HARLEQUINADE JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY The date shows when this volume was taken To renew this book copy the call No. and give to the librarian. HOME USE RULES All Books subject to recall All borrowers must regis- ter in the library to bor- row books for home use. All books must be re- turned at end of college year for inspection and repairs. Limited books must be returned within the four week limit and not renewed. Students must return all 1 books before leaving town. Officers^ should arrange for the return of books wanted during their absence from town. Volumes of periodicals and of pamphlets are held in the library as much as , possible. For special pur- poses they are given out for a limited time. Borrowers should not use their library privileges for the benefit of other persons. Books of special value and gift books, when the giver wishes it, are not al- lowed to circulate: Readers are asked to re- port all cases of books marked or mutilated. Do not deface books by marks and writing. Cornell University Library PR 4964.M5H2 Harlequinade; a book of verses. 3 1924 013 519 834 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013519834 HARLEQUINADE PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON H ARL EQ^U I NADE A BOOK OF VERSES BY JUSTIN HUNTLY M C CARTHY, M.P. ' ECCO QUESTO ARLEGCKIN : £ SEMPRE PRONTO A RIDER A QUATTRO GANASSE, PRONTO A LAGRIMAR' Ipfolito Baldassare, Vencziano, 1715 IToirbmt CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1890 1.; {All rights reservtd] UNI\' ! -■";[ | Y DEDICA TION ■ TO AMELIE RIVES Across the sea the field of fame Shines newly with a living flame; And we, beholding from afar Your genius rising like a star, Salute its advent with acclaim. And send, half fearful lest you blame, These tunes, touched lightly on the frame Of checkered Harlequin* s guitar, Across the seas. In hope that, since the rhymings claim The fair p-otectiofi. of your name, Though all the winds and waves make war, They yet shall pass the harbour bar, And win your welcome, since they came Across the seas. CONTENTS HARLEQUINADE PAGE Harlequinade i Remember ! 3 estudiantina 5 Her Name 7 Tryst 9 Idlesse 10 Fate 11 Good-night. 12 Vale . 13 Recollection 14 Date Obolum . ,16 The Garden of Memory . . . . . , 18 Gifts 19 Sappho ..... 20 Saint Valentine 25 viii Contents PAQR Ambition 26 Hidden Love 27 Flos Amantium 28 A Gift 29 If 3° Columbine 31 My Books 32 Rossetti's Grave 33 Adieu ! 35 Talk and Thought 36 Echoes of Catullus 37 Rosalind 39 Leucono£ 41 Amaryllis "42 The Red Carnation ' .43 The Happy Prince 46 Bal Masque 47 At a Distance 49 A Rapier 50 Sayonara 51 Fusi Yama 52 A Fan 53 A Greek Crown 54 Contents ix PAGE Flower Song 55 Anacreon . . 56 Old Age - . . 58 Intimate -59 A Beggar's Burden 60 Picaresque ,62 nox mihi candida 63 SONNETS VlRGINIBUS PUERISQUE 67 A Red-letter Day 68 Anniversary .69 Gratitude 70 To-night . . • 71 Palmistry 72 With Sappho 73 The Arabian Nights 74 A Star . 75 Counsel 76 Loyalty 77 Pauline 78 Memories 79 x Contents PAGE Ver et Amor 80 Vita Nuova 81 Parthenia 82 Theodora 83 Farewell 84 Sympathy . . . 85 Melpomene 86 Salutation 87 Homage . . .88 Carpe Diem 89 Rain 90 A Wish 91 At Westminster 92 A Beggar 93 Forgive 94 New Year 95 Disappointment 96 Regret • 97 Saint Rosalys 98 Emerson' . 99 C. S. C 100 Katherine 101 Katherine 102 Contents xi PAGE Katherine . . . , 103 Katherine 104 Katherine . . . 105 BALLADES AUCASSIN AND NlCOLETE 109 A Ballade of Roses m A Ballade of the Actresses of Old Time . . u'3 A Ballade of Lost Treasure 115 A Ballade of Japan 117 A Ballade of Book-making ng A Ballade of Taverns .121 A Ballade of Fingal 123 A Ballade of ' The Candidate ' 125 RONDEAUS Love in London 129 Rose of May 130 At your Command 131 With Changing Days 132 O Ye who lie ! 133 xii Contents RONDELS PAGB If you had only loved me . . . . . .137 i love yod dearly i38 Rondel 139 TRIOLETS In the Days of my Youth 143 Alas ! how fast , 144 Here's a Flowfr for your Grave 145 You told your willing Bard to sing ... 146 What shall we do ? 147 REGRETS Alas ! 151 ENVOY . . . 159-70 HARLEQUINADE NIGHT is dying, dawn is hieing Through the darkness, while I wait Underneath your window late, Deeply dreaming, deeply sighing For a vision fair and flying, Fair as youth, and fleet as fate : For this haunted dream of mine Holds your image, Columbine. In the sombre land of slumber Lies the Earthly Paradise, Where a girl with just your eyes Moves in measures without number, While the golden hours encumber With their fairest flowers the shrine Of our lady, Columbine. i Harlequinade I will fiddle to your dancing On my heart's unhappy strings ; Think myself the peer of kings If but one of all your glances Comes my way, as sometimes chances, While you float in fairy rings, Wholly human, half divine, Airy creature, Columbine. Oh ! that I might wear the vizard Of that rascal Harlequin — Miss you, kiss you, woo and win — So I would, were I a wizard : For, by Venus' doves, it is hard That your heart will not incline To your lover, Columbine. REMEMBER ! IT will please me to remember, When my hopes and hairs are grey, When from every ageing member Lusty youth has slipped away, That when summer still dissembled With its fleeting, fairy show, I have touched your hand and trembled, I have felt my heart's blood flow At the least of your caresses, At the flutter of your tresses, In my boyhood, long ago. It will grieve me to remember, When my passion-fire has waned To a dwindling, dying ember, That our lips and hands remained Remember To each other so long strangers, Kissing, clasping, unaware, Other lips and hands, like rangers In Love's garden, debonair, When each day or hour or second Spent asunder should be reckoned As a cycle of despair. Let it pass ; I still remember How your deeply-shadowed eyes Brought a sunlight to December, Making love alone seem wise. How a word, a glance, enchanted All my being with its spell, To a lotus-country haunted, Where the shades of shadows dwell, Where in fields of Asphodel Lovers wooed the fairest faces, Won the dear desired embraces, Quite forgetting heaven or hell. ESTUDIANTINA SPOON in his cap and guitar on his shoulder, Wandering, whimsical student of Spain, Laughs at the. ways of a world growing older, Goes as the winds go and veers like the vane. Not for the kingdom of Spain would I moulder, Cooped in a town, till my pulses grew colder : We must be free of the hill and the plain. Sweetheart, your health in a flagon of sherry, Give me a kiss and a wish for the road ! We, we are off with a derry-down-derry, Wholly forgetting the wild oats we sowed'. Vale 1 dear damsel, as brown as a berry, Though you forget me, I'm none the less merry : Love is a debt that can always be owed. S Estudiantina I, whom the wandering star of my destiny Leads a poor singer and strummer along, Know of no better way — can you suggest any ? — Than to accompany life with a song. Those who have shekels — I never possessed any — Bend for their luck to old Lucifer's crest a knee ; I am a king where the vagabonds throng. We are the sages — a fig for your Platos ! — Happy as kings with a mouthful of rhymes : Over a flask and a mess of potatoes, Matadors, gypsicos, mountebanks, mimes, Wooing all women and cursing all Catos, Stringing our verses and swinging our gay toes, While the guitar with the castagnette chimes. Marvellous medley of Plutarch and Pasquin, Half a philosopher, half a buffoon, Landlords are always delighted to ask in, Just for the sake of our lute and its tune ; Glad of a glass with the best of the flask in — Glad, while we foot the fandango, to bask in Pretty girls' eyes by the light of the moon. HER NAME BEST of names that women wear Is the name thou bearest : And 'tis excellent, I swear, That thy name should be most fair Who thyself art fairest. Sure thy name is like a spell, Sure thy voice is magic, When I heard it first I fell Hopelessly in love — and, well, Love is always tragic. Love is tragic, whether in Naishapur or London — If you end it or begin, If you lose or if you win, Leave it done or undone. 7 Her Name All the birds in all the trees Chirp it in a sonnet, Every breath of every breeze, Every wind that sweeps the seas, Bears thy name upon it. In my dreams I found the fame Cruel Time denies me, For I dreamt an angel came — Just your face and just your name- Came and walked beside me. If you slaughter me with scorn, Better beyond measure That I never had been, born Who would die to-morrow morn If it gave you pleasure. TRYST I PULL my cloak around my chin, The hard earth answers to my tread, Through the cloud-clusters overhead The white moon dances out and in. By Jove ! I should not care to win The empire of the earth ; to-night I see my love, the fairest sight Since first the world began to spin ! WLESSE TO JAN VAN BEERS LAUGHING, languorous, capricious, Lounging on the pied divan, Flirting with a painted fan, Critics call you meretricious, Idle, foolish, vain, and vicious — All the wicked words they can ; But no damsel so delicious Stirred the soul of Mussulman, Or made Persian bards ambitious In the groves of Ispahan ! Tired at last of twenty poses To perfect a painter's theme, What an odalisque you seem As your highness lies and dozes In a world of wondrous roses, Red as blood and white as cream, While the latest sunbeams stream On the golden crown that closes Round a face that smiles supreme, And the sable veil discloses Beauty gracious as a dream ! FATE THE flower you gave will die, my dear, Its crimson petals must grow sere, Its odour faint, and fail and vanish : For Time, whose thievish finger strips The pride of youth, whose icy lips, With frozen kisses breathing, banish The fever-flame from youth's warm blood, And dull the brain within its hood, Has. pity on no boys and girls, No laughing lips, no golden curls. But while my heart and brain agree To serve their master loyally, This faded flower- bids me remember The shining eyes, the lovely face, That lent existence light and grace : And, as a man who blows an ember From a dull spark to a fierce flame, The lightest whisper of your name Shall bid my pulses beat, in sooth, With all the passionate joy of youth ! GOOD-NIGHT SWEETHEART, here's a fair good-night To the golden year that's flying, Fading as an emperor might, Soothed by laughter to delight, On a throne of purple lying ; While before his swimming sight Floating tresses, bodies, white, Sound of song and dance invite To departure without sighing. Peace be with the year that's fled, Pleasure with the year to follow : May the roses' deepest red Give their garlands for your head ! May your life be like the swallow, Always by the sunlight