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Cornell University Library 
 PS 2174.K52V4 1887 
 
 A Venetian lover. 
 
 3 1924 022 162 147 
 
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/cu31924022162147 
 
% Wmztim aCotier 
 
EDWARD KING. 
 
 J[ "X^tieftan Xiobi^J* 
 
 LONDON - 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO. 
 
 I, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, I 
 
 1887 
 
 hw 
 
L' amor che muove il sole e I' altre stelle. 
 Dante Alighieri. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER. 
 
 We part to-morrow. 
 
 Now, ye pallid keys, 
 Wake from your mute and brooding ecstasy, 
 Wake into stormy passion, and proclaim 
 With moving eloquence my great despair ! 
 Ye spirits troubled and invisible 
 That beat with restless wings the realms of air. 
 
10 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Ye voices wandering forlorn in space, — 
 Sweet echoes from celestial sweep of orbs 
 Unutterably distant — join, and make 
 One harmony to soften my soul's plaint ; 
 One song to sing my love and my regret : 
 One threnody for my poor heart that dies 
 Tonight, and knows no resurrection ! 
 
 See! 
 The young moon pales before approaching dawn, 
 And soon the touch of opalescent morn 
 Shall thrill the dim horizon, till it glows 
 Rose red, as first her face glowed when I touched 
 My lips to hers ! 
 
 The tender little face ! 
 Oh, ^ony of parting ! — emptiness 
 Of weary ways where I shall walk alone ! 
 Sackcloth and ashes of my ruined days ! 
 Oh, forehead that I may no more caress — 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER II 
 
 Arms that I may not feel ! 
 
 What man is this 
 
 Who moans, and dreads the hght, and knows that tears 
 
 Burn on his pahng cheek ? 
 
 * 
 Come ! music, come ! 
 
 Awake ! arise ! let thy resounding chords 
 
 Refresh my faltering soul ! 
 
 'Twas here we met : 
 
 Here in this ancient, quaint, delightful room 
 
 With painted ceilings and with sculptured walls — 
 
 Here, where the echoes of her footfalls seem 
 
 To haunt me, as I muse and mourn, and touch 
 
 The old piano's consecrated keys. 
 
 There was a passionate September moon 
 
 That cast its glory on the silent streets 
 
 Of gleaming water, on. that night of nights 
 
 When from the gloomy gondola she stept, 
 
 And like some vision that our Dante saw — 
 
12 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Tutta fulgente — • through the palace door 
 Passed Hke a saint, with slow harmonious grace. 
 I stood above her, on the marble stair, 
 Upholding tremulously the huge lamp — 
 Half glad, half sad — to welcome to these halls 
 Where once my ancestors abode like kings, 
 'Mid treasures of the rifled Orient, 
 These strangers from beyond the Western Sea, 
 These opulent, sincere, and honest folk 
 Who fled their freakish climate, and with gold 
 Healed up my poverty and salved my pride. 
 And when I felt the beauty of her eyes, 
 And knew the rapture of her parted lips. 
 And saw the whiteness of her sweet low brow. 
 My heart beat loudly, and she heard its throbs. 
 As past me to the great hushed room she stole. 
 Then, as upon some thrilled midsummer morn 
 When our Venetian skies are jubilant, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 3 
 
 A roseate hue springs in the white faint east 
 And bums to dazzhng splendor, so there spsang 
 Into her hhed cheeks a sudden flame 
 That seemed to penetrate my very soul. 
 Oh, night of blessing ! 
 
 How my being glowed ! 
 How all the pent up current of my life 
 Flowed to her ! ♦ 
 
 Never, in divinest dream, 
 Or maddest, most transcendent rhapsody. 
 Or in the rush and sweep of organ fugues. 
 Or 'mid enchanting and delirious sway 
 Of wild Tedescan waltzes full of love, 
 Never in waking or in sleeping bliss. 
 In pant of music or in peace of prayer 
 Before San Marco's alabaster shrine. 
 Never upon the luminous lagoons. 
 When witching and ethereal moonlight wove 
 
14 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Vast spheres in which th' imagination swam, 
 
 Fearless, Rejoicing in the Infinite, 
 
 Oh, never had I caught supremest joy, 
 
 And mounted heavenward on its sweeping wings 
 
 Until I stood beside her, and she looked 
 
 With timid, startled gaze upon me ! 
 
