PR 4503.C14P8 """'^""V Library 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/cletails/cu31924013466812 PURPOSE AND PASSION. Rest not on waveless waters of content, But take the oar of energy, and row — Row whitherward the spirit lead, although The iceberg frown, and seas by storm be rent. So shalt thou gain thy haven thro' the toil : Experience is not gat for nought ; thy soul Opes ampler tablet, whereon to enroll Teaching that advent-ages shall uncoil. 1866. PURPOSE AND PASSION: JPygmalion and other Poems. KENINGALE ROBERT COOK, B.A. AiKTj 8e up6q Tov TrXi/jU/ieXoBira e'ju^tX^ TTOieiv. LONDON : Virtue and Co., 26, Ivy Lane, Paternoster Row. New Yoi^k : Virtue ano Yoi^toi^ MDCCCLXX. TO THOSE WHOSE LIVES ARk NOBLE: TO ALL WHOSE SONGS SOOTHE; WHOSE THOUGHTS SUGGEST; WHOSE DEEDS AWAKEN: TO THE MASTERS WHOSE GIFTS ADD DELIGHT TO LIFE; TO THOSE WHOSE STRENGTH STRENGTHENS ; WHOSE PATIENCE TEACHES: TO TRUE FRIENDS, KNOWN AND UNKNOWN; THIS PRENTICE-WORK IS INSCRIBED. - A TABLE OF CONTENTS. IX Preface Pygmalion - -17 LURA * - 30 A Reverie at Night - 39 Badour - 43 Before Death - 61 Daphne : — A Study for a Picture 64 Hypermnestra .... 70 Blondell de la Nesle 75 Ballata - 83 The Flower of Tryst 86 Orpheus andthe Listeners - 89 Song of the Naiad Aieen 99 A Study of Sunlight - 103 A Study of Moonlight 105 Maid Eda - - 108 Essex and the Ring - 114 Three Stages - - 138 Hypatia Chrysostoma 142 Sister Alice : — A Cloister Picture 144 Le Grand Exile 155 La Travailleur de la Mer 158 Virgo Quies - 161 A Dream, of Eyes 165 A TABLE OF CONTENTS. Ex Antro A Romance of Rest The Vision of Poieidolon PACE Moods :— Dirge ; P^an . 167 Slave's Song to Freedom 174 'Anapkh 176 Queen Sympathy - jgo A Drear Day - - jgj Enthusiasm - - 187 How Long? - 191 Sonnet - . 194 Song: — The Maid's Foreboding - 195 A Greek Love-Song - 197 A Roman Love-Song 198 A Wooing by the Sea - - 200 Adelaida . - . , . Ad RUGBiEAM 203 205 Sun-Dreams - - - 208 209 249 To A Dying King - - - 268 272 Song : — Fairyland 280 The Sword - 282 "Liberte, Liberte Cherie" . 287 Half-Way - - 290 The King and the Councillor 292 Idyllium - 296 Rameses - - 298 AnimjE in Memoriam - 302 The World Before Man - 304 The Outcast's Sleep-Song 306 A Song Nigh to Dawn. - 310 Dedication 313 Notes - - 317 A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. A dream of eyes restless, unknowing - - - 165 Alone, alone, and ever in the night - - 61 An island small, exiled from either shore - 155 As came I o'er the ridge - - - 195 A sky of swollen mists exhaled - - * 304 A stifled thunder rolls along an air - 167 At length is sleep drawn over him, and love - - 70 Beneath a mountain summer-burned to brown - 209 Enkindled by thy radiant face - - 296 Envied peer he were of the gods, meseemeth - 197 Fresh from embracing waves came she - - 200 From out my palace on the roof - - - 158 Give me to be calm as air - - 1 74 How long shall a fount silver-voiced, silver-hued - ' 191 How the wind stalks, — how drearly up and down - 310 I hear the beating of the spray-white waves - - 17 I mean to follow stedfast course - 138 I Poieidolon sat beside the sea 272 I see her, O so dimly, far away - 30 I see rich meadows lying in a fold - - 64 Long line of men was curled along the plain - 43 Long years agone through weary wars - 282 Lydia, lovely in maiden sorceries 198 Moon-pearls are mine eyes - 99 viii A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. PAGE My father's bones lie underneath a sand 298 No patron crowd whose influence moulds or mars 142 O aching of passionate heart 302 O classic face, and speechful northern eyes 203 O dire and awful vision of affright - 176 O'erwrought and worn by burning heart's desire 249 Of its first garlands loose my untaught hand 313 O it is dull to be without friends - 185 Orpheus hath one of his bright dreams to-day 89 O that I were the frondage of thine elms 205 Out on gray-shadowed cloister-aisles 144 Queen Sympathy, that makest all men kin 180 Sad fair days when the dying sun of autumn 103 She cometh as sunrays to springtime - 161 She sped along the wild sea-strand 86 Sleep, sleep 306 Sweet one, who dwellest by the shore 280 The spinning-chambei-, floor to roof 108 To be half-hearted thus, with banner furled 194 When God alone was old, and this fair world 268 When white grace of the moonlight silvers over - 105 Where be thy dreams, Conrado ? Seemest thou 39 Whither has sped that shining angel maid - 18/ Within a forest deep in Austria lies 75 Within his balcony, the King - 292 With the sun upon my face 208 Would God I could rend them apart - - 287 Ye missed the mark ; the shaft hath idly sped 290 Yet shall she yield — this overhaughty Queen 1 14 Young Morys and his maiden May 83 PREFACE. To hang up a suitable bush for a new and untried vintage is a task none of the easiest. A good wine may- remain untasted for want of notice to the passer by; or the ivy may appear fresh and green, and the new wine prove to be harsh and sour. The due disposing of colours and oils on a palette, and the cleansing and arrangement of a painter's brushes are necessary, though no pleasant, labours : the tuning a stringed instrument is a painful prelude to the melodious touch ; and there may be an awkwardness in coming upon the stage, that, to the singer at least, if he have passion, shall be lost in the tide of the song: but the making a preface is more burthensome than these. There are so many words to say, to recipients who will so differently understand and misunderstand them ; there is so little space for the saying of them ; and, in such case as this, there is doubt whether they might not best be left unsaid, lest arrogant or foolish prose should add the last stroke of damnation to feeble and tottering verse. However, com- plaints are idle ; and, instead of lamenting present toil, it X PREFACE. were well for me to recall the meed of that pleasanter work, which it is the proem's tedious part to usher into the wilderness, and away from me. I have not been wholly without capable private criticism; as a result whereof, I am not flying on feathers and wax with intent or expectation to stagger the world : nor perhaps am I to be utterly confounded by adverse opinions. That this is far from being a matured effort, or a work of literary excellence, I know. I am acutely con- scious of its many defects ; — of weaknesses and obscurities, some perhaps now outgrown, but many clinging yet ; of a want of order and crystallization, of deficiency both in energetic grasp and lyrical flow ; of a foot that drags when it should be swift, and a throat husky instead of strong. Were I not also conscious of some faint gradual growth of power and clearness, the feeling would be even more painful than it is. Ever is hope endeavouring to illumine despair. Upon one point I desire to insist, viz — that in the whole work there is nothing of actual auto-biography, whether any subject be unfolded under the mask of the third or first person. Let all characters or poems take their own responsibility ; and readers, if they find it neces- sary, remember — "C^taient des scdh-ats qui fiarlaient ; les poetes ^taient innocents!' Should the tone or style or views of any part of the work meet with individual sympathy, or the reverse ; it is well. I might to-morrow take up the book, in a severely critical spirit, or perhaps in weary discord of mind, and deem the mood, of whom.soever I have imagined as uttering anything, to be unworthy of PREFACE. xi expression ; or I might even find myself unable to enter therein, and, looking coldly upon it, detect in the execution harshness and weakness : — at another time might return part, if not all, of the old delight. Our impressions are more subjective than we deem or desire them, sometimes : save me from the criticisms of a tired mind ! To make these remarks more plain : — there are utterances in the work from which I have no desire to flinch ; if they are struck, I bleed ; but there are many which momentary sympathies, or the idea of harmony with a particular end have drawn in. Since these gradations, from the personal to the compound ego (if I may be allowed such definitions), and beyond these, up to absolute externals, are impossible to divide and label, I have made an attempt-;— possibly a futile and foolish one — to prevent a kind of misconception into which no reader, of breadth or insight, is in danger of falling. Thus is any poem subject to question : — whether its represented mood, embodied idea, or lighter fancy of song, by intelligent students be deemed worthy of expres- sion, and whether such be well or ill expressed, or give pleasure to any. On the points of worthy or unworthy, noble or ignoble, work and workmanship, serious criticism will ever be welcome to me. Of the sharper blows I am likely to receive I am already forewarned ; as to the foul or blind ones I am rather careless. One word to those to whom instinctive appreciation and love, of what is good and true in poetry and art, are not given ; and who are always the readiest, ignorantly, to arrogate to themselves the most mentally xii PREFACE. exigent of all sciences, — criticism. Let these, when over- quick to take exception to what they deem obscurity or madness in moods of feeling which they may never ex- perience, and which, consequently, awaken in their hearts no response, remember kindly that they need not irritate themselves by the study of them, but that speedy relief may be gained by the putting aside of any book that may offend. A newspaper is satisfied if it can get its thousands to listen to and forget it : a poem is content if it can find its one to know and love it. This volume's sole claim is for the possession of a certain diversity. If joy be piped to children who cannot dance, they may at least turn aside, and to the dirges beat their breasts. If the sweetness of fable cloy, it is hoped historical husks may suit the practical teeth ; and when we wax weary of the thought and strain, or sick of the ugli- ness and hopelessness of much of modern life, let us revel and rest awhile with the fairy and the Greek : or if our pain be sorer, let us seek that veiled Pneuma whose gift is yet manna and peace. Those only who work in art, — masters or students — know the toil as well as the pleasure of it. Art is a goddess coy and hard to woo, being faultless and cold ; and by hasty suppliants, or in any offhand way, unapproach- able. Sweetest and weariest of mistresses is she ; and many pillars, half-fire and half-cloud, both in and about us, come like a curtain before her perfect beauty, which grows faint as we grow weary ; cruel and bitter, if we are faithless. Music will not always stimulate with her secret PREFACE. xiii joy, and lyrical flow is unlocked, alas, so rarely ; when opened, so soon disturbed and distorted. Perhaps we have only the echoes and spray-drops here. Thought, too, must wait for experience as well as for intuition ; and experience is a slow traveller, with dragging wheels, and borne on no flashing wing of advent. Although even yet within the meshes of a negative and cowardly time, which poetry has been often unable, often unwilling to stir, we are now entering upon an epoch, which — to some who listen for the undercurrent of voices yet scarcely breathen — ^promises the dawn of the grandest transition-period of human history, — of a time when the soul shall take increase of power as the hand has done, and a strange and fearless psychical advance succeed and match the enormous strides of man's scientific and physical dominion ; of a time when right shall be thought out again, and confirmed, and the wrongs that cry silently shall be heard. Hence proceed many excitements tending to arouse from the calm-eyed contemplation of that art, with which, after some modern notions, progress has nothing to do. Is it hard to perceive that the artist's sole guiding-star — which, if not narrowed in clouded eyes, embraces all other lights — may shine with as lovely — perhaps with a more burning- lustre, over the violent wind-blown waves of the future," as upon the calm evening-stilled seas, or regretful rivers of the past.' Wherever is bright life, there is beauty; and life points always, and eagerly, onwards, — breaking bonds that float and drift away afar into the ancient night. After all xiv PREFACE. that has been said, beauty has yet an aim and a purpose ; it is, — to make more beautiful. There would be less to fight about in the "gay science," were there in existence a more comprehensive term than "beauty;" — one which, from the notion of a plant that bears mere pleasure for fruit, or that refines it to delight, should arise with a loftier head, and strive with its tendrils toward the mysterious high places, whence things noble and pure and sublime, — fortitudes, and faiths, and loves, shine down upon us as from afar, and in what broken rays it is permitted us to gather from the veiled storehouses of light. This we endeavour to express by the word "beauty;" and shall we gain by straitening the grasp of art to less than this .' Following this star, we may leave "preaching heresy*" on the right, * This phrase is ventured in preference to those of "didactic heresy,'' "Vhiresie d'ensei^tement," and "the great moral heresy,'' which terms three poets, masters, each, of art-form, severally employ, — Poe, the first ; Baudelaire — doub;less following him — the second ; and Swinburne, — wont, though after a splendid manner, to cap, with a more projecting barb, every warring lance — the third. And for this reason ; — that the heresy seems but a slight one, and to lie solely in externals and detachables, — since there is, and ever must be, in true and great art, an innate and ideal didacticism. It is the hyper-consciousiless of teaching, instead of the passion of faithful working ; and the protrusion of it to the detriment of the work, which is, or ought to be, heresy in art. But, to make deliberately un-didactic all art- work, -and especially poetry, which, in comparison with other arts, has less of form, more of spirit, seems to be a graver art-fault than to make it a receptacle for cant, or overweigh it with moral- izings, for, instead of a possibly-involved good, it is somewhat certain to run to the opposite extreme, of a teaching actually bad. If art is to afford anything beyond pretty china-ornaments, or brilliant mosaics, it must have vitality ; and such life will, of necessity, include the strife, the grasp and essence of its time, or of other eras with inward relation to its own ; so that even art for art's sake, ^" false French doctrine," as Mazzini terms it — must be art for the sake of the PREFACE. XV and the too placid lakes of mere souvenirs and senti- ments on the left ; and, steering toward the open sea, find delight in the crest of every wave, and the silver of every cloud. Yet, weariness comes sometimes, and half-heartedness ; and the waves may be troubled, and join with the skies to obscure the star. We are grown more complex, and are thereby perplexed ; wd have apprehensions beyond our comprehensions. We have eaten of the fruit and drunken of the wine, and can no more return to the simple joys and the pastoral food. Dissecting ourselves, one another, and all our surroundings, we make base what is not base, and laud what is not praiseworthy, till our lives are marred and miserable, and we have lost the noble instinctive work, and unquestioning faith and pleasure of old. We have well-nigh reduced all things to highest, the largest, the most noble, and most free ideas known. But, were this cry to be followed — narrowly, as it is meant — in an epoch of popular death- life, art itself would inevitably become so stagnant and noisorne a pool, that after-ages of trath would shudder to drink of it. Man cannot dissociate himself from his fellows, and become irresponsible and self-inclusive, without being both kovrm Tifuwpovniej-os and hurtful to others ; neither can Art disbranch herself from kindred influences, and ambient life, and say, — I live for myself alone. But, on the other hand, if she go out of the way to ponderous exhortation and catechisms, — when her proper effluence is a flash, a gleam of unmeasurable suggestiveness, a ray caught in mid air, and set like a jewel, ever to bum ; — she may well be deemed heretic, and an intruder into ground not her own. This is perhaps no place for entering upon such questions ; but every plausible doctrine worries me, until, blindly or clearly, I have fought my own way through it. These critical bonds and straps may be very useful for discipline, but it must be a great ease to the soul to be unburthened of them, and to work its own way, instinctively, if so it may be, to the light, — doing its best and highest, loving the work most, and, rather than being hyper-conscious of teaching, leaving it to be naturally evolved. xvi PREFACE. negatives. The positive reaction, however, will come on, and the new buds are beginning just faintly to give promise above the smooth-shaven and trampled ground. The more we analyze, the sooner shall we begin to realize that there is a something I'emaining which we cannot dissect. On that, as on the ultimate atom, we may find place for the levers that move the worlds. This, it is to be feared, is a most heterodox preface, for I have forgotten, and have to return, with somewhat of shamefacedness I must confess, to its subject, — the few grapes or bramble-berries I have made shift to gather, and the juice I am bold to ofter, without a plate of silver, or a cup of gold. This is but a first and immature harvest. Of what worth the next one may be, perhaps I know less than some of the few who shall taste this one. Meantime, farewell. K. R. C. PYGMALION. I HEAR the beating of the spray-white waves That toil and fret, and carp at the still shore As if in chiding at its passive rest : Low music-murmur gathers as they roll, In bidden journeyings endless as the world, Against the rounding sands and rocks weed-grown Of Cyprus — wreathen in her flowery dells^ The sweetest island of the inward seas. Those sacred waves, which, long dim years ago. While surging on — one mighty-heaped tide. Their king, in the van — beheld him poise his crest And, curling over pour his life in foam ; Whose snows the golden sunbeams wooingly Dissolved into warm life — a higher life Than had been his ; for, held in rapturous gaze, They saw long amber locks and lucent eyes Fresh from the sun-ray's fire, whose rosy tints Slow deepened to the ruby of a cfown. 1 8 PYGMALION. Then gradual rose to view a gleaming shape Beyond compare, for neither did the charms Of bright young sea-maid forms, sprent o'er with brine Or of the phosphor hues that are the life Of myriad atoms of the coral-groves. Or of the shimmering opals of the moon That gleam in vista pathways from afar And are the nightly beauty of the seas. Seem aught to their long gaze so vision-filled. Thus Aphrodite rose ineffable, Born in more gracious hues than ever a ray Flashed on the toying feather of the wave That died in foam to give the life to her, — Sweet namesake daughter of the Cyprian seas. In this fair summerland of joy there dwelt Pygmalion, chief of Amathusian tribes. Fastidious, artist-souled, he looked upon The Paphian damsels with no kindling eye, But, turning to an enshrined loveliness, He sought the gods, that they might breathe on it. He prayed great Heaven on zephyr wings to waft A roseate cloud of its ambrosia, Whose faintest breath of fragrance, overblowing, His labours might inspire, and further all His heart's aspirings to their hope's intent : PYGMALION. 