led ! May your lightest wish be sped ! May you never dream or dread That the merry world is hollow ! VALE I HAVE little to remember — Twice or thrice I kissed your hand, Twice or thrice the glowing ember Of my poet's passion, fanned By your breath upon my cheek, Flamed entreaty in my eyes ; Twice or thrice I strove to speak Words that withered into sighs As the colour of the skies Withers in the wild November. But before our fortunes sever You that like from me that love, Since you found my verses clever, Dearest, fling me down your glove : Then forget me, if you please, Daff me lightly down the wind, Heedless, while you sail the seas, That the heart you leave behind, Out of sight and out of mind, Loves you well, and loves for £ver. 13 RECOLLECTION ISOLD my heart for a flower and a favour, A ribbon white and a white narcissus ; Oh heart ! my heart ! for the joys that miss us, The salt of living has lost its savour. You held my heart in the lure of your tresses, Your eyes beguiled me, you white witch-woman ; God help him ! life can be dear to no man Who wins and loses your soft caresses. You with your dancing and I with my verses, What shall we say of the world hereafter ? Life is a juggle of tears and laughter, Where love plays fiddle and youth rehearses. I in love was the merest tyro, Dreamed of the chivalrous, grand, heroic ; I was love's Platonist, you love's Stoic, Far from my heart as I was from Cairo. •4 Recollection I shall remember your songs and dances Through all the luck that the years may bring me ; The smiles and glances you once would fling me, I'd buy them back with my brightest chances. For, just supposing my hopes go my way, Give me gold, glory, the purse, the laurel, Still luck and I have an ancient quarrel For parting us, dear, on the Muses' highway. 15 DATE OBOLUM SWEET, will you sell me a single hour, For the fire of a kiss, for the breath of a flower, For a sigh, or the verse of a song in your ear, Or a gem as white as a saintly tear — Will you not sell me one hour, my dear ? Will you not give me this hour I ask, For a golden scent in a silver flask, For the painted shell of a summer sea, Or the precious bag of the honey bee — Will you not offer one hour to me ? Have you no do-nothing hour to spare, For a blood-red rose in your breast or hair, For the sweetest tune that a man can play, For sonnet or rondel or virelay — Have you no hour you can cast away ? 16 Date Obolum Give me an hour, you enchanting girl, For a Spanish knife with a haft of pearl, For an idol's eye, or a mummy's ring, Or the first fair blossom of dawning spring - Give me an hour and make me a king. Weigh but one hour in your dainty hand — 'Tis but a pitiful pinch of sand, 'Tis but a plume from the wings of a dove, A faded rose or a cast-off glove — Give me my one little hour, my love. 17 THE GARDEN OF MEMORY THERE is a certain garden where I know That flowers flourish in a poet's spring, Where, aye young birds their amorous matins sing, And never ill wind comes, nor any snow. But if you wonder where so fair a show, Where such eternal pleasure may be seen, I say, my memory keeps that garden green, Wherein I loved my first love long ago. GIFTS YOU give me gifts with a gracious hand — A red carnation, a yellow primrose More saffron pale than the pale sea sand When Venus first from the ocean's rim rose, Redder than tulips that stand in trim rows In Mynheer's garden in Dutchman's land, Or Persian roses by soft airs fanned Where cypresses tremble in sombre slim rows, By a poet's palace in Samarcand. For your fair sake I shall love those flowers, The yellow primrose, the red carnation : Ruby and amber, these blooms of ours I shall hold them ever in veneration, As a charm for luck, as an incantation, For light in darkness, for sun in showers, For hope of blue when a black sky lowers. I pledge you, dear, and I make libation To youth's lost glory and love's lost hours ! 19 SAPPHO SAPPHO dances, Sappho smiles, And this weary hour entrances For a moment while she dances. By St. James and by St. Giles, I would tramp a thousand miles Just to see her tread a measure, Just to win the moment's pleasure Which her beauty thus beguiles ! By Sorrento's waves of blue, Girls with Hellas in their faces, Sisters of the Grecian graces, Pallas, Juno, Venus too, Dance the spider dance to you. I have seen it, ay de mi, Twenty times I'd rather see Sappho lift her silken shoe ! Sappho Lazy loungers by the Nile, Watch the dusky dancers twirling In their wild voluptuous whirling, As they used to whirl erewhile, Full of serpent grace and guile, Girt with lotus-leaf and bay-leaf, For some Pharaoh, for some Caliph, While they wooed his shifting smile. But no Caliph ever knew Any girl who smiled so sweetly, Any girl who danced so featly, As our Sappho— never knew Maiden fit to wear her shoe ; And no Pharaoh, honour-laden, Counted such a golden maiden In his comely courtier crew. Look on her and hold your peace, Wise philosopher of sorrow ; Leave despair until to-morrow ; Wait till Sappho's song is sung, Till the passion-flowers are flung — Till the merry movement 's ended Let, nor prithee be offended, Sappho dance and youth be young. Sappho We shall age, we know it best ; Time will come when songs and dances, Woman's smiles and woman's glances, Wake no echo in a breast Scribbled like a palimpsest ; But permit us, of your pity, To remember she is pretty, To forget that life 's a jest. Sappho dances, Sappho sings, And qur eyes and ears are haunted, In that fairy land enchanted, By the subtle spell that brings Lethe of all loveless things, Lethe of the sin and sorrow In the bosom of to-morrow, While our Sappho spreads her wings. Seize the second, it is fair ; We who watch to-night and wonder, Time will spin us ajl asunder, Passing like the ambient air. We have lived and loved, we swear, To the falling of the curtain ; Let to-morrow loom uncertain — Well, we neither know nor care. Sappho For to-night at least we seem To be happy, and to know it ; Every dunce might make a poet, Choosing Sappho for his theme. For a moment, as a gleam Of fantastic sunlight glances, Sappho smiles and Sappho dances, And we dream a golden dream : Dream a dream too bright to last — Dream a dream too bright for day-time : Where our youth is always May-time, And no shadow e'er is cast O'er the tinted hours of gladness, Where no sullen shape of sadness Grins into our eyes aghast ; Where no future is, nor past. Farewell, Sappho, midnight nears : Since no dances last for ever, It is fated we must sever ; Each adorer disappears, And each lonely hansom steers Homeward through the winking starlight- While behind the red cigar-light Foolish eyes are filmed with tears. 23 Sappho You who tread on winged feet, Latest daughter of Salome, Little reckon how you owe me Many a bitter bosom -beat. I forgive you, fair and fleet, And the toast my lips that quaff owe Is a triple health to Sappho, To the sweetest of the sweet ! 24 SAINT VALENTINE YE who serve Saint Yalentine, Golden lads and gracious lasses, Take your time before time passes Swift as shadows o'er the grasses ; Think to-day you're half divine — Think, and drink this toast of mine To the maiden who surpasses Amaryllis or Cypassis ; Pledge me round, and break your glasses, Health to Lady Columbine ! Fling your glasses to the floor, For the cup that pledged her beauty, Hallowed by so sweet a duty, Owes no service evermore ! 25 AMBITION OH that I were a wind, and free to blow Softly against your face — That I might float and murmur, breathing low The story of the love I dare not show, Yet never can efface From my heart's resting-place ! Oh that I were a rose, whose crimson hue Outglowed the sun-kissed West, That you might pass and note me where I grew, That I might please and so be plucked by you, And placed upon your breast, To die in that sweet rest ! Oh that I were the. burden of some song Which pleased your idle hour, That I might for a little while belong To the enchanted music of your tongue, And my imperfect rhyme Appear an angel's chime ! 26 HIDDEN LOVE LOOK in her eyes, and hidden love you'll see ; Hear her -but speak, and learn love's litany ; Touch b*fT her hand, you'll understand How hap/y an unhappy man may be ! Would you be wise, Love spreads his hidden snare Within the tangle of her golden hair ; E'en as you gaze unto that maze Youi* heart will fall and never rise from there. 27 FLOS AMANTIUM THE poet loves the red red rose, The lover wears the willow, The laurel for the soldier grows,. And, sure, I think the sunflower blows For him who braves the billow ; But I who am no poet's peer, No man-at-arms, no buccaneer, No lackadaisy lover, Believe the flower you fancy, dear, The sweetest to discover ! 2S A GIFT FAIR girl, you were gracious, and gave me a flower : I swore, in poetical fashion, . To keep it in exquisite pledge of an hour Of kisses and midnight and passion ! Yet, lo, I fling back at your feet, as you see, Your gift ! — and the moral of this is, That your flower and your friendship are nothing to me, And I care not a curse for your kisses ! 29 IF IF I were successor to Shah Jehan, Or rightful heir to the Great Mogul, Or the Sultan who sits in Istambul, Or the Sophy who sways o'er Ispahan, I would sell my state and become a slave For a happy hour that I humbly crave ! If I had the keeping of Solomon's seal And a thousand Jann at my beck and call, I would summon the Afrits one and all, And give them this task 1 of all tasks, to steal, From the wealth that lies in Time's withered hand, One golden hour at my sole command ! COLUMBINE ONCE while I sat and watched the stage Dull as a desert wanting her, And wondered at the latest page Of my life's legend written fair, Just for a moment at the wing She came, and paused a moment there — A rare fantastic, gracious thing, All gold and sable in the glare Of flaring gas— and, as I thought, Sent just the swiftest second's glance To where I sat and sighed, and sought To wed the measure of her dance To my heart's music beating fast — A second's pause of perfect grace, And then, alas ! the vision passed. But to my eager eyes her face Burned on the air, and in my ears A thousand voices cried her name, And, while my heart o'erflowed with tears, I rose, returning whence I came ! 31 MY BOOKS ON level lines of woodwork stand My books obedient to my hand ; And Caesar pale against the wall Smiles sternly Roman over all. Within the four walls of this room Life finds its prison, youth its tomb : For here the minds of other men Prompt and deride the labouring pen ; And here the wisdom of the wise Dances like motes before the eyes. Outside, the great world spins its way, Here studious night dogs studious day. A mighty store of dusty books, Little and great, fill all the nooks, And line the walls from roof to floor ; And I who read them o'er and o'er, Am I much wiser than of old, When sunlight leaped like living gold Into my boyhood's heart, on fire With fervid hope and wild desire ; And when behind no window bars, But" free as air I served the stars ? 