 Stay, 
 Dear memory ! 
 
 The tender little face ! 
 
 Now came the father, bustling eager man. 
 Grey bearded, with harsh wrinkles on his brow, 
 Alert with care for her he cherished most. 
 I bent me to my duties as a host. 
 Here held a light, and here a curtain raised ; 
 To English tamed my unaccustomed tongue. 
 And told them how I learned their golden speech, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER ■ 15 
 
 Rich with its grave sonorous emphasis, 
 Amid the mists of mighty London. 
 
 When 
 I knew them cloistered in their several rooms, 
 I felt a longing burn upon my brow, 
 Nor tried to check it. Down I sat, and mused. 
 While on a carven table, in a nook 
 Close by a balcony, that overhung 
 The sad dark water, old Anina spread 
 The simple supper — bread and meat and grapes ; 
 One wickered flask of red Chianti : cheer 
 Such as our narrow household rarely knew. 
 Oh ! but to see her for a moment more ! 
 So ran my thought : and as I mused, she drew 
 Backward the tapestries that hid a door 
 Ornate with porphyries that Dandolo 
 Gave to my ancestors who fought with him 
 The day that Byzance fell, and fluttered forth, 
 
1 6 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 A fairy thing of draperies and lace 
 And subtle perfumes that embalmed the air ; 
 Such odors as the great Doge Loredan 
 Brought with him from the spicy Cyprian isle; 
 Or such as lingered in the rustling robes 
 Of Catherine Comaro : scents like those 
 That turned the heads of our Venetian dames, 
 When, at the end of their historic cruise, 
 The beaked galleys home from Asia came, 
 Their labored sides distended with the stores 
 Of precious gums and liquids prest from flowers 
 Culled in the depths of dewy Syrian vales, 
 Or plucked upon the steep Armenian hills. 
 
 The soft light played upon her russet hair. 
 And frolicked on the diamond at her throat. 
 The picture was too beautiful ! I lost 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 17 
 
 My eyes in dream. I did not see her pass 
 A moment later; yet I think I rose 
 And murmured some dull courtesy. I heard 
 Her father clink his glass at table ; knew 
 He sat at meat — a prosy modern man. 
 But she ! 
 
 I saw her in a, vision bright, 
 A fair Venetian of the golden time 
 When Venice was the mistress of the seas. 
 Beneath a satin canopy she sat, 
 Within a swiftly moving gondola 
 Bedecked with richest stuffs from Samarcand. 
 The scarlet dresses of her gondoliers. 
 The damask flags that fluttered from the roofs, 
 And all the gleaming train of darting boats. 
 Proclaimed her wedding day. 
 
 I saw her glide. 
 Clad in her silken robe of spotless white 
 
1 3 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Gemmed with its lavish rows of priceless pearls, 
 Across the marbles to the Doge's throne. 
 Musicians softly played on silver pipes, 
 And matrons stood behind her, while she bowed 
 Her gentle head. 
 
 Her hand was locked in mine ; 
 My kinsmen backed me, in their ruddy robes 
 With velvet stoles of black : patrician-wise 
 They held their heads erect. Then to the church 
 Magnificent we moved, a sparkling throng 
 Of plumed and jeweled cavaliers and dames. 
 Thro' living lanes of maidens passion-browed. 
 And scarred and limping veterans of wars. 
 And laughing workers from the arsenal. 
 And oh ! the sweetly smelling incense ! Oh, 
 The voices singing in the hidden choirs ! 
 So passed the vision, and a fire crept in 
 About my heart and burned it. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 9 
 
