Half-ashamed and half-softened the boy did not speak, And the blush met the lashes which fell on his cheek : She bowed down to kiss him : dear saints, did he see Or feel on her bosom the bbowh bosaby, That he shrank away weeping ? SECOND PART. A led. Onora sleeping. Angels, but not near. First Angel. Must we stand so far, and she So very fair ? Second Angel. As bodies be. First Angel. And she so mild ? Second Angel. As spirits when They meeken, not to God, but men. THE EAT OE THE BROWN" ROSARY. 23 First Angel. AecI she so young, that I who bring Gfood dreams for saintly children, might Mistake that small soft face to-night, And fetch her such a blessed thing That at her waking she would weep Tor childhood lost anew in sleep. How hath she sinned P Second Angel. ' In bartering love ; Giod’s love for man’s. First Angel. We may reprove The world for this, not only her : Let me approach to breathe away This dust o’ the heart with holy air. Second Angel. Stand off ! She sleeps, and did not pray. First Angel. Did none pray for her ? Second Angel. Ay, a child, — Who never, praying, wept before : While, in a mother undefiled, Prayer goeth on in sleep, as true And pauseless as the pulses do. First Angel. Then I approach. Second Angel. It is not WILLED. 24 THE LAY OF THE BROWN KOSAHY. First Angel. One word : is slie redeemed ? Second Angel. No more ! The place is filled. [Angels vanish. Fvil Spirit in a Nun's garb by the bed. Forbear that dream — forbear that dream ! too near to heaven it leaned. Onora in sleep. Nay, leave me this — but only this ! ’tis but a dream, sweet fiend ! Fvil Spirit. It is a thought. Onora in sleep. A sleeping thought — most innocent of good : It doth the Devil no harm, sweet fiend ! it cannot if it would. I say in it no holy hymn, I do no holy work, I scarcely hear the sabbath-bell that chimeth from the kirk. Fvil Spirit. Forbear that dream — forbear that dream ! Onora in sleep. Nay, let me dream at least. That far-off bell, it may be took for viol at a feast : I only walk among the fields, beneath the autumn-sun, With my dead father, band in hand, as I have oftdn done. Fvil Spirit. Forbear that dream — forbear that dream ! Onora in sleep. Nay, sweet fiend, let me go • THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY. 25 l never more can walk with him, oh, never more but so ! For they have tied my father’s feet beneath the kirk- yard stone, Oh, deep and straight, oh, very straight ! they move at nights alone : And then he calleth through my dreams, he calleth tenderly, ‘ Come forth my daughter, my beloved, and walk the fields with me ! ’ JEvil Spirit. Forbear that dream, or else disprove its pureness by a sign. Onora in sleep. Speak on, thou shalt be satisfied my word shall answer thine. I heard a bird which used to sing when I a child was praying, I see the poppies in the corn I used to sport away in : What shall 1 do — tread down the dew and pull the blossoms blowing ? Or clap my wicked hands to fright the finches from the rowen ? Evil Spirit. Thou shalt do something harder still. Stand up where thou dost stand Among the fields of Dreamland with thy father hand in hand, And clear and slow repeat the vow, declare its cause and kind, 26 THE LAST OE THE BROW]* ROSARY. Which not to break, in sleep or wake thou bearest on thy mind. Onora in sleep. I bear a vow of sinful kind, a vow for mournful cause ; I vowed it deep, I vowed.it strong, the spirits laughed applause : The spirits trailed along the pines low laughter like a breeze, While, high atween their swinging tops, the stars appeared to freeze. JEvil Spirit. More calm and free, speak out to me why such a vow was made. Onora in sleep. Because that God decreed my death and I shrank back afraid. Have patience, 0 dead father mine ! I did not fear to die — I wish I were a young dead child and had thy com- pany ! I wish I lay beside thy feet, a buried three-year child, And wearing only a kiss of thine upon my lips that smiled ! The linden-tree that covers thee might so have sha- dowed twain, Bor death itself I did not fear — ’tis love that makes the pain : Love feareth death. I was no child, I was betrothed that day ; THE BAV OE THE BROWN ROSARY. 27 J wore a trotli-kiss on my lips I could not give away. XIow could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone, And feel mine own betrothed go by — alas ! no more mine own — Gro leading by in wedding pomp some lovely lady brave, 1 With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were white in grave ? How could I bear to sit in heaven, on e’er so high a throne, And hear him say to her — to her ! that else he loveth none ? Though e’er so high I sate above, though e’er so low he spake, As clear as thunder I should hear the new oath he might take, That hers, forsooth, were heavenly eyes — ah me, while very dim Some heavenly eyes (indeed of heaven !) would darken down to him ! Evil Spirit. Who told thee thou wast called to death ? Onora in sleep. I sate all night beside thee : The grey owl on the ruined wall shut both his eyes to hide thee, And ever he flapped his heavy wing all brokenly and weak, 2S THE LAY OE THE BROWJSf ROSARY. And the long grass waved against the sky, around his gasping beak : I sate beside thee all the night, while the moonlight lay forlorn Strewn round us like a dead world’s shroud in ghastly fragments torn : And through the night, and through the hush, and over the flapping wing, We heard beside the Heavenly Gate the angels mur- muring : We heard them say, ‘ Put day to day, and count the days to seven, ‘ And God will draw Onora up the golden stairs of heaven : ‘ And yet the Evil ones have leave that purpose to defer, ‘ For if she has no need of Him, He has no need of her.’ Evil Spirit. Speak out to me, speak bold and free. Onora in sleep. And then I heard thee say — | ‘ I count upon my rosary brown the hours thou hast to stay ! I ‘ Yet God permits us Evil ones to put by that decree, ! * Since if thou hast no need of Him, He has no need ' of thee : ‘ And if thou wilt forgo the sight of angels, verily Thy true love gazing on thy face shall guess what angels be ; THE LAY OF THE BROWN BOSABY. 29 ; jS'or bride shall pass, save thee ’ . . . Alas ! — my father’s hand’s a-cold, The meadows seem . . . Evil Spirit. Forbear the dream, or let the vow be told. Onora in sleep. I vowed upon thy rosary brown, this string of antique beads, By charnel lichens overgrown, and dank among the weeds, This rosary brown which is thine own, — lost soul of buried nun ! Who, lost by vow, wouldst render now all souls alike undone, — I vowed upon thy rosary brown, — and, till such vow should break, A pledge always of living days ’twas hung around my neck — I vowed to thee on rosary, (dead father, look not so !), I would not thank God in my weal , nor seek God in my woe. Evil Spirit. And canst thou prove . . . Onora in sleep. 0 love, my love ! I felt him near again! 1 saw his steed on mountain-head, I heard it on the plain ! Was this no weal for me to feel? Is greater weal than this ? 30 THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY. Yet when he came, I wept his name — and the angels heard but his. Evil Spirit. Well done, well done ! Onora in sleep. Ah me, the sun ! the dreamlight ’gins to pine, — Ah me, how dread can look the Dead! Aroint thee, father mine ! She starteth from slumber, she sitteth upright, And her breath comes in sobs, while she stares through the night ; There is nought ; the great willow, her lattice before, Large-drawn in the moon, lieth calm on the floor : But her hands tremble fast as their pulses and, free From the death-clasp, close over — the brown rosary. THIRD PART. - i. ’Tis a morn for a bridal ; the merry bride-bell Bings clear through the green-wood that skirts the chapelle, And the priest at the altar awaiteth the bride, And the sacristans slyly are jesting aside At the work shall be doing ; THE HAY OP THE BEOWN EOSABY. 31 ii. While down through the wood rides that fair company, The youths with the courtship, the maids with the glee, Till the chapel-cross opens to sight, and at once All the maids sigh demurely and think for the nonce, ‘ And so endeth a wooing ! ’ in. And the bride and the bridegroom are leading the way, With his hand on her rein, and a word yet to say ; Her dropt eyelids suggest the soft answers beneath, And the little quick smiles come and go with her breath When she sigheth or speaketh. iv. And the tender bride-mother breaks off unaware From an Ave, to think that her daughter is fair, Till in nearing the chapel and glancing before, She seeth her little son stand at the door : Is it play that he seeketh ? v. Is it play, when his eyes wander innocent-wild And sublimed with a sadness unfitting a child ? He trembles not, weeps not ; the passion is done, And calmly he kneels in their midst, with the sun On his head like a glory. 32 THE LAY OE THE BROWN ROSARY. YI. ‘ 0 fair-featured maids, ye are many ! ’ lie cried, ‘ But in fairness and vileness who matcheth the bride? O brave-hearted youths, ye are many ! but whom For the courage and woe can ye match with the groom As ye see them before ye P ’ VII. Out spake the bride’s mother, ‘ The vileness is thine If thou shame thine own sister, a bride at the shrine! ’ Out spake the bride’s lover, ‘ The vileness be mine If he shame mine own wife at the hearth or the shrine And the charge be unproved. VIII. £ Bring the charge, prove the charge, brother ! speak it aloud : Let thy father and hers hear it deep in his shroud ! ’ — ‘ 0 father, thou seest, for dead eyes can see, How she wears on her bosom a brown rosary, 0 my father beloved ! ’ IX. Then outlaughed the bridegroom, and outlaughed withal Both maidens and youths by the old chapel-wall : 4 So she weareth no love-gift, kind brother,’ quoth he £ She may wear an she listeth a brown rosary, Like a pure-hearted lady.’ THE EAT OP THE BROWN ROSARY. 33 x. Then swept through the chapel the long bridal train; Though he spake to the bride she replied not again : On, as one in a dream, pale and stately she went Where the altar-lights burn o’er the great sacrament, Taint with daylight, but steady. XI. But her brother had passed in between them and her, And calmly knelt down on the high altar-stair — Of an infantine aspect so stern to the view That the priest could not smile on the child’s eyes of blue As he would for another. XII. He knelt like a child marble-sculptured and white That seems kneeling to pray on the tomb of a knight, With a look taken up to each iris of stone Prom the greatness and death where he kneeleth, but none Prom the face of a mother. » XIII. ‘ In your chapel, 0 priest, ye have wedded and shriven Pair wives for the hearth, and fair sinners for heaven; But this fairest my sister, ye think now to wed, Bid her kneel where she standeth, and shrive her instead : 0 shrive her and wed not ! ’ VOL. II. D 34 l THE LAY OE THE BROWN ROSARY. XIY. In tears, the bride’s mother, — ‘ Sir priest, unto thee Would he lie, as he lied to this fair company.’ In wrath, the bride’s lover, — ‘ The lie shall be clear ! Speak it out, boy ! the saints in their niches shall hear : Be the charge proved or said not ! ’ xv. Then serene in hi-! childhood he lifted his face, And his voice sounded holy and fit for the place, — ‘ Look down from your niches, ye still saints, and see IIow she wears on her bosom a brown rosary ! Is it used for the praying ? XVI The youths looked aside — to laugh there were a sin — And the maidens’ lips trembled from smiles shut within : Quoth the priest, ‘ Thou art wild, pretty boy ! Blessed she Who prefers at her bridal a brown rosary To a worldly arraying.’ XVII. The bridegroom spake low and led onward the bride And before the high altar they stood side by side : The rite-book is opened, the rite is begun, They have knelt down together to rise up as one. Who laughed by the altar? THE LAY OE THE BROWH EOSARY. 'J f* oO xyiii. The maidens lookedforvvard,the youths looked around, The bridegroom’s eye flashed from his prayer at the sound ; And each saw the bride, as if no bride she were, Gazing cold at the priest without gesture of prayer, As he read from the psalter. XIX. The priest never knew that she did so, but still He felt a power on him too strong for his will, And whenever the Great Name was there to be read, \ His voice sank to silence — that could not be said, Or the air could not hold it. \ xx. ‘ I have sinned,’ quoth he, ‘ I have sinned, I wot’ — And the tears ran adown his old cheeks at the thought: They dropped fast on the book, but he read on the same, And aye was the silence where should be the Name, — As the choristers told it. XXI. The rite-book is closed, and the rite being done They who knelt down together, arise up as one : Fair riseth the bride — Oh, a fair bride is she, But, for all (think the maidens) that brown rosary, No saint at her praying ! 36 THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY. XXII. What aileth the bridegroom ? He glares blank and wide ; Then suddenly turning he kisseth the bride ; His lips stung her with cold ; she glanced upwardly mute : ‘ Mine own wife,’ he said, and fell stark at her foot In the word he was saying. XXIII. They have lifted him up, but his head sinks away, And his face showeth bleak in the sunshine and grey. Leave him now where he lieth — for oh, never more Will he kneel at an altar or stand on a floor ! i Let his bride gaze upon him. XXIV. Long and still was her gaze while they chafed him there And breathed in the mouth whose last life had kissed her, But when they stood up — only they ! with a start The shriek from her soul struck her pale lips apart : She has lived, and forgone him ! xxv. And low on his body she droppeth adown — 1 Didst call me thine own wife, beloved —thine own ? Then take thine own with thee ! thy coldness is warm To the world’s cold without thee ! Come, keep me from harm In a calm of thy teaching.’ THE LAY OE THE BROWN ROSARY. 37 XXVI. She looked in his face earnest-long, as in sooth There were hope of an answer, and then kissed his mouth And with head on his bosom, wept, wept bitterly, — ‘ JS T ow, 0 God, take pity — take pity on me ! God, hear my beseeching ! ’ XXYII. She was ’ware of a shadow that crossed where she lay, She was ’ware of a presence that withered the day : Wild she sprang to her feet, — ‘ I surrender to thee The broken vow’s pledge, the accursed rosary, — I am ready for dying ! ’ XXVIII. She dashed it in scorn to the marble-paved ground Where it fell mute as snow, and a weird music-sound Crept up, like a chill, up the aisles long and dim, — As the fiends tried to mock at the choristers’ hymn And moaned in the trying. 38 THE LAY OP TIIE BROWN ROSARY. FOURTH PART. Onora looketh listlessly adown the garden walk : ‘ I am weary, 0 my mother, of thy tender talk. I am weary of the trees a-waving to and fro, Of the steadfast skies above, the running brooks below. All things are the same but I, — only I am dreary, And, mother, of my dreariness behold me very weary. ‘ Mother, brother, pull the flowers I planted in the spring And smiled to think I should smile more upon their gathering : The bees will find out other flowers — oh, pull them, dearest mine, And carry them and carry me before St. Agnes’ shrine.’ — Whereat they pulled the summer flowers she planted in the spring, And her and them all mournfully to Agnes’ shrine did bring. THE LAY OE THE BROWN ROSARY. 39 She looked up to the pictured saint and gently shook her head — ‘ The picture is too calm for me — too calm for me ,’ she said: ‘ The little flowers we brought with us, before it we may lay, For those are used to look at heaven, — but I must turn away, Because no sinner under sun can dare or bear to gaze On Grod’s or angel’s holiness, except in Jesu’s face.’ / She spoke with passion after pause — ‘And were it wisely done If we who cannot gaze above, should walk the earth alone ? If we whose virtue is so weak should have a will so strong, And stand blind on the rocks to choose the right path from the wrong ? To choose perhaps a love-lit hearth, instead of love and heaven, — A single rose, for a rose-tree which beareth seven times seven ? A rose that droppeth from the hand, that fadeth in the breast, — Until, in grieving for the worst, we learn what is the best!’ 40 THE LAY 01' THE BROWN ROSARY. Then breaking into tears, — ‘ Dear Giod,’ she cried, ‘ and must we see All blissful things depart from us or ere we go to Thee? We cannot guess thee in the wood or hear thee in the wind ? Our cedars must fall round us ere we see the light behind ? Ay sooth, we feel too strong, in weal, to need thee on that road, But woe being come, the soul is dumb that crieth not on ‘ Grod.’ ’ Her mother could not speak for tears ; she ever mused thus, ‘ The lees will find out other flowers, — but what is left for us ? ' But her young brother stayed his sobs and knelt beside her knee, — ‘ Thou sweetest sister in the world, hast never o word for me ? ’ She passed her hand across his face, she pressed it on his cheek, So tenderly, so tenderly — she needed not to speak. The wreath which lay on shrine that day, at vespers bloomed no more. The woman fair who placed it there, had died an hour before. THE LAY OE THE BROWN ROSARY. 41 Both perished mute for lack of root, earth’s nourish- ment to reach. 0 reader, breathe (the ballad saith) some sweetness out of each ! A ROMANCE OE THE GANGES. I. Seven maidens ’neath the midnight Stand near the river-sea Whose water sweepeth white around The shadow of the tree ; The moon and earth are face to face, And earth is slumbering deep ; The wave-voice seems the voice of dreams That wander through her sleep : The river floweth on. ii. What bring they ’neath the midnight, Beside the river-sea '? They bring the human heart wherein No nightly calm can be, — That droppeth never with the wind, Nor drieth with the dew: Oh, calm it God ! thy calm is broad To cover spirits too. The river floweth on. A IlOMANCE OE THE GANGES. 43 in. The maidens lean them over The waters, side by side, And shun each other’s deepening eyes, And gaze adown the tide ; For each within a little boat A little lamp hath put, And heaped for freight some lily’s weight Or scarlet rose half shut. The river fioweth on. IV. Of shell of cocoa carven Each little boat is made ; Each carries a lamp, and carries a flower, And carries a hope unsaid ; And when the boat hath carried the lamp Unqixenched till out of sight. The maiden is sure that love will endure ; But love will fail with light. The river floweth on. v. Why, all the stars are ready To symbolize the soul, The stars untroubled by the wind, Unwearied as they roll ; And yet the soul by instinct sad 44 A. EOMANCE OF THE GANGES. Beverts to symbols low — To that small flame, whose very name Breathed o’er it, shakes it so ! The river floweth on. VI. Six boats are on the river, Seven maidens on the shore, While still above them steadfastly The stars shine evermore. Go, little boats, go soft and safe. And guard the symbol spark ! The boats aright go safe and bright Across the waters dark. The river floweth on. VII. The maiden Luti watcheth Where onwardly they float : That look in her dilating eyes Might seem to drive her boat : Her eyes still mark the constant fire, And kindling unawares That hopeful while, she lets a smile Creep silent through her prayers. The river floweth on. VIII. The smile — where hath it wandered P She riseth from her knee, A ROMANCE OE THE GANGES. 45 She holds her dark, wet locks away — There is no light to see ! She cries a quick and bitter cry — ‘Nuleeni, launch me thine ! We must have light abroad to-night, For all the week of mine.’ i The river flowetlr on. IX. ‘ I do remember watching Beside this river-bed When on my childish knee was leaned My dying father’s head ; I turned mine own to keep the tears From falling on his face : What doth it prove when Death and Love Choose out the self-same place ?* The river floweth on. x. 1 They say the dead are joyful The death-change .here receiving : Who say — ah, me ! who dare to say Where joy comes to the living p Thy boat, Nuleeni ! look not sad — Light up the waters rather ! ■ I weep no faithless lover where I wept a loving father.’ The river floweth on. 46 A BOHANCE OF TIIE GANGES. XI. ‘ My heart foretold his falsehood Ere my little boat grew dim ; And though I closed mine eyes to dream That one last dream of him, They shall not now be wet to see The shining vision go : From earth’s cold love I look above To the holy house of snow.’* The river flowetk on. XII. ‘ Come thou — thou never knewest A grief, that thou shouldst fear one ! Thou wearest still the happy look That shines beneath a dear one : Thy humming-bird is in the sun,f Thy cuckoo in the grove, And all the three broad worlds, for thee Are full of wandering love.’ The river floweth on. XIII. ( * Why, maiden, dost thou loiter? What secret wouldst thou cover ? * The Hindoo heaven is localized on the summit of Mount Meru — one of the mountains of Himalaya or Himmaleh, which signi- fies, I believe, in Sanscrit, the abode of snow, winter, or coldness. + Himadeva, the Indian god of love, is imagined to wander through the three worlds, accompanied by the humming-bird, cuckoo, and gentle breezes. A ROMANCE OE THE GANGES. 47 That peepul cannot hide thy boat, And I can guess thy lover ; I heard thee sob his name in sleep, It was a name I knew : Come, little maid, be not afraid, But let us prove him true !’ The river floweth on. XIV. The little maiden cometh, She cometh shy and slow ; 1 ween she seeth through her lids. They drop adown so low : Her tresses meet her small bare feet, She stands and speaketh nought, Yet blusheth red as if she said The name she only thought. The river floweth on. xv. She knelt beside the water. She lighted up the flame, And o’er her youthful forehead’s calm The fitful radiance came : — ‘ Go, little boat, go soft and safe. And guard the symbol spark !” Soft, safe doth float the little boat Across the waters dark. The river floweth on. 48 A EOMANCE OF THE GANGES. XVI. Glad tears her eyes have blinded. The light they cannot reach ; She turneth with that sudden smile She learnt before her speech — * I do not hear his voice, the tears Have dimmed my light away, But the symbol light will last to-night, The love will last for aye !’ The river floweth on. xvi r. Then Luti spake behind her, Out-spake she bitterly — ‘ By the symbol light that lasts to-night, ’Wilt vow a vow to me ?’ Nuleeni gazetji up her face, Soft answer maketh she — ‘By loves that last when lights are past, I vow that vow to thee !’ The river floweth on. XVIII. An earthly look had Luti Though her voice was deep as prayer — ■ * The rice is gathered from the plains To cast upon thine kair: # * The casting of rice upon the head, and the fixing of the band or tali about the neck, are parts of the Hindoo marriage cere- monial. A KOHANCE OE THE GANGES. 49 But when he comes his marriage-band Around thy neck to throw. Thy bride-smile raise to meet his gaze, And whisper, — - There is one betrays, While Luti suffers woe.' The river floweth on. \ XIX. ‘ And when in seasons after, Thy little bright-faced son Shall lean against thy knee and ask "What deeds his sire hath done, — Press deeper down thy mother-smile His glossy curls among, View deep his pretty childish eyes, And whisper, — There is none denies, While Luti speaks of wrong.' The river floweth on. xx. ISTuleeni looked in wonder, Yet softly answered she — ‘ By loves that last when lights are past, I vowed that vow to thee : But why glads it thee that a bride- day be By a word of woe defiled ? That a word of wrong take the cradle-song Prom the ear of a sinless child ?’ 4 Why ?’ Lnti said, and her laugh was dread, VOL. II. B 50 A BOMANCE OE THE GANGES. And her eyes dilated wild — ‘That the fair new love may her bridegroom prove, And the father shame the child !’ The river floweth on. XXI. * Thou flowest still, 0 river, Thou flowest ’neath the moon ; Thy lily hath not changed a leaf,* Thy charmed lute a tune : lie mixed his voice with thine and his Was all I heard around ; But now, beside his chosen bride, I hear the river’s sound.’ The river floweth on. XXII. ‘ I gaze upon her beauty Through the tresses that enwreathe it j The light above thy wave, is hers — My rest, alone beneath it : Oh, give me back the dying look My father gave thy water ! Give back — and let a little love O’erwatch his weary daughter!’ The river floweth on. * The Ganges is represented as a white woman, with a water- lily in her right hand, and in her left a lute. A ROMANCE OE THE GANGES. 51 xxm. * Grive back !’ she hath departed — The word is wandering with her ; And the stricken maidens hear afar The step and cry together. Frail symbols ? Isone are frail enow For mortal joys to borrow ! — While bright doth float Nuleeni’s boat, She weepeth dark with sorrow. The river floweth on. EHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. i. To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the sun, Toll slowly. And the oldest ringer said, ‘ Ours is music for the dead When the rebecks are all done.’ IX. Six abeles i’ the churchyard grow on the northside in a row, Toll slowly. And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes . Of the grassy graves below. nr. On the south side and the west a small haste, river runs Toll slowly. I SHIME or THE DUCHESS MAT. 53 And, between the river flowing and the fair green trees a -growing, Do the dead lie at their rest. IV. On the east I sate that day, up against a willow grey: Toll slowly. Through the rain of willow-branches I could see the low hill-ranges And the river on its way. Y. There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly, Toll slowly. While the trees’ and river’s voices flowed between the solemn noises, — Yet death seemed more loud to me. VI. There I read this ancient rhyme while the bell did all the time Toll slowly. And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life and sin, Like a rhythmic fate sublime. 54 BHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. THE RHYME. I. Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged, Toll slowly. And three hundred years had stood mute adown each - hoary wood, Like a full heart having prayed. And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years, In the building of their nest, in. Down the sun dropt large and red on the towers of Linteged, — Toll slowly. Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light, While the castle stood in shade. There the castle stood up black with the red sun at its back, Toll slowly. KHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. 55 Like a sullen smouldering pyre with a top that flickers fire When the wind is on its track. V. And five hundred archers tall did besiege the castle wall, Toll slowly. And the castle, seethed in blood, fourteen days and nights had stood And to-night was near its fall, VI. Yet thereunto, blind to doom, three months since, a bride did come. Toll slowly. One who proudly trod the floors and softly whispered in the doors, ‘ May good angels bless our home.’ VII. Oh, a bride of queenly eyes, with a front of con- stancies, Toll slowly. Oh, a bride of cordial mouth where the untired smile of youth Did light outward its own sighs ! 56 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. Till. ’Twas a Duke’s fair orphan-girl, and her uncle’s ward — the Earl, Toll slowly. Who betrothed her twelve years old, for the sake of dowry gold, To his son Lord Leigh the churl. IX. But what time she had made good all her years of womanhood, Toll slowly. Unto both these Lords of Leigh spake she out right sovranly, ‘ My will runneth as my blood. x. ‘And while this same blood makes red this same right hand’s veins,’ she said, Toll slowly. ‘ ’Tis my will as lady free, not to wed a lord of Leigh, But Sir Guy of Linteged.’ XI. The old Earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for wilful youth, — Toll slowly. 1 Good my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft and small Eor so large a will, in sooth.’ RHTME OR THE DUCHESS MAY. 57 XII. She too smiled by that same sign, but her smile was cold and fine, — Toll slowly. ‘ Little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the hold Of thy son, good uncle mine!’ xm. Then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in his teeth, Toll slowly. ‘ He would wed his own betrothed, an she loved him an she loathed, Let the life come or the death.’ XIV. Up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father’s child might rise, — Toll slowly. ‘Thy hound’s blood, my lord of Leigh, stains thy knightly heel,’ quoth she, * And he moans not where he lies : xv. ‘ But a woman’s will dies hard, in the hall or on the sward ’ — Toll slowly. 58 RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. ‘By that grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl and dowered lady, I deny you wife and ward ! ’ XVI. Unto each she bowed her head and swept past with lofty tread. Toll slowly. Ere the midnight-bell had ceased, in the chapel had the priest Blessed her, bride of Linteged. XVII. Fast and fain the bridal train along the night-storm rode amain : Toll slowly. Hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on the turf, In the pauses of the rain. XVIII. Fast and fain the kinsmen’s train along the storm pursued amain, Toll slowly. Steed on steed-track, dashing off, — thickening, dou- bling, hoof on hoof, In the pauses of the rain. HHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. 59 SIX. And the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of might, Toll slowly. And the bride lay onhisarm,still,asif she feared no harm, Smiling out into the night. xx. ‘Dost thou fear?’ he said at last: ‘Nay,’ she answered him in haste, — Toll slowly. ‘ Not such death as we could find — only life with one behind. Eide on fast as fear, ride fast ! ’ XXI. Dp the mountain wheeled the steed — girth to ground, and fetlocks spread, — Toll slowly. Headlong bounds, and rocking flanks, — down he stag- gered, down the banks, To the towers of Linteged. XXII. High and low the serfs looked out, red the flambeaus tossed about, Toll slowly. In the courtyard rose the cry, ‘ Live the Duchess and Sir Guy!’ Hut she never heard them shout. 60 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. XXIII. On the steed she dropped her cheek, kissed his mane and kissed his neck, — Toll slowly. ‘I had happier died by thee than lived on, a Lady Leigh,’ "Were the first words she did speak. XXIV. But a three months’ joyaunce lay ’twixt that moment and to-day, Toll slowly . When five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle wall To recapture Duchess May xxv. And the castle standeth black with the red sun at its back, Toll slowly. And a fortnight’s siege is done, and, except the duchess, none Can misdoubt the coming wrack. XXVI. Then the captain, young Lord Leigh, with his eyes so grey of blee, Toll slowly. And thin lips that scarcely sheath the cold white gnashing of his teeth, Gtnashed in smiling, absently, RHYME OF THE DECHESS MAY. 61 xxvrr. Cried aloud, 4 So goes the day, bridegroom fair of Duchess May !’ Toll slowly. 4 Look thy last upon that sun ! if thou seest to-mor- row’s one ’Twill be through a foot of clay. XXVIII. 4 Ha, fair bride ! dost hear no sound save that moan- ing of the hound ?’ Toll slowly. 4 Thou and I have parted troth, yet I keep my ven- geance-oath, And the other may come round. XXIX. 4 Ha ! thy will is brave to dare, and thy new love past compare,’ — Toll slowly. 4 Tet thine old love’s faulchion brave is as strong a thing to have, As the will of lady fair. xxx. 4 Peck on blindly, netted dove ! If a wife’s name thee behove,” Toll slowly. 4 Thou shalt wear the same to-morrow, ere the grave has hid the sorrow Of thy last ill-mated love. 62 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. XXXI. ‘ O’er his fixed and silent mouth, thou and I xvill call hack troth;’ Toll slowly. ‘ He shall altar be and priest, — and he will not cry at least “ I forbid you, I am loth !” XXXII. ‘ I will wring thy fingers pale in the gauntlet of my mail,’ Toll slowly. “Little hand and muckle gold” close shall lie within my hold, As the sword did, to prevail.’ XXXIII. Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. Oh, and laughed the Duchess May, and her soul did put away All his boasting, for a jest. xxxiv. In her chamber did she sit, laughing low to think of it, — Toll slowly. ‘ Tower is strong and will is free : thou canst boast, my lord of Leigh, But thou boastest little wit.’ BHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. 63 XXXV. In her tire-glass gazed she, and she blushed right womanly : Toll slowly. She blushed half from her disdain, half her beauty was so plain, — £ Oath for oath, my lord of Leigh !’ XXXVI. Straight She called her maidens in — £ Since ye gave me blame herein,’ Toll slowly. 1 That a bridal such as mine should lack gauds to make it fine, Come and shrive me from that sin. XXXVII. £ It is three months gone to-day since I gave mine hand away : ’ Toll slowly. £ Bring the gold and bring the gem, we will keep bride- state in them, While we keep the foe at bay. XXXVIII. ‘ On your arms I loose mine hair ; comb it smooth and crown it fair : ’ Toll slowly. 64 BHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAT. ‘ I would look in purple pall from this lattice down the wall, And throw scorn to one that’s there !* xxxix. Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west: Toll slowly. On the tower the castle’s lord leant in silence on his * » sword, With an anguish in his breast. XL. With a spirit-laden weight did he lean down passion- ate: Toll slowly. They have almost sapped the wall, — they will enter therewithal With no knocking at the gate. XLI. Then the sword he leant upon, shivered, snapped upon the stone, — Toll slowly. 1 Sword,’ he thought, with inward laugh, ‘ ill thou servest for a staff When thy nobler use is done ! RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 65 xxii. Sword, thy nobler use is clone! tower is lost, and shame begun !’ — Toll slowly. 1 If we met them in the breach, hilt to hilt or speech to speech, We should die there, each for one. XXIII. ‘ If we met them at the wall, 1 we should singly, vainly fall,* Toll sloicly. * But if I die here alone, — then I die who am but one, And die nobly for them all. XLIV. * Five true friends lie for mv sake in the moat and in %) the brake,’ Toll slowly. 1 Thirteen warriors lie at rest with a black wound in the breast, And not one of these will wake. XLV. ‘So, no more of this shall be! heart-blood weighs too heavily,’ — ' Toll slowly. ' And I could not sleep in grave, with the faithful and the brave Heaped around and over me. IOL. II. V 66 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. XLVI. Since young Clare a mother hath, and young Ralph a plighted faith,’ Toll slowly. 1 Since my pale young sister’s cheeks blush like rose when Ronald speaks, Albeit never a word she saith — XLVII. ‘ These shall never die for me : life-blood falls too heavily Toll slowly. 1 And if 1 die here apart, o’er my dead and silent heart They shall pass out safe and free. i XL VIII. ‘ When the foe hath heard it said — ‘ Death holds Guy of Linteged,” Toll slowly. ‘ That new corse new peace shall bring, and a blessed, blessed thing Shall the stone be at its head. X1IX. ‘ Then my friends shall pass out free, and shall bear my memory,’ Toll slowly. . i BHYME OF THE DECHESS MAY. 67 * Then my foes shall sleek their pride, soothing fair my widowed bride Whose sole sin was love of me : Xu ‘With their words all smooth and sweet, they will front her and entreat,’ Toll slowly. : And their purple pall will spread underneath her fainting head While her tears drop over it. ii. • She will weep her woman’s tears, she will pray her woman’s prayers,’ Toll slowly. ‘ But her heart is young in pain, and her hopes will spring again By the suntime of her years. r hi. 1 Ah, sweet May ! ah, sweetest grief ! — once I vowed thee my belief,’ Toll slowly. ‘That thy name expressed thy sweetness, — May of poets, in completeness ! ' Now my May-day seemeth brief.’ 68 II II "X ME OS' THE DUCHESS MAY. 1III. All these silent thoughts did swim o’er his eyes grown strange and dim, Toll slowly. Till his true men in the place, wished they stood there face to face With the foe instead of him. xrv. ‘ One last oath, my friends that wear faithful hearts to do and dare ! ’ Toll slowly. • ‘Tower must fall and bride be lost — swear me service worth the cost ! ’ Bold they stood around to swear, xv. ‘ Each man clasp my hand and swear by the deed we failed in there,’ * Toll slowly. ‘ Not for vengeance, not for right, will ye strike one blow to-night ! ’ Pale they stood around to swear. XVI. 1 One last boon, young Ealph and Clare ! faithful hearts to do and dare ! ’ Toll slowly. RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAT. 69 ‘ Bring that steed up from his stall, which she kissed before you all, Guide him up the turret-stair. XVII. 1 Ye shall harness him aright, and lead upward to this height Toll slowly. ‘ Once in love and twice in war, hath he borne me strong and far : He shall bear me far to-night.’ XVIII. Then his men looked to and fro, when they heard him speaking so, Toll slowly . ‘ ’Las! the noble heart,’ they thought, £ he in sooth is grief-distraught : "Would we stood here with the foe !’ I LIX. \ But a fire flashed from his eye, ’twixt their thought and their reply,’ — Toll slowly. ' Have ye so much time to waste ? We who ride here, must ride fast As we wish our foes to fly.’ 70 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. LX. They have fetched the steed with care, in the harness he did wear, Toll slowly. Past the court and through the doors, across the rushes of the floors, *But they goad him up the stair. LXI. Then from out her bower cbambere, did the Duchess May repair : loll slowly. 1 Tell me now what is your need,’ said the lady, 1 of this steed, That ye goad him up the stair ?’ lxii. Calm she stood ; unbodkined through, fell her dark hair to her shoe ; Toll slowly. And the smile upon her face, ere she left the tiring- glass, Had not time enough to go. LXIII. ‘ Get thee back, sweet Duchess May ! hope is gone like yesterday,’ Toll slowly. 1 One half-hour completes the breach ; and tky lord grows wild of speech — Get thee in. sweet lady, and pray ! KHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 71 LXIV. ‘ In the east tower, high’st of all, loud he cries for steed from stall :’ Toll slowly. 1 lie would ride as far,’ quoth he, 1 as for love and victory, Though he rides the castle-wall.’ LXV. ‘ And we fetch the steed from stall, up where never a hoof did fall ’ — Toll slowly. 1 "Wifely prayer meets deathly need : may the sweet Heavens hear thee plead If he rides the castle-wall !’ \ , LXVI. Low she dropt her head, and lower, till her hair coiled on the floor, Toll slowly. And tear after tear you heard fall distinct as any word Which you might be listening for. Lxvn. ‘ Get thee in, thou soft ladye ! here is never a place for thee !’ Toll slowly. 1 Braid thine hair and clasp thy gown, that thy beauty in its moan May find grace with Leigh of Leigh.’ i 72 KHTME OF THE DUCHESS MAT. LXVI1T. She stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet steady face Toll slowly. Like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, seems to look Eight against the thunder-place. LXIX. And her foot trod in, with pride, her own tears i’ the stone beside, — Toll slowly. ‘ Go to, faithful friends, go to ! judge no more what ladies do, No, nor how their lords may ride P / LXX. Then the good steed’s rein she took, and his neck did kiss and stroke : Toll slowly. Soft he neighed to answer her, and then followed up the stair iFor the love of her sweet look : LXXI. Oh, and steeply, steeply woiind up the narrow stair around, Toll slowly. Oh, and closely, closely speeding, step by step beside her treading Did he follow, meek as hound. RHYME OR THE DUCHESS MAY. 73 Lxxn. On the east tower, higli’st of all, — there, where never a hoof did fall, — Toll slowly. Out they swept, a vision steady, noble steed and lovelv ladv, Calm as if in bower or stall. LXXIII. Down she knelt at her lord’s knee, and she looked up silently, Toll slowly. And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes Which he could not bear to see. LXXIV. Quoth he, ‘ Get thee from this strife, and the sweet saints bless thy life ! ’ Toll slowly. ‘In this hour I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed, But no more of mv noble wife.’ LXXV. Quoth she, ‘ Meekly have I done all thy biddings under sun Toll slowly. i But by all my womanhood, which is proved so, true and good, I will never do this one. I 74 RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. XXXVI. ‘ Now by womanhood’s degree and by wifehood’s verity,’ Toll slowly. ‘ In this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed, Thou hast also need of me. XXXVII. i By this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardie , 5 Toll slowly. ‘If, this hour, on castle-wall can be room for steed from stall, Shall be also room for me. • , f i LXXVIH. ‘So the sweet saints with me be,’ (did she utter solemnly) Toll slowly. ‘ If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride, He shall ride the same with me.' XXXIX. Oh, he sprang up in the selle and he laughed out bitter-well, — Toll slowly. ‘Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves, To hear chime a vesper-bell r’ RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. 75 LXXX. She clung closer to his knee — £ Ay, beneath the cypress- tree !’ Toll slowly. 1 Mock me not, for otherwhere than along the green- wood fair Have I ridden fast with thee. LXXXI. ‘ h'ast I rode with new-made vows from my angry kinsman’s house Toll slowly. e What, and would you men should reck that I dared more for love’s sake As a bride than as a spouse ? LXXXEt. ‘What, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before all,’ Toll slowly. 1 That a bride may keep your side while through castle- gate you ride, Yet eschew the castle-wall ?’ Lxxxm. Ho ! the breach yawns into ruin and roars up against her suing, Toll slowly. With the inarticulate din and the dreadful falling in — Shrieks of doing and undoing I 76 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAT. LXXX1V. Twice lie wrung her hands in twain, hut the small hands closed again. Toll slowly. Back he reined the steed — back, back ! hut she trailed along his track With a frantic (clasp and strain. LXXXV. Evermore the foemen pour through the crash of window and door, Toll slowly. And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of £ kill ! ’ and £ flee ! * Strike up clear amid the roar. / LXXXYI. Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, hut they closed and clung again, Toll slowly. While she clung, as one, ■withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood, In a spasm of deathly pain. LXXXV1I. She clung wild and she clung mute with her shud- dering lips half-shut ; Toll slowly. KHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. 77 Her head fallen as half in swound, hair and knee swept on the ground, She clung wild to stirrup and foot. LXXXVIII. Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone ; Toll slowly. Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind Whence a hundred feet went down : LXXXIX. And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, — Toll slowly. ‘ Friends and brothers, save my wife ! Pardon, sweet, in change for life, — But I ride alone to God.’ xc. Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame, Toll slowly. She upsprang, she rose upright, in his selle she sate in sight, By her love she overcame. 78 RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. XCI. And her head was on his breast where she smiled as one at rest, — Toll slowly. ‘ Ring,’ she cried, ‘ 0 vesper-bell in the beechwood’s old chapelle — But the passing-bell rings best!’ xcn. They have caught out at the rein which Sir Gruv threw loose — in vain, Toll slowly. Por the horse in stark despair, with his front hoof's poised in air, On the last verge rears amain, xcm. Now he hangs, he rocks between, and his nostrils curdle in, Toll slowly. Now he shivers head and hoof and the flakes of foam fall off, And his face grows fierce and thin : V ' \ ' \ XCJV. And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go, Toll slowly. And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony Of the headlong death below, — RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAX. 79 XCV. And, Ring, ring, thou passing-bell,’ still she cried, ‘ i’ the old chapelle !’ Toll slowly. Then back-toppling, crashing hack — a dead weight flung out to wrack, Horse and riders overfell. i. Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And I read this ancient Rhyme, in the churchyard, while the chime Slowly tolled for one at rest. n. The abeles moved in the sun, and the river smooth did run, Toll slowly. And the ancient Rhyme rang strange, with its passion and its change, Here, where all done lay undone. m. And beneath a willow tree I a little grave did see, Toll slowly. 80 RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. Where was graved,— H ere undeeiled, lieth Maud, A THREE-YEAR CHILD, Eighteen hundred, eorty-three. iv. Then, O spirits, did I say, ye who rode so fast that day, Toll slowly. Did star- wheels and angel wings with their holy win- nowings Keep beside you all the way ? v. Though in passion ye would dash with a blind and heavy crash, Toll slowly. Up against the thick-bossed shield of God’s judgment in the field, — Though your heart and brain were rash, — VI. Now, your will is all unwilled, now, your pulses are all stilled, Toll slowly. Now, ye lie as meek and mild (whereso laid) as Maud the child, Whose small grave was lately filled. j RHYME OE THE DUCHESS MAY. 81 VII. Beating heart and burning brow, ye are very patient now, Toll slowly. And the children might he bold to pluck the kingcups from your mould Ere a month had let them grow. VIII. And you let the goldfinch sing in the alder near in spring, Toll slowly. Let her build her nest and sit all the three weeks out on it, Murmuring not at anything. IX. In your patience ye are strong, cold and heat ye take not wrong, Toll slowly. When the trumpet of the angel blows eternity’s evangel, Time will seem to you not long. x. Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll sloioly. Aoid I said in underbreath, — All our life is mixed with death, And who knoweth which is best r VOL. ii. o / 82 BHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. XI. Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And I smiled to think God’s greatness flowed around our incompleteness, — Round our restlessness, His rest. THE ROMANCE OE THE SWAN'S NEST. -*■ So the dreams depart. So the fading phantoms flee. And the sharp reality Now must act its part. Westwood’s Beads from a Rosary. I. Little Ellie sits alone ’Mid the beeches of a meadow By a stream-side on the grass, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow On her shining hair and face. n. She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water’s flow : Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping. While she rocketh to and fro. 84 THE BOMANCE OF THE SWAN’S NEST. III. Little Ellie sits alone, And tlie smile she softly uses Lills the silence like a speech While she thinks what shall be done, And the sweetest pleasure chooses Lor her future within reach. XV. Little Ellie in her smile Chooses — ‘ I will have a lover, Riding on a steed of steeds : He shall love me without guile, And to him I will discover The swan’s nest among the reeds. v. ‘ And the steed shall he red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath : And the lute he plays upon Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death. VI. ‘ And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure, And the mane shall swim the wind ; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flash oiiward and keep measure, Till the shepherds look behind. \ THE BOMAHCE OE THE SWAN’S HEST. 85 TII. ‘ But my lover will not prize All tlie glory that he rides in, “When he gazes in my face : He wall say, ‘ 0 Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace !’ VIII. ‘ Then, ay, then he shall kneel low r , With the red-roan steed anear him Which shall seem to understand, Till I answer, ‘ Bise and go ! Bor the world must love and fear him Whom I gift with heart and hand.’ IX. * Then he will arise so pale, I shall feel my own lips tremble With a yes I must not say, Nathless maiden-brave, ‘Farewell,’ I will utter, and dissemble — ‘ Light to-morrow with to-day ! ’ x. ‘ Then he’ll ride among the hills To the wide world past the river, There to put away all wrong ; To make straight distorted wills, And to empty the broad quiver Which the wicked bear along. 86 THE ROMANCE OE THE SWAN’S NEST. XI. ‘ Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain And kneel down beside my feet — ‘ Lo, my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity’s counting ! What wilt thou exchange for it ?’ XII. ‘ And the first time I will send A white rosebud for a guerdon, And the second time, a glove ; But the third time — I may bend From my pride, and answer — ‘ Pardon, If he comes to take my love.’ XIII. ‘ Then the young foot-page will run, Then my lover will ride faster, Till he kneeleth at my knee : ‘lama duke’s eldest son, Thousand serfs do call me master, But, 0 Love, I love but thee ! ’ xrv. ‘ He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover Through the crowds that praise his deeds And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto him I will discover That swan’s nest among the reeds.’ THE ROMANCE OE THE SWAN’S NEST. 87 XT. Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gaily, Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, And went homeward, round a mile. Just to see, as she did daily, What more eggs were with the two. XTI. Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Winding up the stream, light-hearted, Where the osier pathway leads, Past the houghs she stoops — and stops. Lo, the wild swan had deserted, And a rat had knawed the reeds ! XVII. Ellie went home sad and slow. If she found the lover ever, With his red-roan steed of steeds, Sooth I know not ; but I know She could never show him — never, That swan’s nest among the reeds 1 BERTHA IN THE LANE. — « — i. i Put the broidery -frame away, Eor my sewing is all done : The last thread is used to-day, And I need not join it on. Though the clock stands at the noon I am weary. I have sewn, Sweet, for thee, a wedding-gown. ii. Sister, help me to the bed. And stand near me, Dearest-sweet. Do not shrink nor be afraid, Blushing with a sudden heat ! No one standeth in the street r— By Glod’s love I go to meet, Love I thee with love complete. BEBTHA m THE LAKE. 89 iii. Lean thy face down ; drop it in These two hands, that I may hold ’Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin, Stroking back the curls of gold : ’Tis a fair, fair face, in sooth — Larger eyes and redder mouth Than mine were in my first youth. IV. Thou art younger by seven years — Ah ! — so bashful at my gaze, That the lashes, hung with tears, Grow too heavy to upraise ? I would wound thee by no touch Which thy shyness feels as such. Lost thou mind me, Dear, so much ? v. Have I not been nigh a mother To thy sweetness — tell me, Dear ? Have we not loved one another Tenderly, from year to year, Since our dying mother mild Said with accents undefiled, ‘ Child, be mother to this child’! 90 BERTHA IH THE LANE. VI. • Mother, mother, up in heaven, Stand up on the jasper sea, And be witness I have given All the gifts required of me, — Hope that blessed me, bliss that crowned, Love that left me with a wound, Life itself that turneth round ! VII. Mother, mother, thou art kind, Thou art standing in the room, In a molten glory shrined That rays off into the gloom ! But thy smile is bright and bleak Like cold waves — I cannot speak, I sob in it, and grow weak. VIII. Ghostly mother, keep aloof One hour longer from my soul, For I still am thinking of Earth’s warm-beating joy and dole ! On my finger is a ring Which I still see glittering When the night hides everything. BERTHA IH THE LAKE. 91 XX. » Little sister, thou art pale ! Ah, I have a wandering brain — But I lose that fever-bale, And my thoughts grow calm again, Lean down closer — closer still ! I have words thine ear to fill, And would kiss thee at my will. x. Dear, I heard thee in the spring, Thee and Bobert — through the trees, — When we all went gathering Boughs of May-bloom for the bees. Do not start so ! think instead How the sunshine over head Seemed to trickle through the shade. XI. What a day it was, that day ! Hills and vales did openly Seem to heave and throb away At the sight of the great sky • And the silence, as it stood In the glory’s golden flood, Audibly did bud, and bud. 92 BEKTHA Ilf THE LANE. XII. Through the winding hedgerows green How we wandered, I and you, 'With the bowery tops shut in, And the gates that showed the view How we talked there ; thrushes soft Sang our praises out, or oft Bieatings took them from the croft : XIII. Till the pleasure grown too strong Left me muter evermore, And, the winding road being long, I w r alked out of sight, before, And so, wrapt in musings fond, Issued (past the wayside pond) On the meadow-lands beyond. XIV. I sate down beneath the beech Which leans over to the lane, And the far sound of your speech Hid not promise any pain ; And I blessed you full and free, With a smile stooped tenderly O’er the May-flowers on my knee. BEETHA IN THE BANE. XT. But the sound grew into word As the speakers drew more near — Sweet, forgive me that I heard What you wished me not to hear. Do not weep so, do not shake, Oh, — I heard thee, Bertha, make Good true answers for my sake. XVI. Yes, and he too ! let him stand In thy thoughts, untouched by blame. Could he help it, if my hand He had claimed with hasty claim ? That was wrong perhaps — but then Such things be — and will, again. Women cannot judge for men. XVII. \ Had he seen thee when he swore He would love but me alone ? Thou wast absent, sent before To our kin in Sidmouth town. When he saw thee who art best Past compare, and loveliest. He but judged thee as the rest. 94 BEBTHA IN THE LANE. XVIII. Could we blame bim with grave words, Thou and I, Dear, if we might ? Thy brown eyes have looks like birds Plying straightway to the light : Mine are older. — Hush ! — look out — Up the street ! Is none without ? How the poplar swings about ! XIX. And that hour — beneath the beech, When I listened in a dream, And he said in his deep speech That he owed me all esteem , — Each word swam in on my brain With a dim, dilating pain, . Till it burst with that last strain. xx. I fell flooded with a dark, In the silence of a swoon. When I rose, still cold and stark, There was night ; I saw the moon : And the stars, each in its place, And the May-blooms on the grass, Seemed to wonder what I was. BERTHA IN THE LANE. 95 XXI. And I walked as if apart From myself, when I could stand, And I pitied my own heart, As if I held it in my hand, Somewhat coldly, with a sense Of fulfilled benevolence, And a 1 Poor thing ’ negligence. XXII. And I answered coldly too, When you met me at the door : And I only heard the dew Dripping from me to the floor : And the flowers I hade you see, Were too withered for the bee, — As my life, henceforth, for me. XXIII. Do not weep so — Dear — heart-warm ! All was best as it befell. If I say he did me harm, I speak wild, — I am not well. All his words were kind and good — ■ He esteemed me. Only, blood Huns so faint in womanhood ! BERTHA IN THE LANE. XXIV. Then I always was too grave, — Liked the saddest ballad sung,— Witb that look, besides, we have In our faces, who die young. I had died, Dear, all the same ; Life’s long, joyous, jostling game Is too loud for my meek shame. xxv. "We are so unlike each other, Thou and I, that none could guess We were children of one mother, But for mutual tenderness. Thou art rose-lined from the cold, And meant verily to hold Life’s pure pleasures manifold. XXVI. 1 am pale as crocus grows Close beside a rose-tree’s root: ; Whosoe’er would reach the rose, Treads the crocus underfoot. J, like May-bloom on thorn-tree. Thou, like merry summer-bee, — Lit that I be plucked for thee i BERTHA IN THE BANE. 97 xxvii. Yet who plucks me? — no one mourns, I have lived my season out, A nd now die of my own thorns Which I could not live without. Sweet, be merry ! How the light Comes and goes ! If it he night, Keep the candles in my sight. XXVIII. Are there footsteps at the door? Look out quickly. Yea, or nay ? Some one might he waiting for Some last word that I might say. Kay ? So best !— so angels would Stand off clear from deathly road, Not to cross the sight of God. XXIX. Colder grow my hands and feet. When I wear the shroud I made, Let the folds lie straight and neat, And the rosemary be spread, That if any friend should come, (To see thee , Sweet !) all the room May be lifted out of gloom. VOL. II. H BEETHA IN THE LANE. XXX. And, dear Berth a, let me keep On my hand this little ring, Which at nights, when others sleep, I can still see glittering. Let me wear it out of sight, In the grave, — where it will light A 11 the dark up, day and night. XXXI. On that grave drop not a tear ! Else, though fathom- deep the place, Through the woollen shroud I wear I shall feel it on my face. Bather smile there, blessed one, Thinking of me in the sun, Or forget me — smiling on ! XXXII. Art thou near me ? nearer ! so — Kiss me close upon the eyes, That the earthly light may go Sweetly, as it used to rise When I watched the morning-grey Strike, betwixt the hills, the way He was sure to come that day. BERTHA IK THE LA HE. 99 XXXIII. So, — no more vain words be said ! \ The hosannas nearer roll. Mother, smile now on thy Dead, I am death-strong in my soul. Mystic Dove alit on cross, Guide the poor bird of the snows Through the snow-wind above loss ! xxxiv. Jesus, Victim, comprehending Love’s divine self-abnegation, Cleanse my love in its self-spending, And absorb the poor libation ! Wind my thread of life up higher, Up, through angels’ hands of fire! I aspire while I expire. LADY GERALDINE’S COURTSHIP. A ROMANCE OF THE AGE. 4 poet writes to Ms friend. Place — A room in Wycombe Halt. Time — Late in the evening. I. Dear my friend and fellow-student, I would lean my spirit o’er you ! Down the purple of this chamber tears should scarcely .run at will. I am humbled who was humble. Priend, I bow my head before you : You should lead me to my peasants, but their faces are too still. ir. There’s a lady, an earl’s daughter, — she is proud and she is noble, And she treads the crimson carpet and she breathes the perfumed air, And a kingly blood sends glances up, her princely eye to trouble, And the shadow of a monarch’s crown is softened in her hair. lady Geraldine’s courtship. 10.1 HI. _ 4 She has halls among the woodlands, she has castles by the breakers, 1 She has farms and she has manors, she can threaten and; command, And the palpitating engines snort in steam across her acres, As they mark upon the blasted heaven the measure of the land. IV. There are none of England’s daughters who can show a prouder presence ; Upon princely suitors praying, she has looked in her disdain. She was sprung of English nobles, I was born of En- glish peasants ; What was I that I should love her, save for compe- tence to pain P v. I was only a poor poet, made for singing at her case- ment, As the finches or the thrushes, while she thought of other things. Oh, she walked so high above me, she appeared to my abasement, In her lovely silken murmur, like an angel clad in wings ! 102 LADY GEEALDINE’s COUETSHIE. VI. Many vassals bow before ber as ber carriage sweeps tbeir door-ways ; Sbe lias blest tbeir little children, as a priest or queen were sbe : Par too tender, or too cruel far, ber smile upon tbe poor was, For I thought it was tbe same smile which sbe used to smile on me. VII. Sbe has voters in the commons, sbe has lovers in tbe palace, And of all tbe fair court-ladies, few have jewels half as fine ; Oft the prince has named ber beauty ’twixt tbe red wine and tbe chalice : Oh, and what was I to love ber ? my beloved, my Geraldine ! VIII. Yet I could not choose but love ber : I was born to poet-uses, To love all things set above me, all of good and all of fair. Nymphs of mountain, not of valley, we are wont to call tbe Muses ; And in nympholeptic climbing, poets pass from mount to star. LADY GERALDINE’S COURTSHIP. 