32 ROSSETTI'S GRAVE THIS myrtle from my master's grave In this God's rood of Kentish earth, In sight of yonder silver wave That girdles round our island's girth That was the chosen home of him — This myrtle makes my eyes grow dim With sudden tears and sudden strife Of many memories that stir My soul beside the sepulchre Of him who wrote ' The House of Life.' How many a melancholy thought These withered leaves arouse in me, Of days when in sweet eyes I sought The Holy Grail of love, and fought For art and immortality ! The days are dead, the dreams have fled ; Youth's roses are no longer red, But withered like these leaves that fed On yon green grave beside the sea. 33 d Rossettis Grave And you, the sunlight of my youth, You whom I served with songs and tears- With songs for hope and tears for truth — Your beauty haunts the driving years, And life and love obey the same Subtle enchantment of your name ! 34 ADIEU! I CANNOT praise you, sweet; my verse Limps lamely on from bad to worse. Farewell, most fair — farewell, most cruel ! Shall I, to heal my wounded heart, Indite an epigram, or start A novel creed, or fight a duel For you, fair queen of fans and frills ; Or settle down and pay my bills, And, like a decent Philistine, Ignore the name of Columbine ; Or, drifting idly round the world, Anchor at last, with canvas furled, In some dim port undreamt of yet, And learn, forgotten, to forget ? 35 TALK AND THOUGHT WE talked of Oisin and of Fionn And ancient heroes of the Gael, Whose voices thunder through the vale, Whose shadows on the whirlwinds, spin. And while we talked of lovers dead, And legends of the purple South, I only longed to kiss your mouth, To touch the curls upon your head. 36 ECHOES OF CATULLUS I. O VENUS, weep ! and, little loves, despair ! Beholding Lesbia tear her yellow hair ! Woe and alas ! her cherished sparrow dies — The bird she treasured dearer than her eyes ; Sparrow with whom no sparrow can compare. For he was very fond, and well aware Who was his queen, and would not hop from where She sat, but chirped of summer-haunted skies. O Venus, weep ! For now this sparrow, leaving upper air, Goes down where Orcus eateth all things rare. Accursed Orcus, for thy latest prize Be most accursed ! See how Lesbia sighs ! O most unhappy bird ! O deed unfair ! O Venus, weep ! 37 Echoes of Catullus II. Let us live and love, my Lesbia, and a penny for the saws That the crabbed elders utter, croaking out their ancient laws; Suns may rise and set for ever, but, when once our little light Sets, we sleep in dreamless slumber through a sempiternal night; Give me, then, a hundred kisses, and a thousand kisses more, And again, with other hundred, other thousand as before, Piling kisses upon kisses, swell the measure till we come To the kingdom of the millions, there lose count, confuse the sum '; Lest some rival learn the number of the kisses that we kiss, And, through envy of the total, cast a shadow on our bliss! 38 ROSALIND AND this is Arden ! Yonder gleams Of silver mark the first of streams, Avon, that lingering loves to wind Through haunted Warwick's land of dreams — Rosalind ! Nay ! yonder stream that softly runs Beneath the best of summer suns Is Thames ; and scarce from sight or mind Are London's chimney-pots and duns — Rosalind ! Well, Thames or Avon, be thy shore Lethe's to London's dust and roar, And grant us what we came to find : ■ The girl whose name we loved of yore — Rosalind ! 39 Rosalind But, hush ! here comes the frolic maid, In boyish 'coat and hose arrayed ; For sure, the girl the bard designed This moment treads the enchanted glade- Rosalind ! Well, youth is brief, and time is fleet,, But you were fair of face, and sweet The memories you leave behind, Dear girl who made our pulses beat — Rosalind ! 40 LEUCONOE HOPE not, beloved, to fathom with futile endeavour, Weaving devices of playing-cards ranged in a row, Knowledge to-day of the way that to-morrow may go ; Close up your almanac crowded with prophecies clever ; Leave it to Zadkiel to guess how the fates shall dissever Woof from the warp of our lives, and the ebb from the flow ; Seek not to guess where the grass of our graveyard must grow; Vex not the stars with desire of the futile 'for ever.' Catch at the cloak of the day as it rushes anigh you, Let not a blossom of spring spend its sweetness in vain, Love, and make light of the dreams that the angels deny you, Smile by your fire at the sleet as it scourges the pane ; Say to thy soul, Be at peace with the hours as they fly you : Sunlight will soon be as snow is, and drouth as the rain. 41 AMARYLLIS IS not to-day the happy day That blessed the world with Amaryllis ? Ye winds and skies of springtime say, Is not to-day the happy day That makes March weather fair as May, And crowns the year with Lenten lilies — Is not to-day the happy day That blessed the world with Amaryllis ? 42 THE RED CARNATION. Fior di garofano, Ecco il mio diletto e danno ; Ieri sognai che ti baciai la mano. THEY say the red carnation shows Devotion to the Stuart line — To me its scarlet leaves disclose A sweeter secret than the rose Allows her lover to divine. The blossom finds a voice, and says : ' I am the flower of her, whose eyes A thousand times, a thousand ways, Have set her lovers' hearts ablaze, And laughed them out of ^Paradise ! ' What hapless lover long ago, In some enchanted shadow-land, Bade for love's sake his heart's blood flow, That from its crimson tide might blow This blossom for my lady's hand ? 43 The Red Carnation Blossom of heart's blood, flower of fire, You are the symbol of a dream, Wherein I tuned a Grecian lyre To vain delight and vain desire For her who loves your crimson gleam : Who lifts with dainty finger-tips The glowing bud, that lightly breathes Incarnate kisses on her lips, While rain of ruined petals drips Upon the ground in crimson wreaths. I heed not who may hold the throne, Stuart or Guelph I heed not — I, The only sovereignty I own Is hers for whom this flower has blown Beneath a pallid April sky. O House of Stuart, run to dust, Your glory may not rise anew : The hearts are still that put their trust In your soft speech ; the swords are rust That flamed on fifty fields for you ! 44 The Red Carnation The gallant heart, the subtle brain, The daring hand, have passed away : Only these crimson flowers remain To grace some graves across the main) And please a London girl to-day. Bear every man his badge : I swear That of all flowers I love the best The red carnation, while you wear The Stuart colours in your hair, The Stuart blossom at your breast. 4S THE HAPPY PRINCE TO OSCAR WILDE AM I not grateful? Surely, never since The Northern Master's heart and hand grew cold As his own skies, have any tales been so told More fair than yours is of the Happy Prince For whom the swallow's frozen pinions wince ! What happy golden hours shall childhood spend With that sour giant whom the Christ-child tamed, Or watching how the foolish Rocket flamed Across the welkin to a watery end ; Or sighing soft for the Devoted Friend ! Long have I lingered an enchanted guest In the green garden of your fairy tales ; Yet for my thanks my fancy falters, fails — I love them all, but love, indeed, the best The red rose blossom of the Song-bird's breast. 46 BAL MASQUE SAPPHO stepping down her stair, Debonair, Drops her mantle dark as care, Lifts her vizard, and lays bare Such a face divinely fair, That a poet standing there Flings his heart into the snare, Unaware ! Old Alcaeus did not dare To declare To the Sappho of whilere, With the violets in her hair, How he loved her past compare Luting a soft Lydian air, Ne'er was goddess half so rare, He would swear ! 47 Bal Masqut Sappho sleeps, says legend, where Blue waves wear High Leucadia, Cupid's lair ; But the poet, but the heir Of Alcaeus too, may share In his wonder and despair If he should on Sappho stare — So beware ! 48 AT A DISTANCE DEAR, you are farther off from me Than my gaunt garret from the sky, Or parching desert from the sea, Or sound of laughter from a sigh.. I know you breathe our civic air, And sometimes down some dreary street I see you pass divinely fair, And look for roses at your feet. And sometimes through St. James's trees You drive, a goddess of the light ; And I can see you, when I please, Behind the level lamps at night : Where from some corner I can stare Across that line of yellow fire, And feed upon your face and hair — The pain of exquisite desire. What does it matter ? Who will care, Another hundred years or so, That I wrote verses -to your hair, Whose tresses then in grass may grow ? 49 A RAPIER MADE in Toledo, town of Spain ; Never a notch on its edge, nor stain On its slender body, supple as cane. Straight as I've seen a Dutch canal go, Blue as the blood of a brown hidalgo, Dapper as dandies who down the Mall go. Cold as maidenhood, keen as care : Severs a single floating hair, Splits a skull as you slice a pear. Due|s that rapier has fought by the dozen, When Tom would bluster and Jack would cozen, And Hal offended a pretty cousin. 5° SA YONARA (JAPANESE) ALTHOUGH my home, since I have fled, ]tfo longer answers to my tread, Forget me not, ye flowers of spring ; Let not your yellow, blue, and red Be wanting where I made my bed, And let the scent you used to shed Still to my eves and lintel cling. 5i FUSI YAMA (JAPANESE) LORD, in this world we vainly prize, This mocking world we should despise, There is no highway to the throne. I sought from Sorrow's thousand spies To hide me where the mountains rise In lofty splendour to the skies ; But where the deepest valley dies I found a stag, who all alone Unto the echoing void made moan, And great tears filled his eyes. 52 A FAN (JAPANESE) SO long as I live in the world, dear God, May my heart rejoice for the sake Of the fisher who leans with his bamboo rod On the shining face of the lake ! May my eye delight as I note his nod, While he numbers his silver, take, • And my ear rejoice when his songs awake An answering note in the hawthorn brake, Where the girl of his heart, Sweet-Pea-in-the-Pod, Daintily girdled and daintily shod, Waits for her lover's return, to break ■Her fast on a gilded cake ! S3 A GREEK CROWN WEAR, O my sweet, the crown I send By mine own fingers woven ; Wherein the rose and lily blend With all the hues the sunbeams lend Anemones, and violets bend Their purple bosoms cloven. But while you wear it, dearest maid, I pray you to remember That beauties like those blossoms fade, That sunlight ever yields to shade, That sweetest summers ever made Are followed by December. 