^,/7Ji>n zi/'^/ac'^ Cornell University Library PR 5555.D8 1900 A dream of fair women, & other poems, sele 3 1924 013 559 053 ^.# 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/cu31924013559053 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN Of this work, an Edition -de-Ltixe on hand -made paper, limited to 125 copies, all numbered and signed by the Artist, is obtainable. Four of the Plates are printed, in duplicate, in photogravure. The price is 42*. net. A DREAM of FAIR WOMEN Other Toems By Alfred Lord Tennyson Selected and Illustrated by Edmund J. Sullivan With a Postscript by the Artist London GRANT RICHARDS 1900 T CONTENTS 1. To THE Queen 1 2. A Dream op Fair Women . 3 3. Clabibel 22 4. Lilian. 25 5. Isabel .... 29 6. Mariana 33 7. Mariana in the South 37 8. Madeline 44 9. Adeline. 48 10. Margaret 53 11. Rosalind 58 12. Eleanore '. 65 13. Kate. 73 14. Lady Clara Vere de Vere 77 15. St. Simeon Stylites 80 16. The Vision op Sin . 91 17. Lady Clare .... 115 18. Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere 119 CONTENTS 24. The Goose VI PAGE 123 19. The Lady of Shalott 20. The Day-Dream . • • ■ 157 167 21. GODIVA . ■ . . ■ 22. A Character l7l 23. The Palace of Art 190 POSTSCRIPT One of the main disabilities under which the modern illustrator pursues his labours, is that he must exert his powers for a great part upon subjects which are cramping, ephemeral, distasteful to him or unworthy of his art. Indeed, subtract the title from most drawings he is called upon to produce, and their interest is evaporated. This should not be the case with a drawing properly conceived as such : yet it wiU give some idea of the handicap under which an illustrator sets out. He is also confronted with the fact that a drawing in which there is no more than an testhetic interest will appeal to none but a very small minor- ity of the public. Between the extremes of an art entirely ephem- eral and journalistic on the one hand, and a cold aestheticism on the other, there is a large field ; and an artist is justified if he can find a subject which vii POSTSCRIPT will at the same time afford scope for the exercise of his art and a wider channel to the public sympathy. There are many classics which afford this oppor- tunity : some of course lend themselves more readily to illustration than others : they are less stringent in their pictorial limitations, and consequently may help an artist to a motive, rather than hamper his invention to bring it to square with a cramping subject. From what has been said it is clear that there are reasons quite other than presumption, over- estimate of ability, vanity, and so on, to lure an illustrator to a task beyond his powers ; and that these reasons bear a quite different and worthier complexion than those most frequently attributed. In his desire to find a subject that shall at least be worthy of the art he professes, and of greater dignity than is usually provided, he is perhaps rather to be blamed for his timidity if he is shy of adventuring a failure, than blamed for his presumption when he fails. " Fay ce que vous voudras " is a good motto for all artists ; and should be the drift of all art teaching. POSTSCRIPT If the task is distasteful, is it not likely that dis- taste wUl show through in the completed work ? Or that, if pleasurable, some glow of pleasure will not shine out, however obscured ? And here, as a parenthesis, the unwise saying that "Genius consists in an infinite capacity for taking pains," may be controverted. If genius is to be defined at all, it is far more likely to consist in an infinite capacity for taking dehght. There are many dull products of infinite pains : whUe task-work, work that calls most for pains, is most conducive to shp-shoddy. On the other hand, a labour of love is seldom irredeemably bad : and perhaps no fine work was ever the result of anything but loving labour and delight. To endeavour to render concrete the pictures that Tennyson inspires in the fancy would be an essay in which any illustrator might take a dehght : and that the picture called up by the same verse is different in every mind and is coloured differently by every fancy, need only render the essay more diverting, by affording ground for comparison of ideas. It was in the anticipation of pleasure in the making, and with a hope to convey some share ix POSTSCRIPT of that pleasure, that the present venture was made. Perfect expression is impossible, and success, even where the expression is most near perfection, depends upon the amount of sympathy brought to bear upon any work of art. Sympathy cannot be coerced ; but once established, mind speaks to mind, through whatever medium the artist works in. In making the selection of poems, regard has been taken rather to their pictorial suggestiveness than to purely poetical qualities : though it has been interesting to contrast, for instance, the delicacy of " Adeline " with the grimness of the " Vision of Sin " ; the stateliness of " Eleanore " with the whimsicality of " The Goose " ; the " dainty woeful sympathies " of " Margaret " with the mad fanaticism of " St. Simeon Stylites " ; and to juxtapose "A Character" with "The Palace of Art," as dealing with the same subject so dif- ferently as to make the subject appear different ; though the soul and essence of the Prig is the common theme. E. J. S. Hampstead, November 1899. ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE I. A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN .... 7 At length I saw a lady within call^ Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there ; A daughter of the gods, divinely tall. And most divinely fair. II. A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN .... 13 (With that she tore her robe apart, and half The polish'd argent of her breast to sight Laid bare. ITiereto she pointed with a laugh. Showing the aspick's bite.) III. LILIAN . 23 Airy, faiiy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me. Claps her tiny hands above me. Laughing all she can ; She'll not tell me if she love me. Cruel little Lilian. IV. ISABEL . . 27 Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clear-pointed flame of chastity. Clear, without heat, undying, tended by Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane Of her stiU spirit ; locks not wide-dispread. Madonna-wise on either side her head. V. MARIANA. . . . .31 She only said, " My life is dreary. He cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE VI. MARIANA IN THE SOUTH .... 39 " Is this the form^'' she made her moan, " That won his praises night and morn ? " And " Ah," she said, " but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." VII. MADELINE ... . . 45 Thou art not steep'd in golden languors. No tranced summer calm is thine. Ever varying Madeline. VIII. ADELINE 49 What hope or fear or joy is thine .'' Who talketh with thee, Adeline ? For sure thou art not all alone : Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own .'' Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings ? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews ? Or when little airs arise. How the meriy bluebell rings To the mosses undei-neath .'' Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise ? Wherefore that faint smile of thine. Shadowy, dreaming Adeline .' IX. MARGARET ... . . 55 What can it matter, Margaret, What songs below the waning stars The lion-heart, Plantagenet, Sang looking thro' his prison bars ? Exquisite Margaret, who can tell The last wild thought of Chatelet, Just ere the falling axe did part The burning brain from the true heart. Even in her sight he loved so well ? xii ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE X. ROSALIND 59 My Rosalind, my Rosalind, My frolic falcon, with bright eyes. Whose free delight, from any height of rapid flight, Stoops at all game that wing the skies. XI. ELEANORE 63 Thy dark eyes open'd not. Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air. For there is nothing here, A^hich, from the outward to the inward brought. Moulded thy baby thought. XII. KATE 71 I know her by her angry air. Her bright black eyes, her bright black hair. Her rapid laughters wild and shrill. As laughters of the woodpecker From the bosom of a hill. Xm. LADY CLARA VERB DE VERB ... 75 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear,your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care fi-om whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. XIV. ST. SIMEON STYLITBS .... 85 But yet Bethink thee. Lord, while thou and all the saints Enjoy themselves in heaven, and men on earth House in the shade of comfortable roofs. Sit with their wives by fires, eat wholesome food. And wear warm clothes, and even beasts have stalls, I, 'tween the spring and downfall of the light. Bow down one thousand and two hundred times. To Christ, the Virgin Mother, and the saints. xiii ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE XV. THE VISION OF SIN 93 " Bitter barmaid, waning fast ! See that sheets are on my bed ; What ! the flower of life is past : It is long before you wed." XVI. THE VISION OF SIN . . . . 97 " I am old, but let me drink ; Bring me spices, bring me wine ; I remember, when I think. That my youth was half divine." XVII. THE VISION OF SIN . 99 '' O ! we two as well can look Whited thought and cleanly life As the priest, above his book Leering at his neighbour's wife." XVIII. THE VISION OF SIN . . . . 103 " Fear not thou to loose thy tongue ; Set thy hoary fancies free ; What is loathsome to the young Savours well to thee and me." XIX. THE VISION OF SIN . 107 " Lo ! God's likeness — the ground-plan — Neither modell'd, glazed, nor framed : Buss me, thou rough sketch of man. Far too naked to be shamed ! " > XX. THE VISION OF SIN 109 " Youthful hopes, by scores^ to all. When the locks are crisp and curl'd ; Unto me my maudlin gall And my mockeries of the world." XXI. LADY CLARE 113 It was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe To give his cousin. Lady Clare. ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE XXII. SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE 121 Now on some twisted ivy-net. Now by some tinkling rivulet. In mosses mixt with violet Her cream-white mule his pastern set. XXIII. THE LADY OF SHALOTT . . . , 12S Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot ; And by the moon the reaper weary. Piling sheaves in uplands airy. Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott. " XXIV. THE DAY-DREAM . . 133 And would you have the thought I had. And see the vision that I saw. Then take the broidery-frame, and add A crimson to the quaint Macaw, And I will tell it. . . . XXV. THE DAY-DREAM . . . 137 ^ Here sits the Butler with a flask Between his knees, half-draiu'd ; and there The wrinkled steward at his task. The maid-of-honour blooming fair : The page has caught her' hand in his : Her lips are sever'd as to speak : His own are pouted to a kiss : The blush is fix'd upon her cheek. XXVI. THE DAY-DREAM ... 141 Year after year unto her feet. She lying on her couch alone. Across the purpled coverlet. The maiden's jet-black hair has grown. On either side her tranced form Forth streaming from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous light is i-ich and warm. And moves not on the rounded curl. ILLUSTRATIONS FAQE XXVII. THE DAY-DREAM 145 A touchy a kiss ! the charm was snapt. There rose a noise of striking clocks^ And feet that ran, and doors that clapt, And harking dogs^ and crowing cocks ; A fuller light illumined all, A hreeze thro' all the garden swept, A sudden hubbuh shook the hall. And sixty feet the fountain leapt. XXVIII. THE DAY-DREAM ... .149 So, Lady Flora, take my lay. And if you find no moral there. Go, look in any glass and say. What moral is in being fair. XXIX. GODIVA ...... 155 And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand. He answered, " Ride you naked thro' the town. And I repeal it ; " and nodding, as in scorn. He parted, with great strides among his dogs. XXX. GODIVA ... . . 159 Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : The deep air listen'd round her as she rode. And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout Had cunning eyes to see. XXXI. GODIVA . .... 161 And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, The fatal hyvrord. of all years to come. XXXII. A CHARACTER 166 And with a sweeping of the arm. And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye. Devolved his rounded periods. XXXIII. THE PALACE OF ART .169 xvi ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE ^XXIV. THE PALACE OF ART . . .173 Full of long-sounding coi'ridors it was, That over-vaulted grateful gloom, Thro' which the livelong day my soul did pass. Well-pleased, from room to room. XXXV. THE PALACE OF ART . . . .183 Full oft the riddle of the painful earth Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone. Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth. And intellectual throne. XXXVI. THE PALACE OF ART . .187 But in dark corners of her palace stood Uncertain shapes, and unawares On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of hlood. And horrible nightmares. And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame. And, with dim fretted foreheads all. On corpses three-months-old at noon she came. That stood against the wall. XXXVII. THE GOOSE 191 I knew an old wife lean and poor, Her rags scarce held together ; There strode a stranger to the door. And it was windy weather. He held a goose upon his arm. He utter'd rhyme and reason, " Hei-e, take the goose, and keep you warm. It is a stormy season." XXXVIII. THE GOOSE ... 