103 IX. 4 And because I was a poet, and because tbe public praised me, With a critical deduction for tbe modern writer’s fault, J could sit at rich men’s tables, — though the courte- sies that raised me, Still suggested clear between us the pale spectrum of the salt. x. And they praised me in her presence ; — ‘ Will your book appear this summer?’ Then returning to each other — ‘ Yes, our plans are for the moors.’ Then with whisper dropped behind me — ‘ There he is! the latest comer. Oh, she only likes his verses ! what is over, she endures. XI. ‘ Quite low-born, self-educated ! somewhat gifted though by nature, And we make a point of asking him, — of being very kind. You may speak, he does not hear you ! and besides, he writes no satire, — All these serpents kept by charmers leave the natural sting behind.’ 104 LADY GERALDINE’S COURTSHIP. XII. I grew scornfuller, grew colder, as I stood up, there among them, Till as frost intense will bum you, the cold scorning scorched my brow ; When a sudden silver speaking, gravely cadenced, over-rung them, And a sudden silken stirring touched my inner nature through. XIII. I looked upward and beheld her: with a calm and regnant spirit, Slowly round she swept her eyelids, and said clear be- fore them all — ‘ Have you such superfluous honour, sir, that able to confer it You will come down, Mister Bertram, as my guest to Wycombe Hall?’ XIV. Here she paused ; she had been paler at the first word of her speaking, But because a silence followed it, blushed somewhat, as for shame, Then, as scorning her own feeling, resumed calmly — ‘ I am seeking More distinction than these gentlemen think worthy of my claim. LADY GEBALDINE’s COURTSHIP. 105 xv. ‘ Ne’ertheless, you see, I seek it — not because I am a woman,’ (Here her smile sprang like a fountain and, so, over- flowed her mouth) 4 But because my woods in Sussex have some purple shades at gloaming Which are worthy of a king in state, or poet in his youth. XVI. ‘ I invite you, Mister Bertram, to no scene for worldly speeches — Sir, I scarce should dare — but only where God asked the thrushes first : And if you will sing beside them, in the covert of my beeches, I will thank you for the woodlands, — for the human world, at worst.’ / XVII. Then she smiled around right childly, then she gazed around right queenly, And I bowed — I could not answer ; alternated light and gloom — - While as one who quells the lions, with a steady eye serenely, She, with level fronting eyelids, passed out stately from the room. 106 lady Geraldine’s courtship. XYIII. Oh, the blessed woods of Sussex, I can hear them still around me, With their leafy tide of greenery still rippling up the wind. Oh, the cursed woods of Sussex ! where the hunter’s arrow found me, When a fair face and a tender voice had made me mad and blind ! XIX. In that ancient hall of Wycombe thronged the nume- rous guests invited, And the lovely London ladies trod the floors with gliding feet ; And their voices low with fashion, not with feeling, softly freighted All the air about the windows with elastic laughters sweet. # XX. For at eve the open windows flung their light out on the terrace Which the floating orbs of curtains did with gradual shadow sweep, While the swans upon the river, fed at morning by the heiress, Trembled downward through their snowy wings at music in their sleep. LADY GEBALDIUE’s COURTSHIP. 107 XXI. And there evermore was music, both of instrument ■ and singing, Till the finches of the shrubberies grew restless in the dark ; But the cedars stood up motionless, each in a moon- light-ringing, And the deer, half in the glimmer, strewed the hollows of the park. XXII. And though sometimes she would bind me with her silver-corded speeches To commix my words and laughter with the converse and the jest, Oft I sat apart and, gazing on the river through the beeches, Heard, as pure the swans swam down it, her pure voice o’erfloat the rest. XXIII. In the morning, horn of huntsman, hoof of steed and laugh of rider, Spread out cheery from the court-yard till we lost them in the hills, While herself and other ladies, and her suitors left beside her, Went a- wandering up the gardens through the laurels and abeles. 108 lady Geraldine’s courtship. XXIV. Thus, her foot upon the new-mown grass, bareheaded, with the flowing Of the virginal white vesture gathered closely to her throat, And the golden ringlets in her neck just quickened by her going, And appearing to breathe sun for air, and doubting if to float, — xxv. "With a bunch of dewy maple, which her right hand held above her, And which trembled a green shadow in betwixt her and the skies, A s she turned her face in going, thus, she drew r me on to love her, And to worship the divineness of the smile hid in her eyes. XXVI. Tor her eyes alone smile constantly; her lips have serious sweetness, And her front is calm, the dimple rarely ripples on the cheek ; But her deep blue eyes smile constantly, as if they in discreetness Kept the secret of a happy dream she did not care to LADY GEIIALDINE’S COURTSHIP, 109 XXVII. Thus she drew me the first morning, out across into the garden, And I walked among her noble friends and could not keep behind. Spake she unto all and unto me — ‘ Behold, I am the warden Of the song-birds in these lindens, which are cages to their mind. XXVIII. ‘ But within this swarded circle into which the lime- walk brings us, Whence the beeches, rounded greenly, stand away in reverent fear, I will let no music enter, saving what the fountain sings us Which the lilies round the basin may seem pure enough to hear. XXIX. ‘The live air that waves the lilies waves the slender jet of water Like a holy thought sent feebly up from soul of fast- ing saint : Whereby lies a marble Silence, sleeping, (Lough the sculptor wrought her) So asleep she is forgetting to say Hush ! — a fancy quaint. 110 lady Geraldine’s courtship. xxx. ‘ Mark how heavy white her eyelids ! not a dream be- tween them lingers ; And the left hand’s index droppeth from the lips upon the cheek : While the right hand, — with the symbol-rose held slack within the fingers, — Has fallen backward in the basin — yet this Silence will not speak ! XXXI. ‘ That the essential meaning growing may exceed the special symbol, Is the thought as I conceive it : it applies more high and low. Our true noblemen will often through right nobleness grow humble, And assert an inward honour by denying outward show.’ XXXII. ‘ Hay, your Silence,’ said I, ‘ truly, holds her symbol rose but slackly, Yet she holds it, or would scarcely be a Silence to our ken : And your nobles wear their ermine on the outside, or walk blackly In the presence of the social law as mere ignoble men. lady geealdine’s court skip. Ill XXXIII. £ Let the poets dream such dreaming ! madam, in these British islands ’Tis the substance that wanes ever, ’tis the symbol that exceeds. Soon we shall have nought hut symbol: and, for statues like this Silence, Shall accept the rose’s image — in another case, the weed’s.’ xxxiv. ‘ Not so quickly,’ she retorted, — ‘ I confess, where’er you go, you Lind for things, names — shows for actions, and pure gold for honour clear : But when all is run to symbol in the Social, I will throw you The world’s book which now reads drily, and sit down with Silence here.’ xxxv. Half in playfulness she spoke, I thought, and half in indignation ; Friends who listened, laughed her words off, while her lovers deemed her fair : A fair woman, flushed with feeling, in her noble-lighted station Near the statue’s white reposing — and both bathed in sunny air ! 112 lauy Geraldine's courtship. xxxvi. With the trees round, not so distant but you heard their vernal murmur, And beheld in light and shadow the leaves in and outward move, And the little fountain leaping toward the sun-heart to be warmer, Then recoiling in a tremble from the too much light above. XXXVII. ’Tis a picture for remembrance. And thus, morning after morning, Did I follow as she drew me bv the spirit to her feet. Why, her greyhound followed also! dogs — we both were dogs for scorning — To be sent back when she pleased it and her path lay through the wheat. XXXVIII. And thus, morning after morning, spite of vows and spite of sorrow, Did I follow at her drawing, while the week-days passed along, Just to feed the swans this noontide, or to see the fawns to-morrow, Or to teach the hill-side echo some sweet Tuscan in a song lady geealdine’s courtship. 113 xxxix. Ay, for sometimes on the hill-side, while we sate down in the gowans, With the forest green behind us and its shadow cast before, And the river running under, and across it from the rowans A brown partridge whirring near ns till we felt the air it bore, — XL. There, obedient to her praying, did I read aloud the poems Made to Tuscan flutes, or instruments more various of our own ; Head the pastoral parts of Spenser, or the subtle in- terflowings Found in Petrarch’s sonnets — here’s the book, the leaf is folded down ! XLI. Or at times a modern volume, Wordsworth’s solemn- thoughted idyl, Howitt’s ballad-verse, or Tennyson’s enchanted re- verie, — Or from Browning some ‘ Pomegranate,’ which, if cut deep down the middle, Shows a heart within blood- tinctured, of a veined humanity. VOL. II. i 114 lady Geraldine’s courtship. XLII. Or at times I read there, hoarsely, some new poem of my mailing : Poets ever fail in reading their own verses to their worth, For the echo in you breaks upon the words which you are speaking, And the chariot wheels jar in the gate through which you drive them forth. xliii. After, when we were grown tired of books, the silence round us flinging A slow arm of sweet compression, felt with beatings at the breast, She would break out on a sudden in a gush of wood land singing, Like a child’s emotion in a god — a naiad tired of rest. XLIV. Oh, to see or hear her singing ! scarce I know which is divinest, For her looks sing too — she modulates her gestures on the tune, And her mouth stirs with the song, like song ; and when the notes are finest, ’Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light and seem to swell them on. LADY GERALDESTE’s COURTSHIP. 115 XLY. Then we talked — oh, how we talked! her voice, so cadenced in the talking, Made another singing — of the soul ! a music without bars : While the leafy sounds of woodlands, humming round where we were walking, "Brought interposition worthy-sweet, — as skies about the stars. XLVI. And she spake such good thoughts natural, as if she always thought them ; She had sympathies so rapid, open, free as bird on branch, Just as ready to fly east as west, whichever way be- sought them, In the birchen-wood a chirrup, or a cock-crow in the grange. XLVII. In her utmost lightness there is truth — and often she speaks lightly, Has a grace in being gay which even mournful souls approve, For the root of some grave earnest thought is under- struck so rightly As to justify the foliage and the waving flowers above. 116 lady Geraldine’s courtship. XLVIII. \ And she talked on — we talked, rather ! upon all things, substance, shadow, Of the sheep that browsed the grasses, of the reapers in the corn, Of the little children from the schools, seen winding through the meadow, Of the poor rich world beyond them, still kept poorer by its scorn. XLIX. So, of men, and so, of letters — books are men of higher stature, And the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear ; So, of mankind in the abstract, which grows slowly into nature, Yet will lift the cry of ‘ progress,’ as it trod from sphere to sphere. 1 . 9 And her custom was to praise me when I said, — ‘ The Age culls simples, With a broad clown’s back turned broadly to the glory of the stars. We are gods by our own reck’ning, and may well shut up the temples, And wield on, amid the incense-steam, the thunder of our cars. lady Geraldine’s courtship. 11 7 XI. ‘ Bor we throw out acclamations of self-thanking, self- admiring, Vfith, at every mile run faster, — ‘ 0 the wondrous wondrous age ! ’ Little thinking if we work our souls as nobly as our iron, Or if angels will commend us at the goal of pilgrimage. XII. ‘Why, what is this patient entrance into nature’s deep resources But the child’s most gradual learning to walk upright without bane ? When we drive out, from the cloud of steam, majes- tical white horses, Are we greater than the first men who led black ones by the mane ? XIII. ‘ If we trod the deeps of ocean, if we struck the stars in rising, If we wrapped the globe intensely with one hot electric breath, ’Twere but power within our tether, no new spirit- power comprising, And in life we were not greater men, nor bolder men in death.’ 118 LADY GTERALDIlfE’s COUBTSHIP. IXV. She was patient with my talking ; and I loved her, loved her certes As I loved all heavenly objects, with uplifted eyes and hands ; As I loved pure inspirations, loved the graces, loved the virtues, In a Love content with writing his own name on desert sands. XV. Or at least I thought so, purely; thought no idiot Hope was raising Any crown to crown Love’s silence, silent Love that sate alone : Out, alas ! the stag is like me, he that tries to go on grazing With the great deep gun- wound in his neck, then reels with sudden moan. xvr. It was thus I reeled. I told you that her hand had many suitors ; But she smiles them down imperially as Yenus did the waves, And with such a gracious coldness that they cannot press their futures On the present of her courtesy, which yieldingly enslaves. lady geealdine’s courtship. 119 xvir. And this morning as I sat alone within the inner chamber With the great saloon beyond it, lost in pleasant thought serene, For I had been reading Camoens, that poem you remember, Which his lady’s eyes are praised in as the sweetest ever seen. XVIII. And the book lay open, and my thought flew from it, taking from it A vibration and impulsion to an end beyond its own, As the branch of a green osier, when a child would overcome it, Springs up freely from his claspings and goes swinging in the sun. XIX. As I mused I heard a murmur ; it grew deep as it grew longer, Speakers using earnest language — £ Lady Geraldine, you would!’ And I heard a voice that pleaded, ever on in accents stronger, As a sense of reason gave it power to make its rhetoric 120 LADY GEBALDINE’s COTTKTSHIP. IX. Well I knew that voice ; it was an earl’s, of soul that matched his station, Soul completed into lordship, might and right read on his brow ; Very finely courteous; far too proud to doubt his domination Of the common people, he atones for grandeur by a bow. XXI. High straight forehead, nose of eagle, cold blue eyes of less expression Than resistance, coldly casting off the looks of other men, As steel, arrows ; unelastic lips which seem to taste possession And he cautious lest the common air should injure or distrain. XXII. Tor the rest, accomplished, upright, — ay, and standing by his order With a bearing not ungraceful ; fond of art and letters too ; Just a good man made a proud man, — as the sandy rocks that border A wild coast, by circumstances, in a regnant ebb and flow. i LADY GERALDIHE’s COURTSHIP. 121 IXIII. Thus, I knew that voice, I heard it, and I could not help the hearkening : In the room I stood up blindly, and my burning heart within Seemed to seethe and fuse my senses till they ran on all sides darkening, And scorched, weighed like melted metal round my feet that stood therein. LXIV. And that voice, I heard it pleading, for love’s sake, for wealth, position, For the sake of liberal uses and great actions to be done — And she interrupted gently, ‘ Nay, my lord, the old tradition Of your Normans, by some worthier hand than mine is, should be won.’ LXV. ‘ Ah, that white hand ! ’ he said quickly, — and in his he either drew it Or attempted — for with gravity and instance she replied, ‘ Nay indeed, my lord, this talk is vain, and we had best eschew it And pass oh, like friends, to other points less easy to decide.’ 122 lady geealdine’s courtship. IXVI. What he said again, I know not : it is likely that his trouble Worked his pride up to the surface, for she answered in slow scorn, * ‘And your lordship judges rightly. Whom I marry, shall be noble, Ay, and wealthy. I shall never blush to think how he was born.’ 1XVII. _ There, I maddened ! her words stung me. Life swept through me into fever, And my soul sprang up astonished, sprang full- statured in an hour. Know you what it is when anguish, with apocalyptic NEVER, To a Pythian height dilates you, and despair sublimes to power ? IiXVIII. From my brain the soul-wings budded, waved a flame about my body, Whence conventions coiled to ashes. I felt self-drawn out, as man, From amalgamate false natures, and I saw the skies grow ruddy With the deepening feet of angels, and I knew what spirits can. LADY GERALDIUE’s COURTSHIP. 123 LXIX. I was mad, inspired — say either! (anguish worketh inspiration) Was a man or beast — perhaps so, for the tiger roars when speared ; And I walked on, step by step along the level of my passion — Oh my soul ! and passed the doorway to her face, and never feared. xxx. He had left her, peradventure, when my footstep proved my coming, But for her — she half arose, then sate, grew scarlet and grew pale. Oh, she trembled ! ’tis so always with a worldly man or woman In the presence of true spirits ; wha,t else can they do but quail ? XXXI. Oh, she fluttered like a tame bird, in among its forest- brothers Ear too strong for it; then drooping, bowed her face upon her hands ; And I spake out wildly, fiercely, brutal truths of her and others : I, she planted in the desert, swathed her, windlike, with my sands. 124 lady geealdi^e’s courtship. JXXII. I plucked up her social fictions, bloody-rooted though leaf-verdant, Trod them down with words of shaming, — all the purple and the gold, All the ‘ landed stakes ’ and lordships, all that spirits pure and ardent Are cast out of love and honour because chancing not to hold. 1XXIII. ‘Tor myself I do not argue,’ said I, ‘though I love you, madam, But for better souls that nearer to the height of yours have trod : And this age shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God. LXXIV . ‘Yet, 0 God,’ I said, ‘ 0 grave,’ I said, ‘ 0 mother’s heart and bosom, With whom first and last are equal, saint and corpse and little child ! We are fools to your deductions, in these figments of heart-closing ; We are traitors to your causes, in these sympathies defiled. lady Geraldine's courtship. 125 ixXV. ‘ Learn more reverence, madam, not for rank or wealth — that needs no learning. That comes quickly, quick as sin does, ay, and culmi- nates to sin ; But for Adam’s seed, man ! Trust me, ’tis a clay above your scorning, With (rod’s image stamped upon it, and God’s kind- ling breath within. ixxvi. ‘ What right have you, madam, gazing in your palace mirror daily, (retting so by heart your beauty which all others must adore, While you draw the golden ringlets down your fingers, to vow gaily You will wed no man that’s only good to God, and nothing more ? XXXVII. ‘ Why. what right have you, made fair by that same God, the sweetest woman Of all women He has fashioned, with your lovely spirit-face Which would seem too near to vanish if its smile were not so human, And your voice of holy sweetness, turning common words to grace, 126 lady geealdine’s courtshie. LXXVIII. ‘ What right can you have, God’s other works to scorn, despise, revile them In the gross, as mere men, broadly — not as nolle men, forsooth, — As mere Parias of the outer world, forbidden to assoil them In the hope of living, dying, near that sweetness of your mouth p LXXIX. ' Have you any answer, madam ? If my spirit were less earthly, If its instrument were gifted with a better silver string, I would kneel down where I stand, and say — Behold me ! I am worthy Of thy loving, for I love thee. I am worthy as a king. rxxx. ‘ As it is — your ermined pride, I swear, shall feel this stain upon her, That I, poor, weak, tost with passion, scorned by me and you again. Love you, madam, dare to love you, to my grief and your dishonour, To my endless desolation, and your impotent disdain ! ’ lady Geraldine’s courtship. 