 I awoke, 
 And bit my paling lips, and then I felt 
 The father's cool commercial eye upon 
 Me ; and I straightway drew the screen 
 Of half apologetic courtesy across 
 My soul, and moving to the table spoke : 
 And while I spoke I thought the fair girl's eyes 
 Caught up my words, and knew my secret thought. 
 " Thin are the wines and meager is our store 
 Of dainties for your welcome." So I said. 
 " But these are idle and unfruitful days 
 For ancient Venice. Would that I might call 
 'The palmy Cinque Cento back again. 
 And set upon our lustrous southern sea 
 Whole argosies o'erburdened with the wealth 
 Of half a score of empires. For your joy 
 Would that I might this silent palace fill 
 With long departed splendors ; make its walls 
 
20 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 With tanned and gilded leathers all aglow, 
 
 And light the angles of this alcove dim 
 
 With silken hangings starred with countless pearls ; 
 
 Here let the Lombard magic gleam anew 
 
 In mantles decorated with the forms 
 
 Of sirens, weird chimeras, airy loves ; 
 
 With golden roses strew the ceilings blue ; 
 
 With silver vases and with shining blades, 
 
 With cymbals, lutes and medals, heap the boards 
 
 Of richly carven tables. Copper lamps, 
 
 With winking crystals lavishly bedight, 
 
 From chiseled colored beams should gently swing. 
 
 And lanterns filled with mirrors should reflect 
 
 The gracious forms of Roman goddesses 
 
 Imprisoned in the faultless marble ; aye. 
 
 And you should sip the wine of Cyprus from 
 
 Transparent goblets of Muranian glass. 
 
 Poured out of rosy flagons softly chilled 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 21 
 
 In metal coolers o'er which artisans 
 In far Damascus had for weary years 
 Knit their swart brows. 
 
 Or when your spirits craved 
 To thread the storied and romantic past, 
 On parchments dainty with the pictured wealth 
 Of monkish fancy ; on the missals rare 
 Where priests their chaste imaginations fine 
 Had lavished in their soundless cloister nooks, 
 Your eyes might feast. 
 
 Your lives should daily walk 
 Abreast with beauty, from the dawning's blush, 
 Till blessed sleep came with the midnight calm 
 To press your eyelids down. 
 
 Then to your rest, 
 Through corridors where webs of costly hues 
 Were stretched o'er wainscoting yet costlier ; 
 And where the coffers painted with the deeds 
 
22 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Of mighty men of Venice in the wars 
 
 Of Egypt, Greece, remotest Palestine, 
 
 Were ranged in rows ; and o'er the pavements wide 
 
 Encrusted with the marbles of the East, 
 
 And past the dazzling windows flushed with shields 
 
 And coats of anns, contented should you go. 
 
 In oratories where the aureoles 
 
 Of imaged saints a heavenly brightness made, 
 
 Before the altars might you kneel at prayer ; 
 
 Then might you in luxurious couches dream ; 
 
 While in recesses gilded caryatids 
 
 Seemed thoughtfully to bend upon their toil 
 
 Lest they might wake you. 
 
 And within the courts 
 The softly flowing fountains' lullaby 
 Should through the tranquil night hours murmur on. 
 Would that I might with quick enchantment bring 
 For you, my Western guests, these marvels back — 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 These wonders of the city of the isles — 
 The isles engirdled by the weird lagoons. 
 Great Venice is but lost in reverie ! 
 Forgive us if we cannot quite forget 
 Her fourteen centuries of glory ! " 
 
 " Stay ! " — 
 Loud rang the father's quick imperious tones, 
 And on the table danced the jingling glass ; 
 While o'er the old man's face a ripple ran 
 Instinct with anger, which he strove to check. 
 And clumsily bemasked beneath a smile : 
 " Sir, you will set our fancies all aglow. 
 And take the blush from Venice e'er we thread 
 Her mazy lanes of water. It is well : 
 You have your pride : the past was great and fair. 
 Yet all this catalogue of luxury 
 Stirs up a kind of protest in my blood. 
 I pray you, do not set me down a churl, 
 
24 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 If I proclaim your jeweled ancestors 
 Improvident and thoughtless. Hard)^ men 
 Like those of early Venice might have kept 
 The empire "of the seas. 
 
 Perhaps I err, — 
 Daughter, your lips are pale — 
 
 ' Tis very late. " 
 And so he rose and brushed aside the crumbs. 
 And tossed his napkin down. 
 