54 FLOWER SONG WHY so merry, foolish meadows, At your spread of summer flowers ; At your roses, like the red O's In a bishop's Book of Hours ; At your gallant, gay narcissus, Tilting up his head to kiss us, Newly washed by summer showers ? Why so merry, pleasant places, At your multitude of posies ? For, behold a girl whose face is Fairer than your fairest roses ! Nay, I vow to Heaven that Jill is Whiter than your whitest lilies, Spite of all their airs and graces. 55 ANACREON RISE, O Anacreon, from your tomb of roses ; Shed on my soul the spirit of your song. Come, but with speed, my muse is dull and dozes, Singing too little, sleeping much too long. Dear brother bard, whom wine and laughing lasses Served for the themes of most delightful strains, We too would sing of women and full glasses, Yet — the result scarce justifies our pains. Words without meaning, metre without music, Flow from our quill and stain the harmless page. You sang of wine : but never wine made you sick ; Though Athenaaus darkly hints, my sage. Nor, while you held some love in your embraces, Came any doubt to chill your warm delight In shapely limbs of girls, and lovely faces Steeped in the passion of a moonlit night. 56 Anacreon You never stopped to study your emotions ; You never thought love sin, and wine a curse. How can we wed our newly-fangled notions To the untroubled lightness of your verse ? Ah ! we are old and wise, my Teian master — Wise with a wisdom hard to understand. We study life, but you made Time move faster, Holding some fair-haired flute-girl by the hand. Is life a jest ? You seem to find it merry. Give me your secret ; this is what I seek. Was it that Chian far surpassed our sherry ? Were maidens wooed more readily in Greek ? Answer, sweet shade, for still my dull muse dozes, Heeding no whit the hopes I've held so long. Come, led by Love, your white hair crowned with roses, Teaching your child some echo of your song. 57 OLD AGE What were life or delight without golden Aphrodita?— Mimnermus. OH, what were the purpose of life or of pleasure, If Venus, our golden-haired lady, were fled ; Let me die in that hour when I tire of the measure Which beauty and youth with divinities tread. Though the blossoms of youth seem the fairest of flowers To men and -to maidens, Time's pitiless rage Strips bare to the wind of the winter those bowers, And sets on the lover the seal of old age. Then Care dogs his footsteps wherever he passes And even in the face of the sun he is cold ; He is scorned by the lads and despised by the lasses, For such is the curse life has laid on the old. 58 INTIMATE THESE poor blossoms which we strew Tenderly before your feet — Happy in being touched by you, Whom they only lived to greet— Die, and sigh their odour sweet In an exquisite adieu : Fairer fate flowers never knew. 59 A BEGGAR'S BURDEN I WAS a jolly good fellow once — Ridens et bibulans, amans et osculans ; With a girl and a gallon I ne'er was a dunce — Ridens et bibulans, amans et osculans. If my logic was faulty, my liquor was good, If my lodging was cold, there was fire in my blood, When I noticed a pretty face under a hood — Ridens et bibulans, amans et osculans. I am a sorry old rascal now — Horrens et claudicans, damnans et lacrimans ; Never a penny I pocket I vow — Horrens et claudicans, damnans et lacrimans ; With an ache in my heart and a limp in my leg, I dream that I'm kissing a quean or a keg, And wake to extend my five fingers and beg — Horrens et claudicans, damnans et lacrimans. 60 A Beggars Burden Ah me ! when I think of the days that were young — Ridens et bibulans, amans et osculans I Ah ! to reflect that my songs are all. sung — Horrens et claudicans, damnans et lacrimans! So broach your worst flagon, and crumble some bread, For this broken-down rogue who must beg till he's dead, With never a tombstone to honour his head — Horrens et claudicans, damnans et lacrimans t 61 PICARESQUE IBID ye farewell, ye fair ladies •Who captured my fancy of old — Dear daughters of Venus, whose trade is To barter your beauty for gold ; Too often I bought what ye sold, Too often I lay where the shade is Of Horselberg, portal of Hades ; But now, when my blood has grown cold, I turn to the cloisters of Cadiz, A lambkin returned to the fold. Woe's me for my manhood so merry ! Woe's me for the kisses so sweet, For the smack of a flagon of sherry ! Woe's me for the pattering feet That twirl while the fiddles repeat Some tune about lips like a cherry And eyes like a star ! Hey down derry, My youth was as noisy and fleet As the tramp of a troop down the street : These memories of mine I must bury, For youth is a snare and a cheat ! 62 NOX MIHI CANDIDA DELICATE Night, that shelters my beloved, Shed dreams as sweet as roses on her slumbers, Breathe on her lips soft kisses from the lover Lonely without her. Say, will she drearn of Hafiz here in London, Who far from Mosellay's delightful shadows, Who far from Rocknabad's enchanted waters, Vexes the muses ? Vainly you seek to praise the girl, my Hafiz ; Is she not fairer than the maiden moon is ? Is not her mouth a rose whose parted petals Trouble a poet ? 63 SONNETS VIRGIN IBUS PUERISQUE TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THIS is the book of genius, courage, wit, Of high hope, high endeavour, high desire, Of words which answer to the living lyre That rouses brave men's hearts ; and he that writ Seems to mine eyes a tower whose lamp is lit To warn life's wanderers with its sacred fire, Even as the ocean temples of, his sire Showed seamen death and how to laugh at it ! Where'er he bides, by sea-kissed Skerryvore, In sombre London, or Nevada hills, Or nigh the laughter of Pacific seas, Or where the Athens of the North looks o'er The Lothian valleys, still his presence fills The heart and soul with new-born chivalries. 67 A RED-LETTER DAY NOW God be praised for this enchanted day, Since joy was in the promise, that it spelied, And joy in the fulfilment that it held, And joy will be its memory alway, Till my young heart is old, my young hair gray ; For till youth's last rebellion has been quelled, I shall remember that this day excelled All other days that ever played their play. Time will trudge on, the clock will wheel his round ; But while I live my reason shall rejoice To dwell upon thy beauty, and mine ears Be happy with a burden of sweet sound, The lingering echo of thy exquisite voice Breathing across the desert of dead years. 68 ANNIVERSAR Y A SECOND time the white-sailed swallow fleet Float to some haven under Southern eaves ; A second time the autumn fills her sheaves ; A second time the winter's frozen feet Crush all remembrance of the summer's heat Out of the dead red melancholy leaves ; A second time the web of nature weaves Our paths where first they met, again to meet. We meet, and, lo ! the year returns to spring, The piping of this first November wind Breathes to a lighter measure where we stand : About pale Hiems' coat red roses cling, The grey sky lightens, the chill air grows kind, And gleams of sunlight cheer the sombre land. 69 GRATITUDE I THANK my fate for every memory Of you and your sweet face and your soft name, Since to my eyes the sun seems but the frame For your fair image, and the winds to be Winged tongues of music, breathing lovingly The dearest words of wonder, while the flame Of the pale starlight ciphers still the same Enchanted letters of your name to me. Who could forget you, having once adored The wonder of your eyes, or touched your hand, Or heard your voice in kindness — who, indeed, So long as man is made like man, to hoard Delightful memories in his heart, or stand Before a woman's face to praise and plead ? 70 TO-NIGHT TO-NIGHT, when jocund Folly swings Its cap and bells, and dancers beat Time to the tune with sliding feet, When tired musicians scrape their strings, When girls and boys are queens and kings, When hands entwine, and lips repeat Love's litany so honey-sweet, And time goes by on crimson wings — To-night my fancy like a ghost Shall slide unseen through all the throng Who fleet the time with dance and song, And stand, unseen by guest or host, To watch you dancing debonair, With violets twisted in your hair. PALMISTRY WHY, when I held your hand, could I not read The lines therein that did to me presage The sorrow that no wisdom could assuage, The tears my eyes, the tears my heart must bleed ? Why in that delicate palm did I not heed The warning written clear on the white page, Where, like a tale upon a tragic stage, My fate was blazoned for my hour of need ? I read your fortune there and missed mine own, Proclaimed you queen, nor thought myself a slave To crouch in agony before your throne ; And while your triumphs one by one were shown, I, all unwitting, dug my own heart's grave In cruel earth from which no flower has grown. 5* 72 WITH SAPPHO TO ELLEN TERRY THE fairest to the fairest ! In this book • The wonder- woman of the age of gold Lies, angel and immortal. Prithee, hold This volume open in some silent nook, Then, like some country girl to 'whom the brook Is the best mirror, thou mayst there behold The fairest, wisest, noblest face of old, And deem thine eyes into thine own eyes look. This is thy sister from the far-away, Dear wonder- woman of our later day, To whom in love all lovely things belong. Take thou, the fair, the gracious, the' supreme, ■ The incarnation of the poet's dream, These lingering echoes of the Lesbian song. 73 THE ARABIAN NIGHTS THE haunted East is here unroll'd, Where Nilus draws a lingering wave, And Tigris' yellow waters lave Bagdad's enchanted walls that hold, In arabesques of blue and gold, The Sultan and the Persian slave, The pilgrim to the Prophet's grave, And all the wonder-world of old. I lay the Empire of the East Before your feet ; and if you deign To linger at the Caliph's feast, And spend a sigh on Ghanim's pain, Remember too, though last and least, The man who never laughed again. 