127 1XXXI. More mad words like these — mere madness ! friend, 1 need not write them fuller, For I hear my hot soul dropping on the lines in showers of tears. Oh, a woman ! friend, a woman ! why, a beast had scarce been duller Than roar bestial loud complaints against the shining / of the spheres. LXXXII. But at last there came a pause. I stood all vibrating with thunder Which my soul had used. The silence drew her face up like a call. Could you guess what word she uttered P She looked up, as if in wonder, With tears beaded on her lashes, and said — ‘ Bertram !’ it was all. iixxxm. \ If she had cursed me, and she might have, or if even with queenly bearing AVhich at need is used by women, she had risen up and said, ‘ Sir, you are my guest, and therefore I have given you a full hearing : IShw, beseech you, choose a name exacting somewhat Jess, instead ! ’ — 128 lady geealdine’s cottetsuxp. LXXXIV. I had borne it : but that ‘Bertram’ — why, it lies there on the paper A. mere word, without her accent, and you cannot judge the weight Of the calm which crushed my passion : I seemed drowning in a vapour ; And her gentleness destroyed me whom her scorn made desolate. LXXXV. So, struck backward and exhausted by that inward flow of passion Which had rushed on, sparing nothing, into forms of abstract truth, By a logic agonizing through unseemly demonstra- tion, And by youth’s own anguish turning grimly grey the hairs of youth, — LXXXVI. By the sense accursed and instant, that if even I spake wisely I spake basely — using truth, if what I spake indeed was true, To avenge wrong on a woman — her , who sate there weighing nicely A poor manhood’s worth, found guilty of such deeds as I could do ! — lady gebaldine’s -courtship. 129 XXXXVII. By such wrong and woe exhausted — what I suffered and occasioned, — As a wild horse through a city runs with lightning in his eyes, And then dashing at a church’s cold and passive wall, impassioned, Strikes the death into his burning brain, and blindly drops and dies — XXXXVIII. So I fell, struck down before her — do you blame me, friend, for weakness ? ’Twas my strength of passion slew me ! — fell before her like a stone ; Fast the dreadful world rolled from me on its roaring wheels of blackness : When the light came I was lying in this chamber and alone. LXXXIX. Oh, of course she charged her lacqueys to bear out the sickly burden, And to cast it from her scornful sight, but not beyond the gate ; She is too kind to be cruel, and too haughty not to pardon Such a man as I ; ’twere something to be level to her hate. VOL. II. K 130 lady Geraldine's courtship. xc. But for me — you now are conscious why, my friend, I write this letter, How my life is read all backward, and the charm of life undone. I shall leave her house at dawn ; I would to-night, if I were better — And I charge my soul to hold my body strengthened for the sun. xci. When the sun has dyed the oriel, I depart, with no last gazes, Ho weak moanings, (one word only, left in writing for her hands,) Out of reach of all derision, and some unavailing praises, To make front against this anguish in the far and foreign lands. XCII. Blame me not. I would not squander life in grief — I am abstemious. I but nurse my spirit’s falcon that its wing may soar again. There’s no room for tears of weakness in the blind eyes of a Phemius : Into work the poet kneads them, and he does not die till then. CONCLUSION. x. Bertram finished the last pages, while along the silence ever Still in hot and heavy splashes fell the tears on every leaf. Having ended he leans backward in his chair, with lips that quiver From the deep unspoken, ay, and deep unwritten thoughts of grief. ii. Soh ! how still the lady standeth ! ’Tis a dream — a dream of mercies ! ’Twixt the purple lattice-curtains how she standeth still and pale ! ’Tis a vision, sure, of mercies, sent to soften his self curses, Sent to sweep a patient quiet o’er the tossing of his ' wail. 132 lady qeealdine’s courtship. eev,

2 THE EOHEEOLD ASPECT. How that true wife said to Pcetus, With calm smile and wounded heart, ‘ Sweet, it hurts not !’ How Admetus Saw his blessed one depart ; How King Arthur proved his mission, And Sir Poland wound his horn, And at Sangreal’s moony vision Swords did bristle round like corn. Oh, ye lifted up your head, and it seemed, the while read, That this Death, then, must be found A Valhalla for the crowned, The heroic who prevail : Hone, be sure can enter in Par below a paladin Of a noble, noble tale — So awfully ye thought upon the Dead ! in. Ay, but soon ye woke up shrieking, As a child that wakes at night Prom a dream of sisters speaking In a garden’s summer-light, — That wakes, starting up and bounding, In a lonely, lonely bed, With a wall of darkness round him, Stifling black about his head ! And the full sense of your mortal Hushed upon you deep and loud, THE EOTJBEOLD ASPECT. 163 And ye heard the thunder hurtle Prom the silence of the cloud. Puneral-torches at your gateway Threw a dreadful light within. All things changed : you rose up straightway, And saluted Death and Sin. Since, your outward man has rallied, And your eye and voice grown bold ; Yet the Sphinx of Life stands pallid, With her saddest secret told. Happy places have grown holy : If ye went where once ye went, Only tears would fall down slowly, As at solemn sacrament. Merry hooks, once read for pastime, If ye dared to read again, Only memories of the last time Would swim darkly up the brain. Household names, which used to flutter Through your laughter unawares, — God’s Divinest ye could utter With less trembling in your prayers, re have dropt adown your head, and it seems as if ye tread On your own hearts in the path Ye are called to in His wrath, And your prayers go up in wail — ‘ Dost Thou see, then, all our loss, O Thou agonized on cross ? « 164 THE FOURFOLD ASPECT. Art thou reading all its tale ? ’ So mournfully ye think upon the Dead ! IV. Pray, pray, thou who also weepest, And the drops will slacken so. Weep, weep, and the watch thou keepest, "With a quicker count will go. Think : the shadow on the dial Por the nature most undone, Marks the passing of the trial, Proves the presence of the sun. Look, look up, in starry passion, To the throne above the spheres : Learn : the spirit’s gravitation Still must differ from the tear’s. Hope : with all the strength thou usest In embracing thy despair. Love : the earthly love thou losest Shall return to thee more fair. "Work: make clear the forest-tangles Of the wildest stranger-land. Trust : the blessed deathly angels Whisper, 1 Sabbath hours at hand !* By the heart’s wound when most gory, By the longest agony, Smile ! — Behold in sudden glory The Transfigured smiles on thee ! / THE EOTJREOLD ASPECT. 165 And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He said, ‘ My Beloved, is it so P Have ye tasted of my woe ? Of my Heaven ye shall not fail ! ’ He stands brightly where the shade is, With the keys of Death and Hades. And there, ends the mournful tale — So hopefully ye think upon the Dead ! / NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN. — ♦ — NIGHT. ’Neath my moon what doest thou, With a somewhat paler brow Than she giveth to the ocean ? He, without a pulse or motion, Muttering low before her stands, Lifting his invoking hands Like a seer before a sprite, To catch her oracles of light : But thy soul out-trembles now Many pulses on thy brow. Where be all thy laughters clear, Others laughed alone to hear? Where thy quaint jests, said for fame ? Where thy dances, mixed with game ? Where thy festive companies, Mooned o’er with ladies’ eyes All more bright for thee, I trow ? ’Neath my moon what doest thou ? NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN. 167 THE MERRY MAH. I AM digging my warm heart Till I find its coldest part ; I am digging wide and low, Further than a spade will go, Till that, when the pit is deep And large enough, I there may heap All my present pain and past Joy, dead things that look aghast By the daylight : now ’tis done. Throw them in, by one and one ! I must laugh, at rising sun. Memories — of fancy’s golden Treasures which my hands have holden, Till the chillness made them ache ; Of childhood’s hopes that used to wake If birds were in a singing strain, And for less cause, sleep again ; Of the moss-seat in the wood Where I trysted solitude ; Of the hill-top where the wind Used to follow me behind, Then in sudden rush to blind Both my glad eyes with my hair. Taken gladly in the snare ; 168 NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN Of the climbing up the rocks, Of the playing ’neath the oaks Which retain beneath them now Only shadow of the bough ; Of the lying on the grass While the clouds did overpass, Only they, so lightly driven, Seeming betwixt me and Heaven ; Of the little prayers serene, Murmuring of earth and sin ; Of large-leaved philosophy Leaning from my childish knee ; Of poetic book sublime, Soul-kissed for the first dear time, Greek or English, ere I knew Life was not a poem too : — Throw them in, by one and one ! I must laugh, at rising sun. — Of the glorious ambitions Yet unquenched by their fruitions ; Of the reading out the nights ; Of the straining at mad heights ; Of achievements, less descried By a dear few than magnified ; Of praises from the many earned When praise from love was undiscerned Of the sweet reflecting gladness Softened by itself to sadness : — NIGHT AND THE MERKT HAN. 169 Throw them in, by one and one ! I must laugh, at rising sun. What are these ? more, more than these ! Throw in dearer memories ! — . Of voices whereof but to speak Makes mine own all sunk and weak ; Of smiles the thought of which is sweeping All my soul to floods of weeping ; Of looks whose absence fain would weigh My looks to the ground for aye ; Of clasping hands — ah me, I wring Mine, and in a tremble fling Downward, downward all this paining ! Partings with the sting remaining, Meetings with a deeper throe Since the joy is ruined so, Changes with a fiery burning, (Shadows upon all the turning,) Thoughts of . . with a storm they came. Them I have not breath to name : Downward, downward be they cast In the pit ! and now at last My work beneath the moon is done, And I shall laugh, at rising sun. But let me pause or ere I cover All my treasures darkly over : NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN. I will speak not in thine ears, Only tell my beaded tears Silently, most silently. When the last is calmly told, Let that same moist rosary With the rest sepulchred be, Finished now ! The darksome mould Sealeth up the darksome pit. I will lay no stone on it, Grasses I will sow instead, Fit for Queen Titania’s tread •, Flowers, encoloured with the sun, And at at written upon none ; Thus, whenever saileth by The Lady World of dainty eye, Not a grief shall here remain, Silken shoon to damp or stain : And while she lisps, £ I have not seen Any place more smooth and clean ’ . Here she cometh ! — Ha, ha l — wbo Laugbs as loud as I can do ? EARTH AND HER PRAISERS. i. The Earth is old ; Six thousand winters make her heart a-cold : The sceptre slanteth from her palsied hold. She saith, ‘ ’Las me ! God’s word that I was ‘good ’ Is taken hack to heaven, Erom whence when any sound comes, I am riven By some sharp bolt ; and now no angel would Descend with sweet dew-silence on my mountains, To glorify the lovely river fountains That gush along their side : I see, 0 weary change ! I see instead This human wrath and pride, These thrones and tombs, judicial wrong and blood, And bitter words are poured upon mine head — c 0 Earth ! thou art a stage for tricks unholy, A church for most remorseful melancholy ; Thou art so spoilt, we should forget we had An Eden in thee, wert thou not so sad ! ’ Sweet children, I am old ! ye, every one, Do keep me from a portion of my sun : 172 EARTH AND HER PRA1SERS. Give praise in change for brightness ! That I may shake my hills in infiniteness Of breezy laughter, as in youthful mirth, To hear Earth’s sons and daughters praising Earth.’ it. Whereupon a child began, With spirit running up to man As by angel’s shining ladder, (May he find no cloud above !) Seeming he had ne’er been sadder All his days than now, Sitting in the chestnut grove, With that joyous overflow Of smiling from his mouth o’er brow And cheek and chin, as if the breeze Leaning tricksy from the trees To part his golden hairs, had blown Into an hundred smiles that one. hi. ‘ 0 rare, rare Earth ! ’ he saith, ‘ I will praise thee presently ; Not to-day ; I have no breath : I have hunted squirrels three — Two ran down in the furzy hollow Where I could not see nor follow, One sits at the top of the filbert-tree, With a yellow nut and a mock at me: EARTH AND HER PRAISE RS. 173 Presently it sliall be done ! When I see which way these two have run, When the mocking one at the filbert-top Shall leap a-down and beside me stop, Then, rare Earth, rare Earth, Will I pause, having known thy worth, To say all good of thee ! ’ IV. Next a lover, — with a dream ’Neath his waking eyelids hidden, And a frequent sigh unbidden, And an idlesse all the day Beside a wandering stream, And a silence that is made Of a word he dares not say, — Shakes slow his pensive head : ‘ Earth, Earth ! ’ saith he, ‘ If spirits, like thy roses, grew On one stalk, and winds austere Could but only blow them near, To share each other’s dew ; — If, when summer rains agree To beautify thy hills, I knew Looking off them I might see Some one very beauteous too, — Then Earth,’ saith he, l I would praise . . . nay, nay — not thee l' 174 EARTH AND HER PRAISERS. V. "Will the pedant name her next ? Crabbed with a crabbed text Sits he in his study nook, With his elbow on a book, And with stately crossed knees, And a wrinkle deeply thrid Through his lowering brow, Caused by making proofs enow That Plato in ‘ Parmenides ’ Meant the same Spinoza did, — Or, that an hundred of the groping Like himself, had made one Homer, Homeros being a misnomer. What hath he to do with praise Of Earth or aught ? Whene’er the sloping Sunbeams through his window daze His eyes off from the learned phrase, Straightway he draws close the curtain. May abstraction keep him dumb ! Were his lips to ope, ’tis certain * Derivatum est ’ would come. VI. Then a mourner moveth pale In a silence full of wail, liaising not his sunken head Because he wandered last that way With that one beneath the clay : I EARTH AND HER PRAISEES. 175 "Weeping not, because that one, The only one who would have said, * Cease to weep, beloved ! ’ has gone Whence returneth comfort none. The silence breaketh suddenly, — ‘ Earth, I praise thee ! ’ crieth he, * Thou hast a grave for also me.’ VII. Ha, a poet ! know him by The ecstasy-dilated eye, Not uncharged with tears that ran Upward from his heart of man ; By the cheek, from hour to hour, Kindled bright or sunken wan With a sense of lonely power ; By the brow uplifted higher Than others, for more low declining : By the lip which words of fire Overboiling have burned white While they gave the nations light : Ay, in every time and place Ye may know the poet’s face By the shade or shining. VIII. ’Neath a golden cloud he stands, Spreading his impassioned hands. ‘ O God’s Earth ! ’ he saith, ‘ the sign Erom the Eather-soul to mine 176 EARTH A5T1) HER ERAISERS. Of all beauteous mysteries, Of all perfect images Which, divine in His divine, In my human only are Very excellent and fair! Think not, Earth, that I would raise Weary forehead in thy praise, (Weary, that I cannot go Earther from thy region low,) If were struck no richer meanings Erom thee than thyself. The leanings Of the close trees o’er the brim Of a sunshine-haunted stream Have a sound beneath their leaves, Not of wind, not of wind, Which the poet’s voice achieves : The faint mountains, heaped behind, Have a falling on their tops, Not of dew, not of dew, Which the poet’s fancy drops : Viewless things his eyes can view, Driftings of his dream do light All the skies by day and night, And the seas that deepest roll, Carry murmurs of his soul. Earth, I praise thee ! praise thou me ! God perfecteth his creation With this recipient poet-passion, And makes the beautiful to be. EABTH AND HEB BBAISEBS. 177 I praise thee, 0 beloved sign, From the God-soul unto mine ! Praise me, that I cast on thee The cunning sweet interpretation, The help and glory and dilation Of mine immortality ! * IX. There was silence. JS"one did dare To use again the spoken air Of that far-charming voice, until A Christian resting on the hill, With a thoughtful smile subdued (Seeming learnt in solitude) Which a weeper might have viewed Without new tears, did softly say, And looked up unto heaven alway While he praised the Earth — ‘ 0 Earth, I count the praises thou art wmrth, By thy waves that move aloud, By thy hills against the cloud. By thy valleys warm and green, By the copses’ elms between, By their birds which, like a sprite Scattered by a strong delight Into fragments musical, Stir and sing in every bush ; By thy silver founts that fall, VOL. II. 178 EARTH AND HER PRAI3ERS. As if to entice the stars at night To thine heart ; by grass and rush, And little weeds the children pull, Mistook for flowers ! — Oh, beautiful Ar t thou, Earth, albeit worse Than in heaven is called good ! Good to us, that we may know Meekly from thy good to go ; While the holy, crying Blood Puts its music kind and low ’Twixt such ears as are not dull, And thine ancient curse ! x. * Praised be the mosses soft In thy forest pathways oft, And the thorns, which make us think Of the thornless river-brink Where the ransomed tread : Praised be thy sunny gleams, And the storm, that worketh dreams Of calm unfinished : Praised be thine active days, And thy night-time’s solemn need, When in God’s dear book we read Wo night shall he therein : Praised be thy dwellings warm By household faggot’s cheerful blaze. EABTH AND HER PRAISE RS. Where, to hear of pardoned sin, Pauseth oft the merry din, Save the babe’s upon the arm Who croweth to the crackling wood : Tea, and, better understood, Praised be thy dwellings cold, Hid beneath the churchyard mould, Where the bodies of the saints Separate from earthly taints Lie asleep, in blessing bound, Waiting for the trumpet’s sound To free them into blessing ; — none Weeping more beneath the sun, Though dangerous words of human love Be graven very near, above. XI. ‘ Earth, we Christians praise thee thus, Even for the change that comes With a grief from thee to us : Eor thy cradles and thy tombs, For the pleasant corn and wine And summer-heat ; and also for The frost upon the sycamore And hail upon the vine !’ THE YIEGIN MAEY TO THE CHILD JESUS. But see the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest. Milton’s Hymn on the Nativity. I. Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One ! My flesh, my Lord ! — what name ? I do not know A name that seemeth not too high or low, Too far from me or heaven : My Jesus, that is best! that word being given By the majestic angel whose command Was softly as a man’s beseeching said, When I and all the earth appeared to stand In the great overflow Of light celestial from his wings and head. Sleep, sleep, my saving One ! n. And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed And speechless Being — art Thou come for saving ? The palm that grows beside our door is bowed THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. 181 By treadings of the low wind from the south, A restless shadow through the chamber waving : Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun, But Thou, with that close slumber on Thy mouth, Dost seem of wind and sun already weary. Art come for saving, 0 my weary One ? hi. Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul High dreapas on fire with God ; High songs that make the pathways where they roll More bright than stars do theirs ; and visions new Of Thine eternal Nature’s old abode. Suffer this mother’s kiss, Best thing that earthly is, To glide the music and the glory through, Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings Of any seraph wing. Thus noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One T rv. The slumber of His lips meseems to run Through my lips to mine heart, to all its shiftings Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness In a great calm. I feel I could lie down As Moses did, and die,* — and then live most. * It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of God’s lips. 182 THE VIRGIN MART TO THE CHILD JESUS. I am ’ware of you, heavenly Presences, That stand with your peculiar light unlost, Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, Unsunned i’ the sunshine ! I am ’ware. Ye throw No shade against the wall ! How motionless Ye round me with your living statuary, While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, Continual thoughts of God appear to go, Like light’s soul in itself. I bear, I hear To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, Though their external shining testifies To that beatitude within which were Enough to blast an eagle at his sun : I fall not on my sad clay face before ye, — I look on His. I know My spirit which dilateth with the woe Of His mortality, May well contain your glory. Yea, drop your lids more low. Ye are hut fellow- worshippers with me ! Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One ! • ' / V. We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem; The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human gazes Toward the newly Born : The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. 18B Brought visionaiy looks, As yet in their astonied hearing rung The strange sweet angel-tongue : The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh and gold These baby hands were impotent to hold : So let all earthlies and celestials wait Upon Thy royal state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One ! VI. I am not proud — meek angels, ye invest New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest On mortal lips, — ‘ I am not proud ’ — not proud ! Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son, Albeit over Him my head is bowed As others bow before Him, still mine heart Bows lower than their knees. O centuries That roll in vision your futurities My future grave athwart, — Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep Watch o’er this sleep, — Say of me as the Heavenly said — ‘ Thou art The blessedest of women!’ — blessedest, Not holiest, not noblest, no high name Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame When 1 sit meek in heaven ! 184 THE VIRGIN MART TO THE CHILD JESUS. 1'or me, for me, God knows that I am feeble like the rest ! I often wandered forth, more child than maiden Among the midnight hills of Galilee Whose summits looked heaven-laden, Listening to silence as it seemed to be God’s voice, so soft yet strong, so fain to press Upon my heart as heaven did on the height, And waken up its shadows by a light, And show its vileness by a holiness, x Then I knelt down most silent like the night, Too self-renounced for fears, Raising my small face to the boundless blue Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears : God heard them falling after, with his dew. VII. So, seeing my corruption, can I see This Incorruptible now born of me, This fair new Innocence no sun did chance To shine on, (for even Adam was no child) Created from my nature all defiled, This mystery, from out mine ignorance, — Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more Than others do, or / did heretofore ? Can hands wherein such burden pure has been, Not open with the cry ‘ unclean, unclean,’ More oft than any else beneath the skies ? Ah King, ah Christ, ah son ! THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. 185 The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise Must all less lowly wait Than I, upon Thy state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One ! vin. Art Thou a King, then ? Come, His universe, Come, crown me Him a King ! Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling Their light where fell a curse, And make a crowning for this kingly brow ! — What is my word ? Each empyreal star Sits in a sphere afar In shining ambuscade: The child-brow, crowned by none. Keeps its unchildlike shade. Sleep, sleep, my crownless One ! IX. Unchildlike shade ! No other babe doth wear An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou. No small babe-smiles my watching heart has seen To float like speech the speechless lips between, No dovelike cooing in the golden air, No quick short joys of leaping babyhood: Alas, our earthly good In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee : Yet, sleep, my weary One ! 186 THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. X. And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy, With the dread sense of things which shall be done, Doth smite me inly, like a sword : a sword ? That 1 smites the Shepherd.’ Then, I think aloud The words 1 despised,’ — rejected,’ — every word Recoiling into darkness as I view The Darling on my knee. Bright angels, — move not — lest ye stir the cloud Betwixt my soul and His futurity ! 1 must not die, with mother’s work to do, And could not live — and see. XI. It is enough to bear This image still and fair, This holier in sleep Than a saint at prayer, This aspect of a child Who never sinned or smiled ; This Presence in an infant’s face ; This sadness most like love, This love than love more deep, This weakness like omnipotence It is so strong to move. Awful is this watching place, Awful what I see from hence — A king, without regalia, A Grod, without the thunder, THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. A child, without the heart for play ; Ay, a Creator, rent asunder Prom His first glory and cast away On His own world, for me alone To hold in hands created, crying — Son ! xn. That tear fell not on Thee, Beloved, yet thou stirrest in thy slumber ! Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number Which through the vibratory palm-trees run Prom summer-wind and bird. So quickly hast thou heard A tear fall silently ? Wak’st thou, 0 loving One ? — AN ISLAND. All gooth but Goddis will. — O ld Poet. I. My dream is of an island-place Which distant seas keep lonely, A little island on whose face The stars axe watchers only : Those bright still stars ! they need not seem Brighter or stiller in my dream. n. An island full of hills and dells, All rumpled and uneven With green recesses, sudden swells, And odorous valleys driven So deep and straight that always there The wind is cradled to soft air. in. Hills running up to heaven for light Through woods that half-way ran, AN ISLAND. 189 As if the wild earth mimicked right The wilder heart of man : Only it shall be greener far And gladder than hearts ever are. IV. More like, perhaps, that mountain piece Of Dante’s paradise, Disrupt to an hundred hills like these, In falling from the skies ; Bringing within it, all the roots Of heavenly trees and flowers and fruits : v. For saving where the grey rocks strike Their javelins up the azure, Or where deep fissures miser-like Hoard up some fountain treasure, (And e’en in them, stoop down and hear, Leaf sounds with water in your ear, — ) VI. The place is all awave with trees, Limes, myrtles purple-beaded, Acacias having drunk the lees Of the night-dew, faint-headed, And wan grey olive-woods which seem The fittest foliage for a dream. 190 AN ISLAND. VII. Trees, trees on all sides ! they combine Their plumy shades to throw, Through whose clear fruit and blossom fine Whene’er the sun may go, The ground beneath he deeply stains, As passing through cathedral panes. VIII. But little needs this earth of ours That shining from above her, When many Pleiades of flowers (Not one lost) star her over, The rays of their unnumbered hues Being all refracted by the dews. IX. Wide-petalled plants that boldly drink The Amreeta of the sky, Shut bells that dull with rapture sink, And lolling buds, half shy ; I cannot count them, but between Is room for grass and mosses green, x. And brooks, that glass in different strengths All colours in disorder, Or, gathering up their silver lengths Beside their winding border, Sleep, haunted through the slumber hidden, By lilies white as dreams in Eden. AN ISLAND. 191 XI. Nor think each arched tree with each Too closely interlaces To admit of vistas out of reach, And broad moon-lighted places Upon whose sward the antlered deer May view their double image clear. xn. Tor all this island ’s creature-full, (Kept happy not by halves) Mild cows, that at the vine-wreatbs pull Then low back at their calves With tender lowings, to approve The warm mouths milking them for love. xm. Free gamesome horses, antelopes, And harmless leaping leopards. And buffaloes upon the slopes, And sheep unruled by shepherds : Hares, lizards, hedgehogs, badgers, mice, Snakes, squirrels, frogs, and butterflies. XIV. And birds that live there in a crowd, Horned owls, rapt nightingales. Larks bold with heaven, and peacocks proud, Self-sphered in those grand tails ; All creatures glad and safe, I deem : No guns nor springes in my dream ! 192 AN ISLAND. XV. The island’s edges are a- wing With trees that overbranch The sea with song-birds welcoming The curlews to green change ; And doves from half-closed lids espy The red and purple fish go by. XVI. One dove is answering in trust The water every minute, Thinking so soft a murmur must Have her mate’s cooing in it : So softly doth earth’s beauty round Infuse itself in ocean’s sound. XVII. My sanguine soul bounds forwarder To meet the bounding waves ; Beside them straightway I repair, To live within the caves : And near me two or three may dwell Whom dreams fantastic please as well. xvm. Long winding caverns, glittering far Into a crystal distance ! Through clefts of which, shall many a star Shine clear without resistance x And carry down its rays the smell Of flowers above invisible. AN ISLAND. 193 XIX. I said that two or three might choose Their dwelling near mine own : Those who would change man’s voice and use, Tor Nature’s way and tone — Man’s veering heart and careless eyes, For Nature’s steadfast sympathies. xx. Ourselves, to meet her faithfulness. Shall play a faithful part ; Her beautiful shall ne’er address The monstrous at our heart : Her musical shall ever touch Something within us also such. XXI. Yet shall she not our mistress live, As doth the moon of ocean, Though gently as the moon she give Our thoughts a light and motion : More like a harp of many lays, Moving its master while ho plays. xxn. No sod in all that island doth Yawn open for the dead ; No wind hath borne a traitor’s oath ; No earth, a mourner’s tread ; We cannot say by stream or shade, ‘ I suffered here, — w r as here betrayed.’ VOL. II. o 194 AN ISLAND. xxm. Our only 1 farewell ’ we shall laugh To shifting cloud or hour, And use our only epitaph To some bud turned a flower : Our only tears shall serve to prove Excess in pleasure or in love. XXIV. Our fancies shall their plumage catch Erom fairest island-birds, Whose eggs let young ones out at hatch. Born singing ! then our words Unconsciously shall take the dyes Of those prodigious fantasies. xxv. Tea, soon, no consonant unsmooth Our smile-tuned lips shall reach ; Sounds sweet as Hellas spake in youth, Shall glide into our speech : (What music, certes, can you find As soft as voices which are kind ?) XXVI. And often, by the joy without An d in us, overcome, We, through our musing, shall let float Such poems, — sitting dumb, — As Pindar might have writ if he Had tended sheep in Arcady ; r AN ISLAND. 195 XXVII. Or iEsckyius — the pleasant fields He died in, longer knowing ; Or Homer, had men’s sins and shields Been lost in Meles flowing ; Or Poet Plato, had the undim TJnsetting Godlight broke on him. XXVIII. Choose me the cave most worthy choice, To make a place for prayer, And I will choose a praying voice- To pour our spirits there : How silverly the echoes run ! Thy will be done, — thy will be done. XXIX. G-ently yet strangely uttered words ! They lift me from my dream ; The island fadeth with its swards That did no more than seem : The streams are dry, no sun could find — - The fruits are fallen, without wind. xxx. So oft the doing of God’s will Our foolish wills undoeth ! And yet what idle dream breaks ill, Which morning-light subdueth ? And who would murmur and misdoubt, When God’s great sunrise finds him out ? / THE SOUL’S TRAVELLING. HSrj voepovs Xleracrai rapirovs. SYKK8TUS. I. I dwell amid the city ever. The great humanity which beats Its life along the stony streets, Like a strong and unsunned river In a self-made course, I sit and harken while it rolls. Very sad and very hoarse Certes is the flow of souls ; Infinitest tendencies By the finite prest and pent, In the finite, turbulent : How we tremble in surprise When sometimes, with an awful sound, God’s great plummet strikes the ground THE SOUL’S TRAVELLING. 197 II. The champ of the steeds on the silver bit, As they whirl the rich man’s carriage by ; The beggar’s whine as he looks at it, — But it goes too fast for charity ; The trail on the street of the poor man’s broom, That the lady who walks to her palace-home, On her silken skirt may catch no dust ; The tread of the business-men who must Count their per-cents by the paces they take ; The cry of the babe unheard of its mother Though it lie on her breast, while she thinks of the other Laid yesterday where it will not wake ; The flower-girl’s prayer to buy roses and pinks, Held out in the smoke, like stars by day ; The gin-door’s oath that hollowly chinks Guilt upon grief and w T rong upon hate ; The cabman’s cry to get out of the way ; The dustman’s call down the area-grate ; The young maid’s jest, and the old wife’s scold, The haggling talk of the boys at a stall, The fight in the street which is backed for gold, The plea of the lawyers in Westminster Hall ; The drop on the stones of the blind man’s staff As he trades in his own grief’s sacredness, The brothel shriek, and the Newgate laugh, The hum upon ’Change, and the organ’s grinding, (The grinder’s face being nevertheless 198 THE soul’s tuavellihgk Dry and vacant of even woe While the children’s hearts are leaping so At the merry music’s winding ;) The black-plumed funeral’s creeping train Long and slow (and yet they will go As fast as Life though it hurry and strain !) Creeping the populous houses through And nodding their plumes at either side, — At many a house where an infant, new To the sunshiny world, has just struggled and cried, At many a house where sitteth a bride Trying to-morrow’s coronals With a scarlet blush to-day : Slowly creep the funerals, As none should hear the noise and say, The living, the living must go away To multiply the dead. Hark ! an upward shout is sent, In grave strong joy from tower to steeple The bells ring out, The trumpets sound, the people shout, The young queen goes to her parliament ; She turneth round her large blue eyes More bright with childish memories Than royal hopes, upon the people; On either side she bows her head Lowly, with a queenly grace, And smile most trusting-innocent, As if she smiled upon her mother ; the soul’s travelling. 199 The thousands press before each other To bless her to her face ; And booms the deep majestic voice Through trump and drum, — ‘May the queen rejoice In the people’s liberties !’ in. I dwell amid the city, A nd hear the flow of souls in act and speech, Tor pomp or trade, for merrymake or folly : I hear the confluence and sum of each, And that is melancholy ! Thy voice is a complaint, 0 crowned city, The blue sky covering thee like God’s great pity. IV 0 blue sky ! it mindeth me Of places where I used to see Its vast unbroken circle thrown Trom the far pale-peaked hill Out to the last verge of ocean, As by God’s arm it were done Then for the first time, with the emotion Of that first impulse on it still. Oh, we spirits fly at will Faster than the winged steed Whereof in old book we read, With the sunlight foaming back Trom his flanks to a misty wrack, 200 THE SOUL’S TRAVELLING. And his nostril reddening proud As he breasteth the steep thundercloud. Smoother than Sabrina’s chair Gliding up from wave to air, While she smileth debonair Tet holy, coldly and yet brightly, Like her own mooned waters nightly, Through her dripping hair. v. Very fast and smooth we fly. Spirits, though the flesh be by ; All looks feed not from the eye Nor all hearings from the ear: We can harken and espy Without either, we can journey Bold and gay as knight to tourney, And, though we wear no visor down To dark our countenance, the foe Shall never chafe us as we go. vx. I am gone from peopled town ! It passeth its street-thunder round My body which yet hears no sound, For now another sound, another Vision, my soul’s senses have — O’er a hundred valleys deep Where the hills’ green shadows sleep THE soul’s TRAVELLING. 201 Scarce known because the valley-trees Cross those upland images, O’er a hundred hills each other Watching to the western wave, I have travelled, — I have found The silent, lone, remembered ground. VII. I have found a grassy niche Hollowed in a seaside hill, As if the ocean-grandeur which Is aspectahle from the place, Had struck the hill as with a mace Sudden and cleaving. You might fill That little nook with the little cloud Which sometimes lieth by the moon To beautify a night of June ; A cavelike nook which, opening all To the wide sea, is disallowed From its own earth’s sweet pastoral; Cavelike, but roofless overhead And made of verdant banks instead Of any rocks, with flowerets spread Instead of spar and stalactite, Cowslips and daisies gold and white : Such pretty flowers on such green sward, You think the sea they look toward Doth serve them for another sky As warm and blue as that on high. 202 THE SOUL’S TKAVELLIHQ. YIH, And in this hollow is a seat, And when you shall have crept to it, Slipping down the banks too steep To be o’ei’browzed by the sheep, Do not think — though at your feet The cliffs disrupt — you shall behold The line where earth and ocean meet ; You sit too much above to view The solemn confluence of the two : STou can hear them as they greet, You can hear that evermore Distance-softened noise more old Than Nereid’s singing, the tide spent Joining soft issues with the shore In harmony of discontent, And when you harken to the grave Lamenting of the underwave, You must believe in earth’s communion Albeit you witness not the union. IX. Except that sound, the place is f ull Of silences, which when you cull By any word, it thrills you so That presently you let them grow To meditation’s fullest length Across your soul with a soul’s strength : And as they touch your soul, they borrow THE soul’s travelling-. 203 Both of its grandeur and its sorrow, That deathly odour which the clay Leaves on its deathlessness alway. x. Alway ! alway P must this be ? Bapid Soul from city gone, Dost thou carry inwardly What doth make the city’s moan ? Must this deep sigh of thine own Haunt thee with humanity ? Green visioned banks that are too steep To be o’erbrowzed by the sheep, May all sad thoughts adown you creep Without a shepherd ? Mighty sea, Can we dwarf thy magnitude And fit it to our straitest mood ? O fair, fair Nature, are we thus Impotent and querulous Among thy workings glorious, Wealth and sanctities, that still Leave us vacant and defiled And wailing like a soft-kissed child, Kissed soft against his will ? XI. God, God ! With a child’s voice I cry, Weak, sad, confidingly — God, God ! 