19 Then pouring his libation of crowned wine — Fruitage the richest of the island grape, Unmixed — in all humility he 'gan To model in crude clay the reflex form Of his ideal maid, — of her in whom Was shadowed forth the longing of a life. The balmy airs of opening morning came From hyacinthine dells to grant his prayer ; Leaving their fragrant kisses of the buds. Yet drowsy in the dews, to fan his brow That fevered to deep flushes at the thought Of peerless charms and virgin loveliness ; Of carved cold curves — his work ; of gentler grace And blending harmonies of form, the gift Of gods. A huge rock cloven in twain by storm And sundered in its midst a fathom breadth Made he his grot, whose restfulness of shade. And silence — whispering sweet imaginings — Might wreathe his soul in meditative calm. As of cloaked eve that creeps along the vales. Heavy with incense of the oozy pines. Above, a smilax cast its boughs around, Whose roots had found a little space of earth Wherefrom they might receive the dews of life ; And, blessing in return, its leafiest arms 20 PYGMALION. Inwove shade canopies that stayed the glare Of noonday from the grot, yet could not hide From vagrant beams that through the grove found way, Sheen-sprayed as stars, or as the gentle stream That dripping slenderly from the torn rock Unwound a silver thread adown one bank. The floor, moss-paved in green and brown, whose tints Shewed softly warm against the marble blocks. On either hand led to the full broad day. In this fair grot Pygmalion's soul and work Daily advanced ; in larger ardour he, And it, the joy, in softer modelling Of curved lines, and mellower gracefulness. Ere gained his midnoon tower the gazing sun. Trailing his thirtieth arching since that first That saw arise beginnings scarce conceived, His rays lit frontlet-wise a maiden brow That was but clay, but whose clear nobleness. Fused and imblent with soul divine, proclaimed The master work of an immortal mind. As day by day the eager sun advanced The labour of his hands with touch of fire. And, nightly, Cynthia's ever-fostering care PYGMALION. 2] Filled full his soul with food for the to-morrow In silent poetry of her silver beams, There grew from out the pale-hued stateliness Of a pure marble slab a maiden form Of angel mien, a flower so lovely fair That mortal daughter fain would weep to reach Half such perfection. Nature's parent-care And art's child-aimings had no strife, but wrought In love together toward a faultless work. Moons changed the crescent for the full round orb Then faded slowly to the darkening world : So rose and fell Pygmalion's hopes and fears ; Now borne upon the opening morn's fair breaths, Now beaten by the throbs of storm-fed winds. Thus waned and gathered all the soul in him. Until one morn, arising with soft flames That gave farewell unto the sister stars. Unveiled the grot of twilight, and let in Upon his heart the pulse of certain joy In its goal won and of a carven form Living a maiden life within the stone. From the gray dawn long time had he bent eyes, As one that dreams, on his completed work,— Looking for happy resting now that all His labour had found cease. He searched about 2 2 PYGMALION. His beating brain as if within some depth Far hidden, dark in vague inquietude, Lay calm and sweet content that should be his : — After the stir of joy cometh not peace ? The more he strove, was all the deeper hid That. yearning sore whose wherefore knew he not; And gathered cloud hung heavy o'er his soul. At length, as sunbeam crevice-wise, there stole A little ray, a little timid ray Of hope amid the tangles of his mind : As lightning faded it, and left a void E'en darker than before ; then did he cry Yet scarce save to his heart's own answering — " Abysmal cloud, soul-drowning Lethe come. And quench the lurid visions of my mind ; Let me forget this lonesomeness, ere come Cold death, and my tranced eyes for ever see Nought save the marble with its pallid gaze, While cruel winter winds for ever blow Their sere and dying leaves about my heai't. Yet, must I leave these joyous bird-loved haunts. The blossom-wreathen shades I know so well. The upland-threading paths and fragrant vales Where I have lived my life — a happy life Till now ? Be pitiful, ye gods, and bless." Then shot there o'er his soul's bewilderment PYGMALION. 23 A flashing thought, that as an entering shaft Made a strong quiver of its flight therein ; Bearing this message on its sheeny wings — " Is aught too daring with the gods for aid ? " Thence taking heart ; and raising reverent eyes To heaven's high temple-arch of silent blue, He thus began a psean and a prayer — " Immortal founts ,of ecstacy divine, Eternal harmonies whose echo fills The pulses of my soul — invoked again — Pour forth the sacred fragrance of your breath. One-minded Nature, Parent Earth, and Sea — Whose myriad dimpling into foam afar Bears soothing music to the heart — ^give aid ! And thou, infinity of filmy arms, Who clothest all in mantle of pale-blue. Soft-fringed in the faint morn with sleepy gray, And evening-browed with bands of burnished gold ; Who makest all things joyous, yet anon Dost draw a shrouding over things create Of tissued vapours ashen-hued and chill ; Who hast lain heavy on my heart of late Like to the darksome cloud that clingeth close To the black bosom of the mountain lake ; Again receive my vows, receive again The surging incense of a hymned prayer. 24 PYGMALION. And O ye breezes, trembling lutes bring forth, And on your mounting wings my song upraise ; And may its melodies of strong desire, Rolling in waves from height to height, call down A silver stream to pierce the darkening folds Of sorrow's heavy coil. And ye grand orbs Of nature-pasturing light, inscrutable. To this my pleading earnestness vouchsafe The symphony of aid ye gave of old. Ye have been gracious : grant, I pray, a hap More gracious still to a more daring plea. As parching lands are languorous for the dews That morning fails not of, so burns in me Flame of a weary drouth of loneliness. It is no evil thing I fain would ask ; I would but rob ye of a maiden's soul That yet reposeth, mystic, uncreate. Waiting the advent of its aureate dawn. O for keen surge of light to pierce the clouds That mask in mist and veil to mortal sight The dazzling essence of the life divine. O for the power that through the heaving foam Kindled the light of Aphrodite's brows. Lend ear unto the cryings of my heart For one flashed answer from the inner depth Of those o'er tranquil eyes so frosty-cold : PYGMALION. 25 O shed the life of glowing heaven around." Broad-bosomed he stood, the while o'erflowed Thus from his lips the tumults of his soul Whose tide was hope. Nor tarried issue long. A gentle voice mid beats of angel wings Low whispered in his ear harmoniously As 'twere soft breaths that warm about his neck Curled eddywise — " The gods have heard thy prayer And ether vibrant feels the answering nod, By me the goddess of the rainbow sheen Now earthward borne in roseate lights that mock The dark-fleeced clouds. Do thou but press a kiss Upon the carven lips that never yet Have glowed in answering sweetness ; and in faith Await the full completion of the boon." Thus softly sweet the omen and 'twas gone. His arms he wound — ah ! not reluctantly — About the chasteness of the marble pale ; Close pressing on the lips yet unawaked A fervent touch of fire, the while his soul Its spirit-whispered hope gave forth in throbs. And not for nought, for through the moved air There rushed swift ardours at the touch ; heaven-bid 26 PYGMALION. Ambrosial fragrance thrilled around the pair, The man and marble maid ; and fountain-loosed The frozen life-spring of her heart became A river billowing crimson foam to swell Full many a blue-tinged marble vein with life. The chisel-mounded snows of her smooth breast Were nigh dissolved into a silver mist, And this took shape of life ; the new-born form Heaved with faint flutter as the beating wings Of fledgling dovelet trembling on the brink Of its leaf-cradled nest, when it essays To prove its wondrous baby-strength and leave Its birth-right comfort for a bliss unknown. So did his longing prayers and heaven-taught kiss Woo softly her to pass from heaven to earth. She comes : the ivory-marble of her eyes Softening to Psyche's hidden ether-dews Reveals the influence of the unveiled soul, And a full stream of living light strikes forth. The lips half ope, disparting into pearls Rose-girt — spring buds scarce blown but ripely-hued By contrast of the pearls in their caress. Loosed from the stone's embracery her hair Becomes instinct through shower of feather-gold With light and shade the warm life ripples o'er. PYGMALION. 27 Her graceful neck uprears above a breast Whose cruel ice-chains fail, unloosening Beneath the radiance of the glowing spring ; And Eros with Anteros breathe their sweets Of nurture-fragrance on the bud-like soul. Soft vernal airs blow from the smilax leaves To mix with sighings of her perfect mouth ; And waft the paeans of his joy to heaven Whence came the first gray dawning of his hopes. Once was a twining weft and woof of toil Inwoven sore unquietly about The vision all imperfect and obscure, But now from opened skies had floated out Sweet rest and radiance of the afterdream. As if one fared along a wooded vale Winding indented waves amid the hills, And rocky oft, with often weary foot ; And then should rest upon the mossy fringe That is the margent of a drowsy brook Musing in murmurs on its crystal way. Here could the poet-soul have peace and sing Its sweetest lullaby from dream to dream, Nought stepping in to mar, or weave a sigh For fear that ever change or cloy should come. Then was the morning with its chills and doubts. But now the glory of the midnoon sun, 28 PYGMALION. Full countervail of happiness for all. The light played o'er her brow and on her hair Within whose tremors roved his finger tips, Worthy the golden meed, and hid therein As tendrils tangling in the grape-clusters. She was his vine, for none but he had watched And waited for the fruit yet hidden close In the cold marble rock ; and 'twas his now, A granted dream — the rich red grape her lips. The velvet bloom yet undisturbed by aught Save the one touch that called it forth to life And ripened it unto that perfect fruit Whose wine is love. This is the summer of dream His arms are yearning through each aching pulse To tend toward her white neck, and in embrace Girdle the curves that are grown yielding now. The gods have given a soul ; amid long hair, That flows down darkly as to hide her eyes. Her beauteous head she bends ; and drooping as A wearied dove, she falls upon his breast In crimson modesty and maiden tears. A torrent's whirl is bosomed in his soul. His eyes they weep with love, and kisses fall Uppn her for his tears. O happy tears PYGMALION. 29 That mark the dawning of a gracious light And Hfe of love that are unfolding, each, In beauteousness, and growing all divine, Full as the perfect music of a choir. She knows but happiness ; and, blowing on him, Beareth his soul beyond the worlds her breath. All things chaunt harmony ; twin unison Hath made all sweet for love of him and her ; And he, creator by the heavenly aid. Is the more blessed of the sacred twain. May, 1866. LURA. I SEE her, oh so dimly, far away, Like earHest break of a cloud-frighted day ; As light that glances under mists, she gleams, — Like moss-fringed silver of hid mountain streams. The winds do woo her, breathing unaware, Weaving, unweaving, all about her hair ; They fill their hearts of her and come to me With burning whispers of how fair she be. Is there one whisper that they waft from her. Or is my heart o'erquick interpreter Of what it would ? Ah, how her lips beguile ! Or is it the glimmering half-bud of a smile .'' Is there imploring in her look and tone ? O is there love, for I am drear, alone ? Long lingering hangs the morn-mist like a veil Between mine eyes and hers lest these exhale Such azure flame and dewy overflow The one is vain to soothe the other's blow. LURA. 31 II. Like a dove's is her little full breast, And her face like the faces of singers that rest In the pause of a music that drinks of their souls. But the phantom of mist comes between us and rolls, With a finger as pale as the dew on the hills, A dim veiling to hide her. Her fires how it stills ! And it likens her brows to an idyl-calm lea Oval-shapen adown to a lyric of sea. O but say, ye wan films, is't a sigh that she heaves ? O that flowers of her eyes were unburthened of leaves. That their soul were unlidded for stars therein drowned To uprise like a dawn from the sea-depth profound ; But to fill me with joy though I die growing blind; — 'Tis a death come already the life that I find. Is it never she draweth anigh, for this fate Is half-fever half-sleep in inquietude's hate ? Though mine eyes should be darkened and sleep shake away, Can I not have her close who is hid in the gray ? III. Within a stygian tangle-web of mist Wander I wearily whitherward I list, 32 LURA. This way and that, without or hope or aim As fancy veers and this enkindling flame. O, to come by her, what to do or say ? Will she look on me who am earth and clay ? O that were mine to take the highest grace, The lyric fervour of Apollo's face. But if I had no music in my soul The charm would fade and chrism-light unroll, — The rapture failing in the faint song-sound. The olden deadness glooming all around. Then would I fain seek, for 'twere weary thus, The grapelike beauty of Antinous ; For dreaming, sure, must needs be exquisite Beneath such drowsy eyelids' shed roselight. And in the bloom of that full-budded mouth Must lie all raptures of the golden south. Beneath such mantle would she pity me. And calm with love one tossed so wearily ? IV. In the curve of a nostril like shell the wind blows, In the carven cold ear and the mouth like a rose, In the curl of her lips is there anger and scorn, Is there mockery to make all my dreaming forlorn ? O pink flush of her cheeks, art thou hatred or love ? O ye lights of her eyes, turn ye only above ? LURA. 33 To my song ere it faint O for once on the string But to hear the swift rush of her hand's answering ! O ye streams of long hair, is it idle ye blow Around lights of her temples whilst I am in woe ? O that she were unquiet as I, ye would creep In a wailing about her to stay her from sleep ; But the wind breathes so low and ye answer its ease Like a lull and faint flowing of calm melodies. With a flower intertwined the white flower of her hand Is at rest till the sea-wind spreads wing o'er the land ; Then a stir, like the shake of a leaflet at eve, When the winds 'gin to hush and the nightingales grieve, Moveth idly the fingers that sleep like her heart Without flutter of passion or veins in a smart. But the bend of her neck it is drooped ! — not for me ; 'Tis to see the morn-lights as they play on the sea. V. Go to her, O sunlight, and say " Why has death Set a magic upon thee to chill thy sweet breath ? " O go smite her white bosom, O fear not to pain; She is cold, even cold where thy fingers have lain. O ye bodies of wavelets whose hearts are a fire. Will ye dance up the sand with the voice of a lyre, 34 LURA. Will ye fret at her feet, saying, " Words cannot tell Of the love that is thine ; 'tis for us to foretell. From our hearts that know all, that are never at rest, Of the pain of his passion, the flame of his breast ? " VI. ^To be bathed by her eyes, — that were sweet, but, ah me. Is it other she looks for o'er deserts of sea ? Far across the dividing of seas is there one Who shall strike on her harp-strings and draw the right tone ; When the lips that are cold and the listless pale hands Shall arise from their slumber and quiver like strands Of the weed in the wash of the sea that is borne From the ice of the north to the east of the morn ? Were I drenched in the sphere of her light and set close To the breaths of her lips, am I nearer by those To the balm of her smiles, or shall thrills of her throat Feel the wines of her blood gather fire as they float LURA. 35 Through the heart to the lips with a rush like the sea ? To be near, to be far ; — is it either, ah me, That may strike to her soul but a spark of my strife. That shall burn but a word on the scroll of her life ? VII. O a shadowlike goddess with dew in her veins, — Once she curled up her lips as in scorn of my pains, But as faint as far distance her roses have grown, And no smile is upon her ; her heart hath she thrown Far away in the sea-wave, and kisses of air Loosen each of her tresses, and Zdphyr swoons there Who shall scatter with laughter so soon as he wakes All the gold of her locks strand by strand to the flakes Of the foam that is eager for pasture. Her eyes Raise a music of strife in the domes of the skies As to which is the meeter for guerdon of stars. O the door of her lips then a goddess unbars And the roses are parted ; the dawn hath the best. But 1;here falls a red petal that stays in the west For the glory of gardens that maidens may know What the charm of her was who hath wrought me this woe. 36 LURA. VIII. She is gone, she is gone, there is void where she lay. And a cloud of dim purple rains tears on the day : Yet the dream of her smiles gilds a crown for the hours As the grave of the sun the west heaven embowers ; And her lips kiss the waves into glimmer of rose With a touch on each faint crest of foam as it flows. With the Queen Moon she comes her white weeds as she trails Over ridges and hollows of haunted dim vales ; And wherever men's hearts 'gin to fail with a sigh 'Tis for love of that maiden who somewhere is nigh. In the shrine of the woodland long shadows cross spears And dark maidens are jealous ; she gloats on their tears And she shakes them o'er leaves just asleep for the night Till they waken and rustle in tremour of fright, With so eerie a moan that men's souls that go by Shake and quiver like aspens beneath a cold sky. IX. Ah, the dream of her brings her again, she is near With a kiss like a dove's and a flutter like fear ; LURA. 37 For a magic flows from her that fills all the air And unsatisfied longings are querulous there, But a glaniour flows over that hides all the pain And a dew weaves a veil o'er each soul she doth gain. O insatiate sweetness, shall none then appease, Wilt thou cage all the heart for thy mockings to tease ? Wilt thou soothe with thy tresses and deep in thine eyes Open wells of soul-sleepings, awaken with sighs But to drench with fresh fire till the heart overflows In a red flame of hunger, O maiden of woes ? Wilt thou cool with a balm-wind and blow such sweet breath One would breathe in it, drink of it even to death ? But thy lips they grow wanner, thy smiles fade and flee As they fled from thy lover who sang by the sea. Thou art fainting, — not dying ? — O yield but thy hand. Let me clasp it and hold thee close here on the sand. With a wind breathing round with a song of thy snares But so sweet, oh so sweet, it regoldens thy hairs, And so full of a fire thy life ceases to wane : O but hold me, thy life drinketh all mine again. 