193 And feeding high, and living soft. Grew plump and able-bodied ; Until the grave churchwarden doif d. The parson smirk'd and nodded. XVii ILLUSTRATIONS XXXIX. THE GOOSE 197 Then yelp'd the cur^ and yawl'd the cat ; Ran Gaffer, stumhled Gammer. The goose flew this way and flew that. And fiU'd the house with clamour. As head and heels upon the floor They flounder'd all together. There strode a stranger to the door, And it was windv weather. XL. THE GOOSE 199 And while on all sides breaking loose Her household fled the danger. Quoth she, " The Devil take the goose. And God forget the stranger ! " xvm To the Queen Revered, beloved — O you that hold A nobler office upon earth Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old, Victoria, — since your Royal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the brows Of him that utter'd nothing base ; And should your greatness, and the care That yokes with empire, yield you time To make demand of modern rhyme If aught of ancient worth be th6re ; Then — ^while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls, Where all about your palace-waUs The sun-ht almond-blossom shakes — TO THE QUEEN Take, Madam, this poor book of song ; For tho' the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust Your kindness. May you rule us long, And leave us rulers of your blood As noble tiU the latest day ! May children of our children say, " She wrought her people lasting good ; " Her court was pure ; her life serene ; God gave her peace ; her land reposed ; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife and Queen ; " And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet " By shaping some august decree. Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will. And compass'd by the inviolate sea." A Dream of Fair Women I READ, before my eyelids dropt their shade, " The Legend of Gtood Women,''' long ago Sung by the morning star of song, who made His music heard below ; II Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet> breath Preluded those melodious bursts, that fiU The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo stUl. Ill And, for a while, the knowledge of his art Held me above the subject, as strong gales Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' my heart. Brimful of those wild tales, 3 \ A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN IV Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land I saw, wherever light Ulumineth, Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand ^ The downward slope to death. Those far-renowned brides of ancient song Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars. And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and wrong, And trumpets blown for wars ; Yl And clattering flints batter'd with clanging hoofs : And I saw crowds in column'd sanctuaries ; And forms that pass'd at windows and on roofs Of marble palaces ; VII Corpses across the threshold ; heroes tall Dislodging pinnacle and parapet Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall ; Lances in ambush set ; VIII And high shrine-doors burst thro' with heated blasts. That run before the fluttering tongues of fire ; White surf wind-scatter'd over sails and masts, And ever chmbing higher ; 4 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN IX Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes, Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates. And hush'd seraglios. X So shape chased shape as swift as, when to land Bluster the winds and tides the self-same way. Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand, Torn from the fringe of spray. XI I started once, or seem'd to start in pain. Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak. As when a ''great thought strikes along the brain, And flushes all the cheek. XII And once my arm was lifted to hew down A cavaUer from off his saddle-bow. That bore a lady from a leaguer'd town ; And then, I know not how, XIII AU those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing thought Stream'd onward, lost their edges, and did creep RoU'd on each other, rounded, smooth'd, and brought Into the gulfs of sleep. 5 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XIV At last methought that I had wander'd far In an old wood : fresh-wash'd in coolest dew. The maiden splendours of the morning star Shook in the stedfast blue. XV Enormous elm-tree-boles did stoop and lean Upon the dusky brushwood underneath Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, New froin its silken sheath. XVI The dim red morn had died, her journey done. And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain, Half-faU'n across the threshold of the sun, Never to rise again. XVII There was no motion in the dumb dead air, Not any song of bird or sound of rill ; Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre Is not so deadly still XVIII As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine turn'd Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, And at the root thro' lush green grasses burn'd The red anemone. 6 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN At length I saw a lady within call^ , Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there ; A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair. A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XIX I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew The tearful ghmmer of the languid dawn On those long, rank, dark wood-walks drench'd in dew, Leading from lawn to lawn. XX The smeU of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remember to have been Joyful and free from blame. XXI And from within me a clear under-tone ThriU'd thro' mine ears in that unblissful chme " Pass freely thro' : the wood is all thine own. Until the end of time."' XXII At length I saw a lady within call, Stiller than chiseU'd marble, standing there ; A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair. XXIII Her loveliness with shame and with surprise Froze my swift speech : she turning on my face The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes. Spoke slowly in her place. 9 y A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN '* K^ XXIV " I had great beauty : ask thou not my name : No one can be more wise than destiny. Many drew swords and died. Where'er I came I brought calamity." XXV " No marvel, sovereign lady : in fair field Myself for such a face had boldly died," I answer'd free ; and turning I appeal'd To one that stood beside. XXVI But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, \ {? To her full height her stately stature draws ;\^J " My youth," she said, " was blasted with a curse : This woman was the cause. XXVII " I was cut off from hope in that sad place, Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears : My father held his hand upon his face ; I, blinded with my tears, XXVIII " Still strove to speak : ray voice was thick with sighs As in a dream. Dimly I could descry The stern black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes. Waiting to see me die. 10 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XXIX " The high masts flickered as they lay afloat ; The crowds, the temples, waver'd, and the shore ; The bright death quiver'd at the victim's throat ; Touch'd ; and I knew no more." XXX Whereto the other with a downward brow : " I would the white cold heavy-plunging foam, Whirl'd by the wind, had roll'd me deep below, Then when I left my home." XXXI Her slow full words sank thro' the silence drear. As thunder-drops fall on a sleeping sea : Sudden I heard a voice that cried, " Come here, That I may look on thee." XXXII I turning saw, throned on a flowery rise, One sitting on a crimson scarf unroU'd ; A queen, with swarthy cheeks and bold black eyes, Brow-bound with burning gold. XXXIII She, flashing forth a haughty smile, began : " I govern'd men by change, and so I sway'd All moods. 'Tis long since I have seen a man. Once, like the moon, I made 11 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XXXIV " The ever-shifting currents of the blood According to my humour ebb and flow. I have no men to govern in this wood : , ,^ Tliat makes my only woe. \^ XXXV " Nay — yet it chafes me that I could not bend One will ; nor tame and tutor with mine eye That dull cold-blooded Caesar. Prythee, friend, Where is Mark Antony ? XXXVI " The man, my lover, with whom I rode subUme On Fortune's neck : we sat as God by God : The Nilus would have risen before his time And flooded at our nod. XXXVII " We drank the Libyan sun to sleep, and lit Lamps which outburn'd Canopus. O my life In Egypt ! O the dalliance and the wit, The flattery and the strife, XXXVIII " And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's alarms. My Hercules, my Roman Antony, My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms. Contented there to die ! 12 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN (With that she tore her robe apartj and half The polish' d argent of her breast to sight Laid bare. Thereto she pointed with a laugh, Showing the aspick's bite.) A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XXXIX " And there he died : and when I heard my name Sigh'd forth with Ufe I would not brook fear : Of the other : with a worm I balked his fame. What else was left ? look here ! " XL (With that she tore her robe apart, and half The pohsh'd argent of her breast to sight Laid bare. Thereto she pointed with a laugh, Showing the aspick's bite) XLI " I died a Queen. The Roman soldier found Me lying dead, my crown about my brows, A name for ever ! — lying robed and crown'd. Worthy a Roman spouse." XLII Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range Struck by all passion, did fall down and glance From tone to tone, and glided thro' all change Of liveliest utterance. XLIII When she made pause I knew not for delight ; Because with sudden motion from the ground She raised her piercing orbs, and fiU'd with light The interval of sound. 15 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XLIV Still with their fires Love tipt his keenest darts ; As once they drew into two burning rings All beams of Love, melting the mighty hearts Of captains and of kings. XLV Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard A noise of some one coming thro' the lawn, And singing clearer than the crested bird, That claps his wings at dawn. XI.VI " The torrent brooks of hallow'd Israel From craggy hollows pouring, late and soon, Sound all night long, in falling thro' the dell. Far-heard beneath the moon. XL VII " The balmy moon of blessed Israel Floods aU the deep-blue gloom with beams divine : All night the splinter'd crags that wall the dell With spires of silver shine." XLVIII As one that museth where broad sunshine laves The lawn by some cathedral, thro' the door Hearing the holy organ rolling waves Of sound on roof and floor 16 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN XLIX Within, and anthem sung, is charm'd and tied To where he stands, — so stood I, when that flow Of music left the lips of her that died To save her father's vow ; The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, A maiden pure ; as when she went along From Mizpeh's tower'd gate with welcome light. With timhrel and with song. My words leapt forth : " Heaven heads the count of crimes With that wild oath." She render'd answer high : " Not so, nor once alone ; a thousand times I would be born and die. LII " Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root Creeps to the garden water-pipes beneath, Feeding the flower ; but ere my flower to fruit Changed, I was ripe for death. LIII " My God, my land, my father — these did move Me from my bliss of life, that Nature gave, Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love Down to a silent grave. c 17 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN LIV " And I went mourning, ' No fair Hebrew boy Shall smile away my maiden blame among The Hebrew mothers ' — emptied of all joy, Leaving the dance and song, LV " Leaving the olive-gardens far below, Leaving the promise of my bridal bower, The valleys of grape-loaded vines that glow Beneath the battled tower. LVI " The light white cloud swam over us. Anon We heard the Uon roaring from his den ; We saw the large white stars rise one by one. Or, from the darken'd glen, LVII " Saw God divide the night with flying flame, And thunder on the everlasting hills. I heard Him, for He spake, and grief became A solemn scorn of ills. LVIII " When the next moon was roU'd into the sky, Strength came to me that equall'd my desire. How beautiful a thing it was to die For God and for my sire ! 18 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN " It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, That I subdued me to my father's will ; Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, Sweetens the spirit still. LX " Moreover it is written that my race Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer On Arnon unto Minneth." Here her face Glow'd, as I look'd at her. LXI She lock'd her lips : she left me where I stood : " Glory to God," she sang, and past afar, Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood. Toward the morning-star. LXII Losing her carol I stood pensively, As one that from a casement leans his head. When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly. And the old year is dead. LXIII " Alas ! alas ! " a low voice, full of care, Murmur'd beside me : " Turn and look on me I am that Rosamond, whom inen call fair. If what I was I be. 19 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN LXIV " Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor ! O me, that I should ever see the light ! Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor Do hunt me, day and night." LXV She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and trust : To whom the Egyptian : " O, you tamely died ! You should have clung to Fulvia's waist, and thrust The dagger thro' her side." LXVI With that sharp sound the white dawn's creeping beams, Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the mystery Of folded sleep. The captain of my dreams Ruled in the eastern sky. LXVII Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark. Ere I saw her, who clasp'd in her last trance Her murder'd father's head, or Joan of Arc, A light of ancient France ; LXVIII Or her, who knew that Love can vanquish Death, Who kneeUng, with one arm about her king, Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, Sweet as new buds in Spring. 