204 THE SOUL’S TBA.VELLIN G. Thou knowest, eyelids, raised not always up Unto Thy love, (as none of ours are) droop As ours, o’er many a tear ; Thou knowest, though Thy universe is broad, Two little tears suffice to cover all : Thou knowest, Thou who art so prodigal Of beauty, we are oft but stricken deer Expiring in the woods, that care for none Of those delightsome flowers they die upon. XII. O blissful Mouth which breathed the mournful breath We name our souls, self-spoilt! — by that strong passion Which paled Thee once with sighs, by that strong death Which made Thee once unbreathing — from the wrack Themselves have called around them, call them back, Back to Thee in continuous aspiration ! Eor here, O Lord, For here they travel vainly, vainly pass From city-pavement to untrodden sward Where the lark finds her deep nest in the grass Cold with the earth’s last dew. Yea, very vain The greatest speed of all these souls of men Unless they travel upward to the throne Where sittest Thou the satisfying One, With help for sins and holy perfectings For all requirements : while the archangel, raising Unto Thy face his full ecstatic gazing, Forgets the rush and rapture of his wings. TO BETTINE, THE CHILD-PKIEND OP GOETHE. * — “ I have the second sight, Goethe ! ” — Letters of a Child* I. Bettine, friend of Goethe, Kadst thou the second sight — Upturning worship and delight With such a loving duty To his grand face, as women will, The childhood ’neath thine eyelids still ? ii. — Before his shrine to doom thee, Using the same child’s smile That heaven and earth, beheld erewhile For the first time, won from thee Ere star and flower grew dim and dead Save at his feet and o’er his head ? 206 TO BETTINE. IH. — Digging thine heart and throwing Away its childhood’s gold, That so its woman-depth might hold His spirit’s overflowing P (For surging souls, no worlds can bound, Their channel in the heart have found.) IV. O child, to change appointed, Thou hadst not second sight ! What eyes the future view aright Unless by tears anointed ? Yea, only tears themselves can show The burning ones that have to flow. v. 0 woman, deeply loving, Thou hadst not second sight ! The star is very high and bright, And none can see it moving. Love looks around, below, above, Yet all his prophecy is — love. VI. The bird thy childhood’s playing Sent onward o’er the sea, Thy dove of hope came back to thee Without a leaf : art laying Its wet cold wing no sun can dry, Still in thy bosom secretly ? TO BETTINE. 207 VII. Our Goethe’s friend, Bettine, I have the second sight ! The stone upon his grave is white, • The funeral stone between ye ; And in thy mirror thou hast viewed Some change as hardly understood. VIII. Where’s childhood ? where is Goethe ? The tears are in thine eyes. Nay, thou shalt yet reorganize Thy maidenhood of beauty In his own glory, which is smooth Of wrinkles and sublime in youth. IX. The poet’s arms have wound thee, He breathes upon thy brow, He lifts thee upward in the glow Of his great genius round thee, — The childlike poet undefiled Preserving evermore The Child. I MAN AND NATURE. A sad man on a summer day Did look upon the earth and say — ‘ Purple cloud, the hill-top binding, Folded hills, the valleys wind in. Valleys, with fresh streams among you, Streams, with bosky trees along you, Trees, with many birds and blossoms, Birds, with music-trembling bosoms, Blossoms, dropping dews that wreathe you To your fellow flowers beneath you, Flowers, that constellate on earth, Earth, that shakest to the mirth Of the merry Titan ocean, All his shining hair in motion ! Why am I thus the only one Who can be dark beneath the sun ?’ But when the summer day was past, He looked to heaven and smiled at last, MAN AND NATURE. 209 Self-answered so — ‘ Because, 0 cloud, Pressing with thy crumpled shroud Heavily on mountain top, — Hills, that almost seem to drop Stricken with a misty death To the valleys underneath, — Yalleys, sighing with the torrent, — "Waters, streaked with branches horrent, — Branchless trees, that shake your head Wildly o’er your blossoms spread Where the common flowers are found, — Blowers, with foreheads to the ground, — Ground, that shriekest while the sea With his iron smitetli thee — 1 am, "besides, the only one Who can be bright without the sun.’ e VOL. II. I ■; ■ : i / A SEA-SIDE WALK. # I We walked beside the sea After a day which perished silently Of its own glory — like the princess weird Who, combating the Genius, scorched and seared, Uttered with burning breath, ‘ Ho ! victory !’ And sank adown, an heap of ashes pale : So runs the Arab tale. ii. The sky above us showed A universal and unmoving cloud On which the cliffs permitted us to see Only the outline of their majesty, As master-minds when gazed at by the crowd : And shining with a gloom, the water grey Swang in its moon-taught way. in. Nor moon, nor stars were out ; They did not dare to tread so soon about, A SEA-SIDE WALK. 211 Though trembling, in the footsteps of the sun : The light was neither night’s nor day’s, but one Which, life-like, had a beauty in its doubt, And silence’s impassioned breathings round Seemed wandering into sound. IV. O solemn-beating heart Of nature ! I have knowledge that thou art Bound unto man’s by cords he cannot sever ; And, what time they are slackened by him ever, So to attest his own supernal part, Still runneth thy vibration fast and strong The slackened cord along : T. Bor though we never spoke Of the grey water and the shaded rock, Dark wave and stone unconsciously were fused Into the plaintive speaking that we used Of absent friends and memories unforsook ; A.nd, had we seen each other’s face, we had Seen haply each was sad. THE SEA-MEW. AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO M. H. H. — * — I. Hoyt joyously the young sea-mew Lay dreaming on the waters blue Whereon our little bark had thrown A little shade, the only one, But shadows ever man pursue. ii. Familiar with the waves and free As if their own white foam were he, His heart upon the heart of ocean Lay learning all its mystic motion, And throbbing to the throbbing sea. m. And such a brightness in his eye As if the ocean and the sky Within him had lit up and nurst A soul God gave him not at first. To comprehend their majesty. THE SEA-MEW. 213 IV. We were not cruel, yet did sunder His white wing from the blue waves under, And bound it, while his fearless eyes Shone up to ours in calm surprise, As deeming us some ocean wonder. v. We bore our ocean bird unto A grassy place where he might view The flowers that curtsey to the bees, The waving of the tall green trees, The falling of the silver dew. VI. But flowers of earth were pale to him Who had seen the rainbow fishes swim ; And when earth’s dew around him lay He thought of ocean’s winged spray, And his eye waxed sad and dim. vn. The green trees round him only made A prison with their darksome shade ; And drooped his wing, and mourned he Bor his own boundless glittering sea — Albeit he knew not they could fade. 214 THE SEA-MEW. VIII. Then One her gladsome face did bring, Her gentle voice’s murmuring, In ocean’s stead his heart to move And teach him what was human love : He thought it a strange, mournful thing. IX. He lay down in his grief to die, (First looking to the sea-like sky That hath no waves) because, alas ! Our human touch did on him pass, And with our touch, our agony. FELICIA HEMANS. TO L. E. I;., REFERRING TO HER MONODY ON THE POETESS. I. Thou bay-crowned living One that o’er the bay- crowned Dead art bowing, And o’er the shadeless moveless brow the vital shadow throwing, And o’er the sighless songless lips the wail and music wedding, And dropping o’er the tranquil eyes the tears not of their shedding ! — ii. Take music from the silent Dead whose meaning is completer, Reserve thy tears for living brows where all such tears are meeter, And leave the violets in the grass to brighten where thou treadest, No flowers for her ! no need of flowers, albeit ‘ bring flowers,’ thou saidest. 216 FELICIA HEMANS. III. Yes, flowers, to crown the ‘ cup and lute,’ since both may come to breaking, Or flowers, to greet the ‘ bride ’ — the heart’s own beating works its aching ; Or flowers, to soothe the ‘ captive’s ’ sight, from earth’s free bosom gathered, Reminding of his earthly hope, then withering as it withered : xv. But bring not near the solemn corse a type of human seeming, Lay only dust’s stern verity upon the dust undreaming: And while the calm perpetual stars shall look upon it solely, Her sphered soul shall look on them, with eyes more bright and holy. v. Nor mourn, 0 living One, because her part in life was mourning : Would she have lost the poet’s fire for anguish of the burning ? The minstrel harp, for the strained string ? the tripod, for the afflated Woe? or the vision, for those tears in which it shone dilated ? 1 FELICIA HEJIANS. 217 TI. Perhaps she shuddered while the world’s cold hand her brow was wreathing, But never wronged that mystic breath which breathed in all her breathing, Which drew from rocky earth and man, abstractions high and moving, Beauty, if not the beautiful, and love, if not the loving. VII. Such visionings have paled in sight ; the Saviour she descrieth, And little recks who wreathed the brow which on His bosom lieth : The whiteness of His innocence o’er all her garments, flowing, There learneth she the sweet ‘ new song ’ she will not mourn in knowing. vnx. Be happy, crowned and living One ! and as thy dust decayeth May thine own England say for thee what now for Her it sayeth — ‘ Albeit softly in our ears her silver song was ringing, The foot-fall of her parting soul is softer than her singing.’ L. E. L/S LAST QUESTION. * Do you think of me as I think of you ?’ From her poem written during the voyage to the Cape. I. ‘ Do you think of me as I think of you, My friends, my friends ?’— She said it from the sea, The English minstrel in her minstrelsy, While, under brighter skies than erst she knew, Her heart grew dark, and groped there as the blind To reach across the waves friends left behind — ‘ Do you think of me as I think of you ?’ n. It seemed not much to ask — ‘as I of you?’ We all do ask the same ; no eyelids cover Within the meekest eyes that question over : And little in the world the Loving do But sit (among the rocks?) and listen for The echo of their own love evermore — ‘ Do you think of me as I think of you ? 1. E. L.’s LAST QUESTION. 219 III. Love-learned she had sung of love and love, — And like a child that, sleeping with dropt head Upon the fairy-book he lately read, Whatever household noises round him move, Hears in his dream some elfin turbulence, — Even so suggestive to her inward sense, All sounds of life assumed one tune of love. IV. And when the glory of her dream withdrew, When knightly gestes and courtly pageantries Were broken in her visionary eyes By tears the solemn seas attested true, — Forgetting that sweet lute beside her hand, She asked not, — 4 Do you praise me, 0 my land ?’ But, — 4 Think ye of me, friends, as I of you ?’ v. Hers was the hand that played for many a year Love’s silver phrase for England, smooth and well. Would God, her heart’s more inward oracle In that lone moment might confirm her dear ! Eor when her questioned friends in agony Made passionate response, 4 We think of thee,’ Her place was in the dust, too deep to hear. 220 Ii. E. L.’S LAST QUESTION. YI. Could she not wait to catch their answering breath ? Was she content, content with ocean’s sound Which dashed its mocking infinite around One thirsty for a little love ? — beneath Those stars content, where last her song had gone, — They mute and cold in radiant life, as soon Their singer was to be, in darksome death ? * VII. Bring your vain answers — cry, ‘ We think of thee 1’ How think ye of her ? warm in long ago Delights ? or crowned with budding bays ? Not so. None smile and none are crowned where lieth she, With all her visions unfulfilled save one, Her childhood’s, of the palm-trees in the sun — And lo ! their shadow on her sepulchre ! VIII. ‘ Do ye think of me as I think of you ?’ — 0 friends, 0 kindred, 0 dear brotherhood Of all the world ! what are we that we should For covenants of long affection sue ? Why press so near each other when the touch Is barred by graves ? INot much, and yet too much Is this ‘ Think of me as I think of you.’ * Her lyric on the polar star came home with her latest papers. L. E. L.’S LAST QUESTION. 221 IX. But while on mortal lips I shape anew A sigh to mortal issues, verily Above the unshaken stars that see us die, A vocal pathos rolls ; and He who drew All life from dust, and for all tasted death, By death and life and love, appealing saith, Do you think of me as I think of you ? I CROWNED AND WEDDED. i. Whes last before ber people’s face her own fair face she bent, Witbin the meek projection of that shade she w T as content To erase the child-smile from her lips, which seemed as if it might Be still kept holy from the world to childhood still in sight — To erase it with a solemn vow, a princely vow — to rule, A priestly vow — to rule by grace of God the pitiful, A very godlike vow — to rule in right and righteousness And with the law and for the land — so God the vower bless ! ii. The minster was alight that day but not with fire, 1 ween, And long-drawn glitterings swept adown that mighty aisled scene : CBOWNED AND WEDDED. 223 The priests stood stoled in their pomp, the sworded chiefs in theirs, And so, the collared knights, and so, the civil ministers, And so, the waiting lords and dames, and little pages best At holding trains, and legates so, from countries east and west ; So, alien princes, native peers, and high-born ladies bright, Along whose brows the Queen’s, now crowned, flashed coronets to light ; And so, the people at the gates with priestly hands on high Which bring the first anointing to all legal majesty ; And so the Dead, who lie in rows beneath the minster floor, There verily an awful state maintaining evermore ; The statesman whose clean palm will kiss no bribe whate’er it be, The courtier who for no fair queen will rise up to his knee, The court-dame who for no court-tire will leave her shroud behind, The laureate who no courtlier rhyme than * dust to dust’ can find, The kings and queens who having made that vow and worn that crown, Descended unto lower thrones and darker, deep adown: 224 CBOWNED AND WEDDED. Dieu et mon droit — what is ’t to them ? what meaning can it have ? — The King of kings, the right of death — God’s judgment and the grave. And when betwixt the quick and dead the young fair queen had vowed, The living shouted ‘ May she live ! Yictoria, live !’ aloud : And as the loyal shouts went up, true spirits prayed between, ‘ The blessings happy monarchs have be thine, O crowned queen !’ hi. But now before her people’s face she bendeth hers anew, And calls them, while she vows, to be her witness thereunto. She vowed to rule, and in that oath her childhood put away: She doth maintain her womanhood, in vowing love to-day. 0 lovely lady ! let her vow ! such lips become such vows, An d fairer goeth bridal wreath than crown with vernal brows. 0 lovely lady ! let her vow 1 yea, let her vow to love ! And though she be no less a queen, with purple? hung above, CROWNED AND WEDDED. 225 The pageant of a court behind, the royal kin around, And woven gold to catch her looks turned maidenly to ground, Tet may the bride-veil hide from her a little of that state, While loving hopes for retinues about her sweetness wait. She vows to love who vowed to rule — (the chosen at her side) Let none say, God preserve the queen! but rather, Bless the bride ! None blow the trump, none bend the knee, none vio- late the dream Wherein no monarch but a wife she to herself mav seem. Or if ye say, Preserve the queen! oh, breathe it inward low — She is a woman , and beloved ! and ’tis enough but so. Count it enough, thou noble prince who tak’st her by the hand And claimest for thy lady-love our lady of the land ! And since, Prince Albert, men have called thy spirit high and rare, And true to truth and brave for truth as some at Augsburg were, We charge thee by thy lofty thoughts and by thy poet-mind Which not by glory and degree takes measure of man- kind, 226 CROWNED AND WEDDED. Esteem that wedded hand less dear for sceptre than for ring, And hold her uncrowned womanhood to be the royal thing. rv. And now, upon our queen’s last vow what blessings shall we pray ? None straitened to a shallow crown will suit our lips to-day : Behold, they must he free as love, they must he broad as free, Even to the borders of heaven’s light and earth’s humanity. Long live she 1 — send up loyal shouts, and true hearts pray between, — ‘ The blessings happy peasants have, be thine, 0 crooned queen !’ CROWNED AND BURIED. — ♦ — i. Napoleon ! — years ago, and that great word Compact of human breath in hate and dread And exultation, skied us overhead — An atmosphere whose lightning was the sword Scathing the cedars of the world, — drawn down In burnings, by the metal of a crown. n. Napoleon ! — nations, while they cursed that name, Shook at their own curse ; and while others bore Its sound, as of a trumpet, on before, Brass-fronted legions justified its fame ; And dying men on trampled battle-sods Near their last silence uttered it for God’s. hi. Napoleon ! — sages, with high foreheads drooped, Did use it for a problem ; children small Leapt up to greet it, as at manhood’s call ; 228 CBOWSED AND BFEIED. Priests blessed it from their altars overstooped By meek-eyed Christs ; and widows with a moan Spake it, when questioned why they sate alone. rv. That name consumed the silence of the snows In Alpine keeping, holy and cloud-hid ; The mimic eagles dared what Nature’s did, And over-rushed her mountainous repose In search of eyries : and the Egyptian river Mingled the same word with its grand ‘ Eor ever. v. That name was shouted near the pyramidal Nilotic tombs, whose mummied habitants, Packed to humanity’s significance, Motioned it back with stillness, — shouts as idle As hireling artists’ work of myrrh and spice Which swathed last glories round the Ptolemies. VI. The world’s face changed to hear it ; kingly men Came down in chidden babes’ bewilderment Erom autocratic places, each content With sprinkled ashes for anointing : then The people laughed or wondered for the nonce, To see one throne a composite of thrones. OBOWNED and btjbied. 229 YII. Napoleon ! — even the torrid vastitude Of India felt in throbbings of tbe air That name which scattered by disastrous blare All Europe’s bound-lines, — drawn afresh in blood. Napoleon! — from tbe Russias west to Spain: And Austria trembled till ye heard her chain. yin. And Germany was ’ware ; and Italy Oblivious of old fames — her laurel-locked, High-ghosted Caesars passing uninvoked — • Did crumble her own ruins with her knee, To serve a newer : ay ! but Frenchmen cast A future from them nobler than her past : IX. For verily though France augustly rose With that raised name, and did assume by such The purple of the world, none gave so much As she in purchase — to speak plain, in loss — Whose hands, toward freedom stretched, dropped paralyzed To wield a sword or fit an undersized x. King’s crown to a great man’s head. And thoughalong Her Paris’ streets, did float on frequent streams Of triumph, pictured or emmarbled dreams 230 CBOWNED AKD BTJBIED. Dreamt right by genius in a world gone wrong, — No dream of all so won was fair to see As the lost vision of her liberty. \ ' XI. Napoleon ! — ’twas a high name lifted high : It met at last God’s thunder sent to clear Our compassing and covering atmosphere And open a clear sight beyond the sky Of supreme empire ; this of earth’s was done — And kings crept out again to feel the sun. XII. The kings crept out — the peoples sate at home, And finding the long-invocated peace (A pall embroidered with worn images Of rights divine) too scant to cover doom Such as they suffered, cursed the corn that grew Bankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo. XIII. A deep gloom centered in the deep repose ; The nations stood up mute to count their dead : And he who owned the Name which vibrated Through silence, — trusting to his noblest foes When earth was all too grey for chivalry, Died of their mercies ’mid the desert sea- CROWNED AND BURIED. 