74 A STAR FRAMED in the darkness or the door ajar, You paused a moment while the midnight air Fluttered its kisses on your eyes and hair ; While Venus, leaning from the heaven afar, Hung out her beacon-lamp, one sapphire star ; And where the slipped scarf left your bosom bare I saw the blossom that your lovers wear For love's own wound that leaves its cureless scar. And, as I went, the memory of that hour Seemed like some fair enchanted fancy, seemed Like some dear dream too perfect to be true ; But in my heart I wore one fatal flower, The flower you love, and high above me gleamed One star, blue fire against a vault of blue. 75 COUNSEL THINK not to-day of nations that have been, Of dear dead cities and forgotten days ; Think not of trodden or untrodden ways, Or homage due night's melancholy queen ; These be to-morrow's, for to-day we mean To play out life upon the strings of praise Tuned to the iterance of love's voice, that says The sowing brings the harvest, reap and glean. To-day we. have forgotten yesterday, Forgot all troublous things, all love's distress, All wasted hours of vain expectancy ; And though to-morrow snatch delight away And shatter all love's roses, let me bless These goodliest hours that time has flung to me. 76 LOYALTY THY fortunes are too full. The gods do not Sanction in mortals such felicity. Let all be broken off 'twixt thee and me, Our antique friendship be, indeed, forgot, Lest I, partaking of thy happy lot, Should also share the certain misery The gods have got in hand to cast on thee, Seeing that the ripest fruit is first to rot. Thus Amasis of Egypt long ago Wrote to his Samian friend Polycrates, Fearing a jealous Heaven. Not so I ; You do not need me while your fortunes flow ; But I will be beside you, if God please, When you shall find life lonely, by-and-by. 77 PAULINE WERE you Pauline, and I the gardener's son, I might as madly hunger to attain The unattainable, as falsely feign, As nobly leave my dear revenge undone. I might, Heaven helping, no less bravely run War's uttermost peril, fired by hope to gain, Through aching years and many paths of pain, The ultimate hour that bids two hearts be one. These are sick dreams. What man disdains to tread The common earth, since God denied him wings To skim the aether ? Better to be dead Than lose contentment with all common things, Loving some star. Ah, Love ! the doom how dread, That gives to beggars the desires of kings. 78 MEMORIES I SAID I loved not memories, speaking sooth, For who would raise the ghost of buried pain, Lost love, dead dreams, and fond hopes hoped in vain, From that grey grave of memory where youth, Warm youth, grows pale and trembles at the uncouth Shadow of death, nor dares to gaze again Through the dim vault where all delights are lain Lapped in their cerements, truth beside untruth ? And yet I lied, reneguing memory : For there are thoughts too deathless for the pall Of dark oblivion ; who would fain forget His first wild voyage on life's tempestuous sea, His answer to ambition's earliest call, His joy in learning first love's alphabet ? 79 VER ET AMOR BE happy, for the spring is in the air, And summer's brave ambassadors draw nigh ; A livelier colour kindles in the sky ; The lately naked boughs begin to wear Their greenest garments, and aloft to bear Their blossoming banners. Lilac clusters high ; On the laburnum golden tassels lie ; And crimson stars of May shine everywhere. There is a rarer magic in the spring Which tells of your return ; the common wind Gives it glad breathing ; earth and sky and air Herald you home. To me the tidings bring Soft memories back of happier hours, and blind My eyes with tears long unfamiliar there. 80 VITA NUOVA DEAR, that I love you let me rather show By striving to amend this life Of mine So marred from the ideal half divine Of my youth's spring, than bidding passion throw The purpose of its soul on the soft flow Of lover's praises. Ah, fair Florentine, I do conjure thee, being wholly thine, To breathe on this new life and bid it grow. I love you ! Men or angels could not give A greater grace to love's confession, wrung From the pierced heart, that bleeds, and bleeds in vain. I love you, and for love's sake mean to live The nobler way henceforward, though your tongue Refuse to give the promise back again ! 81 PARTHENIA TO MARY ANDERSON DEAR daughter of the Greeks, had you but paced Long ages since the consecrated way To that high shrine by the Athenian bay, Where Phidias, fashioning gold and ivory, placed His armoured image, surely, while you faced Pallas, her .priests would half forget to pray, Whispering, ' Athena walks the earth to-day, Or lo, our Goddess by a girl disgraced ! ' They might have praised you, whose soft Grecian tongue Was tuned to praise of beauty ; how may we, Whose clime is cold, whose Northern speech is rude, Whose world is grey, whose sweetest songs are sung ? But, Gods forgotten, quit your clouds, and see In one fair woman ancient Greece renewed ! 82 THEODORA TO SARAH BERNHARDT DREAD Empress of Byzantium, whom thy fate Conducted from the arena's yellow sands, The clamorous throats, the bray of turbulent bands Of Greens or Blues about the circus gate, And placed upon- the purple seat of state, To be an Emperor's consort, with the wands Of East and West laid in thy delicate hands, How deeply hast thou drunk of love and hate ! Thy dark eyes conquer time ; this summer night Breathes perfume through Byzantium, and the moon Smiles o'er the Bosphorus' enchanted wave : Thou art the girl who danced for the delight Of noisy citizens one afternoon, And on the next made Caesar's self a slave ! 83 FAREWELL FAREWELL, my dear ! the pleasant dream is over, The pallid face of dawn defeats the night : I loose your hand, and am no more your lover ; But miser memory gathers the delight Of all our sighs and kisses under cover Of his dark temple, and with lips blanched white I blindly turn to grope, till I discover Lethe to seal you from my mind and sight. ' No more your lover ! ' Nay, I lied in this ! Till hot desire is cool, till gold is grey, Till hate seems like to love, and woe like bliss, I am your lover. On my lips for aye Lingers the red rose blossom of your kiss, Till Time stoops down and spurns the world away. 8 4 SYMPATHY YOUR sorrow is my sorrow, and your grief Feeds on my spirit like a living flame, And when you suffer I endure the same, And when you weep I tremble like a leaf ; And when fantastic Time, that plays the thief With all enchanted thoughts and things, lays claim To any joy of yours, his fingers maim My life, my love, with pain beyond belief. Your sorrow is my sorrow ; but, alas ! Your joy is not, my joy, and cannot be Since you are glad to sail that sundering sea, Since you delight in coloured days that pass Stirred by no troublous memory of me And my boy's heart, brittle and clear as glass ! S5 MELPOMENE FAIR friend, you tread to your imperial goal The gallery of Shakespeare's womanhood : Love-lost Ophelia, Egypt's varying mood, Pure Isabella, the relentless soul Of Cawdor's consort, Desdemona's dole, Bright Beatrix, the witch of Arden Wood, The dear, dead girl of Capel's angry blood, Belmont's brave lady masked in Daniel's stole. Queen, though your beauty taught me first to know That life was lovelier than the Melian stone, I worshipped most the genius that could show The stretch of thy proud art in every tone Of exquisite passion, till I seemed to see In that pale tragic face Melpomene ! 86 SALUTATION I WHO have wandered over half the earth, Have sailed how many a mysterious sea, How many a sacred river, yet to me No wonder has been shown of so much worth As is this gracious mistress of all mirth, Pale priestess of all passions. Well may we, In spite of all, find strange felicity In the fair world which gave this wonder birth. Yet in the very noon of our delight, On the high pitch of joy a jarring note Shatters the music with a sound of wrath, Anger and sorrow blended, that our sight Must watch, through tears, how your adventurous boat Spreads its wide wings upon the white swan's bath. S7 HOMAGE I HAVE no world to lose for you, no ways Of pleasing you with any deeds of mine : True, I can fashion verses in your praise ; But you would weary of being called divine, Although my forehead bore the circling bays Of Laura's lover, or the Florentine Who still beheld through all the gloomy ways Of hell the eyes of Beatrice shine. Think of me, if you think of me at all, As one who, in some proud triumphal hour, When all the air rang plaudits, and the hall Was deep with blooms as Cleopatra's bower, Crept from the crowd and fearfully let fall Before thy feet one solitary flower. CARPE DIEM I FEED my eyes that when this present time, So rich in all delight, has passed away, And I have fallen into another day To dream of summer midst the winter's rime, My thoughts on memory starry stairs may climb To that dear past of your enchanted sway, And once again before your beauty lay The halting homage of my humble rhyme. I feed my eyes that I, like those who stare Upon the sun, and with a dazzled gaze See painted suns upon the summer haze, May, long beholding you, see everywhere, Upon night's blackness or the morning air, The one fair face, too perfect for my praise. AT WESTMINSTER THROUGH the great hall, the heart of England's story, Across the Lobby's tesselated floor, Through many a sombre oaken corridor, You moved in loveliness, and lent a glory To the gaunt Commons' House, so new, so hoary, Young in stone years, old in historic store : A fairer presence never passed before Through that great battle-ground of Whig and Tory. The loveless place grew lovely as you came ; And I, who liked it little, for the hours, The memorable hours, you squandered there, Saw with beguiled eyes a scene more fair Than Avallon's far isle of deathless flowers, And sighed next day to find it still the same ! 92 A BEGGAR I BEGGED, my dear, a kiss for boon, Which you, serenely wise, refuse, Though I would buy it with the Jew's Harsh bargain of a pound's weight hewn From my quick flesh : though, Sweet, too soon The kiss would end which I should choose, For which I sighed through last night's noose Of hateful stars and haunted moon. The moon gives place, the sunbeams chase The pale stars from the shining sky, And from the dreams which frighted sleep, When sleep at last brought meed of grace To burning heart and brain and eye, I waken, as I watched, to weep. 93 AT WESTMINSTER THROUGH the great hall, the heart of England's story, Across the Lobby's tesselated floor, Through many a sombre oaken corridor, You moved in loveliness, and lent a glory To the gaunt Commons' House, so new, so hoary, Young in stone years, old in historic store : A fairer presence never passed before Through that great battle-ground of Whig and Tory. The loveless place grew lovely as you came ; And I, who liked it little, for the hours, The memorable hours, you squandered there, Saw with beguiled eyes a scene more fair Than Avallon's far isle of deathless flowers, And sighed next day to find it still the same ! 