38 LURA. - X. O thou wearisome goddess, thy bitter-wove strands Mesh a magic about me. The wave of thy hands Blows as cool as a fan in sunned air, but beneath Is a dire fleck of flame like a sword-point in sheath. Thou art cold when I burn ; if I weary, thy feet, With a gliding that guileth the eyes and makes fleet The hot pulses of breath, come to meet me hdlf-way, Lest I leave thee and wander out into the day. And the robes of thy twilights they brighten with birds All whose songs wind about in unspeakable words. And they flow and are dying, they rise and are faint Till the heart is ensnared again, and complaint, Lured away into loving in spite of all woes. Waxes weaker and wilder as ecstacy grows ; Till a sob comes at last and the skies flutter o'er With a sough like the ebbing of waves on the shore. O the lure of thy mystery, the lyre of thy heart ! An there be no escape, let me die where thou art. 1869. A REVERIE AT NIGHT. " Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, Or loosen the bands of Orion f" — Job. " Thou hast made man a little lower than the angels."^-liAVlT>. Hermann. WHERE be thy dreams, Conrado ? Seemest thou As if thou wander'dst otherwhere than here, Stretching thy thoughts along the misty slopes. It is a mighty down and in its shroud Of darkening forest makes the stars seem faint. They are so small and white to its great gloom. Conrado. My soul had wandered ; being so seldom fed By such vast scene as this. If I were told That this place had a being of its own, Some vast identity, how could I rend All mystery away so as to assure It were not so ? This seemed to whisper me, — 40 A REVERIE AT NIGHT. " Thus look on God, — God that with artist hand Works out his poem-pictures of the worlds Globed into one huge drama, without pause Between the acts ; setting men's hearts to work Through plots and climaxes of noble aims ; Their souls his vivid hues, made fair about By resting places of fresh vales and hills And forest canopies of lucent leaves. Stalks tragedy before him black and bare. And laugh of girls floats by, with old men's thoughts, And young men strive before him with lithe limbs. And there is growth and comeliness for all. Shepherd of worlds, that give the myriads food, Maker and builder up of all the stars. Lord of the hanging gardens of the heavens. Centred within mid souls, and love, and life By speechless twilights that reveal no end — The name of Father is not great enough. The name of Mother is not sweet enough To give Him praise." The voices in the air Changed with a long low sigh, but those that came Made no less jubilant verse, but in my mouth Put a new song, and thus my soul grows full: — " O sweet Humanity, O budding plant, O ever-climbing flower with drooping leaves ; — A REVERIE AT NIGHT. 41 The winter ofttimes cold on all thy saps But to redeem them with a gain of strength ; The spring-tide ever set within thine heart, But deep down oft that few discover it. Lift up thy head that hangs so wearily O thou defamed, disthroned one, soiled with mire Cast by thy children's alien sanctities. Who brand thee charge of some great evil god That drives the other into shifts to avert Thy utter failure and eternal doom : O weak yet strong, O goddess from the sea. Rising the brighter for the filmy foam ! Great Harp God loves to list, wherefrom is rolled. From small quick tremble of the weakest strings Up to the clear song-sounds of ampler souls, Heaven's morning music. O wild-throbbing lyre Upon whose sinews his great spirit pours. Made manifest in myriad influence Of morns and eves and stars and nature's songs, Gleams and large hopes and loves and all the tunes And mysteries whereof faint breathings blow Upon the least of us, as swift they pass Along the wind-swept heavens at His word. O child Humanity, God hath thee still Safe in the covert of his inmost soul, Where from the cruel nursing-mother evil 42 A REVERIE AT NIGHT. Thou may'st have hiding and refresh thy strength. Each new bright spray that strives to blossom forth From out the bondage of thy smallest bud Is a fresh pulse of life, and strikes such joy The soul of the infinite straightway answers it, And to the stars sends it re-echoing Till every dewdrop knows his brother's tears. O loved Humanity, of all men's hopes. Sweet mother and sweet child, have joy. Grow strong and gather closer all thy sons." Hermann. O'erflow of this were overkeen to bear : The stars ' speak silence,' let thy soul accord. And toward thy pulses may the evening's hand Soft steal a cool calm touch to bring thee sleep. Lean on me, brother ; let thy burning dreams Glean soothed ease ; filled flowing-full of it Long shadows lie around. Our work is given, These thoughts shall blow upon us in our need. 1869. BADOUR. LONG line of men was curled along the plain In splendid pageantry, and Baghdad's walls Echoed the answer to our trumpet clang As we gat into view. At early morn Our cavalcade had left the crowded gates, — An arrow's flight of purple and red gold. Our well-loved Prince had bade us forth to meet The Caliph, who on journey through the realm To usward came in wish once more to see The olden palace where his fathers dwelt ; And with acclaim and ringing welcome each Gave greeting to the other royally. One of a throng of gleaming spears I rode, But silently, musing my father's deeds Entwined with glories of the caliphate. A silver sister to our golden line. The Tigris lay beside the road along, Unwinding ever through the weary plain 44 BADOUR. Cool coils of breathen fragrance on the air, And dower of stately palm-trees overhead. Amid the gleam of steel and gold, whose ring Was intermixed with eddying laughter clouds, A scarce six ranks ahead I marked a face Clothed in more perfect quiet than the skies. Just out of line he rode, a seemly knight Clad in a spotless velvet of purpure, And girded with a cincture silver- wove. His plume hung wearily away from us And leaning to the river and the palms : He spoke to none, nor looked around at all, But was as if some web enclosed his soul In a charmed sphere of silence, like a sleep Whose magic circle is a bar to sounds Finding a door of entrance anywhere. I pressed ahead to mark this distraught man, And, reining near him, for a while I fared Forbearing speech, with no" uncivil eye Marking the line that closely bound his lips. And set face shrouded with a pallid calm. The dust was noiseless to our horses' feet ; The clarion -players kept their breathing low Till we should reach the city gates again, And all about us were but murmurous sounds Save that our loosened bridles chinked the chains BADOUR. 45 That bound them to the bits. Anon I saw The silent knight was ware some one was by ; The nerves relaxed that bound his face in iron, He was as if expecting one should speak. Then said I softly, as unto a friend, " Wherefore so sad amid the glow of joy ? Art weary of the swaying crowd, or is't Some evil spell casts fetters round thy heart ? Or art thou of the tranced ones who dream Great things and beauteous as Mohammed's heaven ? Counsel is good and should be pardon-sure When it is pure and born of friendliness." His eye smiled sunlike as from broken clouds. And his lips smiled — he said, " It is no pain. But only a charm that on me lays a bond, Once in a while, linked out of many a wreath Of spring-past memory-buds that once were fair, But have a bitter hemlock spray entwined. The hemlock flower has grown more green and wan. Its poison-reeds drained dry, and its drooped head Smit nigh to death's decay, while all the rest Smile yet in rosy sweetness. An thou should'st bear The listening, I will unburthen me. And whisper once a maiden untold tale." I gave assent with all my curious heart Eager to hear this of him, and he 'gan. 46 B A DOUR. " Laden with sultry airs the summer's day, With unflecked blue as fills the heaven now, Was darkening to the eve. In a saloon Gold-lustre lit, and with the curling breaths Of frankincense made fragrant, on a couch Of cloth of gold I lay. 'Twas in the halls Of Saraman who held vicarious sway O'er Baghdad for a season till he went Southward a mission to a higher rule. My host since noon, he had been called away. Leaving me looking unto his return, Listless upon the azure and the gold." Here as with idle rein we paced along. There came up at, the spur with jest and laugh The Prince of El Khabiil, known unto each. Who changed the tranquil of our path for mirth ; A mirth that lay upon the purple knight But heavily, and though to all seeming calm, It irked him more than one might see for why. Nathless he talked and laughed, but in the midst He slid a whisper in mine ear " At eve We meet. Glad welcome thine within the halls I parleyed of, that erst were Saraman's, Since a long year made mine ; there give I thee This broken story." B A DOUR. 47 When the evening came, I turned my footstep to the palace gates, And being led through paven corridors, Ravished the while by dreamlike simple sounds Of fountains playing over silver bells Behind each curtain fold that I passed by, I found the knight Elhas.an in the chamber Bright with the gold and azure as he told. Bidden by him I lay reclined the while He followed the beginning of his tale. " Beneath this dome, within this selfsame niche. Unchanged these dragging moons, whose touch has passed Calm over them but bitter over me, I lay, not dreaming e'er they should be mine. But after all that came to me therein I felt a sad strange yearning for the place. Like to a music-sound that calls from far ; And when it offered, then I spared not gold. That eve I lay a-dreaming phantom flowers And all the easy-gathered fruit of dreams. While yet the longed-for orchard was away Far out of reach of hands. From the chiboque I wafted through the lattices a cloud Of perfume fragrant as spice-laden vales. Which scattering mingled in the floating air. 48 B A DOUR. Unseen and unremembered at all, As seemed love's tendrils curled about my heart To faint for lacking and budlike to die Without an opening morn. And listless thought Entwined itself with idle fancy thus — ' Would that the chains that bind my soul so fast Were easy sundered as the coils of smoke, For they go floating on the sunbeam's breath Unweighed by any hindrance to their wings ; But other bonds break not their pain although One see them not, and they be frail as air.' Upon the lute I had interpreted The sad sweet pain of love with scarce a hope And sheltering hope o'ergrown with bitter weeds Loveless to dwell in. She was his only sweet, Badour, his daughter, but away from me. Brightening some lonely maiden room afar. The darkness of this corner shrouded me Like desolation, and the fired chiboque Was curtain-hid in heavy draperies. I thought of her, and yearned for her, and fell Into a weariness anigh despair. While yet I fed upon the dream of her With heavy longing soul, my pulses smote My languors into life ; I saw and knew Her entering^ — unknowing I was there. BADOUR. 49 Silent she came and every pace of hers Was keener than a blood-beat on my heart. She came, the all of all the world to me ; She came, as on a misty autumn night Mounts the orbed moon among the pale wan stars. Through the dim haze that all aside she waves. She came ; and all my soul was filled with her : Pearls were a frontlet on her lucent brows And made a gleaming line along the curve Of her high bosom, as to match the zone That bound upon a girdle of rose silk Gleamed fretted gold and jasper. Thus she came. And. shone upon my loneliness a queen, A queen of joy. And as she swept along. Slender and stately as a maiden queen. Amid the weeping blossoms of her hair Floated long trail of lawn, like thin white clouds That curl about the sun. Her loveliness Was as a necklace radiant of all gems ; Her lips a ruby in the kiss of noon. Her eyes the diamond lustre that did melt Its flaming in the pearls of unshed tears. Above her eyes the dark brows communed. Curled in love-language ravishingly sweet. And, as with love, long lashes quivered. 50 BADOUR. Like a dark maiden in the Sun-god's arms. Thorns were to me the roses of her cheek, , And doubly sharp their bloom like a smooth bud's : My restless eyelids swelled beneath the wounds Forcing their fire upon the inmost eye. Spell-bound I lay in rapturous amaze, Listing as if to echoes from afar, As o'er the dainty arching of her feet Murmured light silver anklets as she moved. Then stirred the perfect coral of her mouth To her sweet thought that deemed she was alone. I spoke not, neither could I, but gazed on. With entranced eyes and in a charm soul-bound. As she passed by me to the window niche ; Whence looking down the date tree avenue. There, through the gaping lattice, unto herself She 'gan to sing a faint and timid song. The sunset calm lies over all the land ; The restless wave makes ripples on the sand ; Peace, I would summon thee upon the lute ! A marble face is dead and pale and cold; Fire is of life, and fire no calm can hold ; Peace, I would call to thee upon the lute. BADOUR. 51 Madly blow storms, but soon the winds have cease ; Love's waves beat crueller, but nought brings peace ; Peace, I could weep for thee upon the lute. The dew that falls in mountain vales is sweet ; Hopes that are born to love-lost hearts are fleet ; Peace I can summon not upon the lute. Low sigh the sounds of love-birds' quarrellings ; The darts are keen of sweetest love's own wings ; Peace, is it death that calls thee to the lute ? The swollen eye may never cease from tears, Sad melodies may quiver in the ears ; — Peace, Peace, 'tis vain to pray thee on the lute ! As sweetly thus she sang of broken peace, And of the fever of a raptured soul In unison with mine, entranced I lay Watching the happy pearlets rise and fall, As moonbeams on the sea, upon her breast. The hall was as a palace full of light That filled mine eyes and left me in amaze O'erborne by overblessedness of love ; For now long days for long had I loved her Oft seen mid garden-flowers half unveiled ; 52 B A DOUR. And, o'er-heard thus, seemed sure this song for me Breathed love. Methought to essay speech to her, Or sing the answering song of my own love, Having made shift to try her father's heart. But she thrilled forth in other verse and sang — When thou wast here 'twas as a grove of citron sweet With all earth's treasures lying at my feet ; — When thou wast here. 'Twas as a bower where envious wind ne'er coldly curled. Where we were separate from the outer world, — When thou wast here. My heart was overweary as a drooping flower, Till came to it the sun and dewy shower. When thou wast here. Full deeply veiled were my timid maiden eyes Till rent the clouds sun-glancings loverwise When thou wast here. My lonely hours are as long day without a noon. Whose sun is crowned so should it but be soon That thou art here. B A DOUR. 53 The glamour by no dSrk horizon-line is bound, But all is as one sphere of light around, When thou art here. The pomegranate hath juice that never cloys to sip, But sweeter far the honey of a lip When thou art here. Come, rest me in thy arms for love hath ravished sleep, And hour to hour makes moan of watch I keep. Till thou art here. The stars and clouds meet mingling in a gray despair, Till morning comes and dawn-winds scent the air, When thou art here. How many hours are left wherein sighs interweave ? Sing low and tell the stillness of the eve Khabiil, Khabul is here. Khabul ! Khabul ! — O poison-ending song; O dagger points and worse than venomed barbs ! O hemlock-gray among the rosy flowers : O bitterness and burning ! Picture thou 54 B A DOUR. A deep hoarse fire fed slowly hour by hour, Then drenched with rich hot wine, until the flame Keen-quivering is careless of control : But phantom is't of that fierce torrent gush That flamed forth from the chasm of my heart — ■ The emptied chamber of my soul's repose, When thus I fell into such dark abyss. The syllables of his name of hate — that same That was so calmly said few hours agone — Rose to my lips upon the fighting blood Of love turned backward, and were launched forth On venom points of a dispiteous flame. As she turned round aghast I swooned, and know Nought further. How long the dimness lay Upon mine eyelids and my heart no whit Know I or care ; awakening I gazed Around in strange dismay, scarce consciously, Breathing as one within the gates of death. I was alone save that a spectral love Kissed a chill kiss of shuddering on my lips Like to a stab. Forth from the place I sped, All purposeless from fury, this way, that. Through woods and tangling brakes, from whence weird forms Like to the ancients of the hideous seas Crept forth, and claimed me as their own, and hung BADOUR. 55 Upon me grievously. At length I came Unto a stream whereon the slanting sun Lit up a lake of gold. Among the reeds I fell and dreamed I was again a child, While life o'erwrought worked to itself a cure, For childly plashed I circles in the pool Listing the croakings of the hoarse fen-birds. The waterlilies eyeing, then I longed To lie encradled in their broad green leaves That to the water-depths drink in the sun, While to bring sleep the ripples gaily sing. I stretched my palms and slid among the leaves, Which floated me in gentle oozy ways To where the river in clear pools lay stilL Deep down below the water-face I fared Along weed-trellised vistas amber-flowering, Through grottoes wide made rich with foliate pearls. Arose a hand and touched me all unseen, Leading me down to enchanted palaces Dim in the fretted work of myriad gems That all around did glimmer wondrous eyes. I felt a light flash through the tangled flowers And, nearer drawn, saw seated on a throne Of tints like inner pink of water-shells A shadowy form unknown that gleamed and shone Like bodiless stars, it was so tremulous, 56 B A DOUR. Beyond all colourings of our faint words. He moved no hand but seemed to beckon me As though it were a needle to the stone ; And voices glided forth, though no lips moved, And murmurous joyance soothed and filled my soul. The slanted arrows of the sun found way Through all the mass beneath the wind-stirred wave, And, broken in the ripples, shot around Lambent and flitting gleams with feather flakes Of luminous mildness ; which fair light shed out Commingled somehow with that utterance. My soul contains not of those breathen words. But this I know, that when I am alone, With heart made void by chasms oped again, They come as morning airs to wearied sleep, — With scent of the fresh fragrance that exhales From balmy buds just gathered in the dew. ' It might be dream ' you say ' upon the bank,' ' It might be sense made quicker by the gush. Cool-flowing on hot fever, of the stream.' If dream it were, it had a gentle end, For I was given to the silver arms And floating body of the willing stream. Which laid me on its sloping marge to sleep Until the twilight came and took the sun. And to the moon 'twas given to waken me. B A DOUR. 57 Thus hung and fell the golden-ringed chains That bound me once in love until they were A burning on the limbs. Sometimes it comes That I have flushes on the brow which fade Into a strange cold sadness that benumbs ; But no more fevered in the olden way The lips breathe troubled breaths of venomous words, Nor are they scorched with the bitter kiss. She clung to him she sang of, him thou knowest We saw so laughter-full few hours agone. He wots not this : she cared for me no whit. And knew not of my deathly swoon, — may-be Sense -scared at hearing of an unknown cry Blurred by a throat too dry to make clear speech ; And flying frightenedly without her veil. Thus have I pictured it, and true thou know'st, Of twain that love one maiden only one Hath love of hers, and he is all in all ; And not a speck upon a gilded sky Is others' love beside, nor ever known Are all the emptied vials of their souls, For that one fills both eyelids with delight. A while agone I gathered me a song, Made of the meaning of the voice that rang Its limpid tones within the river grots. 