20 A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN LXIX No memory labours longer from the deep Gold-mines of thought to lift the hidden ore That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep To gather and teU o'er LXX Each httle sound and sight. With what dull pain Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike Into that wondrous track of dreams again ! But no two dreams are like. LXXI As when a soul laments, which hath been blest, Desiring what is mingled with past years. In yearnings that can never be exprest By signs or groans or tears ; LXXII Because all words, tho' cuU'd with choicest art, FaiUng to give the bitter of the sweet. Wither beneath the palate, and the heart Faints, faded by its heat. 21 Claribel. A Melody Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall : But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony. Where Claribel low-lieth. II At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone : At noon the wild bee hummeth About the moss'd headstone : At midnight the moon cometh. And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth. The callow throstle lispeth. The slumbrous wave outwelleth, The babbhng runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth. 22 LILIAN Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Qaps her tiny hands above me. Laughing all she can ; She'll not tell me if she love me. Cruel little LiUan. Lilian Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Claps her tiny hands above me. Laughing all she can ; She'll not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian. 11^ When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs. She, looking thro' and thro' me Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks : So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple. From beneath her gathered wirriple Glancing with black-beaded eyes. Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks ; Then away she flies. 25 LILIAN III Prythee weep, May Lilian ! Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian : Thro' my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth : Prythee weep. May Lilian. IV Praying all I can. If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, Fairy Lilian. 26 ISABEL Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clearTpointed flame of chastity, Qear, without heat, undjdng, tended by Pure vesta;! thoughts in the translucent fane Of her still spirit ; locks not wide-dispread. Madonna-wise on either side her head. Isabel Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clear-pointed flame of chastity. Clear, without heat, undying, tended by Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane Of her still spirit ; locks not wide-dispread, Madonna- wise on either side her head ; Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign The summer calm of golden charity, Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood. Revered Isabel, the crown and head. The stately flower of female fortitude. Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. II The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime ; a prudence to withhold ; The laws of marriage character'd in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her heart ; A love still burning upward, giving light To read those laws ; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow 29 ISABEL Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride ; A courage to endure and to obey ; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid life. The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. Ill The mellow'd reflex of a winter moon ; A clear stream flowing with a muddy one. Till in its onward current it absorbs With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother : A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite. With cluster'd flower-beUs and ambrosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other — Shadow forth thee : — the world hath not another (Tho' all her fairest forms are types of thee. And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity. 30 MARIANA She only said, " My life is dreary, He Cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " Mariana " Mariana in the moated grange.'' Measure for Measure. With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, " My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " II Her tears fell with the dews at even ; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. D 83 MARIANA After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, " The night is dreary, He Cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " III Upon the middle of the night. Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : The cock sung out an hour ere light : From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her : without hope of change. In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn. Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, " The day is dreary, He Cometh not," she said ; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " IV About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small. The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. 34 MARIANA Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark : For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray. She only said, " My hfe is dreary. He Cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " And ever when the moon was low. And the shrill winds were up and away. In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low. And wild winds bound within their cell. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, " The night is dreary. He Cometh not," she said; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " VI All day within the dreamy house. The doors upon their hinges creak'd ; The blue fly sung in the pane ; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, 35 MARIANA Or from the crevice peer'd about. Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without. She only said, " My life is dreary, He Cometh not," she said ; She said, " I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! " Vll The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, " I am very dreary. He will not come," she said ; She wept, " I am aweary, aweary, Oh God, that I were dead ! " 36 Mariana in the South With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, Close-latticed to the brooding heat, And silent in its dusty vines : A faint-blue ridge upon the right. An empty river-bed before. And shallows on a distant shore, In glaring sand and inlets bright. But " Ave Mary," made she moan. And " Ave Mary," night and morn. And " Ah," she sang, " to be aU alone. To hve forgotten, and love forlorn." II She, as her carol sadder grew. From brow and bosom slowly down Thro' rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown 37 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH To left and right, and made appear, Still-lighted in a secret shrine, Her melancholy eyes divine, The home of woe without a tear. And " Ave Mary," was her moan, " Madonna, sad is night and morn," And " Ah," she sang, " to be aU alone. To live forgotten, and love forlorn." Ill Till all the crimson changed, and past Into deep orange o'er the sea. Low on her knees herself she cast, Before Our Lady murmur 'd she ; Complaining, " Mother, give me grace To help ine of my weary load." And on the liquid mirror glow'd The clear perfection of her face. " Is this the form," she made her moan, " That won his praises night and morn ? " And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." IV Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat. Nor any cloud would cross the vault,] But day increased from heat to heat. On stony drought and steaming salt ; 38 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH " Is this the form/' she made her moan, " That won his praises night and mom ? ' And " Ah," she said, " but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." iiSr^V^ MARIANA IN THE SOUTH Till now at noon she slept again. And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass, And heard her native breezes pass, And runlets babbling down the glen. She breathed in sleep a lower moan. And murmuring, as at night and morn. She thought, " My spirit is here alone, Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." V Dreaming, she knew it was a dream : She felt he was and was not there. She woke : the babble of the stream Fell, and, without, the steady glare Shrank one sick ohve sere and small. The river-bed was dusty-white ; And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the bUnding wall. She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, " Sweet Mother, let me not here alone Live forgotten and die forlorn." VI And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth. For " Love," they said, " must needs be true. To what is loveliest upon earth." 41 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH An image seem'd to pass the door, To look at her with slight, and say, " But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore." " O cruel heart," she changed her tone, " And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn ! " VII But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pass the door. To look into her eyes and say, "But thou shalt be alone no more." And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall. " The day to night," she made her moan, " The day to night, the night to morn. And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn." VIII At eve a dry cicala sung. There came a sound as of the sea ; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony. 42 MARIANA IN THE SOUTH There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening thro' the silent spheres, , Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her moan, " The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 43 Madeline Thou art not steep 'd in golden languors, No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thro' light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers. And airy forms of flitting change. II Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore. Revealings deep and clear are thine Of wealthy smiles : but who may know Whether smile or frown be fleeter ? Whether smile or frown be sweeter. Who may know ? Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Light-glooming over eyes divine, Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine. Ever varying Madeline. Thy smile and frown are not aloof From one another. Each to each is dearest brother ; 44 MADELINE Thou art not steep'd in golden languors, No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever varying Madeline. MADELINE Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other. All the mystery is thine ; Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore. Ever varying Madeline. Ill A subtle, sudden flame, By veering passion fann'd, About thee breaks and dances ; When I would kiss thy hand. The flush of anger'd shame O'erflows thy calmer glances. And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown : But when I turn away, Thou, willing me to stay, Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest ; But, looking fixedly the while, All my bounding heart entanglest In a golden-netted smile ; Then in madness and in bliss. If my lips should dare to kiss Thy taper fingers amorously. Again thou blushest angerly ; And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown. 47 Adeline 1 Mystery of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor aU divine. Nor unhappy, nor at rest. But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair ; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adehne ? II Whence that aery bloom of thine. Like a lily which the sun Looks thro' in his sad decline. And a rose-bush leans upon, Thou that faintly smilest still. As a Naiad in a well, Looking at the set of day. Or a phantom two hours old Of a maiden past away, Ere the placid lips be cold ? Wherefore those faint smiles of thine. Spiritual Adeline ? 48 ADELINE What hope or fear or joy is thine ? Who talketh with thee, Adeline ? For sure thou art not all alone : Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own ? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings ? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews ? Or when little airs arise, How the merry bluebell rings To the mosses underneath ? Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise ? Wherefore that faint smile of thine. Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? ADELINE III What hope or fear or joy is thine ? Who talketh with thee, Adeline ? For sure thou art not all alone : Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own ? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings ? Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews ? Or when little airs arise, How the merry bluebell rings To the mosses jinderneath ? Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise ? Wherefore that faint smile of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? IV Some honey-converse feeds thy mind. Some spirit of a crimson rose In love with thee forgets to close His curtains, wasting odorous sighs All night long on darkness blind. What aileth thee ? whom waitest thou With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow. And those dew-lit eyes of thine, Thou faint smiler, Adeline ? 51 ADELINE Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies ? Doth |the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side o' the morn Dripping with Sabsan spice On thy pillow, lowy bent With melodious airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face. While his locks a-drooping twined Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays, And ye talk together still. In the langusH^e wherewith Spring Letters cowshps on the hiU ? Hence that look and smile of thine. Spiritual Adeline. 52 Margaret O SWEET pale Margaret, O rare pale Margaret, What lit your eyes with tearful power, Like moonlight on a falling shower ? Who lent you, love, your mortal dower Of pensive thought and aspect pale, Your melancholy sweet and frail As perfume of the cuckoo-flower ? From the westward-winding flood, From the evening-lighted wood. From all things outward you have won A tearful grace, as tho' you stood Between the rainbow and the sun. The very smile before you speak. That dimples your transparent cheek, Encircles all the heart, and feedeth The senses with a still delight Of dainty sorrow without sound, Like the tender amber round. Which the moon about her spreadeth, Moving thro' a fleecy night. 53 MARGARET You love, remaining peacefully. To hear the murmur of the strife, But enter not the toil of life. Your spirit is the calmed sea, Laid by the tumult of the fight. You are the evening star, alway Remaining betwixt dark and bright : LuU'd echoes of laborious day Come to you, gleams of mellow light Float by you on the verge of night. What can it matter, Margaret, What songs below the waning stars The lion-heart, Plantagenet, Sang looking thro' his prison bars ? Exquisite Margaret, who can tell The last wild thought of Chatelet, Just ere the falling axe did part The burning brain from the true heart. Even in her sight he loved so well ? A fairy shield your Genius made And gave you on your natal day. Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade, Keeps real sorrow far away. You move not in such solitudes, You are not less divine, But more human in your moods. Than your twin-sister, Adeline. 54 MARGARET What can it matter, Margaret, What songs below the waning stars The hon-heart, Plantagenet, Sang looking thro' his prison bars ? Exquisite Margaret, who can tell The last wild thought of Chatelet, Just ere the falling axe did part The burning brain from the true heart. Even in her sight he loved so well ? Edmund- J- Sujii- WAN 99 MARGARET Your hair is darker, and your eyes Touch'd with a somewhat darker hue, And less aerially blue, But ever trembling thro' the dew Of dainty- woeful sympathies. O sweet pale Margaret, O rare pale Margaret, Come down, come down, and .hear me speak Tie up the ringlets on your cheek : The sun is just about to set. The arching limes are tall and shady. And faint, rainy lights are seen. Moving in the leavy beech. Rise from the feast of sorrow, lady. Where aU day long you sit between Joy and woe, and whisper each. Or only look across the lawn. Look out below your bower-eaves. Look down, and let your blue eyes dawn Upon me thro' the jasmine-leaves. 57 Rosalind My Rosalind, my Rosalind, My frolic falcon, with bright eyes. Whose free delight, from any height of rapid flight, Stoops at all game that wing the skies. My Rosalind, my Rosalind, My bright-eyed, wild-eyed falcon, whither. Careless both of wind and weather, Whither fly ye, what game spy ye. Up or down the streaming wind ? II The quick lark's closest-caroU'd strains. The shadow rushing up the sea. The lightning flash atween the rains. The sunlight driving down the lea, The leaping stream, the very wind. That will not stay, upon his way, To stoop the cowslip to the plains. Is not so clear and bold and free As you, my falcon Rosalind. 58 ROSALIND My Rosalind, niy Rosalind, My frolic falcon, with bright eyes. Whose free delight, from any height of rapid flight. Stoops at all game that wing the skies. ROSALIND You care not for another's pains, Because you are the soul of joy, Bright metal all without alloy. Life shoots and glances thro' your veins, And flashes oiF a thousand ways, Thro' lips and eyes in subtle rays. Your hawk-eyes are keen and bright. Keen with triumph, watching stiU To pierce me thro' with pointed light ; But oftentimes they flash and gUtter Like sunshine on a dancing rill. And your words are seeming-bitter. Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter From excess of swift deUght. Ill Come down, come home, my Rosahnd, My gay young hawk, my Rosalind : Too long you keep the upper skies ; Too long you roam and wheel at will ; But we must hood your random eyes. That care not whom they kiU, And your cheek, whose brilliant hue Is so sparkling-fresh to view. Some red heath-flower in the dew, Touch'd with sunrise. We must bind And keep you fast, my Rosalind, Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind, 61 ROSALIND And clip your wings, and make you love : When we have lured you from above, And that delight of frolic flight, by day or night. From, North to South, We'll bind you fast in silken cords. And kiss away the bitter words From off your rosy mouth. 62 ELEANORE Thy dark eyes open'd not. Nor first reveal' d themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought. Moulded thy baby thought. Ele£ anore Thy dark eyes open'd not Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought. Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighbourhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades : And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought. At the moment of thy birth. From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills. And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore, The choicest wealth of all the earth. Jewel or shell, or starry ore, To deck thy cradle, Eleanore. .F 65 ELEANORE II Or the yellow-banded bees, Thro' half-open lattices Coming in the scented breeze, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in fairy gardens cuU'd- A glorious child, dreaming alone, In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming bees Into dreamful slumber luU'd. Ill Who may minister to thee ? Summer herself should minister To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded On golden salvers, or it may be. Youngest Autumn, in a bower Grape-thicken'd from the light, and blinded With many a deep-hued bell-like flower Of fragrant trailers, when the air Sleepeth over all the heaven. And the crag that fronts the Even, All along the shadowing shore. Crimsons over an inland mere, Eleanore ! 66 ELEANORE IV How may full-sail'd verse express. How may measured words adore The full-flowing harmony Of thy swan-like stateliness, Eleanore ? The luxuriant symmetry Of thy floating gracefulness, Eleanore ? Every turn and glance of thine. Every Uneament divine, Eleanore, And the steady sunset glow, That stays upon thee ? For in thee Is nothing sudden, nothing single ; Like two streams of incense free From one censer, in one shrine, Thought and motion mingle, Mingle ever. Motions flow To one another, even as tho' They were modulated so To an unheard melody. Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other mellow-deep ; Who may express thee, Eleanore ? 67 ELEANORS V I stand before thee, Eleanore ; I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while Slowly, as from a cloud of gold. Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies. To stand apart, and to adore. Gazing on thee for evermore. Serene, imperial Eleanore ! VI Sometimes, with most intensity Gazing, I seem to see Thought folded over thought, smUing asleep. Slowly awaken'd, grow so full and deep In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite, I cannot veil, or droop my sight. But am as nothing in its light : As tho' a star, in inmost heaven set, Ev'n while we gaze on it. Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun remain Fix'd — then as slowly fade again, 68 ELEANORE And draw itself to what it was before ; So full, so deep, so slow. Thought seems to come and go In thy large eyes, imperial Eleanore. VII As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roof d the world with doubt and fear. Floating thro' an evening atmosphere. Grow golden aU about the sky ; In thee all passion becomes passionless, Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight. And luxury of contemplation : As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still Shadow forth the banks at will ; Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land. With motions of the outer sea ; And the self-same influence Controlleth aU the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bow-string slacken 'd, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, 69 ELEANORE And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleanore. VIII But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined. While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon ; Or, in a shadowy saloon. On silken cushions half reclined ; I watch thy grace ; and in its place My heart a charmed slumber keeps. While I muse upon thy face ; And a languid fire creeps Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly : soon From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth ; and then, as in a swoon. With dinning sound my ears are rife. My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with dehrious draughts of warmest hfe. I die with my dehght, before I hear what I would hear from thee ; Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore. So dying ever, Eleanore. 70 KATE I know her by her angry air, Her bright black eyes, her bright black hair. Her rapid laughters wild and shrill. As laughters of the woodpecker From the bosom of a hill. Kate I KNOW her by her angry air, Her bright black eyes, her bright black hair, Her rapid laughters wild and shrill. As laughters of the woodpecker From the bosom of a hill. 'Tis Kate — she sayeth what she will : For Kate hath an unbridled tongue, Clear as the twanging of a harp. Her heart is like a throbbing star. Kate hath a spirit ever strung Like a new bow, and bright and sharp As edges of the scymetar. Whence shall she take a fitting mate ? For Kate no common love will feel ; My woman-soldier, gallant Kate, As pure and true as blades of steel. Kate saith "the world is void of might." Kate saith " the men are gilded flies." Kate snaps her fingers at my vows ; Kate will not hear of lover's sighs. 73 KATE I would I were an armdd knight, Farfamed for wellwon enterprise, And wearing on my swarthy brows The garland of new-wreathed emprise ; For in a moment I would pierce The blackest files of clanging fight, And strongly strike to left and right. In dreaming of my lady's eyes. Oh ! Kate loves well the bold and fierce ; But none are bold enough for Kate, She cannot find a fitting mate. 74 LADY CLARA VERB DE VERE Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I linow you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine. Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Of me you shall not win renown : You thought to break a country heart For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled I saw the snare, and I retired : The daughter of a hundred Earls, You are not one to be desired. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name. Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that doats on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind. 77 LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Oh your sweet eyes, your low rephes : A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view. She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear ; Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a spectre in your hall : The guilt of blood is at your door : You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse. To make him trust his modest worth, 78 LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets. And simple faith than Nornaan blood. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, You pine among your halls and towers : The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth. But sickening of a vague disease. You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If time be heavy on your hands. Are there no beggars at your gate. Nor any poor about your lands ? Oh ! teach the orphan-boy to read. Or teach the orphan-girl to sew. Pray Heaven for a human heart. And let the foolish yeoman go. 79 St. Simeon Stylites Altho' I be the basest of mankind. From scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin, Unfit for earth, unfit for heaven, scarce meet For troops of devils, mad with blasphemy, I wiU not cease to grasp the hope I hold Of saintdom, and to clamour, mourn and sob. Battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer. Have mercy. Lord, and take away my sin. Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God, This not be all in vain, that thrice ten years. Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs. In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold, In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes and cramps, A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud. Patient on this tall pillar I have borne Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow ; And I had hoped that ere this period closed Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest. Denying not these weather-beaten limbs The meed of saints, the white robe and the palm. 80 ST. SIMEON STYLITES O take the meaning, Lord : I do not breathe, Not whisper, any murmur of complaint. Pain heap'd ten-hundred-fold to this, were still Less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear, Than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'd My spirit flat before thee. O Lord, Lord, Thou knowest I bore this better at the first. For I was strong and hale of body then ; And tho' my teeth, which now are dropt away. Would chatter with the cold, and all my beard Was tagg'd with icy fringes in the moon, I drown'd the whoopings of the owl with sound Of pious hymns and psalms, and sometimes saw An angel stand and watch me, as 1 sang. Now am I feeble grown ; my end draws nigh ; I hope my end draws nigh : half deaf I am. So that I scarce can hear the people hum About the column's base, and almost blind. And scarce can recognise the fields I know ; And both my thighs are rotted with the dew , Yet cease I not to clamour and to cry. While my stiff spine can hold my weary head, TiU all my limbs drop piecemeal from the stone. Have mercy, mercy : take away my sin. O Jesus, if thou wilt not save my soul. Who may be saved ? who is it may be saved ? G 81 ST. SIMEON STYLITES Who may be made a saint, if I fail here ? Show me the man hath suffer'd more than I. For did not all thy martyrs die one death ? For either they were stoned, or crucified. Or burn'd in fire, or boil'd in oil, or sawn In twain beneath the ribs ; but I die here To-day, and whole years long, a life of death. Bear witness, if I could have found a way (And heedfully I sifted all my thought) More slowly-painful to subdue this home Of sin, my flesh, which I despise and hate, I had not stinted practice, O my God. For not alone this pillar-punishment. Not this alone I bore : but while I lived In the white convent down the valley there. For many weeks about my loins I wore The rope that haled the buckets from the well, Twisted as tight as I could knot the noose ; And spake not of it to a single soul. Until the ulcer, eating thro' my skin, Betray'd my secret penance, so that all My brethren marveU'd greatly. More than this I bore, whereof, O God, thou knowest all. Three winters, that my soul might grow to thee, I lived up there on yonder mountain side. My right leg chain'd into the crag, I lay Pent in a roofless close of ragged stones ; 82 ST. SIMEON STYLITES Inswathed sometimes in wandering mist, and twice Black'd with thy branding thunder, and sometimes Sucking the damps for drink, and eating not. Except the spare chance-gift of those that came To touch my body and be heal'd, and Uve : And they say then that I work'd miracles, Whereof my fame is loud amongst mankind, Cured lameness, palsies, cancers. Thou, O God, Knowest alone whether this was or no. Have mercy, mercy ; cover aU my sin. Then, that I might be more alone with thee, Three years I hved upon a pillar, high Six cubits, and three years on one of twelve ; And twice three years I crouch'd on one that rose Twenty by measure ; last of all, I grew Twice ten long weary weary years to this, That numbers forty cubits from-the soil. I think that I have borne as much as this — Or else I dream — and for so long a time. If I may measure time by yon slow light. And this high dial, which my sorrow crowns — So much — even so. And yet I know not well. For that the evil ones come here, and say, " Fall down, O Simeon : thou hast sufFer'd long For ages and for ages ! " then they prate 83 ST. SIMEON STYLITES Of penances I cannot have gone thro'. Perplexing me with lies ; and oft I faU, Maybe for months, in such blind lethargies, That Heaven, and Earth, and Time are choked. But yet Bethink thee. Lord, while thou and all the saints Enjoy themselves in heaven, and men on earth House in the shade of comfortable roofs, Sit with their wives by fires, eat wholesome food. And wear warm clothes, and even beasts have stalls, I, 'tween the spring and downfall of the light. Bow down one thousand and two hundred times. To Christ, the Virgin Mother, and the Saints ; Or in the night, after a Uttle sleep, I wake : the chiU stars sparkle ; I am wet With drenching dews, or stiff with crackling frost. I wear an undress'd goatskin on my back ; A grazing iron collar grinds my neck ; And in my weak, lean arms I lift the cross. And strive and wrestle with thee till I die : O mercy, mercy ! wash away my sin. O Lord, thou knowest what a man I am ; A sinful man, conceived and born in sin : 'Tis their own doing ; this is none of mine ; Lay it not to me. Am I to blame for this. That here come those that worship me ? Ha ! ha ! They think that I am somewhat. What am I ? 