Xru>L ^cuY^t&Msi 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR4971.M3P9 
 
 Pygmalion in Cyprus, and other poems, by G 
 
 3 1924 013 520 576 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013520576 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
In Preparation, uniform 
 
 with this volume, 
 
 KINGS 
 
 AND 
 
 ET 
 
 QUEENS. 
 
 GEOEGE ERIC LANCASTER. 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE ERIC LANCASTER., 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 STAMFORD STKEKT AND CHASING CROSS. 
 
 1880. 
 
TO 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It has been said — and is daily repeated — that new rhymers 
 are an intrusion in literature; and that poets, properly so 
 called, appear but once or twice in a century; ox- — in the 
 case of the highest of poets — once in a thousand years. 
 Must no bird sing in the forest because the nightingale is 
 known to live there ; no bird twitter in the sunlight because 
 the lark has saluted the god of day ? I am one of those who 
 believe in the mission of the fire-fly and the glow-worm, 
 albeit contrasted with the stars their position in creation 
 is very humble ; and I believe that in the literature of my 
 country there is room for writers such as I am. The dear 
 old land which gave me birth, whose language I speak, 
 whose laws I obey, whose Queen I reverence, is my England 
 tooi I also have stood face to face with nature ; and for me, 
 as for others, has the sun risen. Joys and sufferings have 
 been mine, as other men's. The sense of life and the sense 
 
VI 11 PKEFACE. 
 
 of the foretaste of death have brought me, too, into com- 
 munion with persons and things belonging to this great 
 century of the Christian era : — my brothers and sisters of the 
 human race — my kindred of other races that inhabit the ' 
 earth — my fellow-creatures the treesi the flowers, and the 
 birds. Call me not arrogant if I, too, on my way to the grave, 
 express the yearnings that are in me — my hopes and joys, 
 my sufferings and my aspirations. All men are not Cassars ; 
 every rhymer is not called Hafiz, Byron, or Apollo. There 
 are linnets in the woods as well as larks ; finches as well as 
 nightingales; birds, too, of humbler note whose songs are 
 not despised because in the commonwealth of the fields and 
 hedges they uplift their voices in the twilight. The daisy 
 has its minstrel ; the convolvulus its poet-laureate. The 
 poppy, crimson by the grace of God, waves its banner in the 
 corn that I, even I, may sing of it. There is no presump- 
 tion in a cry of pain ; no usurpation of another's rights in a 
 shout of joy. If I fall from a rock, the cry I utter will be 
 as true as that of an emperor. No man — were he the 
 preacher of a hundred sermons, the writer of a thousand 
 songs — will teach me in a year what I shall learn in a 
 moment from the eyes and lips of One I love. Shall I 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 Dot therefore know how to speak thereof, and sing thereof 
 if need be, without consulting a library ? Grant me the 
 right to suffer ; grant me the power to enjoy, and you 
 acknowledge my right (which I herewith exercise) to testify 
 thereto in song. Tell me not that others have written about 
 love before me. Others have hungered too; others have 
 thirsted. But their hunger and their thirst have not 
 appeased mine, or made mine better or worse. No man 
 has laughed with my lips ; no man has shed my tears. 
 Rhymes have I found in the winter blast, and rhythm in 
 the rolling of the waves ; and, often and often, in lonely 
 hours, have I tried to reproduce them. I am not this man, 
 or that man ; I am myself. 
 
 To the critics of our English speech, the guardians of our 
 literature, one of the noblest in the world, I would address a 
 few words. I am not to-day as conscious as I shall be here- 
 after of the defects of the book I have written. May my 
 critics, if I find any, be as merciful to me as I deserve. May 
 they, in the intervals of sterner duties, find time for my little 
 book ; and weed my garden — if it be a garden — of all that 
 offends the sight ! May nothing be left there but what is fit 
 to live. One rose, one lily, one tree ! How fair are such if 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 free of defects ; and who, if not the gardener, is fitted to prune 
 them ? Who, if not the critic, has a right to pronounce 
 judgment ? 
 
 And here I am brought to the subject of my Italian poems. 
 I wrought them in Italy, in a darkened room, during an 
 attack of blindness. When I recovered my sight, I wrote 
 them down and published them. They are inserted here in 
 grateful remembrance of those critics who permitted me — a 
 foreigner — to pass the barriers of Italian literature, and 
 awarded me a generous welcome. 
 
 George Eeic Lakcastek. 
 October 23, 1880. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS 
 
 ANTEROS 
 
 THE LADY OF THE MAY 
 
 THE WEDDING BELLS 
 
 BEETHOYEN AT THE PIANO 
 
 OH, GIVE ME LIGHT . . 
 
 SACHAL 
 
 THE WAKING OP THE LAKE 
 
 A RHAPSODY 
 
 A GORGON TRESS 
 
 THE STATUE IN THE NOOK 
 
 A SONG OF SERVITUDE 
 
 I 
 
 29 
 36 
 
 40 
 
 51 
 
 57 
 
 59 
 66 
 
 7i 
 78 
 83 
 9i 
 
Xll 0ONTEN1 
 
 A lover's THOUGHTS 
 
 OH, GO NOT HENCE . 
 
 G. B. . . 
 
 THE ARMOURER'S DAUGHTER 
 
 ZULALIE 
 
 SYLVIA IN THE WEST 
 
 THE COMBING OF THE HAIR 
 
 A BALLAD OP KISSES . . 
 
 FAGB 
 
 ■95 
 103 
 104 
 in 
 116 
 118 
 128 
 138 
 
 Italian grants. 
 
 LA ZINGARELLA 
 
 IL PONTE d'aVIGLIO 
 
 I MIEI SALUTI 
 
 141 
 151 
 
 153 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPKUS. 
 
 0-^.0 
 
 I. 
 Oh say, thou wondrous maid, — 
 Erect and fair and white and Venus-tall, — 
 Why art thou silent in thy marble thrall ? 
 
 ii. 
 "Why, in thy charms array'd 
 
 (Nude as a pearl), dost thou, — a nymph of spring,- 
 Eeturn no answer to the joys I sing? 
 
 in. 
 Behold ! I make a bud 
 Of this my mouth, to match thy perfect one, 
 But tho' I give thee love thou giv'st me none. 
 
 B 
 
5 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 No witchery of the blood. 
 
 No sigh ; no sign of life. No ! nought but this : 
 
 To have a mouth and not desire a kiss. 
 
 v. 
 
 thou unsistered Grace ! 
 
 thou sublime perfection of a stone ! 
 
 Thou art too womanlike to live alone. 
 * 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yea, thou hast Hebe's face, 
 
 And Dian's drooping eyelids, when she nods, 
 
 And thou art moulded like the queen of gods. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh ! I will have it so ; 
 
 And, tho' thou flout me in thy virgin pride, 
 
 Mine adoration shall not be denied. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 My tears for thee shall flow, 
 
 My pulses beat, mine accents smite the air, 
 
 To curse thy nakedness for being fair. 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPKTTS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 nymph ! masterpiece !• 
 
 Sphinx of Love ! O Gorgon of Delight 1 
 
 Give me my guerdon ere we part to-night. 
 
 x. 
 Give me (as once in Greece 
 A sylph did clip Apollo in the dark) 
 A kiss of fire, a lay to lull the lark. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Aye, aye! let me untwist, 
 
 Here for a moment, thine entangled locks, 
 
 And cling to thee as limpets cling to rocks. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Let me, till thou art kiss'd 
 
 (And I consoled), become thy paramour, 
 
 To coax the saint that erst I did adore. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 For lo, I am thy king, 
 (If sculptors be the kings of marble maids) 
 And I will have thee mine, tho' Jove upbraids. 
 
 b 2 
 
4 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The birds, the birds of spring, 
 
 The wanton birds that sing so well at night, 
 
 All these do know how sweet thou art to sight. 
 
 xv. 
 Yea, there are stars in heaven 
 
 That guess my thoughts, and gath'ring round the moon, 
 Do blink at me and throb as they would swoon. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And one white star of seven 
 
 (I know not where she be) has left the skies, 
 
 To take two lovers back to Paradise. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Oh, could she meet us twain • 
 
 Could she confront us here, and pity me, 
 
 Or make me marble, too, to dwell with thee ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Then mightst thou here remain 
 
 (Thou and myself) till Love, — to make thee stoop, — 
 
 Had turn'd us, amorous, to a matchless group ; 
 
PYGMALION IN OYPEUS. J 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A group of two in one: 
 
 A man and nymph, conjoined here for aye, 
 
 To be the symbol of a marriage day. 
 
 xx. 
 And us no setting sun — 
 No rising moon — no roaring of the wind- — 
 Should separate in bliss so thou wert kind. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Oh, seek me with thine arms, 
 
 And fold them up, or lift them like a child, 
 
 To plead to me, sweet soul ! to be beguiled. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I will thy feign'd alarms, 
 
 And thine affected fears, reward in this 
 
 That I will pay thee back each stinted kiss. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And thou, the pride of earth, 
 
 The guest of summer and the winter's joy, 
 
 Wilt plead the pangs of Venus' wakeful boy. 
 
b PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And Pallas-like in birth 
 
 (She from the Thunderer's head, thou from the rock), 
 
 Wilt rise immortal, saint-like, from the shock. 
 
 xxv. 
 For some there be alive, 
 
 And some be dead, who, in their feign'd distress, 
 Have whisper'd "No! " when most they meant a "Yes." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And, blameless thus to strive 
 
 (And half to vanquish), have sustained defeat 
 
 Because to win were wise, but not so sweet. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Oh, be not thou as these, 
 
 But smile on me, thou saintly-sinning one, 
 
 Lest I do mar thee with my malison. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Lest here, at thy white knees 
 
 (Or at thy waist, or at thy shapely thighs), 
 
 I mow thee down and scare thee with my cries. 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 7 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 I'll murder thee, in truth ; 
 
 Yea ! I will do it ; and rejoice therein, 
 
 And call mine act a 'judgment on thy sin. 
 
 xxx. 
 A judgment on thy youth, 
 And on thy beauty's dowry, which is mine, 
 And not thine own, — thy shame alone is thine. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 For what were day itself, 
 
 And what were Phoebus in his fiery car, 
 
 If he could overtake no flying star? 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 His gold were less than pelf, 
 
 His setting clouds (the fringe of his attire) 
 
 Were day's decease if suns had no desire. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 » 
 
 Oh ! thou must think of this ; 
 
 Thou must take counsel of thy womanhood 
 And say (or say it not) that Love is good. 
 
 
O PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Thou must thy fears dismiss, 
 
 (If fears thou hast) and say (or say it not) 
 
 That thou wilt share, till death, Pygmalion's lot. 
 
 xxxv. 
 A kiss will serve thy stead; 
 A smile will do it ; cry " Pygmalion ! " 
 And thou shalt be my bride, at set of sun. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 But leave the thing unsaid; 
 
 Be mute and chill; and thou shalt learn (too late) 
 
 That Love has many names, and one is Hate. 
 
 xxxvu. 
 Love is the Bemus now, 
 And Hate the Eomulus of all the sphere; 
 And both are one, and one is both, I fear ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And Murder, with his brow 
 
 Dread as a god's, and Pluto's withering pack 
 
 (Swift as, remorse) shall keep repentance back. . . . 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. \) 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 What ! wilt thou nought reveal ? 
 
 Not for thy life? Well, then 'twill stand confess'd 
 
 That fear, lite love, is alien to thy breast. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And swords and hooks of steel, 
 
 And blistering fires, and foemen's frownful eyes, 
 
 Are nought to thee, tho' death they do devise. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Oh, thou'rt the bravest wench ! 
 
 A goddess thou, a syren of the sea, 
 
 And I will wrong myself ere injure thee. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Yet, tho' I dare not wrench 
 
 Thy limbs asunder, white one ! in thy pride, 
 
 I'll find the loves that now thou hast denied. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Yea ! this will I perform. 
 
 Tor there are naiads, here, on Cyprus' sands, 
 
 And I will choose the best for my demands. 
 
10 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 And here, of matchless form 
 
 (And thou shalt blush to see't), she shall be brought 
 
 Swift to thy sight and clipp'd as soon as caught. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 And white and bright of blee, 
 
 And lithe of limb, and statue-like as thou, 
 
 She shall be naked, too (as thou art now) ; 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 And kiss and compass me, 
 
 And call me wanton names, and bite my cheek, 
 
 And bring me to the ground, albeit so weak. 
 
 XL vii.- 
 Yea, like an amazon, 
 
 Will she assail me, till I prove my right, 
 I who am man, to conquer in the fight. 
 
 xlviii. 
 And then .... thou weird stone! 
 O thou incarnate, thou fearful one! 
 Nay, an thou movest, speak ! . . . What shall be done ? 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 11 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 I see thee lift apace 
 
 Thy snow-white arms (thy charms) as, with the same, 
 
 Thou wouldst entreat my love, or plead thy shame. 
 
 L. 
 
 And straightway to thy face 
 
 (As colour to the rose) the life doth rush 
 
 To tint thy marble with a roseate blush. 
 
 LI. 
 
 " Pygmalion." — ye gods ! — 
 
 "Pygmalion, thou hast wrong'd me." — 'Twere a sin, 
 
 A two-fold grief, I should repent me in. 
 
 LII. 
 
 "Better to beat with rods, 
 
 Better to kill outright," — Oh, speak again ! 
 
 And curse me, curse me, with thy rapturous strain. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 — " Pygmalion, go not hence ! " 
 
 Aye, curse me, sweet one; 'tis my dearest lot 
 
 To die for thee, though I deserve it not. 
 