58 BADQUR. To heal my wound again when its fire comes ; For Hke a bird that makes a wheeling flight Far through the winds and over forest boughs, And yet returneth to her nest anon, So yield me rest and circle far away The thoughts and fancies that made dreams so wild. Yet passion, wholly, never leaves her warp In the close web she tangled o'er the heart. Fierce brother Flame hath scorched thee through the soul enow ; Come where cool streams shall flow around thy brow. Come to me now. A thundercloud of hate met love and crushed thy vow, A rock beneath the earing brake thy plough ; Come to me now. Flame is a barren monster wasting far and wide ; Take to thy pain my rest that storm denied ; Come to abide. Unmingled flames are fierce, more fervent than the bride ; Here where cool gleamings quiver silver-dyed Come to abide. BADOUR. 59 Leave bitter-red drooped plants that love hath spwn ; The grotto where the lily lives alone Take for thine own. Blasts wild and feverous thy smokeless fires have blown ; Where'er the blue sleeps o'er the jewel-stone Take for thine own. The water-life hath rest in depths below the. shore Serene in storms howso the fire-gods roar ; Leave me no more, My signet on thy brow, my calm at the heart's core, Soothing where flame was ravaging before ; Thy storm, thy pain is o'er. This is the song they made me for my peace ; For surely love was never like to mine, To channel such dire passage through the heart. 'Tis well to have at hand some antidote When one is threatened by a serpent bite ; And this it is that gnaws in me sometimes, — O if she knew the while that I was by, And from the velvets of her cruel lips Thrust out those dagger-points to poison me ; 6o BADOim. Soothing me first with her sweet singing words To kill me with the sting of her despite ! Sing me the song ; it is the charmed draught To still me when I madden at such thought : O sing, O save me from this burning heart. Woe that dire hemlock-spray among the flowers ! Sing, sing : I feel the rippling balm abound, Whose spell dissuades the bitterness from me. Washing with streams that evetide strews with stars." BEFORE DEATH. ALONE, alone, and ever in the night; Grasping the silver thread of a wan star. While all the dangers crowd upon the sight, And all the hopes shrink backwards and afar. Alone, alone, and ever in the night ; Listing the driving of the barren waves, While the tired foam just glimmers faint and white As the wide breast of sand tlie sea-dew laves. Alone, alone, and ever in the night ; Watching the clouds roll over the sky-sea, With tears o'erdripping on the dusked light As stars and smiles melt coldly oversea. Alone, alone, and ever in the night ; Alone, and desolate, without a hand To grasp and hold for guidance or delight ; Alone amid the tangles of the strand. 62 BEFORE DEATH. Alone, alone, and ever in the night That glooms down densely with a darkened eye; Alone, alone, uncovered in the fight. Sinking for faint to deathly lethargy. Alone, alone, and ever in the night. Meeting the stream that flows against the breast ; Stung by the arrows of the winds' despite. Sharing the burthen of the waves' unrest. Alone, alone, and ever in the night. As the strained feet wax weary of the shore. That is all rough and full of undelight. Whereon the moongleams do not linger more. Alone, alone, and ever in the night, With a dim presence as of succour by, That Cometh winged with a streamy flight, Wafting a statbeam through the storm anigh. Alone, alone, and ever in the night Made luminous in the pulsing of the ray That, gathered from the darkness of aflright, Answers, though faintly, through the dripping way. BEFORE DEATH. 63 Alone, alone, and ever in the night. Buoyed from the dragging of the deathful sea ; Alone, alone, with aiding on the right. And storm-winds washing to the left and lee. Alone, alone, and ever in the night. Ablaze with little drops of golden flower. That bloom like mosses where the heart partite Opens the chasms of its darkest hour. Alone, alone, and ever in the night. Bearing the winters as the springs begin To feed their hopes to radiance exquisite In the new nurture of the day within. Alone, alone, and ever in the night, Sowing bright seed in an enkindling home, Till faint fair blossom sheds a noble light O'er the long ways that are across the foam. Alone, alone, and ever in the night. With soul undaunted till gray clouds unveil The golden portalsof the infinite, Rose-hued with mornings that nor faint nor fail. yune, 1 868. DAPHNE. A STUDY FOR A PICTURE. Here is the text, so limn your sermon, sister; Make Daphne rosy-wet Just where new beauty kist her. And half-regret . Mixt with the nascent life half-laureate. I SEE rich meadows lying in a fold Of clustering forest and of mountains old ; I see the bending heads of unbruised herbs Touched by a foot that scarce the dew disturbs, Struck by a glancing foot of rosy white That leaps and falls in agony of flight, Outstripping floating flowers upon the stream That flows alongside with a rival gleam. There is rich gold unfilleted and free That fell erewhile in ripples to the knee. But now it lingers on the opposing air Blown backward from the brow and features fair, DAPHNE. 65 As the swift maiden, with a fervent face And parted lips, impels her urgent race. One garment slips and on a flower-bank lies, But she speeds on with unreverted eyes, While through thin folds her tender limbs are seen — New forms of sunlight on the grassy green ; As when a cloud hath passed that hid the light From glancing on the meadows warm and bright. Her breath comes swift and troubled by her fear, For well she knows a fleet-foot man is near, Who brushes past the boughs with heedless sway. And cares for nought so he be on her way. He came anear her by the lucent wave Wherein was great delight her limbs to lave. And in the shrining of whose mirror lone The thin white garment and the linen zone She scarce had drawn and girt about her waist Fresh from the girdling of the water chaste. She sat among the reeds, the sweet-lipped may, Heedless of aught save the white water's play. Nor had she fear of aught, until an arm Essayed to encircle her, at which alarm She sprang and slipped away with panting heart. Taking her course as straight as a swift dart. Whither she knew not ; having in her thought But hope to outrun, or yield a prize dear bought. 66 DAPHNE. She flies through reeds and where lowlying grasses Ope a moist path to speed her as she passes ; And o'er curved hills her glancing way she wends, Bent like an osier as the path ascends, And smoothly gliding down the yielding sward As slips the wind from crest of wave downward. Would I had guerdon of a swift bird's wing To be about her always hovering, To draw her lips to mine in soft embrace. And whisper words of counsel for the race ; To look into her eyes and fan her brow. Arid be the wind as it is by her now. For I would lead her by an easy way Whereby she might chance find escape away, Or if she drooped beneath the bold bright sun. And seemed as yielding ere the race were won, I would enclasp her white limbs in my arms And bear her far away from all alarms, Giving her rest unto her little feet. And balmy kisses to her soft lips sweet. But, ah ! I can but see and hope and long As through the opening meads she winds along. Grown weaker now, and panting from the toil Of maiden limbs unused to such turmoil. Small store of paces are between them now. But brokenly upon the air a vow DAPHNE. 67 Floats forth, and sweetly to the echoes ring Half-uttered notes as if one tried to sing. " Ye gods, if there be pity now for me Whose drooping limbs are spent thus fruitlessly, Aid me and bless. Were I some fragrant flower To have no terror mar the happy hour. But in the sunlight by the river side To love the dew and be none other's bride, I should be blest and calm ; or I would be The windblown branches of some sacred tree, And yield my praise in blossoms spring by spring, — A holier worship than the words I sing. W^hate'er be it, but grant. your timely aid To bless a maiden praying sore afraid." She felt swift answer come unto her plaint. And strength inflowing as a balm from faint. She turned reproachful eyes to him scarce seen, Who frighted her upon the silent green ; And started, strangely seeing in his eyes The tender light of many mysteries, Whence knew she him as gracious and divine Who gave her chase upon that long long line. I saw the blush come o'er her like a rose ; The half-reluctant crimson comes and goes ; Her glowing limbs make pause, and she is stayed. Wondering the issue of the words she prayed. 68 DAPHNE. The god draws nigh, all beauty, free of guile, And gleameth radiant in a generous smile ; And she, she droopeth with a wistful face. Like some young floweret's perfect bended grace. But ah, poor maid, — alas that it should be ! — Her pulses slacken, and a lethargy Is cold upon her limbs, and her long hair Flows round her in a manner strange and rare. Her eyes wax dim as with fixed glance she sees The suppliant god before her on his knees. With mighty shoulders bent for her to press, And arms and bosom seeking the caress ; And sweet it were to rest the weary head On tender pillowing of that ample bed. Too late,- too late, the laurel closes round. Drooping broad leaves in canopies profound : The golden lovelight fades upon all things. And she, borne innerward as on slow wings. Sees a great mist arise o'er branch and leaf, — The cruel harbinger of new cold grief. Alas ! alas ! the newcome life grows calm. And her lit eyes are closed and sealed with balm. But a chill pain is on her inmost soul. And gathered memories, mixt, together roll. 'Tis over, — all the love that might have been. And Phoibos is alone upon the green, DAPHNE. . 69 Watching pale laurel boughs grow wet with tears, And dreaming dreams in every, sound he hears. Yet never answer to his woe doth come, Save breaths of fragrance, from the laurel dumb : Nathless the leaves, as in a whisper soft, Grow murmurous in the wind, and flutter oft ; And his bright head he bends and kisseth them, As one would touch a maiden's garment hem. I looked no more, because that I grew sad, — Eve-darkening leaves the last long sight I had. August, 1868. HYPERMNESTRA. AT length is sleep drawn over him, and love Is over now, — sped through its day and gone. O the dire weariness of this delay- Till the last flutter of my heart shall cease, Swift as the dying flash of unfed light ! Like as the white wind-flowers I, a child With sister virgins, gathered in the vales, Would sicken of our palms and fade and die, And, grown so unlovely that we cast them forth, Would shrivel into union with the dust ; So hath this love begot and borne bright leaves That change and cold calamity make wan, Shedding them all about my feet and ways. Asleep ! asleep ! so never saw I man In the bright maiden days that are gone dead With flowers and love and store of happy things : Amid such barrenness yet doth he sleep Choosing one happy hour before he die ? H YPERMNES TRA . 7 1 Would that on me long sleep might fall, to smooth The biting fangs of fate's dispiteousness, For like as claws of ragged granite lie Under moss- velvet, they should touch me not, But now they tear me with a bitter tooth. Woe, woe ; how shall I smite a man asleep. Of form suchwise, and mighty panting breast Manlike and stern, but of such gentle ease And tender pillowing for a woman's hair ? O woe, how shall I turn myself to slay This man, — my love ; this god who lieth here Defenceless, weaker than a maiden's tears ? His breathing-strokes are early winds of spring Laden with kisses of a fragrant mouth : His brow is marble, calm and pale and cold, Carven by iron chisel into form That feigneth life ; — he is as good as dead, The maiden victim of an erewhile maid. His eyelid in the shadow of my face Half stirs or trembles, but the eyes are still, — By soft dark flower and woof of mingled hair Freed of the lucent yearning that they bore, And kindled from the influence of mine Unto a grand full passion. Now they dream of it. So sleeps the lake when eventide hath laid Her closing petals on the bright red sun. 72 HYPERMNESTRA. And equal ripples mark an even line Enyellowed of faint subsiding foam ; While music-memories of hushed forest-songs Haunt all the groves around. O doom and death To all serenitudes and fresh cool airs ; Let storm and fire draw near. O would that I Might rend my heartstrings into rugged bars Of passion-twisted steel, and mould an arm Of adamant that should usurp this flesh, Trembling thus childly, all so lax is it. To mar the smoothness of my own white throat He pressed and kissed just now, and likened To lips of lily leaves uncovering ; Would this bring joy at all, or a twin wound Lead us to peace along some distant way ? Though seas of mist o'ershadow all, to us Linked hand in hand may be dim death were fair. Ah me, ah me, I feel a sudden pang ; I see fair Aphrodite visioned nigh. With all the roselights of her lips death-pale, Dissevering the clasp because of blood ; And woe comes on and all of love recedes. The air is cool unto my aching eyes Wearied with kisses and consumed with love. I see the gray wing of the rising dawn HYPERMNESTRA. 'J ^ Whose blush shall fling no roses in my path, But evil bloom of black and barren bane. I hear hushed breaths of cruel sated speech Hissing in murmurs from the bridal rooms. Alas, my sisters, what know ye of love Worm-cankered in the bud and no true flower ? And I, and I, what is there left for me ? My father's purpose will not let delay The stealthy ingliding of his faltering feet. And I shall see the wrath of haggard brows, Mine ears filled full with horrid whisperings Of " Fares it well ? " and " Hath the plot sped right .?" So shall it not, now know I love for love. Lynceus, O flower of Hfe, and rushing wing of wind That bloweth keenest breath upon my heart Grown restless as a flake of troubled foam ; Take me and soothe me unto heavenly sleep Divinely rocked within those arms of thine. Wake, wake, my lord ; the dawn is in the sky ; Awake ere it grow pallid at the flame Of scorching death that soon as e'er it come, If fate relent not, shall entwine us both. Catch me and flee, for doom is at the door. And seeketh thee and me. O sweet, thine arms 74 HYPERMNESTRA. Girdle my body, and I fear not now, Hidden away from every dreadful thing, And clinging closely to the breasts of love. O make no stay, the lattice lets in morn With living fragrance lovelier than death. Stay not for aught ; each is the other's all. Fly southward unto groves of vine, and set Wide sea between this cruel blood-stained house And all the coming affluence of our loves. So let the omen work its fatal will. 1868. BLONDELL DE LA NESLE. WITHIN a forest deep in Austria lies A pathway struggling on from lights to shades : 'Tis as some sacred grove, and, far within, An ancient castle towers it like a god Whose shrine hath homage of the woods. I see Adown the glade, in minstrel habiting That hath seen brighter hues', a youth long-haired ; Singing he wends along, and 'tween tree boles Thus verse the roll and pauses of his song. " Long fruitless days of tending one long way Unto a goal hid far away, unknown ; Sick unavail makes drearier day by day. And hope shakes pennon ere her life be flown. 76 BLONDELL DE LA NESLE. A way-worn song I sing of many a hill Wearily fronted in a barren quest ; Slow wind the notes thro' many a creeping dell, Rich of all fruits save one, the balmiest. Dark are the forest windings overtraded With weeds that reach nowhither, like despair, And all the land is of ill bloom and ailed, Since that one hour hath sown its winter therei Woe, my lax fingers that do fill the holt From gentler strings than of good Norman bows ! My life for it, so had an arblast bolt Measured its speed with keenest glance of those O'er-prying eyes, when on them gleamed the crowns That made the jewelled gauntlet of the king A thing of mark to such unlessoned clowns, On death they should have flashed their tale- bearing. But nought was by, nor shaft nor axe nor sword, Or unused arms had eased the blade of thirst In the dark river of his heart's first word. Ere into woe its fateful babblings burst. BLONDELL DE LA NESLE. 77 'Twere joy again the weary way to fare As pilgrim-merchants, on a hostile beach ; 'Twere blither far a double bond to share, Than thus to be dissevered each from each. Then might there be sweet song's companionship. The song that very memory loves to mar, — None answer following to the singer's lip, The tenson music broken bar from ban O that the standard which is not a king's. But flaunts out higher than the nobler trees, Were hurled into the moat's meet blackenings, As once, i' faith, in days more gay than these. O black-knit brows of Austria insolent, O coward traitor of the void crusade ! O but once more to see the banner rent. But once the clouding of thy cruel blade. Peace barren wrath, and let faint hope suspire To other ears than of the twittering eaves ; Be once again hope's fingers on the lyre. Once echo answer from the ivy-leaves ! " 78 BLONDE LL DE LA NESLE. II. The sunbeam maidens clad in long sheen veils Draw through the grating of deep donjon walls Their earliest light, and, dancing gentle ways, Toss shafts of gold athwart a cold grey room. There on a lonely pallet unadorned Lies Lion- Richard, great and gaunt of form. Broken his breath and slow, his tawny locks Enfloating idly on the wind's thin arms That enter with the light. Long hours, long hours, From yesternight to close upon the dawn, . The prisoned king had trodden weary steps Within the cage's gloomy bounds and strait, Whose walls were merciless and strong to bar From all that loved and all that could avail. Red wrath, alternate with a pale despair. Had worn the limbs that were a wall erstwhile To hinderward, in face a rushing flame ; And poisoned all his peace with restlessness. Killing the night in pacings wearisome Lead-footed on the iron prison-base. Toward morning had he couched, woe-worn and spent. And now was in a revel and a dream Of hot onrush against the Saracen, Of horse-breast meeting horse-breast in the strife, BLONDELL DE LA NESLE. 79 And the great breath of fire 'twixt man and man. Then wove his dream-webs with a gentler thought Of home, and faithful wife, and retinue, Of noble Chaill and generous Persarain, And all to whom turned ever his sad heart. Sweet surely is the dream, and now he sees Fair blossoms of his birthday-plant the broom, Tasting the dewdrops of the russet moors. His birthright lands, free as the wind whose voice In eddies round doth whisper moans to them — " Plantagenet, Plantagenet a slave." So were he but the wing-rush of that wind To sing his freedom to each blithesome flower, He would be storm-full blast and roar across This cruel land in hurricane, until. In the salt passage o'er a homely sea, The white spray told him he was near the land — A loving land while all was hate in this. Then nearing surf and shoreland would he join The breakers carolling as he came by, In well-loved songs — -such were they that he made For tenson-singing in his happiest hours. So twined are song-notes with his slumbering hours ; He is trouvere and free and boy again, And though the chains of waking or of sleep Lie heavy on him, freedom leads his dreams. 