84 ST. SIMEON STYLITES But yet Bethink thee, Lord, while thou and all the saints Enjoy themselves in heaven, and men on earth House in the shade of comfortable roofs. Sit with their wives by fires, eat wholesome food. And wear warm clothes, and even beasts have stalls, I, 'tween the spring and downfall of };he light. Bow down one thousand and two hundred times, To Christ, the Virgin Mother, and the saints ; ST. SIMEON STYLITES The silly people take me for a saint, And bring me offerings of fruit and flowers : And I, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here) Have all in all endured as much, and more Than many just and holy men, whose names Are register'd and calendar'd for saints. Good people, you do ill to kneel to me. What is it I can have done to merit this ? I am a sinner viler than you all. It may be I have wrought some miracles. And cured some halt and maim'd ; but what of that? It may be, no one, even among the saints. May match his pains. with mine ; but what of that? Yet do not rise : for you may look on me. And in your looking you may kneel to God. Speak ! is there any of you halt or maim'd ? I think you know I have some power with Heaven From my long penance : let him speak his wish. Yes, I can heal him. Power goes forth from me. They say that they are heal'd. Ah, hark ! they shout " St. Simeon Stylites." Why, if so, God reaps a harvest in me. O my soul, God reaps a harvest in thee. If this be, Can I work miracles and not be saved ? This is not told of any. They were saints. It cannot be but that I shall be saved ; Yea, crown'd a saint. They shout, "Behold a saint ! " 87 ST. SIMEON STYLITES And lower voices saint me from above. Courage, Slj. Simeon ! This dull chrysalis Cracks into shining wings, and hope ere death Spreads more and more and more, that God hath now Sponged and made blank of crimeful record all My mortal archives. O my sons, my sons, I, Simeon of the pillar, by surname Stylites, among men ; I, Simeon, The watcher on the column till the end ; I, Simeon, whose brain the sunshine bakes ; I, whose bald brows in silent hours become Unnaturally hoar with rime, do now From my high nest of penance here proclaim That Pontius and Iscariot by my side Show'd like fair seraphs. On the coals I lay, A vessel full of sin : all hell beneath Made me boil over. Devils pluck'd my sleeve ; Abaddon and Asmodeus caught at me. I smote them with the cross ; they swarm'd again. In bed like monstrous apes they crush'd my chest. They flapp'd my hght out as I read : I saw Their faces grow between me and my book : With colt-like whinny and with hoggish whine They burst my prayer. Yet this way was left. And by this way I 'scaped them. Mortify Your flesh, hke me, with scourges and with thorns ; Smite, shrink not, spare not. If it may be, fast 88 ST. SIMEON STYLITES Whole Lents, and pray. I hardly, with slow steps, With slow, faint steps, and much exceeding pain, Have scrambled past those pits of fire, that stiU Sing in mine ears. But yield not me the praise : God only thro' his bounty hath thought fit. Among the powers and princes of this world, To make me an example to mankind. Which few can reach to. Yet I do not say But that a time may come — yea, even now, Now, now, his footsteps smite the threshold stairs Of life — I say, that time is at the doors When you may worship me without reproach ; For I wiU leave my relics in your land. And you may carve a shrine about my dust, And burn a fragrant lamp before my bones, When I am gather'^ to the glorious saints. While I spake then, a sting of shrewdest pain Ran shrivelling thro' me, and a cloudlike change, In passing, with a grosser film made thick These heavy, horny eyes. The end ! the end ! Surely the end ! What's here ? a shape, a shade, A flash of light. Is that the angel there That holds a crown ? Come, blessed brother, come. I know thy ghttering face. I waited long ; My brows are ready. What ! deny it now ? Nay, draw, draw, draw nigh. Sol clutch it. Christ ! 'Tis gone : 'tis here again ; the crown ! the crown ! So now 'tis fitted on and grows to me, 89 ST. SIMEON STYLITES And from it melt the dews of Paradise, Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frank- incense. Ah ! let me not be fool'd, sweet saints : I trust That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven. Speak, if there be a priest, a man of God, Among you there, and let him presently Approach, and lean a ladder on the shaft, And climbing up into my airy home, Deliver me the blessed sacrament ; For by the warning of the Holy Ghost, I prophesy that I shall die to-night, A quarter before twelve. But thou, O Lord, Aid all this foohsh people ; let them take Example, pattern ; lead them to thy hght. 90 The Vision of Sin I HAD a vision when the night was late : A youth came riding toward a palace-gate. He rode a horse with wings, that would have flown, But that his heavy rider kept him down. And from the palace came a child of sin. And took him by the curls, and led him in, Where sat a company with heated eyes. Expecting when a fountain should arise : A sleepy light upon their brows and lips — As when the sun, a crescent of eclipse, , Dreams over lake and lawn, and isles and capes — Suffused them, sitting, lying, languid shapes. By heaps of gourds, and skins of wine, and piles of grapes. II Then methought I heard a mellow sound, Gathering up from all the lower ground ; Narrowing in to where they sat assembled Low voluptuous music winding trembled, 91 THE VISION OF SIN Wov'n in circles : they that heard it sigh'd, Panted hand-in-hand with faces pale, Swung themselves, and in low tones replied ; Till the fountain spouted, showering wide Sleet of diamond-drift and pearly hail ; Then the music touch'd the gates and died ; Rose again from where it seem'd to fail, Storm'd in orbs of song, a growing gale ; Till thronging in and in, to where they waited. As 'twere a hundred-throated nightingale. The strong tempestuous treble throbb'd and palpitated ; Ran into its giddiest whirl of sound. Caught the sparkles, and in circles. Purple gauzes, golden hazes, liquid'mazes, Flung the torrent rainbow round : Then they started from their places. Moved with violence, changed in hue, Caught each other with wild grimaces, Half-invisible to the view. Wheeling with precipitate paces To the melody, till they flew. Hair, and eyes, and limbs, and faces. Twisted hard in fierce embraces, Like to Furies, like to Graces, Dash'd together in blinding dew : Till, kill'd with some luxurious agony. The nerve-dissolving melody Flutter'd headlong from the sky. 92 THE VISION OF SIN " Bitter barmaid, waning fast ! See that sheets are on my bed ; What ! the flower of hfe is past : It is long before you wed." THE VISION OF SIN III And then I look'd up toward a mountain -tract, That girt the region with high cliff and lawn : I saw that every morning, far withdrawn Beyond the darkness and the cataract, God made Himself an awful rose of dawn. Unheeded : and detaching, fold by fold, From those still heights, and, slowly drawing near, A vapour heavy, hueless, formless, cold. Came floating on for many a month and year. Unheeded : and I thought I would have spoken, And warn'd that madman ere it grew too late : But as in dreams, I could not. Mine was broken, When that cold vapour touch'd the palace gate. And link'd again. I saw within my head A gray and gap-tooth'd man as lean as death. Who slowly rode across a wither'd heath, And lighted at a ruin'd inn, and said : IV " Wrinkled ostler, grim and thin ! Here is custom come your way ; Take my brute, and lead him in. Stuff his ribs with mouldy hay. " Bitter barmaid, waning fast ! See that sheets are on my bed ; What ! the flower of hfe is past : It is long before you wed. 95 THE VISION OF SIN " Slip-shod waiter, lank and sour, At The Dragon on the heath ! Let us have a quiet hour. Let us hob-and-nob with Death. " I am old, but let me drink ; Bring me spices, bring me wine ; I remember, when I think, That my youth was half divine. " Wine is good for shriveU'd lips. When a blanket wraps the day. When the rotten woodland drips. And the leaf is stamp'd in clay. " Sit thee down, and have no shame. Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee : What care I for any name ? What for order or degree ? " Let me screw thee up a peg : Let me loose thy tongue with wine Callest thou that thing a leg ? Which is thinnest ? thine or mine ? " Thou shalt not be saved by works : Thou hast been a sinner too : Ruin'd trunks on wither'd forks, Empty scarecrows, I and you ! 96 THE VISION OF SIN " I am old, but let me drink ; Bring me spices, bring me wine ; I remember, when I think, That my youth was half divine." THE VISION OF SIN ■ O ! we two as well can look Whited thought and cleanly life As the priest J above his book Leering at his neighbour's wife." THE VISION OF SIN " Fill the cup, and fill the can : Have a rouse before the morn : Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born, " We are men of ruin'd blood ; Therefore comes it we are wise. Fish are we that love the mud, Rising to no fancy-flies. " Name and fame ! to fly sublime Thro' the courts, the camps, the schools, Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied by the hands of fools. " Friendship ! — to be two in one — Let the canting liar pack ! Well I know, when I am gone. How she mouths behind my back. " Virtue ! — to be good and just — . Every heart, when sifted weU, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell. " O ! we two as well can look Whited thought and cleanly life As the priest, above his book Leering at his neighbour's wife. 101 THE VISION OF SIN " Fill the cup, and fill the can : Have a rouse before the morn : Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born. " Drink, and let the parties rave : They are fiU'd with idle spleen ; Rising, falling, like a wave, For they know not what they mean. " He that roars for liberty Faster binds a tyrant's power ; And the tyrant's cruel glee Forces on the freer hour. " Fill the can, and fill the cup : All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up. And is lightly laid again. " Greet her with applausive breath. Freedom, gaily doth she tread ; In her right a civic wreath, In her left a human head. " No, I love not what is new ; She is of an ancient house : And I think we know the hue Of that cap upon her brows. 102 THE VISION OF SIN ■ Fear not thou to loose thy tongue ; Set thy hoary fancies free ; What is loathsome to the young Savours well to thee and me." THE VISION OF SIN " Let her go ! her thirst she slakes Where the bloody conduit runs : Then her sweetest meal she makes On the first-born of her sons. " Drink to lofty hopes that cool — Visions of a perfect State : Drink we, last, the public fool. Frantic love and frantic hate. " Chant me now some wicked stave, Till thy drooping courage rise. And the glow-worm of the grave Glimmer in thy rheumy eyes. " Fear not thou to loose thy tongue ; Set thy hoary fancies free ; What is loathsome to the young Savours well to thee and me. " Change, reverting to the years. When thy nerves could understand What there is in loving tears. And the warmth of hand in hand. " Tell me tales of thy first love — April hopes, the fools of chance ; Till the graves begin to move, And the dead begin to dance. 105 THE VISION OF SIN " Fill the can, and fill the cup : All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again, " Trooping from their mouldy dens The chap-fallen circle spreads : Welcome, fellow-citizens. Hollow hearts and empty heads ! " You are bones, and what of that ? Every face, however fuU, Padded round with flesh and fat. Is but modell'd on a skull. " Death is king, and Vivat Rex ! Tread a measure on the stones, Madam — if I know your sex. From the fashion of your bones. " No, I cannot praise the fire In your eye — nor yet your Hp : All the more do I admire Joints of cunning workmanship. " Lo ! God's likeness — the ground-plan — Neither modell'd, glazed, nor framed : Buss me, thou rough sketch of man. Far too naked to be shamed ! 