92 A BEGGAR I BEGGED, my dear, a kiss for boon, Which you, serenely wise, refuse, Though I would buy it with the Jew's Harsh bargain of a pound's weight hewn From my quick flesh : though, Sweet, too soon The kiss would end which I should choose, For which I sighed through last night's noose Of hateful stars and haunted moon. The moon gives place, the sunbeams chase The pale stars from the shining sky, And from the dreams which frighted sleep, When sleep at last brought meed of grace To burning heart and brain and eye, I waken, as I watched, to weep. 93 FORGIVE FORGIVE me, dear — and; if you can, forget, As all things are forgotten soon or late, Desire and satisfaction, love and hate, Pleasure and pain, and rapture and regret ; Fair friend, forgive me, for my eyes are wet With unfamiliar tears : close not the gate Of pity against me where I humbly wait ; Ah ! think of all the years since first we met. If to be prudent, cool of brain and blood, Is to be happy, you may rest content, And pity your poor servant who has spent His strength in trouble with a desperate flood Of passionate thoughts : as you are fair, be good, And spare my vexed soul further punishment. 94 NEW YEAR IF verses, like the charms that wizards trace, Might promise all delight to ladies dear, What could I wish you for the new-born year That is not yours already — youth and grace,. The fairest form, the most enchanting face, The brightest eyes that ever scorned a tear, Love and success — what more to wish you here Where the old year unto the new gives place ? But if by chance the least wish lingers still Unsatisfied, to feed your fancy's fire, What better purpose could the year fulfil Than to accord you all your heart's desire ? So your poor poet thinks, whose homage turns To where the blossom of the red rose burns. 95 DISAPPOINTMENT ARE all things disappointment ? Must we turn In this rank garden of life from tree to tree, Catching at fruit and blossom eagerly, Only to find each orb that seemed to burn Live gold within its leaves the painted urn Of ashes ; must each shining blossom be Dead as the wreaths of last night's revelry Which footsteps of repentant riot spurn ? Is nothing worth the winning ? Are the vows Of lovers falser than the fleeting air ? Is every face a mask, however, fair, Hiding the horrors of the charnel-house ? Is every crown we set upon our hair The cruel circle of thorns that scars our brows ? 96 REGRET MASTER of many sorrows, pardon me : And thou, dear mistress of delightful hours Of wine-kissed lips and couches of crushed flowers Where I have rested lightly — woe is me ! — Farewell, I find no more felicity Within the shade of thy voluptuous bowers : Boyhood slips by apace, and manhood dowers My waning youth with wisdom mockingly. 'Twas merry to be wild and never care How golden moments left youth's brittle glass, To be contented while a woman's hair Caught our hot fancies in a scented snare ; But the lure breaks, day dies, the shadows pass, Deepening along the dial and the grass. 97 SAINT ROSALYS THE fair girl in the mirror's polished plane Glancing to witness with a woman's pride The silken stuffs, the gleaming gems that vied With her soft hair and shining eyes in vain, Saw in its field the pallid face of pain, The bleeding brows of Christ the crucified, And, changing from that hour, became the bride Of God, a ministrant in Mary's train. Sweet Rosalys, if we poor mortals blind, Gazing upon our image in the glass, Where our poor ghosts give back their answering stare- If we were wiser, would our eyes not find, Beside the sinful man whose flesh is grass, Christ's face of pity and pardori always there ? 98 EMERSON ANOTHER, yet another, of the years Falls on thy dust, and still thy memory Burns like a beacon seen far out to sea By some storm-beaten sailor where he steers His labouring vessel ; every wave that rears Its writhing crest against his prow may be His fate,' and yet he battles patiently Towards that fixed point where thy far light appears. Even so the living lesson from thy grave Shines to thy people like the lamp of hope ; Thy high example gives them strength to save Their fallen fortunes, lends them heart to cope With the wild host of publicans who rave In that Egyptian darkness where they grope. 99 c. s. c. YE shades of Syracusan shepherds, weep For him who loved you. To that land of dreams, Where Lacon entertains with rustic themes A rustic muse on some Silician steep, He shall return no more. He lies asleep : Nor may Menalcas whistling to his teams, Nor Battus piping by the haunted streams, Ever arouse him from his slumber deep. ' I too am in Arcadia,' even Death, Who, while Comatas runs his lips along The reeds of Syrinx, modulates the stops With icy fingers till the shepherd's breath Falters, the praise of Pan is hushed, the song Floats to a sigh among the mountain-tops. KA THERINE TO ADA REHAN SURE from some canvas where the Veronese Excelled in loveliness this lady came, His fairest child, with tresses of live flame, With wide eyes subtler than Sicilian seas, With sweeter speech than Tuscan melodies, With royal Roman lips that scorn the name Of Love, with tiger spirit hard to tame, Instinct with all Venetian sorceries. Incarnate Italy ! Not otherwise The deathless dreamer of our English scene Conjured the shrewish angel to his eyes, Whom since his eyes no other eyes have seen . Until you came, in God's good time, dear queen Of all our hearts, dear sovereign of all sighs ! KA THERINE THE day seems but a dull, eventless thing, And life's account a blank, unmeaning page, Which does not witness Katherine sweep the stage With fury splendid as a panther's spring, Which does not hear your matchless music fling Back fierce defiance to Petrucio's gage, Or at the last, when love has conquered rage, Salute her lord, her governor, her king ! To see this and to love this is to live ; The rest is but the driving of dead hours Before the dullest wind that ever blew ! If I to-day must to dull London give, To-night I pass by Padua's proud towers, And watch the taming of the angel shrew. KA THERINE AH, pity, pity, that the play must end ! Ah, pity, pity, that the painted curtain Must fall at last and leave our eyes uncertain Whether to weep for some familiar friend Whose feet at last into the dust descend, Or smile to think that midnight leaves behind her A haunted memory, a divine reminder, Of one fair girl whom all the gods attend ! Good-night, fair lady — so we take our leave Of this fair world of merry make-believe : The crowd goes out, the pleasant hour is over : Farewell, sweet form and face — farewell, sweet eyes- Farewell to the fantastic paradise Of Katherine and Petrucio her lover ! 103 KAtHERINE THIS is the keenest pleasure life affords — To hear you speak, to watch you play your part, To live again through your transcendent art In that bright age so chivalrous with swords, So brave in hue, so eloquent in words, Where men with unmoved eyes beheld the dart In love's hand or in death's, and the true heart Answered the true heart with complete accords. ' Ah ! but our age is common, cold, and grey,' I said — and, sure, believed it yesterday, The yesterday before I saw your face, Before I felt the living flame that burned Within your eyes, the fire of art that turned The common playhouse to a holy place ! 104 KA THERINE THEY say in that green island of my sires, Where silver Shannon, widening, spreads away To the great ocean, you beheld the day : That from the city of the holy spires, Where, long ago, the wild Druidic fires Blazed to dim gods forgotten now and grey, You wandered to the Land of Youth, to play The fairest part the poet's heart desires. Dear Ireland, mother of immortal names, I, thy unworthiest child, here dedicate To her who wears the sweetest of sweet names' These faded flowers of sbng, and eager wait For the enchanted hour when Shakespeare's Kate Upon the stage in crimson raiment flames ! 105 BALLADES AUCASSIN AND NICOLE TE TO ANDREW LANG YOU give me back enchanted days, When every wandering wind that fann'd My forehead breathed Provengal lays, And fancy danced a saraband With fairies in Broceliande, The haunted wood where first I met, Midst other shadows, hand in hand, Dear Aucassin and Nicolete. The lovers whom the Persians praise, The paladins of Charles the Grand, The fighters in Arabian frays, The golden girls of Samarcand, The chivalry of Arthur's band, The Queens where Avallon is set, Can none for loveliness gainstand Dear Aucassin and Nicolete. 109 Aucassin and Nicolete Your Helen too, the world's amaze, For whom the Argive chieftains mann'd Their black ships in the Grecian bays, And ground their keels in Ilion's strand, And Dardan Paris, Ilion's brand, Were fair and famous lovers — yet, Methinks, I watch with fonder gaze Dear Aucassin and Nicolete. Envoy. Poet and Prince of fairy-land, Our hearts are deeply in your debt, For quickening with your wizard's wand Dear Aucassin and Nicolete. A BALLADE OF ROSES rb p6Hov rb T&v Spt^Tcav WHEN Venus saw Ascanius sleep On sweet Cythera's snow-white roses, His face, like Adon's, made her weep, And long to kiss him where he dozes ; But, fearing to disturb the boy, She kissed the pallid blooms instead, Which blushed, and kept their blush for joy, When Venus kissed white roses red. Straight of those roses she did reap Sufficient store of pleasant posies, And coming from Cythera's steep, Where every fragrant flower that grows is,, She tossed them for the winds to toy And frolic with till they were dead ; Heaven taught the earth a fair employ When Venus kissed white roses red. in A Ballade of Roses For each red rose the symbol deep In its sad, happy heart encloses Of kisses making love's heart leap ; And every summer wind that blows is A prayer that ladies be not coy Of kisses ere brief life be sped : There gleamed more gold in life's alloy When Venus kissed white roses red. Envoy. All lovers true, since windy Troy Flamed for a woman's golden head, You gained surcease from life's annoy When Venus kissed white roses red. A BALLADE OF THE ACTRESSES OF OLD TIME WHERE are the ladies of old time, The actresses of long ago, Who staged their beauty to the show When all the gallants sat arow, Upon the stage where Oldfield drew, And Perdita was worshipped so ? No one was half so fair as you ! Here in this shadow pantomime Again the gracious figures go, Again the bells of midnight chime, Again the ruddy flambeaux glow Outside the playhouse portico ; Though here again the modish crew Salute each flame in furbelow, No one was half so air as you ! 