231 XIV. 0 wild St. Helen. ! very still she kept him, With a green willow for all pyramid, Which stirred a little if the low wind did, A little more, if pilgrims overwept him, Disparting the lithe boughs to see the clay Which seemed to cover his for judgment-day. xv. Nay, not so long ! France kept her old affection As deeply as the sepulchre the corse ; Until, dilated by such love’s remorse To a new angel of the resurrection, She cried, ‘ Behold, thou England ! I would have The dead whereof thou wottest, from that grave.’ XVI. And England answered in the courtesy Which, ancient foes turned lovers, may befit, — ‘ Take back thy'- dead ! and when thou buriest it. Throw in all former strifes ’twixt thee and me.’ Amen, mine England ! ’tis a courteous claim : But ask a little room too — for thy shame ! XVII. Because it was not well, it was not well, Nor tuneful with thy lofty-chanted part Among the Oceanides, — that Heart 2 82 CROWNED AND BURIED. To bind and bare and vex with vulture fell. I would, my noble England, men might seek All crimson stains upon thy breast — not cheek ! I -■ ' 1 XVIII. I would that hostile fleets had scarred Torbay, Instead of the lone ship which waited moored Until thy princely purpose was assured, Then left a shadow, not to pass away — Not for to-night’s moon, nor to-morrow’s sun: Grreen watching hills, ye witnessed what was done * xrx. But since it was done, — in sepulchral dust AVe fain would pay back something of our debt To France, if not to honour, and forget How through much fear we falsified the trust Of a fallen foe and exile. We return Orestes to Electra — in his urn. / XX. A little urn — a little dust inside, Which once outbalanced the large earth, albeit To-day a four-years child might carry it Sleek-browed and smiling, ‘ Let the burden ’bide Orestes to Electra ! — 0 fair town Of Paris, how the wild tears will run down * Written at Torquay. CB OWNED AND BTJEIED. 283 XXI. And run back in the cbariot-marks of time. When all the people shall come forth to meet The passive victor, death-still in the street He rode through ’mid the shouting and bell-chime And martial music, under eagles which Dyed their rapacious beaks at Austerlitz ! XXII. * Napoleon! — he hath come again, borne home Upon the popular ebbing heart, — a sea Which gathers its own wrecks perpetually, Majestically moaning. Give him room ! Room for the dead in Paris ! welcome solemn And grave-deep, ’neath the cannon-moulded column! * XXIII. There, weapon spent and warrior spent may rest From roar of fields, — provided Jupiter Dare trust Saturnus to lie down so near His bolts ! — and this he may : for, dispossessed Of any godship lies the godlike arm — The goat, J ove sucked, as likely to do harm. XXIV. And yet . . . Napoleon! — the recovered name Shakes the old casements of the world ; and we Look out upon the passing pageantry, * It was the first intention to bury him under the column. 234 OBOWNED AND BUBIED. Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim To a Drench grave, — another kingdom won, The last, of few spans — by Napoleon. xxv. Blood fell like dew beneath his sunrise — sooth ! But glittered dew-like in the covenanted Meridian light. He was a despot — granted ! But the avros of his autocratic mouth Said yea i’ the people’s Drench ; he magnified The image of the freedom he denied : XXVI. And if they asked for rights, he made reply ‘ Te have my glory !’ — and so, drawing round them His ample purple, glorified and bound them In an embrace that seemed identity. He ruled them like a tyrant — true ! but none Were ruled like slaves : each felt Napoleon. xxvn. I do not praise this man : the man was flawed Dor Adam — much more, Christ! — his knee unbent, His hand unclean, his aspiration pent Within a sword-sweep — pshaw ! — but since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave. CEOWNED AND BUBIED. 235 XXVIII. I think this nation’s tears thus poured together, Better than shouts. I think this funeral Grander than crownings, though a Pope bless all. I think this grave stronger than thrones. But whether The crowned Napoleon or the buried clay Be worthier, I discern not : angels may. TO FLUSH, MY BOG. — * — i. Loving friend, the gift of one Who her own true faith has run Through thy lower nature,* Be my benediction said With my hand upon thy head, Gentle fellow-creature ! n. Like a lady’s ringlets brown, Flow thy silken ears adown Either side demurely Of thy silver-suited breast Shining out from all the rest Of thy body purely. * This dog was the gift of my dear and admired friend, Miss Mitford, and belongs to the beautiful race she has rendered celebrated among English and American readers. The Flushes have their laurels as well as the Caesars, — the chief difference (at least the very head and front of it) consisting, perhaps, in the bald head of the latter under the crown. 1844 , 237 TO FLUSH, MT DOG. III. Darkly brown thy body is, Till the sunshine striking this Alchemize its dulness, When the sleek curls manifold Plash all over into gold With a burnished fulness. IV. Underneath my stroking hand, Startled eyes of hazel bland Kindling, growing larger, Up thou leapest with a spring, Pull of prank and curveting, Leaping like a charger. v. Leap ! thy broad tail waves a light, Leap ! thy slender feet are bright, Canopied in fringes ; Leap ! those tasselled ears of thine Flicker strangely, fair and fine , Down their golden inches. VI. Yet, my pretty, sportive friend, Little is ’t to such an end That I praise thy rareness ; Other dogs may be thy peers Haply in these drooping ears And this glossy fairness. 233 TO FLUSH, MT DOG. VII. But of thee it shall be said. This dog watched beside a bed Day and night unweary, Watched within a curtained room AVhere no sunbeam brake the gloom Bound the sick and dreary. VIII. Boses, gathered for a vase, In that chamber died apace, Beam and breeze resigning ; This dog only, waited on, Knowing that when light is gone Love remains for shining. IX. Other dogs in thymy dew Tracked the hares and followed through Sunny moor or meadow ; This dog only, crept and crept Next a languid cheek that slept, Sharing in the shadow. x. Other dogs of loyal cheer Bounded at the whistle clear, Dp the woodside hieing ; This dog only, watched in reach Of a faintly uttered speech Or a louder sighing. TO FLUSH, MX DOG. 239 XI. And if one or two quick tears Dropped upon his glossy ears Or a sigh came double, Up he sprang in eager haste, Fawning, fondling, breathing fast, In a tender trouble. XII. And this dog w r as satisfied If a pale thin hand would glide Down his dewlaps sloping, — Which he pushed his nose within, After, — platforming his chin On the palm left open. XIII. This dog, if a friendly voice Call him now to blither choice Than such chamber-keeping, * Come out !’ praying from the door, — Presseth backward as before, Up against me leaping. XIV. Therefore to this dog will I, Tenderly not scornfully, Kender praise and favour : With my hand upon his head, Is my benediction said Therefore and for ever. 240 TO FLUSH, MY DOG. XV. And because he loves me so, Better than his kind will do Often man or woman, Give I back more love again Than dogs often take of men, Leaning from my Human. XVI. Blessings on thee, dog of mine, Pretty collars make thee fine, Sugared milk make fat thee I Pleasures wag on in thy tail, Hands of gentle motion fail Nevermore, to pat thee! XVII. Downy pillow take thy head, Silken coverlid bestead, Sunshine help thy sleeping ! No fly’s buzzing wake thee un, No man break thy purple cup Set for drinking deep in. XVIII. Whiskered cats arointed flee, Sturdy stoppers keep from thee Cologne distillations ; Nuts lie in thy path for stones, And thy feast-day macaroons Turn to daily rations ! TO PLUSH, MY DOG. 241 XIX. Mock I thee, in wishing weal ? — Tears are in my eyes to feel Thou, art made so straitly, Blessing needs must straiten too, — Little canst thou joy or do, Thou who lovest greatly. XX. Yet be blessed to the height Of all good and all delight Pervious to thy nature ; Only loved beyond that line, With a love that answers thine, Loving fellow- creature 1 t VOL. II. E I I THE DESERTED GARDEN. ♦— I mind me in the days departed, How often underneath the sun "With childish bounds I used to run To a garden long deserted. The beds and walks were vanished quite ; And wheresoe’er had struck the spade, The greenest grasses Nature laid To sanctify her right. I called the place my wilderness, For no one entered there but I ; The sheep looked in, the grass to espy, And passed it ne’ertheless. The trees were interwoven wild, And spread their boughs enough about To keep both sheep and shepherd out, But not a happy child. THE DESERTED GARDEH. 243 Adventurous joy it was for me ! I crept beneath the boughs, and found A circle smooth of mossy ground Beneath a poplar tree. Old garden rose-trees hedged it in, Bedropt with roses waxen-white "Well satisfied with dew and light And careless to be seen. Long years ago it might befall, When all the garden flowers were trim, The grave old gardener prided him On these the most of all. Some lady, stately overmuch, Here moving with a silken noise, Has blushed beside them at the voice That likened her to such. And these, to make a diadem, She often may have plucked and twined, Half-smiling as it came to mind That few would look at them. Oh, little thought that lady proud, A child would watch her fair white rose, When buried lay her whiter brows, And sillc was changed for shroud ! 244 THE DESEKTED (J AUDEN. Nor thought that gardener, (full of scorns For men unlearned and simple phrase,) A child would bring it all its praise By creeping through the thorns ! To me upon my low moss seat, Though never a dream the roses sent Of science or love’s compliment, I ween they smelt as sweet. It did not move my grief to see The trace of human step departed : Because the garden was deserted, The blither place for me ! Friends, blame me not ! a narrow ken, Has childhood twixt the sun and sward ; We draw the moral afterward, "We feel the gladness then. And gladdest hours for me did glide In silence at the rose-tree wall : A thrush made gladness musical Upon the other side. Nor he nor I did e’er incline To peck or pluck the blossoms white ; How should I know but roses might Lead lives as glad as mine P / THE DESERTED GARDEN. 245 To make my hermit-home complete, I brought clear water from the spring Praised in its own low murmuring, And cresses glossy wet. And so, I thought, my likeness grew (Without the melancholy tale) To ‘ gentle hermit of the dale,’ And Angelina too. Por oft I read within my nook Such minstrel stories ; till the breeze Made sounds poetic in the trees, And then I shut the book. If I shut this wherein I write I hear no more the wind athwart Those trees, nor feel that childish heart Delighting in delight. My childhood from my life is parted, My footstep from the moss which drew Its fairy circle round : anew The garden is deserted. Another thrush may there rehearse The madrigals which sweetest are ; No more for me ! myself afar Do sing a sadder verse. 246 THE DESERTED GARDEN. Ah me, ah me ! when erst I lay In that child’ s-nest so greenly wrought, I laughed unto myself and thought f The time will pass away.’ And still I laughed, and did not fear But that, whene’er was past away The childish time, some happier play My womanhood would cheer. I knew the time would pass away, And yet, beside the rose-tree wall, Dear God, how seldom, if at all, Did I look up to pray ! The time is past ; and now that grows The cypress high among the trees, And I behold white sepulchres As well as the white rose, — When graver, meeker thoughts are given, And I have learnt to lift my face, Reminded how earth’s greenest place The colour draws from heaven, — It something saith for earthly pain, But more for Heavenly promise free, That I who was, would shrink to be That happy child again. MT DOYES. — * — OWeisheitl Dured’st wie eine Taube !— Goethe. Mi little doves have left a nest Upon an Indian tree Whose leaves fantastic take their rest Or motion from the sea ; For, ever there the sea-winds go With sunlit paces to and fro. The tropic flowers looked up to it, The tropic stars looked down, And there my little doves did sit With feathers softly brown, And glittering eyes that showed their right To general Nature’s deep delight. And God them taught, at every close Of murmuring waves beyond And green leaves round, to interpose Their choral voices fond, Interpreting that love must he The meaning of the earth and sea. 248 MX DOTES. Fit ministers ! Of living loves Theirs hath the calmest fashion, Their living voice the likest moves To lifeless intonation, The lovely monotone of springs And winds and such insensate things My little doves were ta’en away From that glad nest of theirs, Across an ocean rolling grey, And tempest-clouded airs ; My little doves, who lately knew The sky and wave by warmth and blue. And now, within the city prison, In mist and chillness pent, "With sudden upward look they listen For sounds of past content, For lapse of water, swell of breeze, Or nut-fruit falling from the trees. The stir without the glow of passion, The triumph of the mart, The gold and silver as they clash on Man’s cold metallic heart, The roar of wheels, the cry for bread, These only sounds are heard instead. MY DOTES. 249 Yet still, as on my human hand Their fearless heads they lean, And almost seem to understand "What human musings mean, (Their eyes with such a plaintive shine Are fastened upwardly to mine !) Soft falls their chant as on the nest Beneath the sunny zone ; For love that stirred it in their breast Has not aweary grown, And ’neath the city’s shade can keep The well of music clear and deep. And love that keeps the music, fills With pastoral memories ; All echoings from out the hills, All droppings from the skies. All flowings from the wave and wind, Bemembered in their chant, I find. So teach ye me the wisest part, My little doves ! to move Along the city-ways with heart Assured by holy love, And vocal with such songs as own A fountain to the world unknown. 250 MY DOTES. ’Twas hard to sing by Babel’s stream — More hard, in Babel’s street : But if the soulless creatures deem Their music not unmeet Bor sunless walls — let us begin, Who wear immortal wings within ! To me, fair memories belong Of scenes that used to bless, Bor no regret, but present song And lasting thankfulness, And very soon to break away, Like types, in purer things than they. I will have hopes that cannot fade, Bor flowers the valley yields ; I will have humble thoughts instead Of silent, dewy fields : My spirit and my God shall be My sea-ward hill, my boundless sea. HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. — — ♦ — ■ i. Nine years old ! The first of any Seem the happiest years that come : Yet when I was nine, I said No such word ! I thought instead That the Greeks had used as many In besieging Ilium. ii. Nine green years had scarcely brought me To my childhood’s haunted spring ; I had life, like flowers and bees In betwixt the country trees, And the sun the pleasure taught me Which he teachetb every thing. iii. If the rain fell, there was sorrow, Little head leant on the pane, Little finger drawing down it The long trailing drops upon it, And the £ Rain, rain, come to-morrow,’ Said for charm against the rain. 252 HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. IV. Such a charm was right Canidian Though you meet it with a jeer ! If I said it long enough, Then the rain hummed dimly oft' And the thrush with his pure Lydian Was left only to the ear ; v. And the sun and I together Went a-rushing out of doors: We our tender spirits drew Over hill and dale in view, Glimmering hither, glimmering thither, In the footsteps of the showers. VI. Underneath the chestnuts dripping, Through the grasses wet and fair, Straight I sought my garden-ground With the laurel on the mound, And the pear-tree oversweeping A side-shadow of green air. VII. In the garden lay supinely A huge giant wrought of spade ! Arms and legs were stretched at length In a passive giant strength, — The fine meadow turf, cut finely, Kound them laid and interlaid. HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. 258 VIII. Call Mm Hector, son of Priam ! Such his title and degree. With my rake I smoothed his brow, Both his cheeks I weeded through, But a rhymer such as I am, Scarce can sing his dignity. IX. Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies ; Nose of gillyflowers and box ; Scented grasses put for locks. Which a little breeze at pleasure Set a- waving round his eyes : x. Brazen helm of daffodillies, With a glitter toward the light ; Purple violets for the mouth, Breathing perfumes west and south ; And a sword of flashing lilies, Holden ready for the fight : XI. And a breastplate made of daisies, Closely fitting, leaf on leaf ; Periwinkles interlaced Drawn for belt about the waist ; While the brown bees, humming praises, Shot their arrows round the chief. 254 HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. XII. And who knows, (I sometimes wondered,) If the disembodied soul Of old Hector, once of Troy, Might not take a dreary joy Here to enter — if it thundered, Soiling up the thunder-roll P XIII. Soiling this way from Troy-ruin, In this body rude and rife Just to enter, and take rest ’Heath the daisies of the breast — They, with tender roots, renewing His heroic heart to life ? XIV. Who could know p I sometimes started At a motion or a sound ! Did his mouth speak — naming Troy With an ototototol ? Did the pulse of the Strong-hearted Make the daisies tremble round ? xv. It was hard to answer, often : But the birds sang in the tree, But the little birds sang bold In the pear-tree green and old, And my terror seemed to soften Through the courage of their glee. HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. 255 XVI. Oh, the birds, the tree, the ruddy And white blossoms sleek with rain i Oh, my garden rich with pansies ! Oh, my childhood’s bright romances ! All revive, like Hector’s body, And I see them stir again. XVII. And despite life’s changes, chances, And despite the deathbell's toll, They press on me in full seeming : Help, some angel ! stay this dreaming ! As the birds sang in the branches, Sing God’s patience through my soul ! XVIII. ’/ That no dreamer, no neglecter Of the present’s work unsped, I may wake up and be doing, Life’s heroic ends pursuing, Though my past is dead as Hector, And though Hector is twice death SLEEPING AND WATCHING. — ♦— i. Sleep on, baby, on the floor, Tired of all the playing : Sleep with smile the sweeter for That, you dropped away in. On your curls’ full roundness stand Golden lights serenely ; One cheek, pushed out by the hand. Folds the dimple inly : Little head and little foot Heavy laid for pleasure, Underneath the lids half shut. Slants the shining azure. Open-soul in noonday sun, So you lie and slumber : Nothing evil having done, Nothing can encumber. SLEEPING AND WATCHING. 257 H. I, who cannot sleep as well, Shall I sigh to view you ? Or sigh further to foretell All that may undo you ? Nay, keep smiling, little child, Ere the sorrow neareth : I will smile too ! patience mild Pleasure’s token weareth. Nay, keep sleeping- before loss: I shall sleep though losing ! As by cradle, so by cross, Sure is the reposing. in. And God knows who sees us twain, Child at childish leisure, I am near as tired of pain As you seem of pleasure. Very soon too, by His grace G-ently wrapt around me, Shall I show as calm a face. Shall I sleep as soundly. Differing in this, that you Clasp your playthings, sleeping, While my hand shall drop the few Given to my keeping : Differing in this, that I Sleeping shall be colder, VOL. II. s 258 SLEEPING AND WATCHING. And in waking presently, Brighter to beholder : Differing in this beside (Sleeper, have you heard me Do you move, and open wide Eyes of wonder toward me ?) That while you I thus recall From your sleep, I solely. Me from mine an angel shall, With reveillie holy. SOUNDS. H Kov