12 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 "Do thou on no pretence — " 
 
 Why so, 'tis well ! — " On no pretence do thou 
 
 Eeceive a maiden for thy comrade now." 
 
 LV. 
 
 I swear to thee, by Fate, 
 
 And by Fate's minion Death, — "Oh, swear not thus, 
 
 But hold me fast and Fate will smile at us." 
 
 LVI. 
 
 — Nay, Love, by thine estate; 
 
 Oh ! by that power thou hast ; by Orpheus' lyre, 
 
 By Venus' oaths, and Vulcan's mad desire ; 
 
 LVII. 
 
 By all that Death can wreck, 
 
 Or Life re-furnish; by dear Nature's fee, 
 
 And songs of syrens love-lorn in the sea; 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Yea, by the rampant neck 
 
 Of Leda's swan, and by all holy things 
 
 That are the pride of boys and mirth of kings; 
 
PYGMALION IN CTPBUS. 13 
 
 LIX. 
 
 By these, and by the Nine ; 
 
 Aye, by the nine-days' wonder of thy face, 
 
 I bow to thee, nymph, in Venus' grace ; 
 
 LX. 
 
 Venus who made to shine 
 
 Those orbs of fire (the starlight of thy brow 
 
 And called them eyes, to quell my spirit now 
 
 LXI. 
 
 — " Pygmalion, loose my hair ; 
 
 Unbind it ; let it fall ! "—Behold 'tis done, 
 
 And falls from thee like sunlight from the sun. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 — " Tea, lord ; in thy despair, 
 
 In thy distrust perchance (for loves are free) 
 
 Thou'lt seek thy heaven apace." — 'Tis found in thee! 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Look! by thy breast of snow, 
 
 And by thy beauty's flower, too sweet to praise, 
 
 I lift thy locks that heavenward I may gaze. 
 
14 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Heavenward my glances go 
 
 Each time I see thee, as I see thee now, 
 
 With Phoebus' rays reflected from thy brow. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 And Jove, to look at us, 
 
 Will think of halcyon days (ere Death was born) 
 
 When he did toy with nymphs among the corn. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 — " Aye ! kiss me, clasp me thus, 
 
 And force my soul (ere yet the stars do shine), 
 
 And when my walls are scaled, then am I thine."- 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 marble bride, to love denied 
 
 So long and yet so tenderly; 
 
 1 do beseech thee, by thy pride, 
 (And by thy love) be now my guide 
 
 For ever and for everh 
 
PYGMALION IN OyPBUS. 15 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Unclasp thy hands (thy holy bands) 
 That now are join'd in ecstaoy. 
 I cannot bow to Love's commands 
 If I must weave my ropes of sands 
 For ever and for ever ! 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Yea, who would weave, without reprieve, 
 
 A web for all futurity; 
 A web of dust that will deceive 
 (Though men accept it and believe) 
 
 For ever and for ever ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 god of fear ! what have we here ? 
 
 A blush of warm virginity; 
 A smile, a sigh, a glittering tear, 
 A word of woe that I revere 
 
 For ever and for ever ! 
 
16 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 Nay, start not thus. Tho' Pear discuss 
 
 The fanes of Love's eternity, 
 There is no hand to point at us, 
 But Love shall have his overplus 
 For ever and for ever! 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 And thou and I, tho' demons sigh, 
 And saints aspire in sympathy, 
 Shall live and lie, and love and die, 
 And Death shall lose his sting thereby 
 For ever and for ever ! 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Aye, kiss me, sweetest sweet; 
 
 For I have storm'd thee in thy sacred shrine, 
 
 And killed thy shame that was no friend of mine. 
 
PYGMALION IN OTPEUS. 17 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 And thou, so fond and fleet 
 
 (For thou wilt run hereafter), thou art made 
 
 To be the Dryad of a moonlit glade; 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And bards shall sing of thee, 
 
 — "O lordly man (too comely for a king), 
 Behold, I cling to thee, as nymphs would cling; 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 "And fain would bend the knee; 
 
 Aye, worship thee, and love thee as a god ! " 
 
 — Thine is the worship, Love, tho' mine the sod ; 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Thine is the comrade's kiss, 
 
 The syren's hope, the joy and the despair 
 
 To know thyself so sweet and sin so fair. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 — "Nay, there are grades in bliss, 
 And tears are good to keep (tho' sad to taste) 
 And Death's a master prone to be embraced." 
 
 o 
 
18 PYGMALION IN CYPBtTS. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 — What ! wouldst thou wed with Death, 
 TJnwidowed as thou art (to fly to him), 
 And lodge with spectres in a cavern dim ? 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Wouldst feel no jocund breath, 
 
 And no wild tingling of the blood in June, 
 
 When life is ecstacy and love a tune? 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Nay, nay ; uplift thy face, 
 
 And say, tho' sad at heart, thou'lt not be sad 
 
 If I but comfort thee to make thee glad. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 O sweet one ! hang apace 
 
 (As lilies might) thy head upon my breast, 
 
 And call me Death or Love, tho' Love is best. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 My lips the sextons are 
 
 Of thy slain kisses, and my tongue is he 
 
 Who tells the tale of youth's idolatry. 
 
PYGMALION IN OYPEUS. 19 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Yea, Love is greater far 
 
 Than deathless Death (old Death who cannot die), 
 
 For Love alone has mansions in the sky. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Love is fair Nature's god, 
 
 Lord-god of all the gods, and wisest too, 
 
 And what he wills to work, that will he do. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 His sceptre is his rod, 
 
 And when he strikes us, ^orrow is revers'd, 
 
 And when he strikes us not, then are we curst. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 And lo, the little maid 
 
 When first she sees him, she is stricken mad; 
 
 And when she sees him not, then is she sad. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 — "Ah me, for loves delayed; 
 And tears remembered ! " — Tears I do condemn, 
 Unless 'tis proved that Joy has need of them. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 PYGMALION IN OTPEUS. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 — " Oh, do thou, by thy fame 
 
 And by great Pallas, use a potent word 
 
 To quell the wrath of Hermes' hateful bird." 
 
 xc. 
 — Nay, fear not for the same! 
 Start not to hear him crow, for he doth so 
 Morning and noon and night, as winds do blow. 
 
 xoi. 
 Yea, like the bellman breeze, 
 And gales of winter, that have chimes to ring 
 (Chimes of the fir-tree tops), this bird doth sing. 
 
 xon. 
 Thou art like Socrates, 
 Old Socrates who owed a chanticleer, 
 And paid his debt and died without a tear. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 But thou (at such commands), ,' 
 
 Thou, fairer than the rose, why weepest thou, 
 
 And wilt not smile, thy tears to disavow? 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 21 
 
 XOIV. 
 
 Why, with uplifted hands, 
 
 And lips asunder, and great pleading eyes, 
 
 Dost thou assail me, sweetheart, with thy cries? 
 
 xov. 
 Oh, thou art frightful thus, 
 For half thy limbs are flesh and half are stone, 
 And all is marble save thy bust alone. 
 
 xovi. 
 And Fate victorious, 
 
 Fate, friend of Death (and fbeman to my joy), 
 Doth mar the shape that else had no alloy. 
 
 xovn. 
 Yea, slowly to the chin, 
 As water riseth o'er a drowning man, 
 Thou dost receive the stone that is thy ban ; 
 
 xovm. 
 And canst not stir therein, 
 But wildly up and down dost wag thy face, 
 As thou wouldst yell at me, or weep apace. 
 
22 PYGMALION IN OYPBTJS. 
 
 XOIX. 
 
 Oh, speak to me, sad soul; 
 
 Speak and instruct me with thy pallid lips 
 
 Why thou art stricken with such dire eclipse? 
 
 o. 
 And why, beyond control, 
 Thou (late so flush of life) dost fix me so, 
 As thou wouldst freeze me to thy bosom's snow? 
 
 01. 
 Speak, speak, thou gentle fiend 
 (If fiend thou art), or angel (if thou'rt one), 
 And tell me why such deeds as these are done; 
 
 on. 
 And why, in marble screen'd, 
 
 Thou, late my paramour. . . . Aye ! speak ; 'tis well. 
 So are my doubts dissolv'd, tho' form'd in hell. 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 23 
 
 OIII. 
 
 — "Adieu, adieu, Pygmalion, prince of war, 
 My soul's sweet tyrant, fare-thee-well to-night. 
 
 At break of day, when sets the southern star, 
 I will rehearse the redes of my despite ! 
 
 civ. 
 " I will return to thee in woman's form 
 
 And be a comrade tho' I seem a doom; 
 As Iris leaps like lightning from the storm, 
 
 I will await thee on my spirit's tomb." 
 
 cv. 
 — Thy tomb, thou tender heart? 
 What tomb hast thou, what tomb canst thou descry, 
 That art so grandly made thou canst not die ? 
 
 cvi. 
 Oh say! and by thine art 
 (Thine art superne) confess by whose decrees 
 And by what power, and why, thy blood doth freeze ? 
 
24 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 CVH. 
 
 And why, in stone equipp'd, 
 
 Thou, gem of earth (for earth is proud of thee), 
 
 Thou dost begrudge thy beauties now to me? 
 
 OVIII. 
 
 Speak, speak, thou Juno-lipp'd! 
 
 Thou tenth and tenderest Muse among them all ! 
 
 Thou fourth and finest Grace ! what shall befall ? 
 
 oix. 
 — " I dare not all reveal. But in my death 
 
 Lo ! I am like the tree that swoons apace ; 
 And when the frost doth come it stints its breath 
 
 And underground doth hide its spirit-face. 
 
 ex. 
 " Nay, start not, thou ! For, deathful and in life, 
 
 I am thy fere, in Cynthia's holy ken; 
 Eocks burn each other when they meet in strife, 
 
 And maids are wedded when they cope with men. 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPEUS. 25 
 
 OXI. 
 
 " Oh ! with my griefs I could instruct thee now .... 
 
 But Fate forbids. For lo! my stone doth come, 
 E'en as a tide might do, from chin to brow, 
 
 And in a moment more I shall be dumb! 
 
 CXII. 
 
 "Early the morn (ere sets the star of truth) 
 Do thou embrace me, as the kings embrace; 
 
 Yea, see thou do it! See that, in thy ruth, 
 Thou kiss me like a comrade on the face." 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 — Aye, on thy face will I, 
 
 And on thy neck (so warm it is and white!) 
 
 As I do kiss thee now, in Death's despite. 
 
 cxrv. 
 And thou, so prone to fly 
 (At some wild warning), thou untimely pent 
 In thine, own rock to be thy monument, — 
 
26 PYGMALION IN OYPBUS. 
 
 OXV, 
 
 '' Adieu, adieu, my joy ! " 
 
 One question more. — " Adieu ! " — One word to tell 
 
 (So thou wilt act it, too) this word ' farewell.' 
 
 oxvi. 
 " Adieu ! " — aye, still dost toy 
 With one sad murmur, as a bird would sing, 
 And nought will add thereto, but flap of wing. 
 
 oxvn. 
 " Adieu, adieu ! " dost moan, 
 "Adieu!" and still "adieu!" and wilt not stay, 
 But two big tears dost shed for me alway. 
 
 oxvm. 
 
 thou thrice-sainted stone! 
 
 Thou marble splendour whom no man shall press, 
 Save I alone, to mete thy nakedness; 
 
 oxix. 
 Lo ! here, at thy white feet, 
 
 1 swear to thee (as gods themselves do swear) 
 That I will lie with thee, among thy hair; 
 
PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 27 
 
 oxx. 
 And teach thee (for 'tis sweet) 
 The trick of tears that turn to gems of price, 
 To be the May-time of a man's device. 
 
 oxxi. 
 Oh, be thou leal in this; 
 Be leal as Cynthia when her lord is nigh, 
 And Phoebus drives his chariot through the sky. 
 
 cxxn. 
 Nor saint-like, with a kiss 
 (As sisters might), do thou to mine embrace 
 Uplift the semblance of a sibyl's face. 
 
 OXXIII. 
 
 But cling to me and say 
 
 " Pygmalion, I am here ! " and, swift as thought, 
 
 My soul with thine to madness shall be wrought : 
 
 oxxiv. 
 The madness of a day 
 (A summer's day), a lifetime in a breath, 
 And fifty centuries in a kiss's death. 
 
28 
 
 PYGMALION IN CYPRUS. 
 
 CXXV. 
 
 Aye, aye ; look sad my fere ! 
 
 Look sad ; be pale ; conceal thy latent heat 
 
 But not thy gracious self that art so sweet ! 
 
 oxxvi. 
 For soon the trickling tear 
 
 (Now fast congealed) will touch the damask cheek, 
 And teach thy lip to move, thy tongue to speak; 
 
 oxxvn. 
 And I (till stars do fade), 
 
 Fierce for thy love, uncouched, will here abide 
 To claim thy fealty and to call thee bride. . . . 
 
29 
 
 ANTEEOS. 
 
 i. 
 This is the birthday of my soul and me, 
 
 For I am half a god and half a man ; 
 The day on which is heard by land and sea, 
 In earth and air, and in the realms of space, 
 
 The sound of lutes that sanctify my span, 
 And give me power to sway the human race. 
 
 ii. 
 I am a man to-day, a god to-night : 
 
 A man and god commingled in a dream. 
 My soul is red as fire, my body white, 
 
30 AUTBEOS. 
 
 And when I weep I wear a coronal. 
 