106 THE VJSION OF SIN ' Lo ! God's likeness — the ground-plan — Neither modell'd, glazed, nor framed : Buss me, thou rough sketch of man, Far too naked to be shamed ! " THE VISION OF SIN fouthful hopes, by scores, to all. When the locks are crisp and curl'd ; |nto me my maudlin gall \And my mockeries of the world." THE VISION OF SIN " Drink to Fortune, drink to Chance, While we keep a little breath ! Drink to heavy Ignorance ! Hob-and-nob with brother Death ! " Thou art mazed, the night is long. And the longer night is near : What ! I am not all as wrong As a bitter jest is dear. " Youthful hopes, by scores, to all, When the locks are crisp and curl'd ; Unto me my maudlin gaU And my mockeries of the world. " Fill the cup, and fill the can ! Mingle madness, mingle scorn ! Dregs of life, and lees of man : Yet we will not die forlorn." The voice grew faint : there came a further change : Once more uprose the mystic mountain-range : Below were men and horses pierced with worms. And slowly quickening into lower forms ; By shards and scurf of salt, aud scum of dross. Old plash of rains, and refuse patch 'd with moss. Then some one spake : " Behold ! it was a crime Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time." Ill THE VISION OF SIN Another said : " The crime of sense became The crime of malice, and is equal blame." And one: " He had not whoUy quench'd his power; A little grain of conscience made him sour." At last I heard a voice upon the slope Cry to the summit, " Is there any hope ? " To which an answer peal'd from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand ; And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made Himself an awful rose of dawn. 112 LADY CLARE It was the time when lilies blow. And clouds are highest up in air. Lord Ronald brought a Uly-white doe To give his cousin. Lady Clare. Lady Clare It was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe To give his cousin. Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn : Lovers long-betroth'd were they : They two will wed the morrow morn : God's blessing on the day ! " He does not love me for my. birth, Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; He loves me for my own true worth. And that is well," said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse, . Said, " Who was this that went from thee ? " " It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, " To-morrow he weds with me." 115 LADY CLARE " O God be thank'd ! " said Alice the nurse, " That all comes round so just and fair : Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, And you are not the Lady Clare." *' Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ? " Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild ? " " As God's above," said AUce the nurse, " I speak the truth : you are my child. " The old Earl's daughter died at my breast ; I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! I buried her hke my own sweet child, And put my child in her stead." " Falsely, falsely have ye done, O mother," she said, " if this be true, To keep the best man under the sun So many years from his due." " Nay now, my dhild," said Ahce the nurse, " But keep the secret for your life, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, When you are man and wife." " If I'm a beggar born," she said, " I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off, the broach of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by." 116 LADY CLARE " Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, " But keep the secret all ye can." She said, " Not so : but I will know If there be any faith in man." " Nay now, what faith ? " said AUce the nurse, "The man wiU cleave unto his right." " And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Tho' I should die to-night." " Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee." " O mother, mother, mother," she said, " So strange it seems to me. " Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear. My mother dear, if this be so. And lay your hand upon my head. And bless me, mother, ere I go." She clad herself in a russet gown. She was no longer Lady Clare : She went by dale, and she went by down. With a single rose in her hair. The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Leapt up from where she lay, Dropt her head in the maiden's hand. And foUow'd her all the way. 117 LADY CLARE Down slept Lord Tlonald from his tower : " O Lady Clare, you shame your worth ! Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth ? " " If I come drest like a village maid, I am but as my fortunes are : I am a beggar born," she said, " And not the Lady Clare." "' Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, " For I am yours in word and in deed. Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, " Your riddle is hard to read." O and proudly stood she up ! Her heart within her did not fail : She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes. And told him all her nurse's tale. He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn : He turn'd, and kiss'd her where she stood " If you are not the heiress born. And I," said he, " the next in blood — " If you are not the heiress born. And I," said he, "the lawful heir. We two will wed to-morrow morn, And you shall still be Lady Clare." 118 Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere A Fragment Like souls that balance joy and pain, With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain Came in a sun-lit fall of rain. In crystal vapour everywhere Blue isles of Heaven laugh'd between, And, far in forest-deeps unseen. The topmost elm-tree gather'd green From draughts of balmy air. Sometimes the linnet piped his song : Sometimes the throstle whistled strong : Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along, Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong : By grassy capes with fuller sound In curves the yellowing river ran, And drooping chestnut-buds began To spread into the perfect fan. Above the teeming ground. 119 LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE Then, in the boyhood of the year, Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere Rode thro' the coverts of the deer. With bUssful treble ringing clear. She seem'd a part of joyous Spring : A gown of grass-green silk she wore. Buckled with golden clasps before ; A hght-green tuft of plumes she bore Closed in a golden ring. Now on some twisted ivy-net. Now by some tinkUng rivulet. In mosses mixt with violet Her cream-white mule his pastern set : And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains Than she whose elfin prancer springs By night to eery warblings, When all the gUmmering moorland rings With jingling bridle-reins. As fast she fled thro' sun and shade. The happy winds upon her play'd. Blowing the ringlet from the braid : She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd The rein with dainty flnger-tips, A man had given all other bliss. And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips. 120 SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE Now on some twisted ivy-net, Now by some tinkling rivulet, In mosses mixt with violet Her cream-white mule his pastern set. The Lady of Shalott Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot ; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below. The island of Shalott. II Willows whiten, aspens quiver. Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. 123 THE LADY OF SHALOTT Four gray walls, and four gray towers. Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. Ill By the margin, willow-veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses ; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot : But who hath seen her wave her hand ? Or at the casement seen her stand ? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott ? IV Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot : And by the moon the reaper weary, Pihng sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott." 124 THE LADY OF SHALOTf Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley. Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot : And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy. Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott." THE LADY OF SHALOTT Part II I There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be. And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. II And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year. Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot : There the river eddy whirls. And there the surly village-churls. And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott. Ill Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. An abbot on an ambling pad. Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad. Goes by to tower'd Camelot ; 127 THE LADY OF SHALOTT And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. IV But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights, And music, went to Camelot : Or when the moon was overhead. Came two young lovers lately wed ; " I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott. Part III A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves. He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzhng thro' the leaves. And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. 128 THE LADY OF SHALOTT II The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot : And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. Ill All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jeweU'd shone the saddle-leather. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd hke one burning flame together. As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night. Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, traihng hght. Moves over stiU Shalott. IV His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd ; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode ; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. 129 THE LADY OF SHALOTT From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, " Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room. She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume. She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide ; The mirror crack'd from side to side ; " The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. Pakt IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yeUow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot ; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. 130 THE LADY OF SHALOTT II And down the river's dim expanse — Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance — With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; The broad stream bore her far away. The Lady of Shalott. Ill Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right — The leaves upon her falling light — Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot : And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among. They heard her singing her last song. The Lady of Shalott. IV Heard a carol, mournful, holy. Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly. And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower 'd Camelot ; 131 THE LADY OF SHALOTT For ere she reaeh'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died. The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony. By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, A corse between the houses high. Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame. And round the prow they read her name. The Lady of Shalott. VI Who is this ? and what is here ? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer ; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot : But Lancelot mused a little space ; He said, " She has a lovely face ; God in his mercy lend her grace. The Lady of Shalott." 132 THE DAY-DREAM And would you have the thought I had> And see the vision that I saw. Then take the broidery-frame, and add A crimson to the quaint Macaw, And I will tell it. , , . The Day-Dream Pkologue O Lady Flora, let me speak : A pleasant hour has passed away While, dreaming on your dama«k cheek, The dewy sister-eyelids lay. As by the lattice you reclined, I went thro' many wayward moods To see you dreaming — and, behind, A summer crisp with shining woods. And I too dream'd, until at last Across my fancy, brooding warm. The reflex of a legend past. And loosely settled into form. And would you have the thought I had. And see the vision that I saw. Then take the broidery-frame, and add A crimson to the quaint Macaw, And I win tell it. Turn your face. Nor look with that too-earnest eye— ^ The rhymes are dazzled from their place, And order' d words asunder fly. 135 THE DAY-DREAM The Sleeping Palace I The varying year with blade and sheaf Clothes and reclothes the happy plains ; Here rests the sap within the leaf, Here stays the blood along the veins. Faint shadows, vapours lightly curl'd, Faint murmurs from the meadows come, Like hints and echoes of the world To spirits folded in the womb. II Soft lustre bathes the range of urns On every slanting terrace-lawn. The fountain to his place returns Deep in the garden lake withdrawn. Here droops the banner on the tower, On the hall-hearths the festal fires, The peacock in his laurel bower. The parrot in his gilded wires. Ill Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs : In these, in those the hfe is stay'd. The mantles from the golden pegs Droop sleepily : no sound is made. Not even of a gnat that sings. More hke a picture seemeth all Than those old portraits of old kings, That watch the sleepers from the wall. 136 THE DAY-DREAM Here sits the Butler with a flask Between his knees, half-drain'd ; and there The wrinkled steward at his task. The maid-of-honour blooming fair : The page has caught her hand in his : Her lips are sever'd as to speak : His own are pouted to a kiss : The blush is fix'd upon her cheek. THE DAY-DREAM IV Here sits the Butler with a flask Between his knees, half-drain'd ; and there The wrinkled steward at his task, The maid-of-honour blooming fair : The page has caught her hand in his : Her lips are sever'd as to speak : His own are pouted to a kiss : The blush is fix'd upon her cheek. Till all the hundred summers pass, The beams, that thro' the Oriel shine. Make prisms in every carven glass. And beaker brimm'd with noble wine. Each baron at the banquet sleeps, Grave faces gather'd in a ring. His state the king reposing keeps, He must have been a jovial king. VI All round a hedge upshoots, and shows At distance hke a little wood ; Thorns, ivies, woodbine, mistletoes, And grapes with bunches red as blood ; AU creeping plants, a wall of green Close-matted, bur and brake and briar, And glimpsing over these, just seen, High up, the topmost palace-spire. 