8o BLONDELL DE LA NESLE. Why mocketh thus the subtle dreamland shore, Whose phantoms idly pass and idly go, Bringing the shadow of a vain delight ? 'Tis but half dream, and he half slumbereth, And listeth as the echo dies away. But why in air is not the dream-song spent, Fading and bringing aching to his heart. And dreary deadness of captivity ? But mounting ever on a higher breath It gleans a richer cluster of sweet sounds. How doth a dungeon life delude a man ! Wherefore are dreams so bitter sweet as this ? Flamelike he shakes his tawny hair in waves ; The nerve-cords strain and pulses bear the shocks Of blood that flashes lightning through the veins, — Fierce blood as in the roar of Ajalon. Why mocks him thus a phantom of past joys ? — But ever yet upon the wind there floats. Piercing the mighty walls and slowly sung. His song's refrain — " My words are idly vain, And I alone unpitied wear a chain." Sleep staggers, and her clutch is flung away, Like morning dewdrops from a lion's mane. He hath his soul ; 'tis real — he awake, And stedfast breezes bear a dying strain — " To tell how long I wear this biting chain." BLONDELL DE LA NESLE. " Where now the viol that I flung aside, When wearied with the torrent of my wrath Against those recreant lords, but to despair The dark sirvente turned. Ah dusty strings. Ring madly forth again. God grant he hear, And have the guerdon of saint-errant deed." ni. The dawn is doubled in the morning air, The sunlight bridges o'er the void and dark. And tenson joy-notes quest and answer thus— Blondell. " My lady's eyes are languishing in tears. My lady's heart is dead with fears ; Why doth he tarry as his star appears ? His amorous star is sailing up the sky. Marking the hour he cometh by ; To kiss her lips it hath not brought him nigh. She wearies of the waiting, stricken and sad ; Ne'er shall he come to make her glad ? Shall it be all to dream the kiss she had ? " 82 blond ell t)e la nesle. Richard. My heart is as one kneeling at her side ; Love is to cruel bonds allied, Love follows her, but I must e'en abide. The may-bloom scent hath entered from afar. The winter fetters loosened are, Hope gives a brighter sheen to my sad star. Tell her I come, so she will but await Summer to melt my frozen fate ; Heart joins to heart e'en though the noon come late. 1867. BALLATA. 'V/OUNG Morys and his maiden May,- 1 Sing gay, sing gay, With love filled full the summer day ; b sing gay, sing gay. Gaily, gaily, gaily. In the joy of the play of light feet. As burning sweet. In the glow of the rhythmical flutter of flight, Meeting swift modulations of air and of light, As the kiss of the sun coming wavelets to greet* The ripple of the music flows ; Who knows, who knows ? The kisses blossom like the rose Only the happy summer knows. 84 BALLATA. Sunlights, rose lights, white lights, In the sweep of their fingers are music to us ; Here and there idle thus, Hither and thither across the lattice see floating, how marvellous. Came jealous winter with her snow, — Sing low, sing low ; She took a maid, she showered woe ; O sing low, sing low. Skipping, skipping, skipping. With a poise of the foot ere the trippings resume. To the poise of the tremulous trip of the tune, To the beat, to the pulse, to the heart of the tune, With archings and droopings and glidings adown the room. Young Morys sits beneath the tree Of Binnorie, of Binnorie ; His blank eyes speak not : O may-be. His soul with hers yet claspeth she. BALL AT A. 85 In the feint to fly, To lie on the air, As if it were water that rippled about the hair ; To heave a faint sigh, And to curve away tenderly, swooningly. THE FLOWER OF TRYST. SHE sped along the wild sea strand, Where waves sang dirges for the slain ; She halted at the battle plain. She bent her down unto the sand — Her eyes asked wildly of the woe To learn if one was lying low. She sought the sheen of grey blue mail Whereon a single flower was wrought, A ring — his scarce since morn — she sought. The sun had wellnigh spent his trail. The light was waxing weak and wan ; She saw a flower on a mailed man ; Her eyes burned dim in mingled fire Of hope and agony and fear : — He lay as still as on a bier. THE FLOWER OF TRYST. 87 His hand was stiff in blood and mire ; The sea was tiding swiftly on,— Her fingers grasped the hacqueton. Her little fingers clenched and strove, The hasp would yield not to her hand, The sea bit trellis in the sand. She drooped on death her weight of love ; A bud, crusht on her heart, did feel Its icy sister graven in steel. She had no breath to sob or sigh, But close about her bosom's pain A stony weft did cling and strain. A man's hand softly put her by, To reach the rigid gorget clasp : She looked up in the day's last gasp. A ring made bright the forefinger, A brighter flower was on that breast ; His voice came of the weariest ; With one great sigh he looked on her ; As one looks on the newly dead. He looked upon her face and said, — 88 THE FLOWER OF TRYST. " God's hand makes ebb the o'erflowed bowl ; Love recks not or of Hfe or death, ' Troth is but one,' the heart-sob saith. " Slain, slain lies he, unto whose soul The greater love thy lovings bore ! O Death, thou probest to the core ! " More glad than loosened waters' flow She sprang, and made joy on his face : The crusht bud clung to its true place. The cold black wave lapped friend and foe — The night was gathered ; and, afar. Shone out upon the sea a star. Guernsey, ^ Oct., 1868. ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. ORP H E US hath one of his bright dreams to-day, A mythic symbol that his songs obey. The god drips o'er him nectar from the skies, Whose dews exhaling in his voice arise. Come ye with me and list as he doth sing : Wend ye through Zephyrs of his sweeped string, Along the forest-path ; ye see him there With eyes that catch the mysteries of the air. The lyre wreathes garlands as of melilote. By glad release of many a linked note To meet the sunbeams where between green leaves The gold rays sparkle, as 'twere one who weaves Colours with perfume ; so in the sun-rays The radiate song finds kindred. Thus his praise, In echoing words and dreams he wotteth not, Strikes on new strings of nature's polyglot, As the great pulsing of his soul beats hard, And he is rapt he knows not whitherward. 90 ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. The hollow solitude of the deep wood Is all awake, and listening many a rood ; The pale pearl dews are wet upon the flowers, Bright in the kisses of the aubry hours ; All is a temple to the eyes of him. And he leads on the worshippers through dim Strange fires of reverence and starlit spheres. There is a wondrous hush in all that hears ; The spreading tangles of the beech-fronds shake Wherefrom in lissome circHngs glides a snake. With crest against the sun, and cold stone eyes Lost in the mystery of the melodies. The great holm-oak, with full rough leaves for wings, — Lord of the increase of a thousand springs, Quivers to follow all its heart hath heard : Amid the branches is a hidden bird. Whose young throat seeks the hymning to essay In new faint cries, but fails she of her lay. And, resting in her cradle of the leaves. Dreams a hushed wonder, and half-joys, half-grieves. The tender voices of the Naiads seem To hide a murmurous joy, as by the stream Their silver lips drink of the foamy cools From the pale lily-cups that fringe the pools. These tremble, waving with a faint song-sound. As the hymn falls like balm on all around. ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. 9 1 The mighty monarch of the wood, hard by, Looks forth amid the brake with noble eye Turned toward the flowing of the grateful food. The lioness hath brought her tawny brood From out the caverns of her dwelling dark Into its slanting sunlit mouth to hark. The restless cubs are silent as with fear, And she, she longeth for her lord to hear ; But he is lone upon some distant soil, Or in the cruelty of the hunter's toil, For hath he not returned for many days, And she has woe that music scarce allays. All birds, all beasts, all life of sun or gloom. All ragged ferns and opening lips of bloom. Drink in the limpid courses of the hymn. Eager yet still, as grasses when there swim Over the mead's hot breast new-opened springs. Within the circle of the words he sings. That quiver all around, is no man seen. Save himself only, who with gods hath been, And being filled with an unearthly morn. Far from the world to skies sublime is borne. Yet one is by who sees the solemn rite. Who is enmeshed in wreathings of delight. By new strange influence bound in eye and ear, — A mortal feeling the divine is near. 92 ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. Pressing, with footfall dropped without a sound, The golden mosses that are gay around From that rare singer's strange awakening, Follows a boy who lists each moaning string, Unseen and undiscerned, yet close always. Comes Orpheus silent to a grove of bays, And where the inner Oread haunt is dim Kneeleth adown, and in a holy hymn Unto the grove's still soul makes melodies. A little space away the meads arise With clustering knots of many a forest reed, And there in covert of the tangled weed His unreluctant foot the boy hath stayed. Eager to list what words the singer prayed. By draught too deep from founts by Helicon Rapt is his soul. Whilome in days agone Drank he with heat of gradual-glowing eye The streamy flame of Orphic melody, £ut never pulsed upon his wondering ears The sacred strain that all unknown he hears, As it wells forth on lonely paths untrod. And to no mortal seen, but to some god Whose garment's hem the music's waves doth haunt, Swayed to the highest fervour of the chaunt. He hangs, he trembles on each highest aim, Borne on the gush of scintillating flame, ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. 93 Unto the realms that are the stars among, With heart-beats pulsing feverous and strong ; Then falls he, as the voice is dying low, Into deep cloud-hung caverns gray with woe, Where tears with veils o'erdusk the wandering air Into the dim cold meanings of despair : Herein come dreams that ever-dying roll, Herein an ecstacy Of all his soul : Through all the song his fluttering life takes wing With every verse. No more for him to bring. For garland to the frontlets of the maids, The spring-buds gathered in the rose-dew glades ; No more for him the noble heart-beatings Of blood like wind or as the wrath of kings. Fanned to the glowing of a manly fire By stir of purposes and grand desire ; Cometh no more to him the wild delight To see the tracked tiger's eyes in sudden sight. And poise the golden gleaming javelin-head. His life doth wane, as from a fawn half-dead. Stricken so sore the stream it cannot brave, The blood flows ceaselessly to stain the wave That sucks it all away. So his ebbed soul Have the cool arms of liquid music stole : He hath but life to follow Orpheus' lyre With echoes vain that scarcely dare aspire — - 94 ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. " Ye gods, if any prayer can come from me, That may take wing and flutter up the air. If any pulse of voice along the free And radiant ether may to pity fare ; Shed forth this love, this life, this song on me. With its sweet meanings for my soul to share, For it is death to listen, and to be Caught thus in meshes of an unknown snare. Flash forth this inner flame, bestow on me The mystic harmony to bless my prayer ; Without this flood is life a dead calm sea. Unfed of it all flowers are winter-bare. Take ye a year of life, a year from me, Tear it away though it be golden fair. Take it though as its honey from the bee. But O the song, the song no more forbear." The sunrays swift slant gleams about the land. Touching his brow as with a soft warm hand. And by the leaves come floating forms divine, And on his hot wan eyes the fronds incline Cool vistas as of stars. A lucent calm. Gushing with rose-colours and scent of balm. ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. 95 Suffuses all in an ethereal veil, Save the star forms that are so sweet and pale. In his white fingers twining rosy rays And circling him with dawn of coming days, They strike from out their music atmosphere A resonant lyre that Orpheus weeps to hear. — " Come learn with us the ocean-tide of sound That the worlds chaunt along the blue profound ; Come where song-souls are all unbound. Come, join morn-greetings of the sun's delight. And when the even darkens into night. With stars intone on quivering chords of light. Come to the choir 'neath Phoibos' music-rods Chaunting the while the supreme Father nods Glad welcome to the fair young gods. But one sole year to linger haddest thou. Though ne'er to heaven had floated this thy vow ; The frost that bound thy strings is loosened now." This is the vision to his wildered sense Who listens to the sacred song intense. Orpheus hath fallen silent with rapt ears, But that strange thicket of close boughs he nears, 96 ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. And findeth there the boy with wide-oped eye That seems to pierce to heaven through the sky \ With palHd brow and fainting throbs of breath Coming and going in a dream or death. Sudden arises from the curving mouth, As streams of water in a weary drouth, A strange new song, that leaves the Hps aglow, And vibrates in the air with upward flow. As the pale lips grow colder and are still. Fixed like a flower that the sun doth fill. Uplooketh Orpheus as new winds arise Bearing the song unto the distant skies, Whence cometh it more faint and yet more sweet, As fly the moments with their hurrying feet. Then turn his eyes to earth where the pale form Rests on the grasses with the heart yet warm, — A lyre that could not bear the music's play, A bruised sad harp-string that one flings away. Orpheus hath lost the jubilant pulse of song. And thus the dirge that wails the groves among. "With earth-fixed eyes, and bowed and drooping head, I sit among dark chambers of the dead, — Silent and chill, for slain is my desire. Stricken and sundered from me as a fire ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. 97 That cannot thrust flame-fingers through wan cloud, And smoke that clingeth to it as a shroud. To a white breast cinctured with passion-flowers, To heaven-poised wings have bent mine eyes for hours That rose and fell, not as they pulse on earth, But, being born in an enraptured birth. Laid down their balmy lives and fled away. Leaving to me unutterable day. Thence was the breath-fire of my soul made strong, And hidden harp-strings rolled a vibrant song Over fair fields that blossomed in each note To richer flower than makes a summer dote ; Such was the joyous vision that did haunt My soul, till death came breaking all the chaunt. A god hath come and borne his life away. And now sings he to lyres of heaven's sway : Alas, alas, I saw the mystery That smiled on him, and left a void to me. Made barren by the strain that through the trees Floated above the murmur of the bees. Would he were left to me who, lonely-born. Hear choirs of music usher in the morn 98 ORPHEUS AND THE LISTENERS. Who, only, of the world do catch the sighs Of all things beautiful in melodies, And blow them forth in whispers from a reed,- Sadly alone of all the world indeed. Ah me ! 'tis ill to weep when I should sing. And take the vision as a tokening Apollo hath his choir among the stars, Whose strings ring never in untuneful jars ; With eager soul, with eye in eyelid dim, Cometh to me to chaunt his glorious hymn." SONG OF THE NAIAD, AIEEN. MOON-PEARLS are mine eyes, And star-kist are my lips ; From the dew I arise On silver toe-tips ; And timid my glance is. As soft as my name. That i sing in joy-dances, A-trembling for shame to be heard, to be seen ; You might think me a bird, " Aieen, Aieen," When the sky's lost amid The rain-mists of despair. In a cloud am I hid Of my blossoming hair. lOO SONG OF THE NAIAD, A IE EN. And all that you see of My face is a pout, That chases the glee of The music all out of my song, for between Ugly lips Cometh wrong " Aieen, Aieen." When the winds are all mad, And scatter Wet leaves, And the storm-god is glad And the Zephyr grieves, Then my song waxes frantic. And mounts the wild air With laugh and with antic No mortal can dare, for an elf, a queen, I sing out of myself, " Aieen, Aieen." When a dream binds my heart With a slumberous bond. New melodies start From a world beyond, And my wild song is smitten To charms of a lute. SONG OF THE NAIAD, AIEEN. lOI Whence rapture is litten That makes the voice mute — as a thing that ' hath been, And I tremble to sing, " Aieen, Aieen." Sweet love hath a bower On skirts of a storm ; 'Tis spring for an hour, And then the dusk form Of an autumn of passion. From whence is there born Half-rosy, half-ashen, A bud with a thorn. Where love's blossoms have been, I sing softer than doves, " Aieen, Aieen." Love liveth in fears, As the moon when she flies Behind clouds of her tears, Till faint breeze-hopes arise, And she peeps out and catches A smile of sunshine. I02 SONG OF THE NAIAD, AlEEN. Whose beauty she snatches To sparkle the wine that flows bright from between Her eyeHds of light to Aieen, Aieen. Of the dew do I quaff, — My lips deep in the bowl, Till a silvery laugh Lights my eyes to the soul, And I sing out aloud in Unfaltering note Bright chansons that crowd in My lily-stem throat ; bold and strong, full of clear notes and keen, Thrills the lyric along with "Aieen, Aieen." July ■^oth, 1867. A STUDY OF SUNLIGHT. SAD fair days when the dying sun of autumn Slants the fire of a tender-grown benignance O'er brown leaves and the hopeless hearts of flowers, Comes it sweetly to me, with drowsy eyelids Turned full unto the flowing of his glory, Closed in tremulous mingling of the lashes. To draw over his face twilight and lucent Veils that are of the pink blue-veiny eyelid. On that streamy expanse of vision wander Floating colours of flowers — filmy blossoms, Changing tints as the cloudlets cross the sun-path, Crimson, violet, on a ground of roses, Dimly wrought on the hidden unshed teardrops ; Chaplet-twined till a tremble of the eyelid Changes all in a ripple of the eyedews, And the quiverings of the hues are like as Flowers in lacei or the gleam of moonlit waters. When the even is calm and waves pulse sadly I04 A STUDY OF SUNLIGHT. On the shingle in silver iridescence. Then I love to withdraw the folded petal That lies close on the lustre of the eyeball, Till the effluence of the sudden sunlight, Flashing over the orb a carmine splendour, Closes it in a gush of molten jewels. Then from spheres that a radiant bloom suffliseth, Straight is shapen a forrn of mystic fashion, Gathered out of a mist of liquid amber, Whose glow fadeth as closer draws the curtain ; Imaged into a scroll whereon are written Figures dark in a blue and perfect colour ; And sometimes, as they pale, there come upon them Shadowed gleams as of beauteous unknown faces Pearled around in an aureole liquescent, Vanished swiftly from all but dim remembrance. Then the joy of the sun-sphere yields to sadness, Hidden under the dusk of envious clouding. And the eyes can awaken from their dreamland To a gray like a chill and dewy morning. A STUDY OF- MOONLIGHT. WHEN white grace of the moonHght silvers over Skies whose azure was splendid in the daylight, Skies which glimmering night doth love to gather Closer into the shrining of the star-depths ; Then to light upon avenues neglected, World-forgotten and hidden abbey meadows Closed around with a labyrinthine foliage, Worketh magical spells to pour upon me, As from flagons of light that flow with crystal. Here is lovely to lean against a column Bearing, brokenly, ancient temple arches Ivy-trellised and tending toward the star-gates, Hid away from the world and given wholly To all love of the silent sacred evetide. Herein floweth a draught of food for dreamlight Given forth from the white arms of the queen-star. When she sheds of her pure and vaporous pencils I06 A STUDY OF MOONLIGHT. Streams like hands with a rain of radiant touches The storm-beaten and sinking ruins over ; Soothes she gently the wounds where rapid winters Plant the tooth of a chill corrosion in them, And en wreathes with a spell of nobler youthtide All that fail of their olden birthright stature. Hence they glow in a new illumined cestus, With such beauty of rest as fathers gather When the whiteness of age streams o'er their temples Budded round with the rose of daughters' faces. From the spires yet upborne among the glories, Comes a sigh for their fallen old companions That are lost to the glistening of the moonbeams. And hid low in an overgrowth of flowers, — Flowers asleep in volutes whose own are broken. Wild the blossoms that once were garden favourites, Tangled now in a growth of heedless grasses, Fragrant yet in the last decay of culture. Undisturbed in the calm of constant agetide Gleam the grays and the whites with still long shadows, Save when cometh a whisper of the wind-song, Whereby blown in a change of rippling tremors. Shifts the sheen of the lambent tongues of moonlight. Broken under the clouds' half-closed eyelashes. But the life as a death is sad and lonely. A STUDY OF MOONLIGHT. 