 I am much weaker than my tyrants deem, 
 But in my weakness I subdue them all. 
 
 in. 
 I have my ways ; my thrones are everywhere ; 
 
 And men do kneel to me in every nook. 
 The sun who rises with his golden hair 
 Is Nature's king, tho' crownless in his heat. 
 
 I care not, I, for edicts of a book 
 I who can bring all nations to my feet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My griefs are great ; my joys are multiplex ; 
 
 And beasts and birds and men my subjects are; 
 Yea, all created things that have a sex, 
 And flies and flowers and monsters of the mere ; 
 
 All these, and more, obey me from afar, 
 And sing my marriage songs from year to year. 
 
 v. 
 
 There are no bridals, but the ones I make; 
 
 And earth and heaven are mine from star to sea. 
 
ANTEEOS. 31 
 
 The soul is sentient for the body's sake, 
 
 And each for each is framed, as day for night. 
 
 'Tis but the soul can" pay the body's fee 
 To win the wisdom of a fool's delight. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yea! this is so. My clerks have set it down, 
 And birds have blabbed it to the winds of heaven. 
 
 The flowers have guessed it, and, in bower and town, 
 
 Lovers have sung the songs that I have made. 
 Give me your lives, O mortals, and for leaven 
 
 Ye shall receive the fires that cannot fade. 
 
 VII. 
 
 O men ! maidens ! ye listless ones ! 
 
 Ye who desert my temples in the East, 
 Ye who reject the rays of summer suns, 
 And cling to shadows in the wilderness ; 
 
 Why are ye sad? Why frown ye at the feast, 
 Ye who have eyes to see and lips to press ? 
 
32 AKTEEOS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Why, for a wisdom that ye will not prove, 
 A joy that crushes and a love that stings, 
 
 A freak, a frenzy in a fated groove, 
 
 A thing of nothing born of less than nought — 
 Why in your hearts do ye desire these things, 
 
 Te who abhor the joys that ye have sought? 
 
 IX. 
 
 See, see ! I weep, but I can jest at times ; 
 
 Yea, I can dance and toss my tears away. 
 The sighs I breathe are fragrant as the rhymes 
 Of men and maids whose hearts are overthrown. 
 
 I am the god for whom all maidens pray, 
 But none shall have me for herself alone. 
 
 No; I have love enough, here where I stand, 
 
 To marry fifty maids in their degree ; 
 Aye, fifty times five thousand in a band, 
 
ANTBHOS. 33 
 
 And every bride the proxy of a score. 
 
 Want ye a mate for millions ? I am he. 
 Glory is mine, and glee-time, evermore. 
 
 XI. 
 
 I am not Eros. I am Lucifer. 
 
 I am the genius of the nether spheres. 
 Give me my Christian name, and I demur. 
 Call me a Greek, and straightway I rejoice. 
 
 Tea, I am Anteros, and with my tears 
 I salt the earth that gladdens at my voice. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I am old Anteros ; a young, old god ; 
 
 A sage who smiles and limps upon a crutch. 
 But I can turn my crutch into a rod, 
 And change my rod into a crown of wood. 
 Yea, I am he who conquers with a touch, 
 And plays with poisons till he makes them good. 
 
34 
 
 ANTEEOS. 
 
 O men ! masters ! O ye kings of grief ! 
 
 Te who control the world but not the grave, 
 What have ye done to make delight so brief, 
 Ye who have spurn 'd the minstrel and the lyre ? 
 
 I will not say : " Be patient.'' Ye are brave ; 
 And ye shall guess the pangs of my desire. 
 
 There shall be traitors in the court of love, 
 And tears and tortures and the bliss of pain. 
 
 The maids of men shall seek the gods above, 
 
 And drink the nectar of the golden lake. 
 
 Blessed are they for whom the gods are fain ; 
 
 They shall be glad for love's and pity's sake. 
 
 They shall be taught the songs the syrens know, 
 The wave's lament, the west wind's psalmistry, 
 The secrets of the south and of the snow, 
 
ANTEHOS. 35 
 
 The wherewithal of day, and death, and night. 
 O men ! maidens ! pray no prayer for me . 
 But sing to me the songs of my delight. 
 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 THE LADY OF THE MAY. 
 
 i. 
 O stars that fade in amber skies 
 
 Because ye dread the light of day, 
 moon so lonely and so wise, 
 
 Look down and love my Love alway ; 
 
 Salute the Lady of the May. 
 
 ii. 
 
 O sun that risest like a fire 
 
 To warm the world and keep it gay, 
 
 While winds atune the forest-lyre 
 
 And birds repeat their roundelay, 
 Salute the Lady of the May. 
 
THE LADY OF THE MAY. 37 
 
 lark that soarest in the light 
 To hail thy lord in his array, 
 
 Look down ; be just ; and sing aright ; 
 A lover claims thy song to-day 
 To greet his Lady of the May. 
 
 IT. 
 
 "0 lady! lady!" sings the lark, 
 " Thy lover's 'hest I do obey ; 
 
 For thou art splendid after dark 
 
 And where thou smilest, there is day ; 
 And thou'rt the Lady of the May. 
 
 " The nightingale's a friend of mine, 
 And yesternight she flew my way. 
 
 'Awake,' she cried, 'at morning shine, 
 And sing for me thy blythest lay 
 To greet the Lady of the May. 
 
38 THE LADY OP THE MAT. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " ' And tell her, tell her, gentle one, 
 
 While thou attun'st thy morning lay, 
 
 That I will sing at set of sun 
 
 Another song for thy sweet fay, 
 Because she's Lady of the May.' 
 
 VII. 
 
 "And lo, I come," the lark in air, 
 
 Self-poised and free, did seem to say, 
 
 " I come to greet thy lady's hair 
 
 And call its beams the light of day, 
 To hail the Lady of the May." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, thank thee, thank thee, tender lark, 
 
 For all thou say'st and still wouldst say, 
 
 And for the hymn that ere the dark 
 The nightingale will sing in play 
 To greet my Lady of the May. 
 
THE LADY OF THE MAY. 39 
 
 IX. 
 
 We two (my Love and I) are one 
 And so shall be for aye and aye. 
 
 Go, take my homage to the sun, 
 
 And bid him shine his best to-day 
 To crown my Lady of the May ! 
 
40 
 
 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 I hear afar the fret and jar 
 
 Of bells across the wilderness; 
 The hills and dales a desert are 
 
 Because my Love has answer'd "yes" 
 A fatal word, a word of dread, 
 That cancels all that erst was said ; 
 And birds are tuneless in the dells, 
 Because they hear the wedding bells. 
 
THE WEDDING BELM. 41 
 
 II. 
 
 She spoke the " yes " in garden bower ; 
 
 She spoke it in the chancel gray ; 
 And now she wears an orange flower 
 
 To show her heart is light to-day. 
 But love, it is a foolish thing ; 
 She broke her word to me in spring; 
 And he who claims to-night the kiss 
 Will weep, at last, to think of this. 
 
 in. 
 
 No dowry hath she but herself; 
 
 No diamonds but her lustrous eyes; 
 Her golden locks are all her pelf, 
 
 And these were formed in Paradise. 
 Ah woe's the day ! he'll claim the dower, 
 The wealth of hair, the silent hour, 
 The kiss that angels might have known, 
 If she were dead and I were stone. 
 
42 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The bells, ah God! the wedding bells, 
 
 They mock me in my soul's eclipse ; 
 But was I sinful in the dells 
 
 Because I kissed a maiden's lips? 
 Was I to blame because I made 
 Her face an altar where I prayed, 
 And bowed so low she could not guess 
 That I would die for one caress ? 
 
 She was my joy and my despair : 
 
 Too fair, too lofty for a bride ; 
 A queenly crown she seemed to wear 
 And love was saintly at her side. 
 But now, methinks, a lover's face 
 Might lean on hers a little space, 
 And not offend her overmuch, 
 Or mar her beauty by a touch. 
 
THE WEDDING BELLS. 43 
 
 'Twould comfort me if I were dead, 
 
 For ghouls would be my comrades then : 
 I should not know what words were said, 
 
 Or start to guess the thoughts of men. 
 I should not know what deeds were done, 
 Or why the bat had curst the sun, 
 Or why, because a face is fair, 
 A man should write his name in air. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But I should know (I know it now!) 
 The power of eyes that cannot see; 
 
 The love of lips that break a vow, 
 And talk of true-love's constancy ! 
 
 Oh! all the flowers of earth are sad, 
 
 And every tree is meanly clad; 
 
 And birds, that once could sing and soar, 
 
 Are mute because my joys are o'er. 
 
u 
 
 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And so 'twill be this many a day, 
 
 And night and day till I depart; 
 I shall not love the sun in May, 
 
 Or smile to screen a breaking heart ; 
 I shall not want a word of love, 
 Or woman's eyes, or wing of dove, 
 Or aught that can reveal afar 
 The face that was my guiding star. 
 
 bells! O bells! hated things! 
 
 They toll the rune of my distress; 
 They flap the air with moulten wings 
 
 And taunt me with my loneliness. 
 How can I love them, I who stand 
 An outcast from my fairy-land, 
 An exile from the realm of bliss 
 Where Beauty burnt me with a kiss? 
 
THE WEDDING BELLS. 45 
 
 I will not heed them, — I will die ! 
 
 A man may die but twice or thrice, 
 (Ayel thrice at most) and live thereby, 
 
 And take his death for his device. 
 And I am Death's anointed one 
 And twice shall die ere set of sun ; 
 For life is dead when love is freed, 
 And death in love is death indeed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But I will count my griefs and pray. 
 
 (I will not weep, but I will bow.) 
 From Eden's gates I'll wend my way, 
 
 And wear a thorn upon my brow. 
 In distant lands I'll drag the chain 
 Of life-in-death and death-in-pain ; 
 And Memory, like a sacristan, 
 Will mar and mock me all he can. 
 
46 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In doleful plight I'll seek my doom: 
 
 A hermit in a phantom's cot; 
 And while I live I'll want a tomb, 
 
 And when I'm dead I'll need it not. 
 I will be bondsman to a slave, 
 A ghost's companion in the grave : 
 And my poor heart, if bells are tolled, 
 Will throb and thrill beneath the mould. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And she I love will seek my turf, 
 
 And say : " This man is dead indeed ! 
 He was my minstrel and my serf, 
 
 And now my words he will not heed." 
 Then will I laugh beneath the sod, 
 And bless the turf that she has trod, 
 And say: "This heart she would not take, 
 Lo ! it is patient for her sake ! " 
 
THE WEDDING BELLS. 47 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And when at night the breezes pass, 
 
 And stars are out, I'll work for her ; 
 I'll weave a garland in the grass, 
 And whiten all my sepulchre. 
 I'll make the place so sweet to see 
 With Nature's true-love phantasy, 
 That she will say: "'Tis here he dwells." 
 And dream of flowers and wedding bells. 
 
 But bells of joy she shall not hear 
 
 Till she has breathed her latest breath ; 
 Her eyes will close without a tear, 
 To love me madly after death. 
 Oh! she will love my spirit then, 
 And say : " This man was king of men : 
 A king because he suffered much, 
 A man because he fled my touch." 
 
4:8 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 All yes ! in sooth such things shall be ; 
 
 But not in life ; no ! not with her. 
 She will not moan for mine and me, 
 
 Or mourn above my sepulchre. 
 She will but think of wedding chimes, 
 And how they mock the soul at times, 
 To speak, — to her, — of folly's toys, 
 And toll the dirge of others' joys. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 To me they speak of broken vows, 
 
 Of love, of treachery, and despair ; 
 To her they tell of orange boughs, 
 
 And much that makes a morning fair; 
 A morning like the present one 
 On which, before his prayer is done, 
 The lark, the minstrel of the May, 
 Will sing her songs among the hay. 
 
THE WEDDING BELLS. 49 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 To me they speak of vanish'd bliss ; 
 
 To her of bliss that comes anon; 
 To me of Judas' traitor-kiss, 
 
 That was too fierce to dote upon; 
 A Judas kiss on woman's lips, 
 A flower at which a serpent sips, 
 A thing so vile I dare not say- 
 How sweet it seems to me to-day. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 waly ! waly ! let me die ; 
 
 Let me depart, as pilgrims do, 
 To seek my safety in the sky, 
 
 And deem it false — and find it true. 
 Death is not now the body's fate, 
 Or form of tomb, or pall of state ; 
 But shame, and perjury, and regret 
 For deeds that haunt the spirit yet. 
 
50 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 This, this were death ! — Be mine not so. 
 
 Be mine the comfort of the grass ; 
 The turf on which the violets grow, 
 
 The ground whereon good people pass. 
 Be this my resting-place for aye, 
 Where birds have sung their roundelay, 
 And men and maids, who walk in dells, 
 May hear the requiem of the bells. 
 
51 
 
 BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO. 
 
 I see a face of otter days — a dream of days 
 elysian — 
 
 The semblance of a poet-soul reflected in a vision ; 
 
 It is the face and form of one whom men were glad 
 to follow, 
 
 Because he join'd to Plato's brain the frenzies of 
 Apollo. 
 
 n. 
 
 He was afi angel by descent, and by his birth a 
 German, 
 
 A singer of the seraph-songs that ended in a ser- 
 mon ; 
 
 b 2 
 
52 BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO. 
 
 But he could strike so wild a note that, in its grand 
 pulsations, 
 
 It' seem'd the roaring of the sea in Nature's tribula- 
 tions. 
 
 in. 
 