113 1 The Actresses of Old Time Though here Bracegirdle rouses crime In mad Mohun's black heart, and slow The feet of laughing Baddeley climb , Beneath the rapiers of the beaux, The gilded stairway in Soho ; Though Siddons takes her tragic cue, And Woffington brings London low, No one was half so fair as you ! Envoy Lady, it grieves our hearts to know That we must lose those hearts anew, For since the world began to grow No one was half so fair as you ! 114 A BALLADE OF LOST TREASURE WHAT has become of the Niblung hoard That Siegfried left in the Rhine, they say : Where is the treasure Attila stored In meadows where Tiber takes his way ; Or all the glory that used to glow In Babylon town, whose mighty wall Has fallen asunder long ago ? My lucky sixpence is worth them all ! Where is the booty flung overboard By Captain Kidd in the northern bay ; Where is the gold that roofed and floored Orchomenus town, unknown to-day ? The gifts the Delphian priests could show To those who on Apollo call, Have vanished all, like last year's snow — My lucky sixpence is worth them all ! "5 i A Ballade of Lost Treasure Who owneth now the magic sword That Arthur seized in the sight of Kay, Or a single one of the coins Jove poured In golden rain on Danae ; Who now the precious cup may know Which Helen in the sea let fall, What time the Greeks from Troy did go ? My lucky sixpence is worth them all ! Envoy. Prince, if you could as gifts bestow The treasures which I here recall, I still should give you answer so : My lucky sixpence is worth them all ! 116 A BALLADE OF JAPAN LEAVE smart St. James' and stark St. Giles', Give dreary London the go-by ; Float fancy free ten thousand miles O'er Eastern seas, and feast your eye With that enchanted land where man Makes life a dream of form and dye, The Everlasting Great Japan. The magic picture-book beguiles Our flattered sight to play the spy On holy Nippon's happy isles, Where lanterns float and banners fly O'er streets where swift jinrickshaws fly, And life is like a lady's fan Where Fusi Yama sweeps the sky — The Everlasting Great Japan. 117 A Ballade of Japan A land of sunlight and of smiles, Where dainty dancing-girls reply To fair flower-names ; where still the styles Of distant centuries defy The Paris mode ; where poets sigh In 'pillow words ' severe to scan — A land, they say, to see and die, The Everlasting Great Japan. Envoy. Friend, if you're tired of London, try A year-long journey in the span Of one small book, where you descry The Everlasting Great Japan. nS A BALLADE OF BOOK-MAKING WHEN wise Koheleth long ago — Though when and how the pundits wrangle- Complained of books, and how they grow And twist poor mankind's brains a-tangle, He did not dream the fatal fangle To such a pitch would e'er extend, And such a world of paper mangle — Of making books there is no end. The poets weep for last year's snow, About the porch the schoolmen dangle, The owl-like eyes of science glow O'er arc, hypothenuse, and angle ; The playwrights mouth, the preachers jangle, The critics challenge and defend, And Fiction turns the Muses' mangle — Of making books there is no end. 119 A Ballade of Book-making Where'er we turn, where'er we go, The books increase, the bookmen brangle ; Our book-shelves groan with row on row Of nonsense typed in neat quadrangle. Better to burn the lot and twangle An honest banjo ; better tend To ride and box and shoot and angle — Of making books there is no end. Envoy. Few books are worth a copper spangle : Come forth and choose, my dusty friend, The ranchman's rope, the nautch-girl's bangle- Of making books there is no end. A BALLADE OF TAVERNS TO WILL BELL ALL the famous taverns in town — Mitres, Daggers, Lions, Mermaids, Goat and Compasses, Mourning Crown, Boar's Head, Windmill, and Ace of Spades, The Mischief Inn, with its jest at jades, Three Cranes, chiefest of hostelries, Fall away to the shades of shades — Time has toasted the Cheshire Cheese. The London Stone, of antique renown, Hard by that chronicled throne of Cade's ; The Tabard, dear to the pilgrim's gown ; The Robin Hood, keeping green the raids Of the robber captain of Sherwood glades ; The Cock, the Pillars of Hercules, Destiny each in its turn degrades — Time has toasted the Cheshire Cheese. A Ballade of Taverns The Plough, belov'd by the country clown, Has vanished ; St. Christopher no more wades Heaven and Hell are both pulled down ; No more the teachers Of thievish trades, Shakers of dice-box, bearers of blades, Meet at the Rose among Marybone trees — They were silenced by hempen braids — Time has toasted the Cheshire Cheese. Envoy. Tavern-hunter, weep for the maids And men who have taken their latest fees, For the gaudy sign-board that splits and fades — Time has toasted the Cheshire Cheese. A BALLADE OF FINGAL FINGAL, bearer of battle's scar, Mighty monarch of Ossian's lay, One who lives in a land afar, Fringed by the fierce Atlantic spray, Wandering there where the waters play Soft by Staffa in wave on wave, Smiles and says as he comes away, ' Only a fable is Fingal's Cave.' Was it for this that your fiery star Led your boat to that distant bay, Where, in desperate stress of war, Treacherous chieftains of Norroway Sought, and fruitlessly sought, to slay Fingal, the bravest of the brave ? Lo ! an American hints to-day, ' Only a fable is Fingal's Cave.' 123 A Ballade of Fingal Was it for this that you drove your car 1 Through your enemies' stern array, Led by the slayer of Corman-Trunar ? Ah ! did you fight in so many a fray, Till your hair and your beard were grey, And sink at last to a hero's grave, That some stranger might whisper, ' Nay, Only a fable is Fingal's Cave ' ? Envoy. Fingal, fame and your bones decay, Rust has eaten your trenchant glaive, Sceptical travelling students say, ' Only a fable is Fingal's Cave ! ' 124 A BALLADE OF 'THE CANDIDATE' WHAT hard conundrums people ask : Who wrote the Letters Junius signed ? Where was the Kit-Kat's ' Upper Flask ' ? What dead Egyptian hand and mind The high Pyramides designed Beside old Nile's mysterious spate ? Or, answer harder still to find, Who dramatised 'The Candidate'? Was Clarence drowned in Malmsey cask ? Was there a Homer old and blind ? Who was the Man in the Iron Mask ? Must Bacon's wreath be intertwined With bays, in Shakespeare's tomb enshrined, As certain students ' calculate ' ? Or, question of a harder kind, Who dramatised ' The Candidate ' ? 125 A Ballade of ' The Candidate ' What nameless master took for task . The Thousand Nights in one to bind, For Bagdad's Caliphs where they bask By Tigris' yellow waves reclined ? Who drew the Testament assigned To Russian Peter, First and Great ? Or, harder still to be denned, Who dramatised ' The Candidate ' ? Envoy. Friend, if to journey you're inclined So far as famous Wishing Gate, Desire to learn from answering wind Who dramatised ' The Candidate ' ? 126 RONDEAUS LOVE IN LONDON IN London Town men love and hate, And find Death tragic soon or late, Just in the old unreasoning way, As if they breathed the warmer day In Athens when the gods were great. Mine is the town by Thames's spate, And so it chanced I found my fate — , One of my fates, that is to say — In London Town. The whole world comes to those who wait ; Mine came and went with one year's date. Pity it made so short a stay ! The sweetest face, the sweetest sway, That ever Love did consecrate In London Town. 129 K ROSE OF MAY OROSE of May, I could not praise Your beauty in a fairer phrase, Unless poor mortal lips might choose Such utterance as angels use. Rose of all roses, May of Mays, Where'er your gracious presence stays, The sun his golden course delays, And summer wears immortal hues, O rose of May ! My planet floats from phase to phase, And now gives hope, and now gainsays : In dreams I win, and wake to lose, While sorrow, like the soul, renews Its youth in dreams of happier days, O rose of May ! 130 AT YOUR COMMAND AT your command I have begun To rhyme a rondeau ; when 'tis done I think some praise should be my due From your kind heart, if you but knew How hardly poor success is won : Bound down by laws, the rhymes are spun In proper sequence, one by one : Behold, my task is half way through, At your command ! But since his rhymes, alas, will run From this poor singer, who should shun All hope of fitly praising you, This is no task for me to do : , Yet I would try to reach the sun, At your command ! 131 WITH CHANGING DAYS WITH changing days that come and go, Like painted puppets in a show Having the shape of everything, From beggar-man to crowned king, To-day grows into long ago. As well enquire for last year's snow In this year's spring, as seek to know What gifts the autumn-tide shall bring With changing days. But kindly fate contrives to sow Some flowers amid the weeds that grow About Time's feet, to climb and cling Around his scythe and stop its swing : I trust that you may find it so In changing days. 132 YE WHO LIE! OYE who lie, if I who weep For dead love's sake, and fain would keep My sorrow with myself alone, Can ye not let my sorrow moan Its troubled senses into sleep ? O pitiful, who hold love cheap, Saying Sorrow should be his to reap Who any soul with love has sown : O ye who lie ! It were far better we should steep Our souls in Lethe dark and deep, Than, wholly tearless, to dethrone Some love we worshipped as our own. Into a shameful silence creep, ' O ye who lie ! i33 RONDELS I LOVE YOU DEARLY'. I LOVE you dearly, O my sweet ! Although you pass me lightly by, Although you weave my life awry, And tread my heart beneath your feet. I tremble at your touch ; I sigh To see you passing down the street ; I love you dearly, O my sweet ! Although you pass me lightly by. You say in scorn that love 's a cheat, Passion a blunder, youth a lie — I know not : only, when we meet, I long to kiss your hand, and cry, ' I love you dearly, O my sweet ! Although you pass me lightly by.' 138 RONDEL AFTER CHARLES D'ORLEANS WHAT would you have me do, my heart- Shall I go seek my sweet again, To tell her all the mortal pain Whereof for her I bear the smart ? What counsel have you to impart To serve her honour and your gain: What would you have me do, my heart — Shall I go seek my sweet again ? For she, so full of gentle art, Would never lend an ear in vain To this poor lover's fond complain : Now is not this the better part ? What would you have me do, my heart — Shall I go seek my sweet again ? 139 TRIOLETS IN THE DAYS OF MY YOUTH IN the days of my youth I wooed women with sonnets : My ideas were uncouth In the days of my youth ; Now I know that her ruth Is best reached by new bonnets : In the days of my youth I wooed woman with sonnets. H3 ALAS, HOW FAST! ALAS, how fast a year goes past ! It seems a day since our first meeting- Like one fair day from first to last ; Alas, how fast a year goes past ! Till smiling love now stands aghast To find delightful days so fleeting. Alas, how fast a year goes past ! It seems a day since our first meeting. 