107 Wearisome in its tranquil ceaseless weeping, And away from the haunting of the paleness, That, like unto a smile of frighted joyance, Lies upon the unwakened lips of memory, Turn I unto the night-forgotten meadows. # ■ MAID EDA. THE spinning-chamber, floor to roof, Rings with a trampling charger's hoof; Stirred to sweet wonder virginal — Maid Eda by the farther wall, With lapse of finger from the woof. Hearkens the sharpening echoes fall. Athwart the sun a plume outstreams, Crestwise from jewelled velvet's gleams ; Maid Eda's thoughts rise whispering, — " What shadow strange do sunbeams fling Upon the smooth white web that seems Nigh rent across and opening ?" A little foot too quick to wait She bendeth toward the lattice strait, — Her white arms loosened of the flax That curls up into tangles lax, As gemwise in the window-gate She sets a throat like stainless wax. MAID EDA. 109 What shaft hath struck the maiden meek ? — Her heart shakes roses o'er her cheek ; What hath a maid of humble house To stir her thoughts in gold-crowned brows ? O cruel pain of eagle's beak Set deep in dove's breast timorous ! Shamefast for her heart's quickened beat, She turns away her timid feet, And to her place behind the loom Flies she to cover her cheeks' bloom. And there^ — half-hidden in her seat — Fain would her hands the weft resume. What fate was in that yesternight, What arrow in the blue moonlight ? — When in the lonely forest-glade Her weakening voice rang out for aid Against the churl that dared affright With his rude touch a modest maid. What fate was in^that swift 'white hand That answered flashing like a brand, And gave the boor staunch evil blood Where moss lay scarce moon-seen for wood ; That softer than a rose-garland Stayed her from falling where she stood ? no MAID EDA. " But what is he to me ? " she saith, "What vain thing quickeneth my breath ?" Yet still the threads hang all arow Snow-white by her lax fingers' snow ; Her gold head, as she listeneth, In rosy shame is bended low. A spurred heel rings without the door, His gentler tread is on the floor ; He Cometh with his eyes on her, And as she cannot speak or stir, The fountains of his lips outpour Fair words that fall like meniver. " Sweet maiden Eda, grant me grace — Last lone one of a noble race ; Give me the maid's wreath to unlet. And with a tender hand to set The silver star that is thy face Beneath its due gold coronet." " O give me flower of fair replies !" Her long gold hair is o'er her eyes, She droopeth with her glorious head, But ne'er sweet answer hath she said. " Maid Edith ; Eda ! " then he cries, " But hearken though thine eyes be fled." MAID EDA. Ill " The wealth of half a kingdom thine, In straight-rowed wheat and clustering vine ; — Within thy hand the gold shall be To fling as flowers about the lea ; Let but the one May-bud be mine, The spoil of all the lands for thee." With flax and fingers in a knot, She made as though she heard him not. But once upon the loom she threw Swift glance of moist eyes' heavenly blue ; The passion of his soul waxed hot. And breath from deeper founts he drew. " Woo I and win maids fair to see, Kings' daughters, ladies of degree ; If haughtiest dames shed out their pride To catch and trample far and wide. And their bruised hearts I fling to thee. Still shall bride-blossoms lack the bride ?" A tear is on the tangled strands, Her blushed face paler than her hands ; But yet no honey of her lip Pearls into words for him to sip. Nor hath the lord of many lands The wayside bud to pluck and strip. I 12 MAID EDA. He Stood a moment silently With proud bent head and troubled eye ; Then all the soul came forth in him With voicing that was blurred and dim, — " Are all the gold-drops far and nigh As nought thy floret-cup to brim ?" " Sweet love, but give me thy set task. And whisper all thy soul may ask ; Whate'er love saith is straightway done." Her eyes awake his eyes upon, Rend off her budlike lips their mask With words that breathe of cinnamon. " The sun's best gold is shed about The forest trees«ithat tower without, And wealth and dower of every wind Within their broad embrace they bind ; The sphered sky spreads her vesture out On noble branches unconfined." " Great things for great, and wide demesne ; Gold-browed with power be dame and queen ; The little orchard-wall beneath. What hath the plant save morn's dew-wreath From one sweet spot of sky to glean .'' How shall it breathe a larger breath ?" MAID EDA. 1 1 3 Her brow and maiden throat, aglow, Flushed deep at unused words, yet lo ! Eye whispers eye and melts the wall, And either's hand is other's thrall ; With drooped face makes she answer low — " But only love me, that is all," February, 1869. ESSEX AND THE RING. Persons represented : Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. Sir Robert Cecil, First Earl of Salisbury. Lord Thomas Howard, Constable of the Tower. An Officer and Guard. A Page. Elizabeth R. Catharine, Wife to Charles Howard, Eat I of Nottingham; and Sister-in-Law to Lady Scroope. Lady Mary Marven, Maid of Honour to the Queen. Time: February, I for. SCENE L Essex alone. Scene: London. A Prison-Chamber in the Tower with a window looking out on a corridor. Ess. "\7'ET shall she yield — this over-haughty X queen, Knowing my roughness as sincerity. After long love of hers and trust in me, As not unkind beneath impetuous words, ESSEX AND THE RING. 1 15 As not dissembling, under measured phrase And courtly flatteries, a secret heart Cautious and cold, — is this the meed I have ? Methought she had well known my loyalty, But yet 'tis many days that I am here. Over her soul must be forgetfulness, Drawing its veils upon the days gone by, And narrowing loves by dim oblivions. As age the entrance of the heart makes cold. Woe on these things ; she is not great enough To be the first forgiver of us twain. Being weary of this place, shall I then cede. And bow my pride, and kiss the outstretched rod, Till it be backward drawn, and in its stead The lips have guerdon of her royal palm, the With her that Essex hath his place again ? Yet hath she soul, whene'er she cares to shew Herself as her self is ; and her ill will Can yet to courtesies turn graciously, And tenderly upraise the bended knees. There is the promise ; she will stay by that : The symbol opes the fountains of her heart, Bringing her back the days the years have stolen. A Boy passes the window. Il6 ESSEX AXD THE RING. Who with Hght foot kicks at these gloomy doors, And whistles like a bird as he goes by ? 'Tis but a boy, what of it ? 'tis no news. — A full blue eye and open brow this boy Bears as the pledge of his sincerity. I would the rather trust the jewel to him To take it straight, than to any fawning knave Wont to make promises in all suave speech. Ho, boy ! Page. What service doth my lord command ? Ess. Come hither, nearer ! 'Tis but a few words Essex would whisper thee, and but small toil Enjoin. Thou see'st this ring of mine, and gold ; So thou dost hasten hence and bear the ring Unto the Lady Scroope, v/ith these five words Said clear — " From Essex to the Queen," 'tis done, The gold is thine, well-earned. Go haste on this. Page. I go, sire, and for this I am full of thanks : — Long live the Earl of Essex and the Queen. Exit Page. Ess. (solus). Will she be long in answering ? An hour Do the white wings of her sweet favour wait ? Or will she test my patience for a day, ESSEX AND THE RING. I I 7 Thinking to have me in suspense a while, Before she can forgive with dignity ? The ring was carven in an hour of joy, And diamonds were given to it for eyes, Whose happy tears gleam hopes in each faint light. Upon a golden day it came to me ; It goes from me to bring me to the noon Of suns yet lovelier. I mind the hour When in the summer-time of our two lives She gave me pledge of her full faith in me. Now let it flash its summer once again, New warmth of blood within her slackening veins, — The reconcilement that makes quarrels sweet : The sunlight of a gay release to me Who yet am young, unused to slothfulness, And winter stagnance of imprisoned blood. The ring is gone after the sun's own wise. That wanes through silence of the darkening eve. In brighter morning but to make return. Let me be patient in this malady. With wan eyes waiting to be flushed with dawn. Il8 ESSEX AND THE RING. SCENE II. Scene: Without the Tower. Enter Page and Countess of Nottingham, meeting. Page. I ween I kneel before the Lady Scroope. Count. Not so ; she is my sister ; what hast thou With her ? Page. By grace of my Lord Essex, have I errand now to bear to her a ring. Pardon ! my lady, but I fain would ask What way to fare, whereby it shall be hers, Safe with its proper message at my hands. Count. Enough, boy ! I will take the ring : say thou The message thou art burdened with, for me, Who am her sister, to repeat to her, For she is in the palace with the Queen. Page. Lady, unmeetness of a needless toil Fain would I lift from thee, and now pursue The way of my devoir — Count. I bear the ring. Page. Then if thou wilt the rather have it thus. The message is — " From Essex to the Queen." Exit Page. Count. Our mighty Essex beating at his bars ! Craving some guerdon .'' We should know of this. ESSEX AND THE RING. I 19 I must consult my husband who is wise In matters of such sort as these intrigues. First would I pass that bolted prison-room Wherein is our cage-bird with broken wing ; And question if the bars will answer aught, If but in whisper, of this mystery : This is some plotting that we wot not of. Exit. SCENE III. Scene : Without the door of the Cell. Essex is singing within. Enter Countess of Nottingham. Count, (aside). The caged bird sings ; methought his singing-throat Had been too dry with treason. Hearken him ! Song. A little ring of gold, Wove of a slender wire. Is strong enow to hold A heart within its gyre ; And is thy heart so old It knoweth not the ring of gold ? I20 ESSEX AND THE RING. A pledge of faith forgot Is as a broken ring ; But ours is broken not, And of thy heart I sing ; It loveth yet, I wot ; Sure is its troth, and breaketh not. My faith is certain yet. And would give plight to thee ; My heart shall ne'er forget Its Queen, though storms may be ; I sing rejoicing yet, For thy voice quenches all regret. flash bright message here, One smiling word for me ; — 1 keep the old days dear Watching the long mists flee ; But waft thy whispers near, I fall on bended knees to h&r. Count, (aside). I have the key to all this mystery, I have the light of all this joyousness Safe in my palm, whence the flushed gems athwart These darksome walls flash out their idle hopes, — - Breaking their light against the iron bars. Passes toward the outer door. ESSEX AND THE RING. 121 Enter Lord Thomas Howard, meeting her. Count. Sir Keeper, greeting! troublous days are these. Filling your bins with fruit gone overripe : Soon ripe soon rotten, as the saying is. See thou hold Essex fast ; he hath escape Written upon some hopefulness of heart, Writ in unseemly merriment and songs. How. Aye, aye, my Lady ; all the bolts are fast : The bolts are secret unobtrusive bolts. But secret things are strong ; — these bolts are sure. Exeunt. SCENE IV. Scene : The QueeiCs Private Chamber. THE OUEEN seated by the window, absently looking out Enter. Lady Mary Marven. Marv. The court doth never cease to speak of him. And some do laud him as a gracious man. To be esteemed above the host of those, Who by their cunning and their subtle ways Rise to great heights, but are mean all the while"; And some are very pitiful for him. 122 ESSEX AND THE RING. Deeming him wronged and cruelly construed,^— Being caught sorely among evil wiles. And these say he is loyal to the core, And bears thee love and hath borne, faithfully ; But I am new to court, and I know not Of this beyond stray-gathered memories. Most say he is not loveable at all, But proud above all men, and overbearing. And dangerous to all who wish thee well ; A fierce upholder of rebellious schemes, Ambitious far beyond allegiance. Who utter this, themselves, are haughty men When peers are by, but when a greater comes, — So courteous-seeming : then they speak soft words And would not whisper any evil tale, Save suitably with caution, for they hide Their hearts beneath a manner full of guile. I cannot but feel sad, somehow, for him. Having once seen him, and I mind his head. Gracious, a little drooped ; and tall fair form ; And — what he hath more beautiful than wont — The slender shapely hands so exquisite. Qv. Eliz. (rousing herself). What is all this ? who is this generous man ? Our thoughts had flown afar— -forgetting thee — Unto another. Stay, and make us know ESSEX AND THE RING. 123 His. name among them all who pleaseth thee. Marv. Your majesty shall know it is no boy, Among the idle sweethearts of the court, Whom I did praise, but he, so noised about, — My Lord of Essex, at this present, ill In bondage — Qu. Eliz. Who speaks of Essex unto us ? — Get you gone, lady, we would be alone. Exit Lady Mary. Strange that our thoughts should clash and mingle thus. Like crossing swords above one wellnigh dead : How strange and weary are all things to me ! Always was Essex obstinately bound To stiff-necked pride. In what an easy toil Is he involved ? — to gleam the golden gage Before mine eyes, assured its memory Brings straight to me old smiles of happy hours. That shine through all the dust of days gone by : — Gleams out this star on me, and liberty Unto himself The magic of the ring Shakes off his fetters and he comes to us Asking for peace, well-knowing of our heart. Ah, reconcilements are the sweetest things We women wot of I remember days 124 ESSEX AND THE RING. When he would fume his passion to an end, And with a proud sad smile that asked for peace Would send a tremble to my inmost heart, Loosen my sternest nerves and guide my palm Unto the pressure of his suppliant lips. To have in heart sweet memories is sweet. But comes there an awakening when we know The gleams of life as phantoms wan and vain ; — All that were hopes and beauteous within ; And that the hollow danger round about Is the true daily circle of our lives. 'Tis strange how men can cling to fixed intent, And, weighing resolution in the balance. Make the scale heavy with contumacy. But which is worse ? — We have of the one sort This pride, this scorn, and iron stubbornness, With flashing candour or of love or hate. Ungrateful, unconcealing, like this man. Then come men wearisome with chill keen eyes. Whose words edge round a meaning made obscure. For fear that open purport be perceived. What is there among all for one to choose } What for our will to do ? We cannot bow Unto this scornful man, who will not ask Even of us, a Queen, a favour-gift; — Give but a little ring into our hands. ESSEX AND THE RING. I 25 A little ring that binds us to a word Of sudden pardon. Maybe he scorneth this, And deems great Abanas and Pharpars, meet For such a mighty lord, shall flow from us To cleanse and heal him. It is so small a thing, But, ah, it binds his life. O Essex, Essex Unto what ruin hast thou brought thyself! Ah, these are troublous times and bitter days ; We are encompassed in a hail of points, — Each one envenoming where'er it falls. They say that there is danger in thy life ; Methought it sounded but a moment since ; What shall be done with it ? Meseems that bonds Befit thee best, or stretch of winter lands Spread out between us and thy haughtiness. For fear it smite us. Ah, we should take heed. And act a wary part in days like these. For kindliness of heart is thrown away. O what a circling chasm is the world, W^eary and hateful-visaged all about ! But sorrow is a queen's unworthiness : When the crown burns, we should be queenliest then. And hold strong hand of rule o'er all our land. Yet doth he dare to say that we are nought ! So let that pass. We have a shrunken cheek. 