 He had a Juliet in his youth, as Eomeo had before 
 him, 
 
 And Eomeo-like, he sought to die, that she might 
 then adore him; 
 
 But she was weak as women are whose faith has not 
 been proven, 
 
 And would not change her name for his— Guicciardi 
 for Beethoven. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O minstrel whom a maiden spurn'd, but whom a world 
 has treasured, 
 
 O sovereign of a grander realm than man has ever 
 measured, 
 
 Thou hast not lost the lips of love, but thou hast 
 gained, in glory, 
 
 The love of all who know the thrall of thine im- 
 mortal story. 
 
BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO. 53 
 
 V. 
 
 See where he sits, the lordly man, the giant in his 
 
 singing, 
 Who sang of love, albeit for him no lovers' bells 
 
 were ringing; 
 
 The man who struck such golden chords as made 
 the world, in wonder, 
 
 Acknowledge him, tho' poor and dim, the mouth- 
 piece of the thunder. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He heard the music of the skies what time his 
 heart was breaking, 
 
 He sang the songs of Paradise, where love has no 
 forsaking; 
 
 And tho' so deaf he could not hear the tempest as 
 a token, 
 
 He made the music of his mind the grandest ever 
 spoken. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He could not hear the whisper'd words of love in 
 his seclusion; 
 
 Or voice of friend, or song of birds, in Nature's 
 sad confusion; 
 
54 BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO. 
 
 But he could make, for Love's sweet sake, so wild 
 a declamation, 
 
 That all true lovers of the earth have claim'd him 
 of their nation. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Oh, nobler than the eye that sees are poets' eyes in 
 blindness, 
 
 And brighter far than badge or star the light of 
 loving-kindness ; 
 
 In this, in this was Ludwig grand (Beethoven, as 
 ye call him), 
 
 He deafly storm'd the gates of heaven and Pate 
 could not appal him. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O poet-heart! seraph-soul, by men and maids 
 adored ! 
 
 O Titan with the lion's mane, and with the splendid 
 forehead ! 
 
 "We men who bow to thee in grief must tremble in 
 our gladness, 
 
 To know what tears were turn'd to pearls to crown 
 thee in thy sadness. 
 
BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO. 55 
 
 O great Beethoven, Prince of Song! wise and 
 goodly master! 
 
 The sweetest soul that ever struck an octave in 
 disaster ; 
 
 The deftest hand, the bravest heart, the friend of 
 all true singers ; 
 
 Thou art the champion of the feast among the bells 
 and ringers. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thou art the bard whom none discard, but whom 
 all men discover 
 
 To be a god, as Orpheus was, albeit a lonely lover ; 
 
 A king to call the stones to life beside the roaring 
 ocean, 
 
 And bid the stars discourse to trees in words of 
 man's emotion ; 
 
 XII. 
 
 A king of joys, a prince of tears, an emperor of 
 the seasons, 
 
 Whose songs were like the sway of years, in Love's 
 immortal reasons ; 
 
56 BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO. 
 
 A love that knows no joy but this: to die and be 
 rejected, 
 
 And strike (as, Ludwig! thou didst strike) the 
 lyre of the elected. 
 
 xm. 
 
 Thou art enthron'd as Cassar was : thou art the 
 world's preceptor; 
 
 And o'er thy brow a wreath is seen, and in thy hand 
 a sceptre. 
 
 Thou art the Teuton Shakespeare, thou ! and in thy 
 soul's endeavour, 
 
 Thou shalt abide by Shakespeare's side, and reign 
 with him for ever ! 
 
57 
 
 OH, GIVE ME LIGHT. 
 
 i. 
 Oh, give me light, O God, or let me die,— 
 The light of love, the love-light of the sky, — 
 That I, at length, may see my darling's face 
 
 A moment's space. 
 
 ii. 
 Have I not wept to know myself so weak 
 That I can feel, not see, the dimpled cheek, 
 The eyes, the lips, the sunbeams that enfold 
 
 Her locks of gold? 
 
 in. 
 Have I not sworn that I will not be wed, 
 But mate my soul with hers on my death-bed? 
 The soul can see (for souls are seraphim) 
 
 When eyes are dim. 
 
58 
 
 OH, GIVE MB LIGHT. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, hush ! she comes. I know her. She is nigh. 
 She brings me death, true heart, and I will die. 
 She brings me love, for love and death are one 
 
 Beyond the sun. 
 
 v. 
 
 This is the measure, this, of all my joys : 
 Life is a curse and Death's a counterpoise. 
 Give me thy hand, sweet one, let me know 
 
 Which path I go. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I cannot die if thou be not a-near, 
 
 Death is my doom, but Love is fraught with fear. 
 
 O spirit-face I angel, with thy breath 
 
 Kiss me to death. 
 
59 
 
 SACHAL. 
 
 i. 
 
 Lo! at my feet, 
 
 A something wan of hue ; 
 
 A something sad to view; 
 
 Dead or alive I dare not call it sweet. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Not white as snow ; 
 
 Not transient as a tear ! 
 
 A warrior left it here. 
 
 It was his passport ere he met the foe. 
 
60 SACHAL. 
 
 III. 
 
 Here is a name, — 
 
 A word upon the book — 
 
 If ye but kneel to look 
 
 Ye'll find the letters " Sachal " on the same. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, take it up, 
 
 Oh, handle it with care. 
 
 He who did leave it there, 
 
 He drank, in fight, ah God ! his passion cup. 
 
 v. 
 See ! here is gore : 
 The life-blood that was spilt, — 
 Whether in truth or guilt, 
 We need not ask : his blood will stain no more ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 His fame to cherish 
 
 He died at twenty-seven; 
 
 There are no wars in heaven, 
 
 But when he fought, he gained the right to perish. 
 
SACHAL. 61 
 
 VII. 
 
 Where was he born? 
 
 In France, at Puy le Dome. 
 
 A wanderer from his home, 
 
 He found a Fatherland beyond the morn. 
 
 vin. 
 Wherefore, I say, 
 O Sachal, good my friend, 
 Oh, see me where I bend, 
 O good my Sachal, for thy soul to pray. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Thy life-blood ran ; 
 
 And more thou didst not ask. 
 
 Thy life was but a mask, 
 
 And thou didst raise it, martyr' d, at Sedan. 
 
 x. 
 
 And in thy death — 
 
 Beyond the thought of France, 
 
 Beyond thy hero-glance — 
 
 Thou didst remember her who gave thee breath. 
 
62 SAOHAL. 
 
 XI. 
 
 O thou dead son ! 
 
 Sachal ! (far away, 
 But not forgot to-day), 
 
 1 had a mother too, but now have none. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Sorrow is brave ! 
 
 Our loves are braver still. 
 
 Spirits they cannot kill ; 
 
 For God will find us, each one in his grave. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yea, God the Fair, 
 
 God and His angels bright, 
 
 And all the hosts of light, 
 
 Have heard thy mother moan for thee in prayer. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A hero thou ! 
 
 A hero meek in doom. 
 
 Oh ! thine is Glory's tomb, 
 
 For seraph lips have kissed thee on the brow. 
 
SAOHAL. 63 
 
 XV. 
 
 A land more vast 
 
 Than Europe's kingdoms are ; 
 
 A brighter, nobler star 
 
 Than victory's fearful light — is thine at last. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And shouldst thou meet 
 
 Yon Germans up on high — 
 
 Thy foes when death was nigh — 
 
 Nor thou nor they will sound the soul's retreat. 
 
 xvn. 
 For all are just, 
 Tea, all are patriots., there, 
 And thou, O Fils de Pierre, 
 Hast found thy marshal's baton in the dust. 
 
 xvm. 
 Oh, farewell, friend ; 
 My friend, albeit unknown, 
 Save in thy death alone, 
 Oh, fare-thee-well till sin and sorrow end. 
 
64 8A0HAL. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In realms of joy 
 We'll meet ; aye, every one : 
 Thy mother and her son. — 
 And my poor mother, too, will claim her boy. 
 xx. 
 
 Not one, but all, 
 
 Yea, each true soul of us, 
 
 And all who (praying thus) 
 
 Are glad to count their tear-drops as they fall. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 For death is wise; 
 
 Death is the Sword of Fate, 
 
 Death is the Golden Gate 
 
 That opens up the pathway to the skies. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And thou that road, 
 
 O Sachal, thou hast found; 
 
 A king is not more crown'd 
 
 Than thou art, soldier ! in thy blest abode. 
 
SACHAL. 65 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Oh, farewell thou! 
 
 Farewell, thou flower of strife, 
 
 Out down because in life 
 
 The name of France was blazoned on thy brow. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Deathless in death, 
 
 Exalted, not destroyed, 
 
 Thou art in heaven employed 
 
 To swell the songs of angels with thy breath. 
 
 xxv. 
 And this. thy lore, 
 Thy book (thy lowly gear) 
 Shall need, and find, a tear, 
 And be a holy thing for evermore. 
 
66 
 
 THE WAKING OF THE LAKE. 
 
 i. 
 
 O bonnie bird that in the brake, exultant, dost 
 prepare thee 
 
 (As poets do whose thoughts are true) for wings 
 that will upbear thee, 
 
 Oh, tell mej tell me, bonnie bird, 
 
 Canst thou not pipe of hope deferr'd, 
 
 Or canst thou sing of nought but spring among the 
 golden meadows? 
 
 ii. 
 Methinks a bard (and thou art one) should suit his 
 song to sorrow, 
 
 And tell of pain, as well as gain, that waits" us on 
 the morrow ; 
 
THE WAKING OF THE LASH. 67 
 
 But thou art not a prophet, thou, 
 
 If nought but joy can touch thee now ; 
 
 If, in thy heart, thou hast no vow that speaks of 
 Nature's anguish. 
 
 m. 
 
 Oh ! I have held my sorrows dear, and felt, tho' 
 poor and blighted, 
 
 The songs we love are those we hear when love is 
 unrequited. 
 
 But thou art still the slave of dawn, 
 
 And canst not sing till night be gone, 
 
 Till o'er the pathway of the fawn the sunbeams 
 shine and quiver. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou art the minion of the sun that rises in his 
 splendour, 
 
 And canst not spare for Dian fair the songs that 
 should attend her. 
 
 f 2 
 
68 THE WAKING OP THE LAEK. 
 
 The moon so sad and silver pale 
 
 Is mistress of the nightingale ; 
 
 And thou wilt sing on hill and dale no ditties in 
 the darkness. 
 
 For queen and king thou wilt not spare one note 
 of thine outpouring, 
 
 For thou art free as breezes be on Nature's velvet 
 flooring. 
 
 The daisy with its hood undone, 
 The grass, the sunlight, and the sun; 
 
 These are the joys, thou holy one, that pay thee 
 for thy singing. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O hush ! hush ! how wild a gush of rapture in 
 the distance, 
 
 A roll of rhymes, a toll of chimes, a cry for love's 
 
 assistance. 
 
THE WAKING OF THE LARK. 69 
 
 A sound that wells from happy throats, 
 
 A flood of song where beauty floats, 
 
 And where our thoughts, like golden boats, do seem 
 to cross a river. 
 
 VII. 
 
 This is the advent of the lark (the priest in gray 
 apparel), 
 
 Who doth prepare to trill in air his sinless summer 
 carol. 
 
 This is the prelude to the lay 
 
 The birds did sing in Csesar's day, 
 
 And will again, for aye and aye, in praise of God's 
 creation. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O dainty thing on wonder's wing, by life and love 
 elated, 
 
 Oh, sing aloud, from cloud to cloud, till day be 
 consecrated ; 
 
70 THE WAKING OF THE LARK. 
 
 Till from the gateways of the morn 
 
 The sun, with all his light unshorn, 
 
 (His robes of darkness round him torn), doth scale 
 the lofty heavens! 
 
71 
 
 A KHAPSODY. 
 
 i. 
 
 That phantoms fair with radiant hair 
 
 May seek at midnight hour 
 The sons of men, belov'd again, 
 
 And give them holy power; 
 
 That souls survive the mortal hive, and sinless 
 
 come and go, 
 Is true as death (the prophet saith), and God will 
 
 have it so. 
 
 n. 
 
 Tor who be ye that doubt and prate? 
 
 O sages! make it clear 
 If ye be more than men of fate, 
 
 Or less than men of cheer, 
 
72 A EHAPSODY. 
 
 If ye be less than bird or beast ? O brothers ! make 
 it plain 
 
 If ye be bankrupts at a feast, or sharers in a gain ? 
 
 in. 
 
 You say there is no God of grace; 
 
 The clue ye fail to find. 
 The flesh is here and bones appear 
 
 When graves are undermined. 
 But of the soul, in time of dole, what answer can 
 ye frame, 
 
 Te who have heard no spirit-word to guide ye to 
 the same ? 
 
 rv. 
 
 Ah ! facts are good, and reason's good, 
 But fancy's stronger far; 
 
 In weal or woe we only know, 
 We know not what we are; 
 
A EHAPSODT. 73 
 
 A glow-worm curl'd may seem a world; a star 
 (aye! e'en a sun) 
 
 May seem a spark upon the dark to tell that night 
 is done. 
 
 But these are outward signs, ye .say ; 
 
 Such signs are not for you. 
 The sight's deeeiv'd, and truth bereav'd, 
 
 By diamonds in the dew. 
 
 But Solon's mind is more refined ; his sight is more 
 complete ; 
 
 He almost knows the little rose that blossoms at 
 his feet. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He can destroy a thousand things, 
 And tell how each is made; 
 
 Eemove the legs, destroy the wings 
 Of fire-flies in the shade. 
 