139 THE DAY-DREAM YIl When will the hundred summers die, And thought and time be born again, And newer knowledge, drawing nigh, Bring truth that sways the soul of men ? Here all things in their place remain As all were order' d, ages since. Come, Care and Pleasure, Hope and Pain, And bring the fated fairy Prince. The Sleeping Beauty I Year after year unto her feet, She lying on her couch alone. Across the purpled coverlet, The maiden's jet-black hair has grown, On either side her tranced form Forth streaming from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous Ught is rich and warm. And moves not on the rounded curl. II The silk star-broider'd coverlid Unto her limbs itself doth mould Languidly ever ; and, amid Her fuU black ringlets downward roU'd, Grows forth each softly-shadow'd arm With bracelets of the diamond bright : Her constant beauty doth inform Stillness with love, and day with light. 140 THE DAY-DREAM Year after year unto her feet. She lying on her couch alone. Across the purpled coverlet. The maiden's jet-black hair has grown. On either side her tranced form Forth streamhig from a braid of pearl : The slumbrous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl. THE DAY-DREAM III She sleeps : her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart. She sleeps : on either hand upswells The gold-fringed piUow lightly prest : She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest. The Arrival I All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth ; For love in sequel works with fate. And draws the veil from hidden worth. He travels far from other skies — His mantle glitters on the rocks — A fairy Prince, with joyful eyes. And hghter-footed than the fox. II The bodies and the bones of those That strove in other days to pass, Are wither'd in the thorny close. Or scatter 'd blanching on the grass. He gazes on the silent dead : " They perish'd in their daring deeds." This proverb flashes thro' his head, " The many fail : the one succeeds." 143 THE DAY-DREAM m He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks : He breaks the hedge : he enters there : The colour flies into his cheeks : He trusts to hght on something fair ; For all his life the charm did talk About his path, and hover near With words of promise in his walk. And whisper'd voices at his ear. IV More close and close his footsteps wind ; The magic music in his heart Beats quick and quicker, till he find The quiet chamber far apart. His spirit flutters like a lark. He stoops — to kiss her — on his knee. " Love, if thy tresses be so dark. How dark those hidden eyes must be ! " The Revival I A TOUCH, a kiss ! the charm was snapt. There rose a noise of striking clocks. And feet that ran, and doors that clapt. And barking dogs, and crowing cocks ; A fuller light illumined all, A breeze thro' all the garden swept, A sudden hubbub shook the haU, And sixty feet the fountain leapt. 144 THE DAY-DREAM A touch, a kiss ! the charm was snapt. There rose a noise of striking clocks. And feet that ran, and doors that clapt. And barking dogs, and crowing cocks ; A fuller li^ht illumined all, A breeze thro' all the garden swept, A sudden hubbub shook the hall. And sixty feet the fountain leapt. THE DAY-DREAM II The hedge broke in, the banner blew, The butler drank, the steward scrawl'd. The fire shot up, the martin flew, The parrot scream' d, the peacock squall'd, The maid and page renew'd their strife, The palace bang'd, and buzz'd and clackt, And all the long-pent stream of life Dash'd downward in a cataract. Ill And last with these the king awoke. And in his chair himself uprear'd. And yawn'd, and rubb'd his face, and spoke, " By holy rood, a royal beard ! How say you ? we have slept, my lords. My beard has grown into my lap." The barons swore, with many words, 'Twas but an after-dinner's nap. lY " Pardy," return'd the king, " but still My joiftts are something stiff or so. My lord, and shall we pass the bill I mention'd half an hour ago ? " The chancellor, sedate and vain. In courteous words return'd reply : But dallied with his golden chain. And, smiling, put the question by. 147 THE DAY-DREAM The Departure I And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold. And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old : Across the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day The happy princess follow'd him. II " I'd sleep another hundred years, O love, for such another kiss ; " " O wake for ever, love," she hears, " O love, 'twas such as this and this." And o'er them many a sliding star. And many a merry wind was borne. And, stream'd thro' many a golden bar. The twilight melted into morn. Ill " O eyes long laid in happy sleep ! " " O happy sleep, that Ughtly fled ! " " O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! " " O love, thy kiss would wake the dead ! " And o'er them many a flowing range Of vapour buoy'd the crescent-bark. And, rapt thro' many a rosy change. The twihght died into the dark. 148 THE DAy-DREAM So, Lady Flora, take my lay. And if you find no moral there. Go, look in any glass and say, What moral is in being fain THE DAY-DREAM IV iH e^ " A hundred summers ! can it be ? And whither goest thou, tell me where ? " ^ " O seek rny father's court with me, For there are greater wonders there." And o'er the hills and far away ^ Beyond their utmost purple rim, ^ Beyond the night, across the day, '^ Thro' all the world she foUow'd him. ^ MOKAL So, Lady Flora, take my lay, And if you find no moral there, Go, look in any glass and say. What moral is in being fair. Oh, to what uses shall we put The wildweed-flower that simply blows And is there any moral shut Within the bosom of the rose ? II But any man that walks the mead. In bud or blade, or bloom, may find. According as his humours lead, A meaning suited to his mind. 151 THE DAY-DREAM And liberal applications lie In Art like Nature, dearest friend ; So 'twere to cramp its use, if I Should hook it to some useful end. L'Exvoi You shake your head. A random string Your finer female sense offends. WeU — were it not a pleasant thing To faU asleep with all one's friends ; To pass with all our social ties To silence from the paths of men ; And every hundred years to rise And learn the world, and sleep again ; To sleep thro' terms of mighty wars, And wake on science grown to more, On secrets of the brain, the stars. As wild as aught of fairy lore ; And all that else the years will show. The Poet-forms of stronger hours. The vast Republics that may grow. The Federations and the Powers ; Titanic forces taking birth In divers seasons, divers climes ; For we are Ancients of the earth. And in the morning of the times. 152 THE DAY-DREAM II So sleeping, so aroused from sleep Thro' sunny decads new and strange, Or gay quinquenniads would we reap The flower and quintessence of change. Ah, yet would I — and would I might ! So much your eyes my fancy take — Be still the first to leap to light That I might kiss those eyes awake ! For, am I right, or am I wrong. To choose your own you did not care ; You'd have my moral from the song. And I will take my pleasure there : And, am I right or am I wrong, My fancy, ranging thro' and thro'. To search a meaning for the song, Perforce will stiU revert to you ; Nor finds a closer truth than this All-graceful head, so richly curl'd, And evermore a costly kiss The prelude to some brighter world. II For since the time when Adam first Embraced his Eve in happy hour, And every bird of Eden burst In carol, every bud to flower, 153 THE DAY-DREAM What eyes, like thine, have waken'd hopes ? What hps, Hke thine, so sweetly join'd ? Where on the double rosebud droops The fulness of the pensive mind ; Which all too dearly self-involved. Yet sleeps a dreamless sleep to me ; A sleep by kisses undissolved, That lets thee neither hear nor see : But break it. In the name of wife. And in the rights that name may give, Are clasp'd the moral of thy life. And that for which I care to live. Epilogue So, Lady Flora, take my lay, And, if you find a meaning there, O whisper to your glass, and say, " What wonder, if he thinks me fair ? " What wonder I was aU unwise. To shape the song for your dehght Like long-tail'd birds of Paradise, That float thro' Heaven, and cannot light ? Or old-world trains, upheld at court By Cupid-boys of blooming hue — But take it — earnest wed with sport, And either sacred unto you. 154 GODIVA And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand. He answered, " Ride you naked thro' the town, And I repeal it ; " and nodding, as in scorn. He parted, with great strides among his dogs. Godiva / WAITED for the train at Coventry ; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires ; and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this ; — Not only we, the latest seed of Time, New men, that in the flying of a wheel Cry down the past, not only we, that prate Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well. And loathed to see them overtax'd ; but she Did more, and underwent, and overcame. The woman of a thousand summers back, Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled In Coventry : for when he laid a tax Upon his town, and aU the mothers brought Their children, clamouring, " If we pay, we starve ! " She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode About the hall, among his dogs, alone. His beard a foot before him, and his hair A yard behind. She told him of their tears. And pray'd him, " If they pay this tax, they starve." 157 GpDIVA Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed, " You would not let your little finger ache For such as these ? " — " But I would die," said she. He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul : Then fiUip'd at the diamond in her ear ; " Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk ! " — " Alas ! " she said, " But prove me what it is I would not do." And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, He answered, " Ride you naked thro' the town. And I repeal it ; " and nodding, as in scorn. He parted, with great strides among his dogs. So left alone, the passions of her mind. As winds from all the compass shift and blow, Made war upon each other for an hour. Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The hard condition ; but that she would loose The people : therefore, as they loved her well, From then till noon no foot should pace the street. No eye look down, she passing ; but that all Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd. Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt. The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath She linger' d, looking like a summer moon Half-dipt in cloud ; anon she shook her head. And shower d the rippled ringlets to her knee ; 158 GODIVA Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : The deep air listen' d round her as she rode. And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. The little wide-mouth' d heads upon the spout Had cunning eyes to see. GODIVA And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, The fatal byword of all years to come. M GODIVA Unclad herself in haste ; adown the stair Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd The gateway ; there she found her palfrey trapt In purple blazon'd with armorial gold. Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : The deep air hsten'd round her as she rode, And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cm- Made her cheek flame : her palfrey's footfall shot Light horrors thro' her pulses : the bhnd walls Were full of chinks and holes ; and overhead Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw The white-flower 'd elder-thicket from the field Gleam thro' the Gothic archways in the wall. Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity : And one low churl, compact of thankless earth. The fatal byword of all years to come. Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Peep'd — but his eyes, before they had their will. Were shrivell'd into darkness in his head. And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused ; 163 GODIVA And she, that knew not, pass'd : and all at once, With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers, One after one : but even then she gain'd Her bower ; whence reissuing, robed and crown'd. To meet her lord, she took the tax away And built herself an everlasting name. 164 A CHARACTER And -with a sweeping of the arm, And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye. Devolved his rounded periods. A Character With a half-glance upon the sky At night he said, " The wanderings Of this most intricate Universe Teach me the nothingness of things." Yet could not all creation pierce Beyond the bottom of his eye. II He spake of beauty : that the dull Saw no divinity in grass, Life in dead stones, or spirit in air ; Then looking as 'twere in a glass. He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair. And said the earth was beautiful. Ill He spake of virtue : not the gods More purely, when they wish to charm Pallas and Juno sitting by : And with a sweeping of the arm. And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye. Devolved his rounded periods. 167 A CHARACTER IV Most delicately hour by hour He canvass'd human mysteries, And trod on silk, as if the winds Blew his own praises in his eyes, And stood aloof from other minds In impotence of fancied power. With lips depress'd as he were meek, Himself unto himself he sold : Upon himself himself did feed : Quiet, dispassionate, and cold. And other than his form of creed. With chisell'd features clear and sleek. 168 THE PALACE OF ART The Palace of Art I BUILT my soul a lordly pleasure-house. Wherein at ease for aye to dwell. I said, " O Soul, make merry and carouse, Dear soul, for all is well." A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf The rock rose clear, or winding stair. My soul would live 'alone unto herself In her high palace there. And "while the world runs round and round," I said, " Reign thou apart, a quiet king. Still as, while Saturn whirls, his stedfast shade Sleeps on his luminous ring." 171 THE PALACE OF ART To which my soul made answer readily : " Trust me, in bliss I shall abide In this great mansion, that is built for me, So royal-rich and wide." Four courts I made. East, West and South and North, In each a squared lawn, wherefrom The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth A flood of fountain-foam. And round the cool green courts there ran a row Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, Echoing all night to that sonorous flow Of spouted fountain-floods. And round the roofs a gilded gallery That lent broad verge to distant lands. Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky Dipt down to sea and sands. From those four jets four currents in one sweU Across the mountain stream'd below In misty folds, that floating as they fell Lit up a torrent-bow. And high on every peak a statue seem'd To hang on tiptoe, tossing up A cloud of incense of all odour steam'd From out a golden cup. T72 THE PALACE OF ART Full of long-sounding corridors it was. That over-vaulted grateful gloom. Thro' which the livelong day my soul did pass, Well-pleased, from room to room. THE PALACE OF ART So that she thought, " And who shall gaze upon My palace with unbhnded eyes, While this great bow will waver in the sun. And that sweet incense rise ? " For that sweet incense rose and never fail'd, And, while day sank or mounted higher. The hght aerial gallery, golden-rail'd. Burnt like a fringe of fire. Likewise the deep-set windows, stain'd and traced. Would seem slow-flaming crimson fires From shadow'd grots of arches interlaced. And tipt with frost-like spires. Full of long-sounding corridors it was. That over-vaulted grateful gloom. Thro' which the hvelong day my soul did pass. Well-pleased, from room to room. Full of great rooms and small the palace stood. All various, each a perfect whole From living Nature, fit for every mood And change of my still soul. For some were hung with arras green and blue. Showing a gaudy summer-morn. Where with puff d cheek the belted hunter blew His wreathed bugle-horn. 175 THE PALACE OF ART One seem'd all dark and red — a tract of sand, And some one pacing there alone, Who paced for ever in a glimmering land. Lit with a low large moon. One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. . You seem'd to hear them climb and fall And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves. Beneath the windy wall. And one, a full-fed river winding slow By herds upon an endless plain. The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, With shadow-streaks of rain. And one, the reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bound the sheaves. Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil. And hoary to the wind. And one a foreground black with stones and slags. Beyond, a line of heights, and higher All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags, And highest, snow and fire. And one, an English home — gray twilight pour'd On dewy pastures, dewy trees. Softer than sleep — all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace. 176 THE PALACE OF ART Nor these alone, but every landscape fair, As fit for every mood of mind, Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there, Not less than truth design'd. ^ V 7^ yf: 7^ Or the maid-mother by a crucifix. In tracts of pasture sunny- warm. Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx Sat smiling, babe in arm. Or in a clear-wall'd city on the sea. Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair Wound with white roses, slept St. Cecily ; An angel look'd at her. Or thronging all one porch of Paradise, A group of Houris bow'd to see The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes That said. We wait for thee. Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son In some fair space of sloping greens Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon, And watch'd by weeping queens. Or hollowing one hand against his ear. To list a foot-fall, ere he saw The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king to hear Of wisdom and of law. N . 177 THE PALACE OF ART Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, And many a tract of palm and rice, The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd A summer fann'd with spice. Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, From off her shoulder backward borne : From one hand droop'd a crocus : one hand grasp'd The mild bull's golden horn. Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh Half-buried in the Eagle's down, Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky Above the pillar'd town. Nor these alone : but every legend fair Which the supreme Caucasian mind Carved out of Nature for itself, was there, Not less than Ufe, design'd. ***** * * * * • * Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung, Moved of themselves, with silver sound ; And with choice paintings of wise men I hung The royal dais round. For there was Milton like a seraph strong, Beside him Shakespeare bland arid mild ; And there the world-worn Dante grasp'd his song. And somewhat grimly smiled. 178 THE PALACE OF ART And there the Ionian father of the rest ; A milUon wrinkles carved his skin ; A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast, From cheek and throat and chin. Above, the fair hall-ceiUng stately-set Many an arch high up did lift. And angels rising and descending met With interchange of gift. Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd With cycles of the human tale Of this wide world, the times of every land So wrought, they will not fail. The people here, a beast of burden slow, Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings ; Here play'd, a tiger, rolling to and fro The heads and crowns of kings ; Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind AH force in bonds that might endure, And here once more like some sick man decUned, And trusted any cure. But over these she trod : and those great bells Began to chime. She took her throne : She sat betwixt the shining oriels. To sing her songs alone. 179 THE PALACE OF ART And thro' the topmost Oriels' coloured flame Two godlike faces gazed below ; Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam, The first of those who know. And all those names, that in their motion were Full- welling fountain-heads of change, Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd fair In diverse raiment strange : Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue, Flush'd in her temples, and her eyes. And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew Rivers of melodies. No nightingale delighteth to prolong Her low preamble all alone. More than my soul to hear her echo'd song Throb thro' the ribbed stone. Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth, Joying to feel herself alive. Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible earth. Lord of the senses five ; Communing with herself: "All these are mine. And let the world have peace or wars, 'Tis one to me." She — when young night divine Crown'd dying day with stars, 180 THE PALACE OF ART Making sweet close of his delicious toils — Lit light in wreaths and anadems, And pure quintessences of precious oils In hoUow'd moons of gems, To mimic heaven ; and clapt her hands and cried, " I marvel if my still delight In this great house so royal-rich, and wide, Be flatter'd to the height. " O all things fair to sate my various eyes ! shapes and hues that please me well ! O silent faces of the Great and Wise, My Gods with whom I dwell ! " O God-like isolation which art mine, 1 can but count thee perfect gain. What time I watch the darkening droves of swine That range on yonder plain. " In filthy sloughs they roU a prurient skin. They graze and wallow, breed and sleep ; And oft some brainless devil enters in, And drives them to the deep." Then of the moral instinct would she prate And of the rising from the dead. As hers by right of full-accomplish'd Fate ; And at the last she said : 181 THE PALACE OF ART " I take possession of man's mind and deed. I care not what the sects may brawl. I sit as God holding no forms of creed, But contemplating all." ***** ***** Full oft the riddle of the painful earth Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone, Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth, And intellectual throne. And so she throve and prospered : so three years She prospered ; on the fourth she fell, Like Herod, when the shout was in his ears. Struck thro' with pangs of hell. Lest she should fail and perish utterly, God, before whom ever lie bare The abysmal deeps of Personality, Plagued her with sore despair. When she would think, where'er she turn'd her sight. The airy hand confusion wrought. Wrote," Mene, mene," and divided quite The kingdom of her thought. Deep dread and loathing of her solitude Fell on her, from which mood was born Scorn of herself ; again, from out that mood Laughter at her self-scorn. 182 THE PALACE OF ART Full oft the riddle of the painful earth Flash' d thro' her as she sat alone^ Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth. And intellectual throne. THE PALACE OF ART " What ! is not this my place of strength," she said, " My spacious mansion built for me, Whereof the strong foundation-stones were laid Since my first memory ? " But in dark corners of her palace stood Uncertain shapes, and unawares On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of blood, And horrible nightmares, And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame. And, with dim fretted foreheads all. On corpses three-months-old at noon she came. That stood against the wall. A spot of duU stagnation, without light Or power of movement, seem'd my soul, 'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite Making for one sure goal. A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of sand ; Left on the shore ; that hears all night The plunging seas draw backward from the land Their moon-led waters white. A star that with the choral starry dance Join'd not, but stood, and standing saw The hollow orb of moving Circumstance RoU'd round by one fix'd law. 185 THE PALACE OF ART Back on herself her serpent pride had curl'd. " No voice," she shrieked in that lone hall, " No voice breaks thro' the stillness of this world : One deep, deep silence all ! " She, naouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod, InAvrapt tenfold in slothful shame, Lay there exiled from eternal God, Lost to her place and name ; And death and life she hated equally, And nothing saw, for her despair. But dreadful time, dreadful eternity. No comfort anywhere ; Remaining utterly confused with fears. And ever worse with growing time. And ever unrelieved by dismal tears. And all alone in crime : Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, *girt round With blackness as a solid wall. Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound Of human footsteps fall. As in strange lands a traveller walking slow, In doubt and great perplexity, A little before moon-rise hears the low Moan of an unknown sea ; 186 THE PALACE OF ART But in dark corners of her palace stood Uncertain shapes^ and unawares On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of blood, And horrible nightmares. And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame. And, with dim fretted foreheads all. On corpses three-months-old at noon she came. That stood against the wall. THE PALACE OF ART And knows not if it be thunder or a sound Of rocks thrown down, or one deep cry Of great wild beasts ; then thinketh, " I have found A new land, but I die." She howl'd aloud, " I am on fire within. There conies no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin. And save me lest I die ? " So when four years were wholly finished, She threw her royal robes away. " Make me a cottage in the vale," she said, " Where I may mourn and pray. " Yet pull not down my palace towers, that are So lightly, beautifully built : Perchance I may return with others there When I have purged my guilt." 189 The Goose I KNEW an old wife lean and poor, Her rags scarce held together ; There strode a stranger to the door. And it was windy weather. II He held a goose upon his arm, He utter'd rhyme and reason, " Here, take the goose, and keep you warm, It is a stormy season." Ill She caught the white goose by the leg, A goose — 'twas no great matter. The goose let fall a golden egg With cackle and with clatter. 190 THE GOOSE I knew an old wife lean and poor. Her rags scarce held together ; There strode a stranger to the door. And it was windy weather. He held a goose upon his arm. He utter'd rhyme and reason, " Here, take the goose, and keep you warm. It is a stormy season." THE GOOSE And feeding high, and living soft, Grew plump and able-bodied ; Until the grave churchwarden dofF'd, The parson smirk'd and nodded. THE GOOSE IV She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf, And ran to tell her neighbours ; And bless'd herself, and cursed herself. And rested from her labours. And feeding high, and living soft. Grew plump and able-bodied ; Until the grave churchwarden dofFd, The parson smirk'd and nodded. VI So sitting, served by man and maid. She felt her heart grow prouder : But ah ! the more the white goose laid It clack'd and cackled louder. VII It clutter'd here, it chuckled there ; It stirr'd the old wife's mettle : She shifted in her elbow-chair. And hurl'd the pan and kettle. VIII " A quinsy choke thy cursed note ! " Then wax'd her anger stronger. " Go, take the goose, and wring her throat, I will not bear it longer." 195 THE GOOSE IX Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat ; Ran GafFer, stumbled Gammer. The goose flew this way and flew that, And fill'd the house with clamour. X As head and heels upon the floor They flounder'd all together. There strode a stranger to the door, And it was windy weather : XI He took the goose upon his arm, He utter'd words of scorning ; "So keep you cold, or keep you warm. It is a stormy morning." XII The wild wind rang from park and plain, And round the attics rumbled. Till all the tables danced again, And half the chimneys tumbled. XIII The glass blew iii, the fire blew out. The blast was hard and harder. Her cap blew off", her gown blew up. And a whirlwind clear 'd the larder ; 196 THE GOOSE Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat ; Ran GafFerj stumbled Gammer. The goose flew this way and flew that. And fill'd the house with clamour. As head and heels upon the floor They flounder' d all together, There strode a stranger to the door, And it was windy weather. THE GOOSE And while on all sides breaking loose Her household fled the danger, Quoth she, " The Devil take the goose. And God forget the stranger ! " THE GOOSE XIV And while on all sides breaking loose Her household fled the danger, Quoth she, " The Devil take the goose, And God forget the stranger ! " THE END Printed 6y B. & B. Clark, Limited, Bdiribwrg