144 HERE'S A FLOWER FOR YOUR GRAVE HERE'S a flower for your grave, Little love of last year ; Since I once was your slave, Here's a flower for your grave ; Since I once used to rave In the praise of my dear, Here's a flower for your grave, Little love of last year. «45 YOU TOLD YOUR WILLING BARD TO SING YOU told your willing bard to sing, But made no choice of tears or laughter ; So think this story just the thing You told your willing bard to sing : It opens ' There was once a king,' And ends "with ' happy ever after.' You told your willing bard to sing, But made no choice of tears or laughter. 146 WHAT SHALL WE DO? WHAT shall we do the day you sail Across the weary winter sea, Far from enchanted Innisfail ? What shall we do the day you sail Far from Old England's frontier pale ? Alas ! how lonely we shall be : What shall we do the day you sail Across the weary winter sea ? i47 REGRETS ALAS ! I WANDER in the haunted streets Where we have trysted long ago, And hear the spring's shrill clarion blow A greeting to the vernal heats, And all the pulses of the earth Throb welcome to the wakening year ; But like a ghost I wander here, Strung out of tune to Nature's mirth, Or like some traveller from afar, Who turns to home and finds it changed, And he in early haunts estranged As if he trod some alien star. I thought the sun had left the sky, I thought my heart was turned to stone, The day you left me all alone, Abandoned with no last good-bye. 151 Alas ! Ah ! did you, dearest, understand How love possessed and mastered me, Till all my being seemed to be Within the hollow of your hand ? Lo, how I loved you ! with what spell. Did you rriy heart and soul ensnare, Till you alone made life seem fair ! It is not wise to love so well ; Because if I had loved you less I should have vexed you less, perhaps. But, oh ! what tides of time must lapse Ere I forget your least caress ; Since all the pride of life became A blotted page in Sorrow's books, On the dark day when hope forsook My life, and life was seared with flame ; And in my pain I seemed to watch By mine own body lying stark, And mutter aves in the dark, And listen for the lifted latch, And note the bearers, grave and grim, Slip noiselessly across the floor, And bear my body through the door : And for myself mine eyes grew dim 152 Alas / With film of unfamiliar tears For that dishonoured body borne Away, with only me to mourn My youth and all the perished years. And, waiting in that lonely place, .1 wept the cause of my despair — The body more than common fair, The mind of more than common grace. Dear lover with the loyal eyes, Dear comrade with the smiling face, Whose friendship made so fair a place Of weary world and wintry skies ; Sweet lips, so skilful to console, I never more shall feel thy breath — Lost in this hollow dream of death, The gaunt God's acre of the soul. Within the body of a girl, As sweet as spring, as fair as May, The spirit of an angel lay Like sunlight in a globe of pearl. I trembled for my tortured mind In that first tempest of my grief, When reason, like a withered leaf, Flew to and fro on passion's wind ; iS3 Alas ! •When first the fever of my pain Seemed to take monstrous shape, and feed, With all a carrion-creature's greed, On bleeding heart and burning brain : But when the vulture fever fed Its fill for cycles, age on age, And glutted its fantastic rage, It slowly spread its vans and fled, And left me racked and worn and weak, With widowed memory free to prize The strange enchantment of your eyes, The tender outline of your cheek. In memory's casket, closely shut, The brightest hours of life, the best, Are set apart from all the rest, Like Grecian medals nobly cut — And these, in silence and alone; I linger over lover-kind ; And of the pictures of the mind This is, I think, the dearest one : A slumber by a haunted lake, A shadow slipping through the night, And on my lips your lips alight In dream before my senses wake : i54 Alas ! A moment, and the vision flies ; But on my lips there lingers flame, And, trembling, I call out your name, Searching the dark with straining eyes. My life is like that summer night : On mouth and eyes your kisses ache, And once again, alas ! I wake, And once again the dream takes flight. Ah ! my fair days, my smiling hours, The golden moments of our bond, Take a farewell, prolonged and fond — Farewell, farewell, ye faded flowers ! Good-bye, my dear, my youth is done ; Fate slew it with relentless hand ; I've dug its grave in shadowland, And reared a stone above its head, With this for writing, ' Gone is Gone, And Dead is Dead,' as Sibenkaes Heard the poor beggar in the ways Sing when his youth, like mine, was done. To stand beside a yawning grave, To know the best of life lies dead, And yet to walk with lifted head, To smile and struggle to be brave : '55 Alas ! This is to suffer for my sins A daily, hourly martyrdom — Yet hopeless when the end has come To wear the crown the martyr wins. If God would grant me heart of stone, And stronger brain than tempered steel, I might with stoic mien reveal My sorrow to myself alone. But if we frame a kind farewell When some chance friend attempts the sea, Shall I not offer threnody To the dead past I loved so well ? For never shall my youth return With summer roses in its hair, Whose whispers are enchanted air, Whose lips with living passion burn. My life is stiff and stooped and grey, Like some poor beggar hunched and old, Heedless alike of winter's cold And summer's carnival display. Like that mad fool who loved the day, I have grown old and worn and bent Beneath my cruel punishment, Since love from life was snatched away. i S 6 Alas ! Once, like a fool, I talked of fame ; Once, in my pride, I dreamed it sweet To lay my laurels at your feet And make you prouder of my name ; But yoii, my star, my lure to fame, May heed no more, though through the world My name from pole to pole were hurled In ecstasy of fierce acclaim. I loved you, dear, with all my heart, I loved you, dear, with all my soul — For you I longed for glory's goal, And laboured for the crowns of Art. But still each tear, each bosom-beat,. Are sweeter tributes to your power Than when of old I spent an hour In casting flowers before your feet. A poet, in a pause from strife, When all Italia's banners shook, , Wrote, prefacing his sweetest book, That ' Here beginneth the New Life ' : So my new life begins austere, I have done with love and all the rest ; My heart is broken in my breast For your sweet sacred name, my dear. i57 Alas / Some secret thoughts too sweet for verse, To falter at in memory, Lie garnered up in dreams for me To make the new existence worse. Dear angel of my youth, adieu ! To me life's tale is told in vain, Who may not kiss your lips again, Or tell again my love to you ; But, facing life to live through yet, I will not leave you with 'good-bye,' For I shall love you till I die : Forget me, God, when I forget ! 158 ENVOY YE thousand follies of my youth, good-bye, 'Tis time to say farewell ; the sun has-risen, Painting with golden brush the morning sky : See how the roses of our revel wizen ; We must do something nobler ere we die, Than drone our life out in a dreamer's prison. God willing, I will rise up and approve My life not all unworthy of my love. 161 M II. I passed my youth with shadows, with the dead Who made love famous in their songs and earned Sad laurels by the tears that lovers shed, And many a melancholy lesson learned From the green grave where Keats is lapped in lead, From that sea-shore where Shelley's body burned, From that dark water where Petrarca's muse Hallows the silent fountain of Vaucluse. 162 III. Small wonder 'twas that when at last I quitted Those moonlit spaces for the realms of day, That still before my eyes the phantoms flitted, That still above all noises rose the neigh Of that winged steed who waited, bridled, bitted, For me to mount his back and ride away To that dim kingdom fashioned out of clouds, Where buried lovers cast away their shrouds. 161 IV. Too long in that dark kingdom I delayed, Where ghostly lovers throng the twilight air, Mimnermus read the dirge of youth, the shade Of Sappho twisted violets in her hair, Ronsard with all his stars about him strayed, Tibullus sang of Delia and despair ; With phantoms such as these I watched the streams And trod the windless meadows of my dreams. 164 V. Tis told in Persian, kind as a caress, How Hafiz, the sweet singer, could not raise His poet's hand to touch a single tress Of the belov'd one's hair, yet Hafiz' gaze Was fixed for ever on her loveliness ; And how dare I uplift a faltering phrase Against the doom which chilled immortal tears, To words that last beyond the waste of years. 165 VI. There is a story, such as ancients tell To children by the fire, of fairies themed. How one who served the gentle people well Demanded gold for pay, which, while it gleamed, Turned to dead leaves that through his fingers fell : I know a lover like to him, who dreamed Love crowned him poet, and, awaking, grieves For glittering verses turned to withered leaves. 166 VII. To call myself unhappy is untrue : Is he unhappy who can love the best, And for that love begins his life anew, Rouses his limbs from their ignoble rest, And passes from the House of Dreams to do Some deed of honour, enter on some quest, Led by Ambition's starlight, and the trust, His name shall not be written in the dust ? 167 VIII. Life still has laurels, the world's ways are wide ; I may be friends with Fortune, win my fight, Wearing your colours, though the stars denied Contentment to your lover ; I delight To think you might have sometime said with pride, '■ He wore my colours, called himself my knight ' ; And if I fail— why, I shall only be One swimmer more gone down in the great sea. 1 68 IX. Martyr and Saint, from whom I take my name, Remembering how the heathen deities Were served by thee before conviction came With the free wind from Judah's olive-trees, And how at last, rather than feed the flame Of the false gods, you smiled at agonies : By thy youth's errors, plead for my offence, And lend thy strength to be my soul's defence. 169 X. The mocking legend of my line declares Proudly that to the Faithful and the Brave Nothing is difficult. Shall he who wears This blustering blazon bow himself a slave To iron Fortune, or accept the dares Of hazard ? I have chosen. In the grave My youth lies buried. In this hour of strife 'Tis written, ' Here beginneth the New Life.' PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQtMKE LONDON