74 A EHAPSODT. 
 
 Yea, he can trace the lily's grace and fell the 
 strongest tree, 
 
 And almost feel (tho' not reveal) the secrets of the 
 sea. 
 
 But can he set, for Nature's debt, 
 
 The clockwork of the skies? 
 Or make a snake, or bird in brake ? 
 
 Or wake it when it dies ? 
 
 If he could do such deeds as these, he might (tho' 
 poor and low) 
 
 Explain the cause of Nature's laws which man can 
 never know. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He might describe the universe, 
 
 And tell what matter. is; 
 And what the mind (by thought defined) 
 
 In God's immensities ; 
 
A BHAPSODY. 75 
 
 He might (if he were more than man) describe the 
 ways of death ; 
 
 And whence it came, and what the flame that feeds 
 our vital breath. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But God is just. He burdens not 
 
 The shoulders of the sage. 
 He pities him whose sight is dim; 
 He turns no second page. 
 There are two pages to the book. We men have 
 
 read the one ; 
 The other needs a spirit-look, in lands beyond the 
 sun. 
 
 The other needs a poet's eye 
 
 (Like Milton's) when he's blind; 
 
 The eye of faith that cannot die 
 Tho' fears oppress the mind. 
 
76 A RHAPSODY. 
 
 The eyesight of a little child, a martyr's eye in dole 
 
 That sees afar the golden star that shines upon the 
 soul. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Go, tell the fool there is no God. 
 
 The fool will laugh to hear. 
 He, too, can tell what fancies dwell 
 
 Behind a madman's ear; 
 
 Bid him rejoice at Eeason's voice, and lo ! by Eeason's 
 plea, 
 
 He'll make a God of some poor clod, or kneel to 
 worship thee. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And bowed to earth in dole and dearth 
 In darkness and in death, 
 
 In shame, in awe (by Nature's law), 
 With frenzy's falt'ring breath, 
 
A EHAPSODT. 77 
 
 He will pronounce some woeful word. — Pray God 
 he wash the same 
 
 With holy tears ! — Ere Night appears a gnome will 
 sound his name. 
 
78 
 
 A GORGON TRESS. 
 
 i. 
 
 Who owned it first? 
 
 Who first of all, who first (for fashion's sake) 
 Did wear this token which I will not take ? 
 Behold! I deem it loathsome and accurst. 
 
 ii. 
 
 A charm, a snare ! 
 
 A network, aye, a woof it seemed to be. 
 Syrens there are on land and on the sea 
 Who catch us, wakeful, in a web of hair. 
 
A GOKGON TEBSS. 79 
 
 III. 
 
 See ! it is black, 
 
 Aye, black as night itself, or vulture's wing. 
 I deem it not a good or gracious thing, 
 But I will comb it ere I give it back. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O hideous coil ! 
 
 O serpent twisted from a Gorgon's head ! 
 Thou art the token of a prayer unsaid, 
 A vow unutter'd which I would not soil. 
 
 Thou art a chain; 
 
 A dead thing, thou ! albeit alive and grim. 
 Thy length of tress offends me like a limb, 
 And thou canst bite me till I feel the pain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I will not say 
 
 How wildly, thou snake! thou didst embrace 
 Me and thy dame, in night's ungodly chase; 
 And how I feared thee, ere the break of day. 
 
80 
 
 A GOBGON TEESS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 'Twas long ago : 
 
 A week or more — what matters? It is past. 
 
 In sooth I know, thou thing ! who clutched thee last, 
 
 But who will kiss thee next I shall not know. 
 
 TIE. 
 
 Let us be taught 
 
 (We who are only men) to lie like girls. 
 
 Here was a lady, now, with auburn curls, 
 
 Who burnt them black to match the ones she bought. 
 
 IX. 
 
 She was not fair, 
 
 She was not dark, this woman whom I loved; 
 Her hands were white enough, when she was gloved, 
 And she was witch-like in the summer air. 
 
 x. 
 Oh! could we see, 
 
 Could we but see deception in an eye, 
 And say : This face is good and this will lie, 
 And this, tho' seeming fair, will perjured be. 
 
A GORGON TRESS. 81 
 
 XI. 
 
 But, 'tis not so. 
 
 No; I who do discern, by day and night, 
 
 The blush of maidens when they blush aright, 
 
 And see which bloom is painted, which will grow ; 
 
 XII. 
 
 I, I, the bard 
 
 (Bard of my own poor heart), lo ! I am driven 
 Back from the brink of death to dream of heaven, 
 And quaff the tears my soul will not discard. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I cannot tell 
 
 (Not truly in my thought) why this should be, 
 Or why a lock of hair should cling to me, 
 Or why remorse should rend me as in hell. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But this is sweet, 
 
 This thought at least which I will not forego : 
 
 The lock of hair that led me to my woe 
 
 Is stiff and stark and stingless at my feet 
 
 G 
 
82 A GOBGON TRESS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Oh! hence, thou snake, 
 
 Thou twisted thing too fierce to be alive, 
 
 Begone, thou traitor, to thy Gorgon hive 
 
 That men may loathe thee for thy lady's sake ! ■ 
 
83 
 
 THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 
 
 i. 
 
 See where, aloof, mine Idol stands 
 And lifts, in love, her snow-white hands : 
 A dream of truth,— a virgin grace, — - 
 A dryad with a seraph's face, — 
 Oh ! see she smiles, and o'er the place 
 She casts a holy splendour. 
 
 ii. 
 Speak, speak to me, thou silent stone, 
 And make thy joys and sorrows known. 
 Thou hast the form and face of One 
 Whom I (when all my hopes were done) 
 Did see depart, at set of sun, 
 Beyond the sacred portal. 
 
 g 2 
 
84: THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, thou art fair (and God He knows 
 How fair thou art) as summer snows ; 
 And oft when others dance (and some 
 Are sad to see !) I softly come 
 To speak to thee (tho' thou art dumb) 
 Of thy divine protector. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And oft I deem, by passion fraught, 
 That love is deaf and duty nought, 
 And old romance (so bright of wing 
 And sweet of voice) a crumpled thing ; 
 And then I hate the songs I sing 
 And loathe my lowly nature. 
 
 v. 
 God ! (I cry in my despair) 
 Prince of Heaven, accord my prayer ; 
 And give me back in chamber lone 
 The maid I loved, mine angel flown, 
 Whom now I kneel to as a stone 
 But not as winsome lady. 
 
THE STATTJE IN THE NOOK. 85 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, give me back my spotless nun, 
 And do thou take this marble one. 
 For thou art boundless in thy might, 
 And thou canst read the soul aright, 
 And thou dost know, by day and night, 
 How souls survive the body. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh, give me back my human mate, 
 The soul that seemed my second fate, 
 The soul divorced by boorish priest, 
 And held aloof at Sorrow's feast, 
 But not deserted, tho' released, 
 By her terrestrial lover. 
 
 vni. 
 God! (I cry) release me now 
 Or give me back each broken vow. 
 For she did swear, with syren breath, 
 That she would haunt my soul in death ; 
 And now (for so the spirit saith) 
 There is no truth in woman. 
 
86 THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 
 
 IS. 
 
 But when, in tears, I thus lament 
 Beside my true-love's monument, 
 When in my woe (for fear is such) 
 I blame her stillness overmuch, 
 Oh, then I feel a spirit-touch 
 Beside me in the gloaming. 
 
 x. 
 
 I hear a flap of angel-wings, 
 
 I hear a voice that weirdly sings 
 And seems to say : " Oh, woe is me ; 
 The grave is cold as it can be ; 
 But graves are not so cold as he 
 If he can doubt my trueness." 
 
 XI. 
 
 And then I weep, I lowly bow. 
 Love ! (I cry) forgive me now ; 
 And do thou seek no other place, 
 No nook but this, where I may trace 
 Thy maiden form, thy seraph face, 
 Eeflected in the marble. 
 
THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 87 
 
 XII. 
 
 For Christ in heaven above He knows 
 How I could live if, fr'om the snows 
 Of this sweet stone, thou, (by thine art) 
 At dead of night, shouldst now depart. 
 Oh ! I should wail no wounded heart, 
 But I should die demented. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But 'twill not be : thou wilt not flee. 
 The earth has joys for thine and thee ; 
 And day by day, in storm and shine, 
 I see thee raise those eyes of thine, 
 Those sightless orbs that are divine 
 Because they see no meanness. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Who knocks without? Who comes, in haste, 
 To mar my grief, my joys to taste? 
 Who comes to mock the tears I shed, 
 The vows that in my heart are said ; 
 The De Profundis for the dead 
 That here I wildly echo? 
 
88 THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 
 
 XV. 
 
 This is no place for men to meet 
 With wiles and smiles and clamorous feet. 
 'Tis for the dead — the friends of her — 
 Who come to weep (tho' fiends demur) 
 And sing with me — her worshipper — 
 The songs I wrote in sadness. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 This is the nook where I did frame 
 An altar-piece for her sweet fame : 
 A fame betrayed by angel-boys 
 Who — envying me my human joys — 
 Did seem to slight my passion-toys, 
 To take my Love to Aden. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 men who moil and toil and laugh, 
 With tool and spool, and safety staff, 
 
 1 pray you think no harm of me 
 If here, where I do bend the knee, 
 I do reject all companie 
 
 Save that of my beloved. 
 
THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 89 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 This is the place where I do hold 
 Her wedding ring, her locks of gold, 
 Her letters (read a thousand times), 
 The flowers she gave me while the chimes 
 Of love and death did ring the rhymes 
 Of her untimely journey. 
 
 six. 
 A journey to that promised land 
 
 Where saints received her in a band, 
 
 And, filled with spleen, did seek to break 
 
 The vows of true-love she did make, 
 
 And which, for love's and honour's sake, 
 
 She will uphold for ever. 
 
 xx. 
 This is my sanctum, brother-men ! 
 
 My pilgrim's hut, my hermit's den ; 
 
 My chapel, sacred evermore 
 
 To dreams of joy, and love, and lore ; 
 
 To waifs of bliss that are the store 
 
 Of all my worldly havings. 
 
90 THE STATUE IN THE NOOK. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 "Tis here, 'tis here I bring my cares, 
 To sob, to sing, to say my prayers; 
 To kiss, with tears, the marble feet 
 Of her I love, but shall not meet 
 Till I have donned my winding-sheet 
 To sit with her in glory. 
 
 xxn. 
 O thou beloved lonely saint ! 
 Oh, let me sink not, now, or faint. 
 Oh, let no blot, or spirit-shame 
 Oppress my soul, or mar my name; 
 But give me still my poet-fame 
 If I be thy true singer. 
 
91 
 
 A SONG OF SEKVITUDE. 
 
 i. 
 This is a song of serfs that I have made, 
 
 A song of sorrow and her sister joy. 
 The old and young, the proud and the betrayed, 
 All, all must serve, for all must be obeyed. 
 
 ii. 
 There are no tyrants but the serving ones, 
 
 There are no servants but the kings of all. 
 The Czar, he conquers with his army's guns, 
 But he himself is conquered by his sons. 
 
92 
 
 A SONG OF SERVITUDE. 
 
 III. 
 
 What is a parent but a daughter's slave, 
 A son's retainer when the lad is ill? 
 "Pis God who consecrates the gifts he gave, 
 To make a flower the spokesman of a grave. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The son is servant in his father's halls, 
 
 The daughter is her mother's maid-of-work. 
 The wren must answer when the robin calls, 
 And earth accepts the raindrop when it falls. 
 
 v. 
 
 There are no " ups " in life, there are no " downs," 
 For " high " and " low " are words of like degree ; 
 He who is light of heart when fortune frowns, 
 He is a king tho' nameless in the towns. 
 
 VI. 
 
 None is so lofty as the sage who prays, 
 
 None so unhigh as he who will not kneel. 
 The breeze is servant to the summer days, 
 And he is bowed to most who most obeys. 
 
A SONG OP SEEVITUDE. 93 
 
 VII. 
 
 These are tie maxims that I take to heart, 
 
 Do thou accept them, reader, for thine own ; 
 Love well thy work ; be truthful in the martj 
 And foes will praise thee when thy friends depart. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 None shall upbraid thee then for thine estate, 
 
 Or show thee meaner than thou art in truth. 
 Make friends with death ; and God who is so great, 
 He will assist thee to a nobler fate. 
 
 IX. 
 
 None are unfit to serve ; none on their knees 
 
 Unfit to pray when sound the bells of doom. 
 The flowers are servants to the pilgrim bees, 
 And wintry winds are tyrants of the trees. 
 
 x. 
 
 All things are good; all things obey a thrall, 
 
 And worms and weeds must work as planets do; 
 The sun will rise betimes, but he must fall, 
 And he who conquers must be slave to all. 
 
94; A SONG OF SERVITUDE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 There are no truants in the universe, 
 
 No false accounts, no treachery, no despair; 
 The work we do, the good things we rehearse, 
 Are boons of Nature basely named a curse. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Give us our daily bread ! " the children pray, 
 
 And mothers plead for them while thus they speak. 
 But " Give us work, O God ! " we men should say, 
 That we may gain the bread we want to-day. 
 
95 
 
 A LOVEE'S THOUGHTS. 
 
 i. 
 Oh ! would that I, to tell my tale, 
 Could sing as sings the nightingale, 
 And, — like a bird, — require a nest 
 To fly to thee, and be at rest, 
 To make thee glad when thou art sad 
 And tell thee all the dreams I've had, 
 And warn thee, sweet one ! in my lay 
 That I will love thee night and day ; 
 At rise of moon, and set of sun, 
 "When day is dead and night is done, 
 
96 a lover's thoughts. 
 