126 ESSEX AND THE RING. And all our comeliness is old and gone ! So let it be. Then let the tempest drive ; It is not of our brewing ; we are scorned. Re-enter Lady Mary Marven. Marv. Your majesty ; grace and a pardon grant ! My Lord of Salisbury hath come hitherward, And in the smaller audience-chamber waits Your majesty's good pleasure. Qu. Eltz. What is there now ? — Some other ferment rising in the land ? Go see if there be import ; in such case With ourself shall he have his parley here ; We are somewhat too wearied to leave this. Exit Lady Mary. This Salisbury is an used and trusty man ; God give him help, for these are troublous times. Re-enter Lady Mary. Marv. He cometh straightway, having that to say Unto your majesty that is of weight. Qu. Eliz. Busy thyself within that inner room : We wait our well-beloved Salisbury here. Lady Mary retires. ESSEX AND THE RING. 12/ Enter Eakl OF Salisbury. Sal. Your majesty shall pardon if I come At an ill-chosen time. Qu. Eliz. Say nought of it : We have a gracious ear for thy good words ; Say what thou hast of counsel or of news. Sal. Your majesty doth not forget, forsooth, How that the traitorous Essex, by his bonds Made a less dangerous firebrand in the realm. Lies under sentence. These strange times are such, That for the better safety of your people, 'Twere well some course should be determined on : 'Tis to be feared escape come of delay. Qu. Eliz. What counsel would'st thou give in this affair ? What should be done ? Sal. Most grave, my liege, is it In days like these to give advising words. Yield grace to me ward, for meseemeth thus — That, to make safety surest, lies there not Of other way than death. Qu. Eliz. Thy cares are wise ; We have the nation's safety at our heart. Sal, I have the warrant then — 128 ESSEX AND THE RING. Qu. Eliz. Made ready for To-morrow, or — say- — three days hence, or four : — Sal. Forestalling such intent I have it here. Qu. Eliz. Here! here; — ah, this is, promptitude, my lord. For our good's sake this is commendable : Thou would'st then leave it for our royal seal And signature : — Sal. There is no haste for this ; I wait below. My guard is at the gates Under command to bear it to due hands ; So that the sooner there may be an end To all conspiracy, seeing that death Faces the front of every traitor's way. Qu. Eliz. Good my Lord Councillor, is there dis- content Wide o'er the land ? Is danger sprouting yet ? Seemed it to us that plots were stricken and dead, And falling faintly like an autumn leaf Sal. While such men live with such a vaunting tongue, There is a secret power of smouldering fire That circles all of us — mouths that revile And flow with treasonous uncivil words. Should this dull body of fire come quivering forth Into fierce throbs of flame about our heads, ESSEX AND THE RING. I 29 Till our souls fail for fear, would not our teeth Gnash bitterly on thoughts of power unused, That might have quenched it ere it rose to flame ? Qu. Eliz. We trust your wisdom's safeguard in such fears : Cut sharp the noxious buds. Sal. Then let the shroud Of cold gray death make wan this poisonous fire, And let not royalty be slander-soiled, As stricken and trembling under prouder power. Danger is to the weak, but what is weak In a Queen's hand upraised ? Qu. Eliz. Give me the pen : 'Tis meet to draw and drop the fateful sword Of severance on this danger. Woe to us An we be not true Queen when cometh need. But stay ! There hath a rumour said to us. That, from the bitterness of guilt and wrath. He stores up lies, to let them all flame out When he is led before the world to die. Would he defame our sovereignty, defile Our brows, and in our peoples breed the plague ? What shall we do ? Were it not wisdom then. In sight of fangs of poison of such sort, That he were closer prisoned, and kept, 130 ESSEX AND THE RING. In secret somewhere till he be forgot ? Were this not well ? Sal. Close fenced about by such As have shut ears and mouths that do not ope, Save for your shining honour, great my liege, He shall meet death — no brother traitor by — Within the Tower. There, if he defame. He shall outcry unto the deaf high wall. Qu. Eliz. But is he not ill ? Sal. Hath then this crafty tale Pulsed on the royal ears ? Such counterfeit Of such distemper is meet covering To hide the deadlier ulcer underneath : He would be well so his hand grasped a sword. Qu. Eliz. The Parchment here ! we fail not as a Queen. (signs) We would be busied now with other need ; Good my Lord Councillor, we give thee thanks. Sal. All thy sweet radiance o'er a happy realm Shall now the more shine out, that thus is flashed The dread light of thy sceptre. My liege, farewell. Exit Salisbury. Qu. Eliz. (walking quickly to and fro.) 'Twas with no trembling hand we sealed his fate. Shall he fling in our teeth ! O vaunting lord. ESSEX AND THE RING. 13I How art thou cast beneath our angry feet ! Which is the stronger now ? Re-enter Lady Mary Marven. Marv. Your majesty- Doth seem disquieted : it is not mine To ask of it, or stir an idle tongue ; But let not care fret in the queenly heart ; Take comfort, O be comforted ; thy maid To ease that troubled brow would give her tears. Qu. Eliz. You know nought of it, girl ; you cannot know : O give me something that may make me sleep. Exeunt. SCENE V. Scene: The Prison-Chamber. Essex alone. Ess. Her pledge is broken, and forgetfulness Of all the days gone-by hath set a seal, A hard and cruel seal upon the lips Of her spent tenderness. O dungeon-walls, Your oozy stones are gentler than her heart, Moister than pity on her eyelash lies ; 132 ESSEX AND THE RING. For ye within gray gloom drip solemn tears, But she is sterile-hearted and dry-eyed. What careth she for promises or oaths, Bound firm with wreathen palms that would not part ? But hers clung close to mine, like as the snake That twines her heart-strings now with perfidy, Hissing to lies her pardon-promises. Why moan, why moan, for it befits not man ? This woman grieves no whit ; she weepeth not, But, proudly obstinate, though her eyes burn, And straining eyelids seek the ease of tears, Shuts cruelly on her heart a door of iron. 'Tis but some other sways her faithlessness, Some beardless flatterer, with suave-set smile And blandly watchful eyes. Elizabeth, I trow in this that I have wrought thee wrong, Seeking mine own way to brave out my plans, But after thine own fashion, self-ordained, Unto the earth have I bent down my pride. And of humility have sent thee gage, — An unavailing, unacknowledged thing. If rude or roughly anything I wrought, 'Twas for good outcome always. Ne'er toward thee Was treasonous word, or curl of traitor lip ; ESSEX AND THE RING. 1 33 'Gainst thee 'twas never ! Was my cry too loud, . 'Twas " For the Queen :" beneath this watchword, thus How am I prison-barred ? No courtier glib In me was bred, or would these bonds be wrought Of spirit not of steel, for with sleek lips They suck the venom of their own black hearts. With lies therefrom to poison other men. Them in their strength, I in my innocence Can no more shake, being now bereft of power ; So long kept back that every lie instilled Has wrought its poisons to a deadly strength. Also Elizabeth is crueller than I, Seeking to make the wild steed famine-tame : — What shall he do but die, and keep his heart ? She may relent so soon as he be dead ; She is so changeable one knows her not. Her poesie "alwayesone" hath surely jest That lurks in it. In letting lapse the days. Good, evil, evil, good, as chance leads on Through whirls of indecision, sooth is she One always, for she lifteth not her hand. And dallies, careless or of boot or bale. These barren walls afford me scope enow. In room for thoughts and space for circumstance. That, oft aforetime shudderingly put by. 134 ESSEX AND THE RING. Wheel round in misty circles through the glooms, And crowd the heart up. Very walls do speak, . And they could preach long time, O Queen, on this. How once thou had'st a heart so kindly fed. It could not but forgive, but now the hours, That link us twain for a short space on earth, Grown aged as thy heart, are winter-cold, — Meting their measure of despair to both. Thus for the world whose part in me is over. As I pass from it on the cruel way, That is before mine eyes, made black and red With my shed blood. Fade earth, and go from me. For thou art spent ; in thee there is no joy. Life's phantoms pass. Alone with dreams and death — A star comes gleaming through a crevice small. Lighting the caverns-depths where I was lost, Within the pitfalls cruel foes did stake. Ireland was one ; and now by dexterous lies My arm, 'gainst them upraised, is twisted round As threatening Elizabeth, whose hurt I never sought to compass. Ah, who knows, — There are so many of them — there are none Who hide in holy garbs to work me ill ? I mind that crafty Ashton who beguiled By his false sympathies, and 'neath the veil ESSEX AND THE RING. 1 35 Of my soul's easing dared to entangle me. O bitter perfidies ! Though these men came, Taking my chains and giving me their power, Still would I be myself, and, pure of hand. Cling to my bonds as to a great reward. All is not lost ; I feel my throbbing heart O'erladen with its sins and idle wrongs, But pure of meditated evil deeds : And one star brightens all the gloomy skies ; And as a sun that makes the stars die out. Is the great King to all earth's sovereignties ; And his wide arms they are so full of love, They have bright reconcilement written clear. Unchangeably. May they sustain my feet When they are hurried o'er death's precipice. And the great scene of earth is void of me. Yet is it bitter, thus to wait for death. How drearly drags the February day, — This second month more weary than the last ; This second year more bitter than the first. Since the dire fateful change of century ! Sounds are about. Sure any change were well. Enter Lord Thomas Howard. How. My Lord of Essex, 'tis your day to escape : My bolts disgorge you into bitterer hands. 136 £SSEX AND THE RING. Ess. What? Message from Elizabeth ? Say, what? Enter Officer and Guard. Off. Prisoner, beneath the law's due sentences. My duty brings me hither. Loose the chains. My men ; and you, sir, follow hence to death. Ess. Death ! but I sent unto Elizabeth A messenger to treat, and is there nought Of answering thereto ? How. Here is her hand Set with unshaking weight upon the page That is thy doom. 'Tis thus she answereth. Off. Thus is right meted to conspirators. Ess. An arm, some one ; I follow unto death. Ah, what a death is this, Elizabeth ! Exeunt. SCENE VI. Scene: A Corridor in the Palace. Enter COUNTESS OF NOTTINGHAM and Lady Mary Marven, meeting. Count. We have one traitor less. How calm he died. Black with the sins that were upon his heart ! ESSEX AND THE RING. I 37 Cecil had audience of the Queen just now ; She looketh fair, he saith, now all is saved, And happy peoples fear not, the land through. Marv. Seems she to me toil-worn and weary-souled ; And broken sleep she catches bit by bit. Starting with unused words that seem to come From days gone by ; then chafes and wearies her : I fear me much lest she be overwrought. Count. Her dear sweet majesty ! Have thpu all care, My girl, her regal brows to ease and soothe. Pillowing her head upon a bed of down. My husband calls ; my devoirs to the Queen. Exit. Marv. What strange small eyes she hath, they drive me mad : Soul of sweet Essex, 'tis an evil world. Exit, THREE STAGES. the first mile-stone. Ethred. I ME AN to follow stedfast course Through good report and ill, — A river winding from its source Clear waters of good will. My own heart filled with love toward all Who are about me, they shall be Like sweetest summer rains that fall, And shed content and joy on me. Casimo. I will not bend to gold or fame. Or fawn the uplift hand of power. But where I mark a noble aim. My head shall droop like a meek flower. THREE STAGES. 1 39 My soul is eager for the fray, My flag is streaming to the wind ; Let each shed glory o'er the way, And pluck the blossoms he shall find. Rolf. Life is a various-burdened shoot. Whose bunches hang for all to cull, With sodom-apples and good fruit Close intertwined, they are so full. The eldest one, I say no say, But three buds from this green bough take ; Part we, but until meeting-day Let each have one for his keepsake. the half-way house. Casimo. O Stay me not ; ye see that knave. He stole my coat wjth honours three The finger of the emperor gave ; O stay me not, lest he get free. 140 three stages. Ethred. Well, what of thee ? For my sad part I have no purposes at all ; Long weariness lies on the heart, And every sweet is mixt with gall. Rolf. I work, but 'tis no easy toil To know the work that is the best ; How shall one finger and not soil ? And there come times one longs for rest. NIGH THE END OF THE JOURNEY. R0I.F. We came together long ago With each a blossom in his hand ; My son heirs mine, but Casimo, Thou art young-faced and bland. Casimo. What boots it thus thou summonest The empty phantoms of our youth ? Such dreams befit the boyish breast ; Grey-beards, let us be wise forsooth. three stages. 14i Ethred. 'Tis weary widening the strait, And dreams and living do not fit : Death broodeth o'er me, and I wait, Half-hoping other life from it. L'ENVOI. The light is on the mountains yet, And full of sun-glow is the land ; Love needeth but to ask, to get. Yet Cometh to no idle hand. Each seed thou sow'st within the earth Is tripled into hidden fruit : The one grain gives thine own heart's mirth, Thy brother eats, and God hath yet the root. HYPATIA CHRYSOSTOMA. A PICTURE. NO patron crowd whose influence moulds or mars, No ordered groove wherein the feet must stay, No dread authority with heart in bars, But base of truth wide open to the day. Unshrinking purpose through the woman's heart Fail fainting as the strong afflatus flows : Borne by the mission brave she acts her part, To mould that fire that cometh — whence, who knows ? No gathered store of shielding argument, No fear of question snarled by bitter tooth ; But ever answer, ere she search, is sent, Upspringing straightway from the well of truth. HYP ATI A CHRYSOSTOMA. 143 Rapt listening souls with upturned eyes aflame ; Sweet flower-words falling, golden honey-sprays ; No sound save from the fountain, while the aim Of each grows higher as he hears and prays. SISTER ALICE. A CLOISTER PICTURE. THE DEATH-LIFE. OUT on gray-shadowed cloister-aisles She gazed alone, For none was near and none was dear To her heart waxed like to stone ; And image none, save void and drear, On her o'ertranquil eye was thrown. The girdle of untrellised wall Kept summer out ; One barren space of grass to pace — Footworn and bit with drought — Is its sole symbol in that place. To love, and, loving, muse about. SISTER ALICE. 145 Deep valleys and beloved hills Her child-time knew, When day by day went its sweet way Beneath skies brightly blue, And love made sullen winter gay As ever summerwards she flew. Nought save a wide bare plain outlies Beyond these walls, Without retreat for birds' light feet Save eaves of sacred halls ; And ne'er sweet song or whisper sweet Within the range of echo falls. Upon the uncarved window-ledge She findeth rest ; — Silent and meek, with one cold cheek Upon the thin hand prest ; And her slack heart-chords vainly seek With long-lost music to be blest. The grayish shadow o'er the air Makes wan her lips, And on her eyes no sweet surprise Its liquid lustre drips ; The light anon within God's skies To-day a cloud's dark finger strips. 146 S/STEJi ALICE. ONE SPRAY FROM A FADED SPRING. What is the sound without the gate ? Whose feet are these, That have no dread to press and tread, Where shrink the very bees To light, since there bl'ows no flowerhead. Or yellow blossoming of trees ? A lutist dared to breathe without. Whose notes dispread, With joy did pour the bare walls o'er, As if young spring had led Her maidens to a dreary shore, > To ease it of its drearihead. They found faint echo in her soul. So long unused To quicker beat of music sweet, Than, as the hours wore, oozed From the hoarse bell that bade to meet ; And in the resonance she mused. The death-life clung about her yet. And some sad chaunt S/STEJi ALICE. 147 Essayed to float from her faint throat, But joys her soul did haunt, Suchwise, that, mingling note with note. Came dreams half-death and half-romaunt THE PICTURE IN THE MUSIC. A vision floated in her eyes. Athwart the years, Hued rose and white with strokes of light. But dim with many tears ; A maid's form rises fair and bright, — Her old self, as old tones she hears. Once, — was it many years ago. Of days forgot ? — The laugh of spring in her heart did ring. And linked love's crimson knot, With meshed sweets to say or sing To music of the angelot. The strings that bound her soul were full Of glowing fire. That music spread o'er heart and head, Till one snapped golden wire 148 SISTER ALICE. Gave out a shriek, as from the dead, Amid the joynotes of the choir. Then, one man's eyes were on her face, Love-soft and true. But now — gray-cold with thoughts untold- Another's pierced her through, And a strange shivering whisper rolled From him, that did her soul imbrue. She saw the gloom of his draped form Throw a black shade Upon the dream, till all did seem Into one ruin made ; His words so scorching might she deem As once again now uttered. — " God hath no service in thy joy ; In sobs and prayer. In close control of a bruised sad soul, — Alone is heaven there ; Lies on a tear-swept path the goal. For love and music are despair. " Not for thee sole is spun and wove The garment death. SISTER ALICE. 149 But for his pain thou dost enchain, In the low singing breath, Is gathered deadly flower of bane ; And each the other poisoneth." The breath slipped from his smoothed mouth Like a cold fire ; And as a sword was each his word, — As if death's sceptre dire Smote cruelly life where'er it stirred, Where'er it quivered to suspire. She saw the phantom of herself Act her sad part. With the evil net before her set, And snares curled round her heart ; The living and the dead days met; In her old self she seemed to smart, And droop as that priest, day by day. Beneath God's crown Of love and awe thrust cunning law. To bind her spirit down ; A thorn, .her maiden blood to draw, — Sharp, where the streams had warmest grown. 150 S/STEJi ALICE. Her bruised heart-blossoms saw she blanch, As winter bound, In one white frost, things gained and lost, And gathered close around Pale cloudland with one black bar crost, — Void fields with no sweet river-^ound. She bade farewell her lover's joy. His soul to save. And for her own joy that had flown, She, helpless, drave and drave Precept to heart, till love's last moan Seemed breathen out, as God would have. She saw the spells that monk had brought To crush her will, — His benison or malison The sole fit water-rill, Wherefrom a maiden, shrunk half-nun. Must draw the chalice Heaven doth fill. THE LOST DREAM-LIGHT. The music ceased. As when well-drops That crisp and curl, SISTER ALICE. 151 Caught as they drip on a fevered lip — ■ Cold sweet pearl-drop by pearl — Fail unforewarned, and earthward slip, The thirstier pulses throb and whirl More burningly. So spasms stabbed Her opened heart, Till yearnings dire filled her with fire, Arid every vein did smart : Faint overblushed with new desire, The frozen pallors shrink and start. Her soul awakens to a thirst. That craves and burns For tears to weep from strings asleep, And all her being learns New strokes of fear, lest none should sweep Again those strings whence life returns. The music and the dream had shared One overflow, As, poured around, the sad strains wound. Until the cup of woe Seemed brimmed again. But, now, spent sound Scarce echoes in adagio. 152 SISTER ALICE. Her beating heart rends off its bonds : The portal-key, All dull with rust she snatched and thrust- That none should pry and see — Close to her breast, — as one who must. Flying half-joy, half-fearfully. Down long cold stairs and through harsh gates. She findeth way. Questing the lute that hath been mute This long long sunless day, — That now makes barren its salute By dying. — Hark ! a roundelay ! THE SONG OF THE LUTE. " Why wait, why wait in the gloom-bound gate, When thy love is come, And the life it hath fled that about thy head Wove tangles wearisome ? Come to a choir that joy hath led. Come hither, to love's breast and home. How bright the barren lands about, With new bud bloom, — SISTER ALICE. 