 And after suns have ceased to rise 
 Beyond the night in Paradise. 
 
 n. 
 Oh ! would that I, on wing of dove, 
 Could seek thee while thou sleepest, Love ; 
 And say, exultant in my song : 
 " I'll love thee all the summer long ; 
 I'll love thee all the winter through, 
 And spring-time shall be mine to woo ; 
 And autumn, when the nights are chill, 
 Shall find me near thy lattice still." 
 Oh, rest thee, rest thee, gentle one, 
 And wake not when my song is done ; 
 But in thy dreams remember me, 
 That I, in sleep, may cling to thee. 
 
 in. 
 Oh ! would that I could dream anew 
 The dream I dreamt (to find it true), 
 The dream of love, and love's delight, 
 When, o'er a moorland waste and white, 
 
a lover's thoughts. 97 
 
 I spurred my steed, the sweetest known, 
 From earthly goal to glory's zone : 
 A wee white mare with golden hair, 
 Whose limbs were lithe, whose face was fair ; 
 With eyes so like those eyes of thine, 
 Which lift their lids to peer at mine, 
 I almost thought (by frenzy driven) 
 "lis thou didst guide my soul to heaven. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh! would that I could meet again 
 (In dreams of joy) my soldier slain, 
 My syren-foe with heart of grace 
 And lips of love and wistful face, 
 Who with a word (unknown of men) 
 Did dare my soul to combat then; 
 That she might feel, and, — undismayed, — 
 Receive the thrust of battle-blade ; 
 The blade that none but valiant knights 
 Can wear in wakes and winter-fights, 
 Because so fair, so bright to bear, 
 The bards have sung its praise in prayer. 
 
 H 
 
98 a lovke's thoughts. 
 
 T. 
 
 Oh! would that I, ere spring is done, 
 Could meet again mine Amazon 
 My lady-knight, with arms of snow, 
 And bosom bared to friend and foe, 
 That I might say : nymph of light ! 
 'Tis I will guide thy steps to-night; 
 'Tis I (to be thy comrade still) 
 Will guide thee through the gay quadrille, 
 And through the maze (where maidens are, 
 And lusty lads and lords of war) 
 Till in the waltz, with bated breath, 
 We two will dance the dance of death. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In peace and war, in work and play, 
 By taper's light, by morning's ray, 
 I will be thine, and love thee well, 
 As demons loved in Dante's hell; 
 As angels love the sex of saints 
 Whose nature knows no mortal taints, 
 A saint to-day, a fiend to-night, 
 A man at break of morning light; 
 
a loveb's thoughts. 99 
 
 A man and not a statue then; 
 Ah! not a thing for saintly ken, 
 But one to shun, if not to hate, 
 As mortals fear the frown of fate. 
 
 vn. 
 In dreams (I know not when or how) 
 My lips did learn to con a vow 
 So wild, so clear, so sweet to hear, 
 The fiends have lisped the same in fear, 
 And I did learn (by charm of this) 
 To gain the pain of pagan bliss, 
 To sail the seas and mount the breeze, 
 (To chide in storms and hide in trees) 
 And wear, unseen, the wonder-cloak, 
 As fair as flame, as white as smoke, 
 Which gave me power, with vested verse, 
 To dream the dream I now rehearse. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I seemed a statue in my sleep, 
 A marble man — a thing to keep — ' 
 A thing so strange, I seemed to know 
 That I was pure and white as snow, 
 
 h 2 
 
100 a loveb's thoughts. 
 
 And men did come from far and near 
 To praise my shape and hold it dear, 
 And, one by one, did talk of times 
 I dare not write of in my rhymes. 
 " It is not well," they seem'd to say, 
 "This man of stone should face the day: 
 This marble man who will not weep, — 
 And is not clad, — and cannot sleep." 
 
 IX. 
 
 And maidens fair did come to me 
 With folded palms and bended knee, 
 (And gestes of love and looks of dove, 
 As when a sunbeam glints above) 
 And each to each, in wondrous speech, 
 "Which mortals learn and demons teach, 
 Did say : " Oh ! see how sweet he seems, 
 An idol white as web of dreams, 
 A living thing (tho' seeming dead) 
 With nothing near his naked head, 
 And nothing warm to shield his form 
 If maids should meet him in a storm." 
 
a lover's thoughts. 101 
 
 X. 
 
 And she I love did come apace, 
 And look, shy-earnest, in my face, 
 With half-closed lips (entranced the while) 
 As one who laughs to hide a smile. 
 " See, see," she cried, " how strange a plan ! 
 How fair, how rare a thing is man ! " 
 And then she clapp'd her hands and said : 
 " He will not weep when he is dead." 
 And bending low, as maidens pray 
 When bells announce the dirge of day, 
 She whispered meek : " I dare not kiss 
 (No ! by my troth) such man as this." 
 
 XI. 
 
 dream of dreams, (I thus did cry) 
 phantom-face, too fair to fly, 
 Oh, stay with me, thy doom to dree, 
 That I in dreams (to die for thee) 
 May here, unshriven and unforgiven, 
 Assail thy soul in sight of heaven ! 
 
102 a lover's thoughts. 
 
 In vain ! In vain ! — To win my bliss, 
 To win, by sin, my guerdon-kiss, 
 I fain had ta'en (for ghostly gain,) 
 Thy hand in mine, as chain in chain. 
 O saint of joy ! — by this thy vow, — 
 Absolve my soul, in silence, now. 
 
103 
 
 OH, GO NOT HENCE. 
 
 i. 
 Oh, go not hence till prayers are said, 
 Till stars are out, till day is dead, 
 Till bells of ruth are rung for me, 
 And songs are sung for thine and thee. 
 
 ii. 
 Oh, go not hence till we have heard 
 The plighted oath, the whispered word ; 
 Till I am thine — till thou art mine, — 
 And friends have pledged our health in wine. 
 
 in. 
 No ! go not hence. For ne'er again 
 Shall thou and I go forth in twain. 
 We two are one. My shadow thou, 
 And I thy king, — thy seryant, — now ! 
 
104 
 
 G. B. 
 
 i. 
 
 'Tis a legend of a lover, 
 
 "lis a ballad to be sung, 
 In the gloaming, — under cover, — 
 
 By a minstrel who is young ; 
 
 By a singer who has passion, and who sways us with 
 his tongue. 
 
 ii. 
 Ah! I know and think upon it 
 
 (Not unhappy tho' in tears), 
 And I gather in a sonnet 
 
 All the glory of the years, 
 
 And I kiss and clasp a shadow when the substance 
 disappears. 
 
G. B. 105 
 
 III. 
 
 She was fairer than a vision; 
 
 Like a vision, too, has fled. 
 I who flushed at her decision, 
 
 Lo! I dare not wish her dead; 
 
 Not tho' kings bestrewed her coffin in the vaults of 
 Astoledd. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She was mine (tho' for a minute), 
 She was mine in maiden-ruth; 
 
 And a kiss (if I could win it) 
 
 Would restore departed youth ; 
 
 And a sin (if I could sin it) would be fairer than 
 a truth. 
 
 v. 
 She was sweet and she was stately; 
 
 She was elf-like, as in bliss; 
 And a king would love her greatly 
 
 If he dared to call her his; 
 
 But she bowed to me sedately, and would hear no 
 word of this. 
 
106 
 
 VI. 
 
 Could I fear so fair a creature? 
 
 Could I curse her to her face ? 
 Could I look on form and feature 
 
 And dispute the inner grace? 
 
 Like a little wax Madonna she was holy in the 
 place. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And I told her, in mad fashion, 
 That I loved her, would incline 
 
 All my life to this one passion, 
 
 And would kneel as at a shrine; 
 
 And would love her late and early, and would 
 teach her to be mine. 
 
 vm. 
 Ah ! I see her how she faced me, 
 
 In the sinless summer days, 
 When her little hands embraced me, 
 
 When I saddened at her gaze, 
 
 Thinking, Sweetest ! will she love me when we 
 walk in other ways? 
 
G. B. 107 
 
 IX. 
 
 Will she cling to me as kindly 
 When the childish faith is lost? 
 
 Will she pray for me as blindly, 
 
 Or but weigh the wish and cost, 
 
 Looking back on our lost Eden from the girlhood 
 she has cross'd? 
 
 x. 
 Oh! I swear by all I honour, 
 
 By the graves that I endow, 
 By the grace I set upon her 
 
 (Which 'twere sad to disavow), 
 
 That I meant the oath I plighted in the woods of 
 Lintagow. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But her maiden-troth is broken 
 
 And her mind is ill at ease, 
 And she sends me ne'er a token 
 
 From her home beyond the seas ; 
 
 Yet at times (tho' nought is spoken) she will thank 
 me on her knees. 
 
108 G. B. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Yes! for pardon she will thank me, 
 (For she wrong'd me long ago), 
 
 And in sorrow she will rank me, 
 
 "When her tears have ceased to flow, 
 
 With the martyrs of love-barters who have saint- 
 ships in the snow. 
 
 xm. 
 But I dare not (demon-haunted) 
 
 Tell her aught to-night of this: 
 How my life Was disenchanted 
 
 By the burning of a kiss, 
 
 By the burning and the spurning of a lover's lowly 
 bliss. 
 
 xiv. 
 No ! I dare not tell her truly 
 
 (Tho' the truth be clear at hand) 
 How I loved her too unduly, 
 
 How I wandered thro' the land 
 
 With the sorrows of sad morrows that beset me in 
 a band. 
 
G. B. 109 
 
 XV. 
 
 Not a word of this I mutter, 
 
 Not a sign do I disclose 
 (For the vows I fain would utter 
 
 Find me dumb in my repose), 
 
 But I bless my Lady Lily as St. Joseph bless'd 
 the Rose. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Hers was sweetest of sweet faces; 
 
 Hers the tenderest eyes of all : 
 In her hair she had the traces 
 
 Of a heavenly coronal, 
 
 Bringing sunshine to sad places where the sunlight 
 could not fall. 
 
 xvn. 
 Bringing music to the Maytime, 
 
 Which the Maytime never knew 
 Till her presence (in the playtime 
 
 Of the breezes) brought to view, — 
 
 Bright and holy, aye! and lowly, — God's evangels in 
 the dew. 
 
110 
 
 G. B. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Now in dreams alone I meet her 
 With my lowly human praise: 
 
 She is sweeter and completer, 
 
 And she smiles on me always ; 
 
 But I dare not rise and greet her as I did in early 
 days. 
 
Ill 
 
 THEAEMOUEEES DAUGHTER 
 
 i. 
 It was a knight of olden time, 
 
 And thus he spake right joyfullie : 
 "I am the lord of Lastenford, 
 And lo! I seek a trusty sword 
 
 To lead me to my lady." 
 
 ii. 
 
 The armourer, wistful, raised his face. 
 
 "A sword," said he, "I frame it now. 
 In mornings three come thou to me 
 And thou shalt have the blade, pardie ! 
 
 And I thy golden treasure." 
 
112 THE ARMOURER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The armourer's daughter stood without. 
 
 She blushed as red as roses do. 
 " Now, by my fay ! " the knight did say, 
 " This maid is like the month of May, 
 
 And she shall wear the garland." 
 
 In mornings twain he came again, 
 
 But not to view the father's sword. 
 He came to break (for beauty's sake) 
 The trustful heart he would not take, 
 And shamed his knightly honour. 
 
 v. 
 
 And lo ! a third time he return'd 
 
 To claim the sword and pay the fee. 
 "Aye, take thy sword, thou valiant lord," 
 The sire exclaimed, "and thy reward, 
 For thou hast earned it dearly ! " 
 
the armouber's daughter. 113 
 
 VI. 
 
 And swift as fate, with look of hate, 
 
 He drew the poignard from its sheath. 
 "Behold!" he cried, "thy dagger-bride, 
 How well it clings to thee in pride ! " 
 And struck him with the weapon. 
 
 The knight to earth did sink in pain, 
 As when a soldier's dirge is rung. 
 " Hold now thy hilt," he moaned in guilt, 
 "That (like a Cross when blood is spilt) 
 The blade may save the sinner. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " But first I charge thee bring to me 
 
 Thy daughter fair, so bright of eyne ; 
 For I will wed," he wildly said, 
 "No wife but her when I am dead; 
 And death shall be the bridal." 
 
 i 
 
114 THE ARMOURER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And lo ! he brought the fearsome child 
 To where the warrior lay in gore. 
 " Oh see ! " said he (that father old), 
 " How Death is pale and Sorrow bold 
 To see the lordly wedding." 
 
 The knight he smiled a sudden smile. 
 
 " O tender thing," he whispered low, 
 " I love thee more than worldly store, 
 Or tramp of steeds on glory's shore, 
 
 And thou shalt wear the garland. 
 
 " Thou shalt be lady of the land, 
 
 And all my tombs shalt thou possess ; 
 Yea ! all my dead : my father's head, 
 My mother's corpse, my sisters sped 
 Shall be thy sad retainers. 
 
the akmoueee's datjghtbb. 115 
 
 xn. 
 
 "I shall be cold as palmers are 
 
 Who fought, and fell, a month ago. 
 And thou," he sighed, "the living bride 
 Of one who bless'd thee ere he died, 
 To be thy phantom lover." 
 
 The holy man (who entered then) 
 
 He bless'd the warrior on his bier. 
 And she who willed (ere joy was kill'd) 
 No wish but love, was lowly chilled 
 By words of benediction. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And thus the corpse, tho' cold and dumb, 
 By word of priest did woo the bride ; 
 And she became, (by taper's flame 
 And sound of bell) in Jesu's name, 
 The champion of his glory. 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 ZULALIE. 
 
 i. 
 
 I am the sprite 
 
 That reigns at night, 
 My forehead is fair for man's delight. 
 
 I leap and laugh 
 
 As the wine I quaff, 
 And I am the queen of Astrofelle. 
 
 ii. 
 
 I curse and swear 
 
 In my demon-lair ; 
 I shake wild sunbeams out of my hair. 
 
 I madden the old, 
 
 I gladden the bold, 
 And I am the queen of Astrofelle. 
 
ZULALIB. 117 
 
 III. 
 
 Of churchyard stone 
 
 I have built my throne, 
 My locks are looped with a dead man's bone. 
 
 Mine eyes are red 
 
 With the tears I shed, 
 And I am the queen of Astrofelle. 
 
 rv. 
 
 In cities and camps 
 
 I have lighted my lamps, 
 My kisses are caught by kings and tramps. 
 
 With rant and revel 
 
 My hair I dishevel, 
 And I am the queen of Astrofelle. 
 v. 
 
 My kisses are stains, 
 
 Mine arms are chains, 
 My forehead is fair and false like Cain's. 
 
 My gain is loss, 
 
 My money is dross,— 
 And I am the queen of Astrofelle! 
 
118 
 
 SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 
 
 i. 
 O Sylvia, heed the words I use, 
 
 But curse me not this morn of May. 
 If prayers could dry the morning dews 
 
 The grass should not be wet to-day. 
 If prayers could move thee I would bend, 
 And Death should die, and sorrow end. 
 
 ii. 
 A man will hear thy bosom beat 
 
 When thou hast sworn an idle oath; 
 When thou hast tripp'd, on fairy feet, 
 
 To keep a tryste, or break a troth; 
 But not for love ; no ! not for this ; 
 For thou wilt sell thy bridal kiss. 
 
SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 119 
 
 III. 
 
 I mean thy friends will sell thy love 
 As loves are sold in England, here. 
 
 A man will buy my golden dove, 
 
 (I doubt he'll find his bargain dear!) 
 
 He'll lose the wine; he'll win the bowl, 
 
 The life, the limbs, but not the soul. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Take, then, thy mate, thou barter'd thing ! 
 
 And with him take, oh ! take thy wealth. 
 Thou shalt be sad when children sing 
 
 And weep for me (at night) by stealth ; 
 Yes, in his arms ! And wake, too late, 
 To coax and kiss the man you hate. 
 
 v. 
 Then will he catch from traitor-lips 
 
 A word in sleep not meant for him ; 
 And he will dread thy soul's eclipse, 
 
 And long to rend thee limb from limb; 
 And see thee quake (for love's dear sake) 
 And yield a kiss he will not take. 
 
120 SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And thou wilt move (in wild unrest 
 But not in joy) by taper's beam ; 
 
 And shriek my name upon his breast, 
 And rise to swear 'twas all a dream. 
 
 snake of love ! — to win thy kiss — 
 Thou't soon persuade thy lord of this. 
 
 vn. 
 
 But stand at God's high altar there, 
 
 With saints around thee tall and sweet ; 
 
 I'll match thy pride with my despair, 
 
 And drag thee down from glory's seat. 
 
 Yea, thou shalt kneel ! Thy head shall bow 
 
 As mine is bent in anguish now. 
 
 TBI. 
 
 What ! for thy sake have I forsworn 
 
 The soldier's sword, the painter's brush, — 
 
 The pen to paint the joys of morn, — 
 
 The mirth of men, — the maiden's blush? 
 
 Have I done this ? I have ; and see ! 
 
 1 weep wild tears for thine and thee. 
 
SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 But I can school my soul to strength. 
 
 And weep and wail as children do : 
 Be cold as stone, yet melt at length, 
 
 And curb my pride as thou canst, too ! 
 But I have hope, and thou hast none, 
 And I have joy, but thine is done. 
 
 x. 
 No marriage bells? No songs, you say? 
 
 No flowers to grace our bridal morn? 
 No wine ? No kiss ? No wedding-day ? 
 
 I care not ! Oaths are all forsworn ; 
 And when I clasped thy hand so white 
 I meant to curse thee, girl, to-night. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And so I shall, — Oh! doubt not that: 
 
 At stroke of twelve I'll curse thee twice. 
 
 When screams the owl, when swoops the bat, 
 When ghosts are out I'll curse thee thrice. 
 
 And thou shalt hear! — Aye, by my troth, 
 
 One song will suit the souls of both. 
 
122 SYLVIA 1ST THE WEST. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I curse thy face; I curse thy hair; 
 
 I curse thy lips that smile so well, 
 Thy life, thy love and my despair, 
 
 My widowed couch, thy wedding bell ; 
 My soul and thine ! — Ah. see ! tho' black, 
 I take, in part, my curses back. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 For thou and I were form'd for hate, 
 For love, for scorn; no matter what. 
 
 I am thy Fere, and thou my Fate, 
 
 And fire and flood shall harm thee not. 
 
 Thou shalt be killed and hid from ken, 
 
 And fiends will sing thy requiem then. 
 
 xrv. 
 Yet think not Death will serve thy stead ; 
 
 I'll find thy grave tho' walled in stone. 
 I'll move thy mould to make my bed, 
 
 And lie with thee long hours alone: 
 Long, lifeless hours ! Ah God, how free, 
 How pale, how cold thy lips will be. 
 
STL VIA IN THE WEST. 123 
 
 XT. 
 
 But graves are cells of truth and love, 
 And men may talk no treason there, 
 
 A corpse will wear no wedding-glove, 
 A ghost will make no sign in air, 
 
 But thou, — to mock thy mate at night — 
 
 Wilt sing the psalm of death's delight. 
 
 xvi. 
 Ah me ! to sleep and yet to wake, 
 
 To live so long and yet to die ; 
 To moan, (poor soul,) for Sylvia's sake, 
 
 And yet no peace to gain thereby: 
 What have I said? what left undone, 
 To mar the grave, to mock the sun? 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Here is a word of wild design. 
 
 Here is a threat: 'twas meant to warn. 
 Here is a fierce and freezing line, 
 
 As hot as hate, as cold as scorn. 
 Ah friend ! forgive ; forbear my rhymes, 
 But pray for me, sweet saint, at times. 
 
124 SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Had I a curse to spare to-day 
 
 (Which I have not) I'd use it now. 
 
 I'd curse my hair and turn it gray, 
 
 I'd teach my back to bend and bow; 
 
 I'd make myself so weird and thin 
 
 That I should seem too sad to sin. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And then we'd meet, we two, at night ; 
 
 And I should know what saints have known. 
 Thou wouldst not tremble, dear, for fright, 
 
 Or shriek to meet me there alone. 
 I should not then be spurn'd for this, 
 Or want a smile, or need a kiss. 
 
 xx. 
 I should not then be fierce as fire, 
 
 Or mad as sin, or sharp as knife; 
 My heart would beat with no desire, 
 
 For care would cool the flush of life; 
 And I should love thee, spotless one, 
 As pilgrims love some holy nun. 
 
SILVIA IN THE WEST. 125 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Ah, queen-like creature ! smile on me ; 
 
 Be kind, be good ; I loved thee much. 
 I thank thee, — See ! on bended knee, — 
 
 For now I know thy love was such. 
 And when I sleep I watch thee come, 
 And both are wild, and one is dumb. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I draw thee ghost-like to my heart; 
 
 I kiss thy lips and call thee mine. 
 Of thy sweet soul I form a part, 
 
 And" my poor soul is part of thine. 
 Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou ! 
 But let me be thy servant now. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 What ! did I curse thy golden hair ? 
 
 Well, then, the sun will set at noon; 
 The face that keeps the world so fair 
 
 Is thine, not his ; he darkens soon. 
 Thy smile awakes the bird of dawn, 
 And day departs when thou art gone. 
 
126 SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Oh ! had I groves in some sweet star 
 
 That shines in heaven the whole night through; 
 A wreath of fire, — a golden car, — 
 
 A something wild and strange and true ; 
 An angel's crown, — a fairy's bell, — 
 I'd make them thine, and love thee well. 
 
 xxv. 
 This love of ours should last for aye, 
 
 And we should live these thousand years. 
 We'd meet in Mars on Christmas Day, 
 
 And make the tour of all the spheres. 
 We'd do strange things ! Sweet stars should shine, 
 And Death would spare my love and thine. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But these are dreams, and dreams are vain ; 
 
 Mine most of all; so heed them not. 
 Brave thoughts will die tho' men complain, 
 
 And mine was bold! 'Tis now forgot. 
 Well ; let me bless thee ere I sleep, 
 And give thee all my joys to keep. 
 
SYLVIA IN THE WEST. 127 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I bless the house where thou wast born, 
 I bless the hours of every night, 
 
 And every hour from blush of morn 
 Till death of day, for thy delight; 
 
 I bless the sunbeams as they shine, — 
 
 So like those golden locks of thine! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 I bless thy lips, thy lustrous eyes, 
 
 Thy face, thy feet, thy forehead fair, 
 
 The light that shines in summer skies 
 In garden walks when thou art there. 
 
 I bless the songs I shall not hear, 
 
 Which thou wilt sing, when One is near. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But blessing thus, — ah, woe's the day! — 
 I know what tears I shall not shed, 
 
 What flowers will bloom and (sweet as they) 
 What bells will ring when I am dead. 
 
 Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou ! 
 
 But let me be thy minstrel now. 
 
128 
 
 THE COMBING OF THE HAIE. 
 
 i. 
 
 I charge thee, good my nurse, 
 
 An thou be true to me, 
 Say nought to-day of this, I pray, 
 
 Of Gaston of the Lea ; 
 But comb my hair and keep it fair 
 
 As fits a fair ladye. 
 
 ii. 
 Thou know'st my father's pride, 
 
 Thou know'st my mother's will, 
 And how for both, at glory's troth, 
 
 My fate I must fulfil, 
 And wed the knight of Ashby Ghyte 
 
 At Culwin on the Hill. 
 
THE COMBING OP THE HAIB. 129 
 
 III. 
 
 A stalwart soul is he; 
 
 In sooth a lordly one. 
 His eyes are bright, his heart is light, 
 
 His looks are like the sun ; 
 At honour's call he'd work for all, 
 
 His head he'll bow to none. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To none, to none, but only one, 
 
 Because so weak am I ; 
 (So weak in truth, a man in ruth 
 
 Is best at his reply); 
 And he did bow, to breathe his vow, 
 
 As victims bend to die. 
 
 v. 
 Grammercy, good my nurse ! 
 
 And why dost blink at me? 
 And why dost seem-, as in a dream, 
 
 To smile so fearfullie? 
 Nay, thou must heed (in word and deed) 
 
 The tale I tell to thee. 
 
 K 
 
130 THE COMBING OF THE HA IK. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The moon had risen — as from a prison 
 
 The stars do seem to rise — 
 And one by one, like prayer of nun 
 (Whose voice is heard when day is done), 
 
 The birds did make replies. 
 
 Wee winsome birds ! — I hear them still ; 
 
 They seem'd to say " We weep at will." 
 
 vn. 
 But I and these — the birds and trees — 
 
 We were not lonesome all. 
 A shadow stood within the wood 
 
 (Its face I well recall). 
 And I was frail. — To tell my tale 
 
 I must be sad withal. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I must be sad^ tho' gaily clad, 
 
 I must be stern, I trow! 
 For men are wild, by love beguiled, 
 
 Who trust a maiden's vow. 
 Nay, nay ; be still ! A woman's will 
 
 Shall guide me calmly now. 
 
THE COMBING OF THE HAIR. 131 
 
 IX. 
 
 'Twas he; 'twas Gaston's self 
 
 Eeturn'd my troth to claim ; 
 He gazed on me so sad to see 
 
 I blush to breathe his name. 
 — Nay, stint thy prayer, and comb my hair, 
 
 For he did kiss the same, 
 x. 
 O Gaston ! O my Friend ! 
 
 (My shames I thus avowed) 
 O Gaston dear ! as corse on bier 
 
 Be love, tho' late, allowed. 
 Be love that wept when honour slept 
 
 Anointed now in shroud. 
 
 XI. 
 
 His words were sad to hear ; 
 
 Three words alone he said : 
 Three little words, like songs of birds, 
 
 That bless'd us overhead. 
 On sacred ground they seem'd to sound, 
 
 To tell me Love was dead. 
 
 k 2 
 
132 THE COMBING OF THE HAIE. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " I loved thee," said the voice, 
 
 " I loved thee." (Nought but this.) 
 Gaston ! my girlhood's choice ! 
 
 tender soul ! an thou rejoice 
 I shall not mourn amiss. 
 
 1 shall not mourn that love was torn 
 From glory's guerdon-kiss. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Eight sadly then he spake : 
 "O Love, an thou be fair, 
 
 An thou be true, ere falls the dew 
 To house thou must repair. 
 
 For 'tis not good," he said, " in wood 
 
 To wait with me where I have stood." 
 
 xrv. 
 Oh ! wild and weird he gazed at me 
 
 As he would pierce my soul. 
 " Go, get thee gone, I count on thee ! " 
 
 He seemed to cry in dole. 
 " For 'tis not well," he said, " to dwell 
 With any fiend come out of hell." 
 