153 To be fairer yet as the steed doth set His foot away from gloom : New may- time and new morn have met, New days to weave from a new loom. I hear thy foot touch, stone by stone, The long cold ways, Like a hushed song that flows along. To lighten tedious days : Ah, sweet ! thy face shall not be long, Ere it declare its lingering Mays. Sweet love, how bitter-long the hours. For my sheathed blade, That might not slake its eager hate. In breasts whose coward aid Was cross and stole. So long to wait ! Yet love lived on spite cold words said." THE ANSWER TO THE SONG. " My head, so weary, pillowing Upon thy breast, — The bitter years wash out in tears. The soul comes to its rest ; 154 SISTER ALICE. God's heaven-vista reappears, That hath been hidden to my quest." THE MUSIC OF FLIGHT. List to the charger's eager feet Upon the stones ; As swift he bounds, what sharp sweet sounds Ring out Hke music tones ! What bliss may birds find, where no hounds Scent spoil, and bay the dovelets' moans ! The inward of that portal drear Saw ne'er as yore, The maid faint-fair kneel at her prayer, The drear skies to implore : A gladness gathered in the air. And skies shed roses evermore. LE GRAND EXILE. A N island small, exiled from either shore, Between whose sands the broad sea-channels pour; A spare white house of unaccustomed form, By barren clifflands scarred with wrath of storm — Hither came, driven by an evil fate, For refuge, and a purer day to wait, A father and a son. The father saith, " It may be long that we are here,— till death : What shalt thou do to speed the weary time ?" To whom the son " Take I the pictured prime Of those great days that Shakespeare made and sung. To make them glow beneath our southern tongue, — A worthy labour for a long work-day ; And thou, my father, what shall be thy stay ? What is for thee, while we two linger here, To fill the voidness of the barren year ?" 156 LE GRAND EXILE. Then the old man raised his imperial head, And, turning toward the keen salt breeze, he said Few words and sad for answering — " For me, I shall look out upon the restless sea." Tempests and calms and many a summer's air Have stirred and soothed him alway whitening there; And through blind mists the old man's eyes divine Look like lone stars upon the circling brine. His soul hath gone upon the toilsome foam, And the great oceans where our woes have home. And singeth he of fate, and flings afar A holy wrath of waves triluminar. In word and act and song that hurl fire-spray Upon the grovelling emperies of clay ; — Down unto dead cold caverns pouring light. In dark abysms letting day on night. His lyre is heard above the breakers' din ; The music of his passion poufeth in Upon our hearts the broad sea-colourings, And his large love createth beauteous things, Barred with great wealth of sunlight whose strong rays Cast from us meaner things and purblind days. 'Tis to make fetters of the frail sea-foam To exile him to whom the world is home : LE GRAND EXILE. 157 Across the waves he holdeth forth his palm, Bright as a curled shell in the water calm, When the clear wave melts over it, in light Of maiden stars that smile down fair and white. Looking from heights where all free airs are curled, A wearied- eagle — on a slavish world ; Kings' prison-houses fail beneath his scorn ; Freedom lifts head that so long earth hath worn. King in his freedom o'er a race of free, His word is aiding, and his soul a key To open hearts and plant his passion there, And buds that blow within his own free air. Thence comes the lustre of his crown of bays, Mingling and twining with those buds always. Wreathe him and crown him in his own great light That calls out noble deeds from ancient night : Wreathe him and crown him with the hearts of us, In fragrant sprays and buds mellifluous. That ours take glow of his, and freedom be With kingdom sea-girt by no narrow sea. LE TRAVAILLEUR DE LA MER. FROM out my palace on the roof, My glass-walled tower within the skies, I see the earliest dawns arise On summer and on winter sea : I am alone and free. Pacing my chamber of the roof, I see the faint white flower of foam Just blossom forth, or madly roam, Beseeching heaven utterly : I am alone and free. Bound by a mystic warp and woof, I have the world within my hands ; And pregnant waves from divers lands Roll down between the skies and me -. I am alone and free. LE TRAVAILLEUR DE LA MER. 1 59 The sun doth arch above my roof His morning footstep from the wave, Until within a bosky grave, His weary eye shuts dreamily : I am alone and free. The seasons pass me on the roof, With all the torment of the wind, And all the passions it can bind, — None greater than is bound in me. Who am alone and free. And oft on me upon the roof. They heap the burden of a song, And lucent rays let steal along. From under mists, that come to me Who am alone and free. Down to my chamber of the roof Sweet balm is wafted from blue skies. And odours from blue waves arise. In married fragrance circling me, Who am alone and free. The infinite above my roof Sends questing down a human cry ; The waves pile voices up on high, l6o LE TRAVAILLEUR DE LA MER. They throb my soul and ask of me Who am alone and free. The wistful cloudlet by the roof, Will crave the secret of my breast, And mingle, with the man's unrest. The I sis-soul that comes to me Who am alone and free. She comes and tarries half-aloof Shy-glancing with a maid's surprise ; With her unfathomable eyes She asketh of, and answers me Who am alone and free. She brings new strands of warp and woof To wreathe o'er all the evil past ; The sunlight shall flash out at last. And God lay His fair hand on me Who am alone and free. VIRGO QUIES. ^^HE Cometh as sunrays to springtime, K^ And soft as the fall of a leaf In air that is drowsy with grief; As dew in the drouth she cometh. She hovereth over my pillow, And soothes me each toil-mark away ; Before sleep has bridged to the day, The dream of her love entereth. Her fingertips tenderly touch me, Anoint me with careless balm ; I revel in oceans of calm ; She kisses a dreamy caress. She thrills gentle breath o'er the soul-chords, And music is kindled therein ; Her rapture she wafts from within, In lullaby magicalness. 1 62 VIRGO QUIES. Albeit she cometh not ofttimes, She ever is longing to bless, Her whisper is tenderness, — Warm breathing that melts o'er my sighs, That they shiver for once and for ever, Unwinding their burthen of cares, Flit away and are gone as light airs, To a song full of soul-melodies. She bears me on wings of her lovelight. Away from the regions of pain ; As the sunray looks down on the rain, I look on the teardews that were. She giveth the soul a soft nurture. And beareth it angels among ; Her glances do yearn to be young ; Long waiting is hopeful in her. She liveth in mountains untrodden By aught save the wing-feet of winds ; She whispers me " Come," and she binds All thorns out of sight of the eyes; VIRGO QUIES. 163 I come, but 'tis only in fancy — The twilight where fables are ; — Fate slants a deep night as a bar, And bound of my dream-paradise. Alas, were I able to wed her, To taste all the joy of her love. Capriciously then would she move. And lap me in long drowsihead. I love her the deeper, the more that She leaveth me till I am weak. And weary, then gives me her cheek To kiss, and again is she sped. I know not how rightly to woo her ; She giveth a brother to teach ; His lessons are on the rough beach, Not where the wave lulls into ease. I ask him, I pray him to teach me The end of his burthensome coil ; He smileth, her brother of toil. And points to things nobler than these. 1 64 VIRGO QUIES. He points to the birth, to the growing Of stature from out of restraint ; To stay by the way is to faint, And awake to what others have done. I will work for the love of his sister ; Her teaching my soul would obey ; I look to the end of the way Where brother and sister are one. April, 1867. A DREAM OF EYES. A DREAM of eyes. restless, unknowing Whereunto speeds the star of the birth ; Whose earnestness strives to be going To find its true place upon earth, Where the soul shall meet fullness and enter no valley of dearth. A dream of hot eyes running over From fountains of virginal pain, When the heart's quick is bruised, and the lover Fears all his enchantments are vain, And that life is but stabbing for gold in arenas of brain. A dream of dry eyes losing hopelight. As the soul seemeth further from God, Driven out from its dreamland of pasture — 1 66 A DREAM OF EYES. A vale of lost beauty — to plod Through its quiet defiled, o'er its grasses worn down to the sod. Amid dust from the journeying hillwards, And cries from the bruise of the rocks, Stedfast eyes catch a gleam whose illuming Is not as a marsh-light that mocks. But kindles the heart to forgetting of earth-born shocks. A dream of eyes calm as gray morning, When the sun thinks again of the dew. And that look on the gloom o'er-inveiled As cloud-sky whose lining is true. Whose task is to shadow the light that is awful to view. A dream of eyes turned from the prison, Away from the chasms of sin, To a sky lit with stars new-arisen As brothers to beckon them in, To where souls bloom as roses, and gnaweth no palmer within. May, 1867. MOODS. DIRGE — P^AN. A STIFLED thunder rolls along an air So passionlessly dark in folded flakes Of gloom, that lightning's azure never breaks Its silent great monotony, despair ; But threefold surges from a former woe Feed the sad clouds, until their chills are pressed, In circling fogs of winter, on the breast. Whose beating groweth wearisome and slow. Should one to dreams of brighter shores be fleet. All vistas, straight, are closed dark doors of shade; The night-cloud gathers o'er the brightest glade, A shingled strand is toilsome to the feet. 1 68 MOODS. And nerveless pilots steer a dead-heart flight, After the fruit of an abhorrent tree, That is as fair as rest in toil, to see. But, gathered, gall and bitter dust to bite. The skies weep out their darkness o'er the moon, The spirit saileth sadly under stars Whose light is quenched, and as a bark whose spars The sails have tangled and the blasts have hewn. It outruns hope, and, losing course, it dips. With strained answers to the straining breeze, Unto the anger and the lash of seas, — Sucked down with laden hull to great curved lips Of billows opening unto ooze-black caves, That yawn their longing for the downward bound Of the great shivering mass, that death creeps round. And sullen swell of the enfolding waves. The beaten hulk is wrestling through the hours That drag it down ; the light upon the prow Is dim, — the life-clue sunk where the frowned brow Of surge seemed calmest, underneath foam flowers. MOODS. 169 A soul is in the snares ; its weakly cries Wail forth, in bitterness of smothered birth, From lonely far depths of the ancient earth, Moaning like sough of storm-sob ere it dies. The shrunken heart is cold, and tremulous Is each its fainting breath, through hungered sense Too early-born, for fruit, that too intense For this our nursery-life, doth grow for us. Waiting our coming to the garden dells Where hath its perfect noon a changeless sun. And all earth pains or gains we lost or won, A waning echo to the rapture tells. Shall dream upraise us to abiding light ? Doth it not shudder, and again grow gray Unto the deadness of a fog-blind day ? For silvern hope doth rust herself with night, And scorns her azure hues as only dream, And, if life hinteth that the sun is near, Thrusts back its tremblings to the arms of fear Ye angels looking Godwards, could ye gleam. 1 70 MOODS. From out your calm-eyed gaze, one crystal dew Of sympathy, would ye then find love flown For this ? but — drawing tears unto your own — Would not the tearful yield their souls to you ? Ah, me, we die not though alone, alone. And faint for breath. O God, thy love outwears The woes and waitings of the dim-hued years. And, breathed on souls, binds all unto thine own. Lighten our eyes whereon earth-shadows move, And mystery of cloud : wreathe pride with bitter rue. Yet ever give, O soul of all, unto The faint and weary of the storm thy love. II. Brow-wreathed in garlands that bud forth between The spirit's fever and the dew of tears. Gaily I float through open morning years. Knowing no eventide. The heavens glean The scattered wanderings of lapsed" tears Into sigh-laden clouds, that float afar Unto the bourne of sadnesses that were, — Fleeing the sunlight as the morning nears. MOODS. I 7 1 I see a life within the crucible, And dream that holy streams flow forth and roll, In rills of gold from furnaces of soul,— Out-seething from the glooms of night whose spell Is backward drawn. Great hope, thou art divine, And thy aspiring glorious, though thou art But as the stolen glance hid sunbeams dart ; A strange vain thing, brave-born thyself to thine, But weakly-footed on a world of ice. With trembling knees and garments that are sad ; Whereas they shone all glorious and glad In purple broidery of thine own device. What is it when the straining eyeballs freeze. And heart-throbs thicken with a louder beat. When from the rushing winds of thoughts o'er-fleet To 'scape the clinging calm, the scared blood flees. Swaying hot veins with swollen eddyings, And heaves the breast until it scarce contains The vibrant soul, whose every longing strains For utter loosing from all grosser things ? 172 MOODS. When from soul-plenitude intensity Forgeth to flame an azure spark, a lyre Whose strings would flash from peak to peak of fire, To heights of olden dreams divine and free ; And, purged from dust of crowded years gone by. Tremble in sheen like moon-pearls on the brine, Full-harmonied to music notes divine. Whence grief doth steal bright crystal wings to fly. Patience ! thou goddess swathed in dew-dark hopes. To what star dost thou point that covereth Its rays in hiding of the years and death ? When wilt thou cease to gall us with thy ropes ? Hope, that dost blush the ashy glooms with joy. Ride forth on lightnings, fleet with rosy wings, To slake deep thirst in life's imaginings That break in flower, afar from cold alloy. What be white streams of words ? — but rush Of phantom thoughts that float along the hours ? Are earth's faint rainbow smiles our only flowers .■* Is hope not garnered for a broad-noon gush MOODS. I "JT, Of fullness ? Is it ill to scan the gray- That shroudeth us as yet, and look for light Beyond the seen, as one through feverous night Waits with hot lips the coming of the day ? Thus burns wan flame to Godward, and we go Bearing aloft our strivings up the steep. But aye borne down by tears of those that weep ; Ah me, O brother weary ones, ye know. April and June, 1867. SLAVE'S SONG TO FREEDOM. GIVE me to be calm as air, The eve maketh cool from the fierce sun's glare, If so be it is well to give up, to forget The wild budding blossoms that garland thy hair. Give me to be wild, to be free. As the wind-blast that furrows long deserts of sea, If so be it is well to uptear, to upset The dark mountain- wave that weighs weary on me. Give me not to be deathly and drear as a shore, Where the cloud hangeth ever, unbroken by roar, Born of might and of thunder, to sport with the brine And hurl life at its deadness. O unchain my door : SLAVE'S SONG TO FREEDOM. 175 Give me either the rest that in joy is calm-browed, Or rain on me flame-points, to rend night her shroud. But leave me not sunk on the barren long line, Winds yield to dead calm, stars and sun to a cloud. 29 June, 1867. 'ANATKH. ODIRE and awful vision of affright, - Art thou then yet alive, to make the heart Quake in the midnight hour, when as from dream It starts, arising out of a dead sleep Unto a shivering consciousness of thee ? Art thou not wearied of the formless years. That thou hast clothed thyself in shape anew. After thy day to haunt the world again ? Why rendest thou the soul with iron goads, That close around it that it may not 'scape Thy blood-red fingers, but in pallid fear Freeze till the life hang by one heart-drop left ? Did'st thou not slip into the empty death Of the old gods, or fall and melt away With chains that drank of our forefathers' hearts ? Why frownest thou upon us with dark brows That shadow caverns that have lost their light. Till the life shuddereth, as with a fiend 'Avoiyyivi. ijy Sucking the soul out cruelly by the lips, With all bright hopes ? O God, let me escape From fearful visionings of men fate-bound Unto all foulness. Save, O save from thoughts That tread dismay upon the soul aghast, — Spectres dispiteous with sullen hate. They have been with us, doth the better day, Gathered and gathering from fairer skies. Blot them all out as if they had not been ? O wherefore loose from bonds the deathful thing, That draws such shroud upon our eyes they see Nought but a preying foulness where was life. Nothing but death and an all-darkened tomb ? Banish, O heaven, the shape that frighteth me. Now, passionless with deadly gleaming eyes. Broods it on breaths of the avenging years ; Now, borne upon resistless wings, speeds on. Fearful with claws that cling and clutch the soul ; That wake it sleeping in the vales of love. And hurl it, writhing, from its dream-fast hold, On rocks whence is none other outlet save Below to death, above unto despair. Lashing fire-forks around, it whirleth us Into its cavern depths, where never heard Is a sweet sound, but sighs and dire lament 1 78 'Avdynvi. Gnaw in the heart with a remorseless tooth ; Far lonesome depths, where never is a smile, Or voice of any, but the jarring air Rings harsh with moans and woe it cannot tell. Art thou of our begetting, O thou fate ? Why fear we then, O thou that art the child Of palsied fancies and of shuddering doubts ? Would that a lightning flash of doom might burn Thine image from our world, thy fearful wings From our dark skies. O let my soul return To the great presence that is somewhere nigh, Too vast to see,^ — the Master of the feast That showers on us blossoms of young morns. And bridal flowers of many a pure child-life. And dews untainted on the hearts of love. O thou, that art the wellspring-head of all Our dreams ; sole pasturage of balm the while We roam our lives of mingled smiles and tears. Hurl back this phantom-form and let us breathe. What art thou. Fate, what art thou unto us ? We see thee brooding o'er fair sunny lands. Blighting the plants and poisoning the dews, And binding barren famine upon love. O but to see the angel that shall wage A noble war against thee, hurling down Thy shattered power into a dark abyss, ■ AvciyKVj. 1 79 Unutterable, where thy fierce flame hair, Snake-coiled, shall hiss into a venomous death, In the cold waters that are left to" thee For ever. It were heaven to see arise. From the wide sanguine fields where thou hast wrought Thy glooms of desolation, fair young forms Made perfect from thy fire, and cleansed From black defilement to a noble end ! But what day bringeth it, when shall it be ? The gloom broods over, yet I do believe That we shall wash our wounds within a spring Of ancient mysteries and of love old-new, Made pure again, O God, when in thy arms, Whence came we having sin and death to learn. Give us to see thy hand and cling to it, In the long days whose darkness is but tinged By glimmer of clean flame around the world. Burning the clinging mires to dust and death. Amid the breaths of a pure holy air. yufy lyih, 1867. QUEEN SYMPATHY. a-vufpa, (rvvaT€poi/r}(ra> (ra>(j>povi. ASeCTTOTOF. Hv\r}(Tap€V vfuv, Kol ovk cip\riTa