THE COMBING OF THE HAIR. 133 
 
 XV. 
 
 — Nay nurse, nay nurse! forbear the verse, 
 
 Forbear the muttered vow; 
 And while my rede I do rehearse 
 (Albeit it sounds too like a curse) 
 
 Do thou be silent now. 
 And comb my hair, and keep it fair 
 
 To curl upon my brow. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 nurse ! I swear to thee 
 (And angels late at night 
 
 Have heard the same when, all aflame 
 
 With Kght and love, they breathed my name), 
 
 Thy prayers I will requite: 
 Thy watchful prayers, — thy tender cares,' — 
 
 That lead me to the light. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 My love I do renounce; 
 
 My fears I cast away ! 
 My hopes and joys, like children's toys 
 
 When bairns no longer play, 
 
 1 do reject ; and, wifely-decked, 
 I wait my lord to-day. 
 
134 THE COMBING OP THE HAIR. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But first, tho' this be so; 
 
 Tho' wealth be all in all ; 
 Tho' tears do run (and, one by one, 
 
 Do seem too big to fall) 
 I must complete — ere guests do meet — 
 
 The tale I now recall. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 My love did stand erect 
 (His face I well did scan), 
 
 He could not speak, but mild and meek 
 He looked a lonely man ; 
 
 And I did quake as women shake 
 Who fear the master-ban. 
 
 xx. 
 O woeful, woeful thing ! 
 
 (The birds broke out in prayer.) 
 He seem'd a wild anointed king 
 
 With jasper-flames of hair, 
 The moon apace upon his face 
 
 Did shine so solemn fair. 
 
THE COMBING OF THE HAIE. 135 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Sweet soul ! " I cried aloud, 
 
 " Sweet soul, oh, curse me not ! 
 And, tho' so vile with words of guile 
 
 (Each word a wintry blot), 
 Be all my wrongs revered in songs 
 
 And all my sins forgot." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 No word he then did speak, 
 
 No word but only this : 
 " Adieu ! " he cried. " Adieu ! " said he. 
 And with a smile right dolefullie 
 
 His tears he did dismiss; 
 And with a smile (he prayed the while) 
 
 He bless'd me with a kiss. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 nurse ! I know not well, 
 
 I know not (ne'er shall know) 
 Why forth from me, as monk to cell, 
 
 My Love did shuddering go. 
 But this I say: at the Judgment Day 
 
 My soul would not do so ! 
 
136 THE COMBING OF THE HAIB. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 His arms he wildly raised, 
 
 (The moon look'd calmly down.) 
 And with a smile as he were crazed, 
 And with a yell (Ah, God be praised 
 It kill'd him not!) he leapt amazed 
 Beyond me to the town. — 
 
 xxv. 
 Hold off! Hold off! The rede is read. 
 
 (The blame let none descry !) 
 No perjured soul, when bells do toll, 
 
 Will look so proud as I ; 
 And none will smile so sad in guile, 
 
 Or look so like to die. 
 
 xxvi. 
 Nay, nurse ! Nay, good my nurse ! 
 
 My gems do thou prepare; 
 And see thou set (to pay the debt 
 
 I owe to one in prayer) 
 A wee white rose, like winter snows, 
 
 To bloom amid my hair. 
 
THE COMBING OF THE HAIE. 
 
 xxvn. 
 And see thou pray for me, 
 
 (Ah, nurse absolve me still.) 
 For I must sell, at sound of bell, 
 
 A wife's mrwifely will, 
 And wed the knight of Ashby Ghyte 
 
 At Culwin on the Hill. 
 
 137 
 
138 
 
 A BALLAD OF KISSES. 
 
 i. 
 
 There are three kisses that I call to mind, 
 And I will sing their secrets as I go. 
 
 The first (a kiss too courteous to be kind) 
 Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know ; 
 As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet, 
 
 And evermore my soul will loathe the same. 
 
 The toys and joys of fate I may forget, 
 But not the touch of that divided shame : 
 It clove my lips ; it burnt me like a flame, 
 in. 
 
 The third, the final kiss, is one I use 
 
 Morning and noon and night ; and not amiss. 
 
 Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse ! 
 
 And when I die, be Love, enrapt in bliss, 
 Ee-sanctified in heaven by such a kiss. 
 
TALIAN "TO EMS. 
 
 r< 
 
LA ZINGARELLA. 
 
 IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO. 
 
 I MIEI SALDTI. 
 
141 
 
 LA ZINGAEELLA. 
 
 Dimmi, dimmi, o trovatore, 
 Tu che canti sul l'iuto, 
 Bello e bruno e pien d' amore 
 Dalla valle in su venuto, 
 Non ti fermi sull'altura 
 Per mostrar la tua bravura ? 
 Non mi canti sul burrone 
 Qualche lieta tua canzone ? 
 
142 la zingarella. 
 
 ii. 
 
 — Zingarella, in Bulla sera 
 Canta bene il rosignolo, 
 Piange e canta in sua preghiera 
 Salutando un dolce suolo. 
 Ma il li'uto al mio toccare 
 Pianger sa, non sa pregare . . . 
 Deb. ! che vuoi col tuo sorriso, 
 Tu che sai di paradise ? 
 
 V6 sentire in tuo linguaggio 
 Come e fatto un uom fedele, 
 Se l'amor lo fa selvaggio, 
 Se il destin lo fa crudele. 
 Parla schietto; son profana 
 Ma ben leggo Talma umana. 
 Parla pur dei tuoi viaggi 
 Nei deserti e nei villaggi. 
 
LA ZINGARELLA. 143 
 
 IV. 
 
 — Canterotti, o zingarella, 
 
 Qualche allegra mia ballata, 
 Qualche estatica novella 
 D' una clama innamorata . . . 
 
 — Dimmi tutto ! — Canterotti 
 D' Ungheria la meste notti. 
 
 — D' Ungheria ? — Del Bosco Santo 
 Dove nacque il gran Sorranto. 
 
 Sappi in breve, son marchese 
 Castellano e cantatore, 
 Cattivai con questo arnese 
 D' una maga un di 1' amore. 
 
 — D' una maga ? — Si, di -quelle 
 Che san logger nelle stelle. 
 
 — E fu bella? — Non v'e guari 
 Dama, oh no, che le sia pari. 
 
144 LA ZINGARELLA. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Come parca in fra le dita 
 
 Essa tenne il mio destino; 
 Fu la sfinge di mia vita 
 Col sorriso suo divino. 
 Avea biondi i suoi capelli, 
 Occhi neri e molto belli, 
 Braccia e collo in puritade 
 Come neve quando cade. 
 
 VII. 
 
 — Taci, taci, o castellano; 
 
 Qui convien pregar per essa. 
 — Io 1' amai d' amor sovrano ! 
 Pronta fu la sua promessa. 
 L' aspettai ; mi fu cortese, 
 Ma fuggi dal mio paese, 
 Travestita un di di Maggio 
 Come biondo e giovin paggio. 
 
LA ZINGABELLA. 145 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, giammai non fu sognata 
 Cosa uguale per bellezza; 
 Chi la vide ineoronata 
 Sorridea per tenerezza. 
 Chi la vide di mattina 
 La credeva una regina, 
 Qualche sogno di poeta, 
 Qualche incanto di profeta ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 — Traditor! col tuo liuto 
 
 Tu 1' hai fatta innamorare ! 
 
 — Io giurai per San Bernuto 
 E pel Cristo in sull'altare, 
 Per Giuseppe e per Maria 
 Che farei la vita pia. 
 
 — E il facesti? — I sacfi voti 
 Eicantai dei sacerdoti. 
 
 l 
 
146 LA ZINGARELLA. 
 
 — Or m' ascolta, o trovatore, 
 
 Or rispondi, e dimmi il vero: 
 Hai veduto il mesto fiore 
 Che si coglie in cimitero ? 
 Hai veduto i fior di rose 
 Che s'intreccian per le spose, 
 Quaudo can tan desolati 
 Gli usignoli abbandonati ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 Crolli il capo ; iinpallidisci ; 
 
 Stendi a me la bianca mano ; 
 Non rispondi ; e forse ambisci 
 Delia sposa ormai 1' arcano ? 
 Qui mori la Gilda, maga 
 Sotto il nome di Menzaga ; 
 Qui mori, nel suo pallore, 
 Per 1' amor d' un trovatore ! 
 
LA. ZINGARELLA. 147 
 
 XII. 
 
 Sfcravolto 1' amante s' incliina ; 
 
 Ei mira la mesta donzella. 
 
 Velata e la maga, ma bella, 
 Coll'occHo che pianger non sa. 
 
 — donna, 1' amor t' indovina . . . 
 
 Tu, Gilda, t'ascondi cola! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Nel mondo non v'e la sembianza 
 
 Di tale e di tanta beltade! 
 
 Non cresce per queste contrade 
 Ne giglio ne spirto d'amor. 
 
 Tu sola tu sei la Speranza 
 
 Che tenni qua stretta sul cor. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Tu sola tu sei la mia dama, 
 
 La gioja e 1' onor della vita ; 
 Tu sola, donzella compita, 
 
 l 2 
 
148 LA ZINGARELLA. 
 
 Del mondo la diva sei tu. 
 
 L' amor ti conosce, e la fama ; 
 Ne manca 1' antica virtu. 
 
 xv. 
 Ma dove e la fe del passato 
 
 Che tanto brillo nella festa? 
 
 L'amore, l'onore, le gesta 
 D'un tempo che presto fuggi? 
 
 Fu vero ? L' ho forse sognato ? 
 
 Tu pur 1' hai sognato cosi ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 La maga intenta ascolta il suo galante ; 
 
 Eide, si seioglie il velo e guarda il Sire. 
 Eossa diventa e bianca in uno istante, 
 E poi s'asconde il viso e vuol fuggire. 
 Corre nei bracci suoi lo fido amante ; 
 E favellar vorria nel suo gioi're . . . 
 
LA ZINGARELLA. 149 
 
 XVII. 
 
 — Deli! taci, oil taei! Al mondo ovunque e doglia. 
 
 Gilda son io. Ti bacio e son contenta. 
 
 Pianger non so se non per pazza voglia 
 Come la strega allor che si lamenta . . . 
 
 Cosa vuoi tu? Che vuoi che si mi guardi? 
 
 Diva non son, ma donna; e fui crudele. 
 
 — Baoiami in booea. O Dio ! mi stringi ed ardi 
 Tanto d'amore e piangi e sei fedele? 
 
 — Ugo ! M' ascolta, io son la tua meschina, 
 Forte ben si, ma doma in questi agoni; 
 Sono la schiava tua, la tua regina, 
 
 Quel che tu vuoi purche non m' abbandoni ! 
 
150 LA ZINGAKEIXA. 
 
 XX. 
 
 — cara, o casta, o bella, o tu che bramo, 
 Dammi la morte unita a un tuo sorriso. 
 Eva sarai per me. Son io 1' Adamo ; 
 
 E quivi in terra avrassi il paradise 
 
151 
 
 IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO. 
 
 i. 
 mesto bambino col capo chinato, 
 Eispondi; rispondi. Che fece Eenato? 
 Fu vinto Morello ? Pu salvo Lindoro ? 
 Eispondi ; rispondi ! Son padre di loro. 
 
 ii. 
 Non veggo tornare dal Ponte d'Aviglio 
 Eenato superbo del vinto periglio. 
 L' han f orse promosso ? Eisorge la guerra ? 
 Eispondi ; rispondi ! — L' han messo sotterra. 
 
 in. 
 O ciel ! tu lo senti, tu vedi 1' oltraggio ; 
 Eenato fu prence del nostro villaggio ! . . . 
 Ma dimmi, piccino. Che fece Morello ? 
 Eispondi; rispondi! — Lo chiude l'avello. 
 
152 
 
 IL PONTB D AVIOLIO. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ahi, crudo destino! Si. grande, si forte, 
 Morello nasceva per vincer la morte. 
 Ma 1' altro ? Che feee sul campo serrato ? 
 Eispondi; rispondi ! — Mori da soldato. 
 
 v. 
 Gran Dio ! che mi narri ! Pur desso m' e tolto ¥ 
 Eenato m' e morto ? Morello sepolto ? 
 E piangi, . . . tu pure ? Gentile bambino ! 
 Che dici ? Eispondi ! — - Vi resta Giannino. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh si, del figliuolo l'ignoto tesoro, 
 L' incognito figlio del biondo Lindoro. 
 Ma dove trovarlo nel nome di Dio? 
 Eispondi ; rispondi ! — Buon padre, son io. 
 
153 
 
 I MIEI SALUTI. 
 
 i. 
 Ti saluto, Margherita 
 
 Fior di vita, . . . ti saluto ! 
 Sei la speme del mattino, 
 Sei la gioja del giardino. 
 
 ii. 
 Ti saluto, Eosignolo 
 
 Nel tuo duolo, . . . ti saluto ! 
 Sei l'amante della rosa 
 Che morendo si fa sposa. 
 
 in. 
 Ti saluto, Sol di Maggio 
 
 Col tuo raggio, . . . ti saluto ! 
 Sei 1' Apollo del passato, 
 Sei 1' amore incoronato. 
 
154 I MIEI SALUTI. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ti saluto, Donna mia, 
 
 Casta e pia, . . . ti saluto ! 
 Sei la Santa dei Sospiri, 
 Sei la diva dei desiri. 
 
LONDON : 
 FEINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 STAMFORD STBEET AND CHARING CEOBS.