 I answered thus : 
 " Forgive me, sir. Your journey has been long ; 
 My house is yours. As for my ancestors, 
 Venice shall teach you in an hundred ways 
 To love them better. Sir, mj- servants wait 
 Upon the lady and yourself." 
 
 Then she 
 With one coy gesture turned her father's gaze 
 To where the pleading moonlight glorified 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 25 
 
 The ancient panes within the sculptured nooks. 
 " Prosaic man," she murmured, "dare you go 
 Bedward, while lovely Venice woos the moon? 
 Come, let us muse upon the balcony; 
 I think such perfect nights be rare in life." 
 He scowled, but followed her. With nervous hand 
 I swung the casement open, and we saw 
 Black-fronted palaces o'er which pale gleams 
 Went wandering serenely ; lengths of wave 
 Across which shot belated gondolas, 
 With singing lovers 'neath their canopies. 
 Cool blew the wind that came*in from the sea; 
 And as we stepped upon the balcony 
 Her hand touched mine, and I was thrilled with fire, 
 And in my new-born ecstasy was mute 
 Before th' unwitting drl, whose gaze was fixed 
 On the Guidecca in its midnight swoon. 
 I wonder if there be sad men who reach 
 
26 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 The dusky gateway of our final house, 
 
 Not having known the painful joy of love : 
 
 If there be one who never knew the pang 
 
 And bliss of setting all his fiery soul 
 
 To contemplation of one woman's face, 
 
 Until for him that face outshone the sun. 
 
 And dimmed the chastened radiance of the moon, 
 
 And put new hamionies into the world ? 
 
 Oh, those first moments when the knowledge comes, 
 
 When the transforming passion fills the veins. 
 
 When the rhapsodic revelation thrills 
 
 The grateful heart — would that they might return ! 
 
 That half-hour on my palace balcony 
 
 Was worth a lifetime of pale loveless hours. 
 
 The girl was happy in that moonlit time. 
 
 My inspiration rose to meet her mdod. 
 
 Gaining new courage from her courtesy. 
 
 Which bade her ask me of the olden days : 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 27 
 
 And SO I prated of I know not what — 
 Of Sansovino's marbles, and of feasts, 
 Of Tintoretto's ceilings all aglow 
 With pictured worship. 
 
 Then a cloud o'erset 
 The moon ; the father shivered, and we left 
 The balcony, and said " Good night " at last. 
 
 Next morning old Anina came betimes. 
 Shuffling suspiciously into the nook 
 Where 'mid my manuscripts and scores I sat 
 Wild-eyed, enchanted with my sudden love ; 
 And while she set before me chocolate 
 And fruits, she crooned in her falsetto voice 
 This legend in these words : I wrote them down 
 To please her, for she frowned. 
 
 " In olden days, 
 A son of Venice, sailing to the north 
 
28 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Oil some great mission for the jealous State, 
 Grew so enafnored of the Northern Star 
 That he forgot the risks of wind and tide, 
 The patient oar and nervous sail forgot, 
 And fixed his soul upon that beauteous star. 
 While gazing skyward, he was cast azvay 
 Upon a rocky shore, and held a slave 
 By cimnitig enemies. 
 
 Long years had sped 
 Ere he was rescued ; and the Juan was mad. 
 Rank fnad, and babbled like a babe in arms. 
 Hu said the glory of the star was hot. 
 And slowly did consiime him. 
 
 So he died 
 A beggar : and the State forgot his name," 
 
 I smiled, and bade the ancient crone begone : 
 " Be early at thy work, Anina, lest 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 29 
 
 Our northern visitors awake to find 
 
 Thee wanting in attention." Then she said : 
 
 " O Httle signorj by thy music bide, 
 
 Nor gaze too long upon the Northern Star." 
 
 But while she frowned anew, my heart leaped up, 
 
 For in the corridors I heard a voice — 
 
 A fresh young voice, a singing voice — that thrilled 
 
 My senses. Yet I bent above my toil. 
 
 And sought with hasty fingers to portray 
 
 By notes and lines the harmony that ran 
 
 Along my soul's chords. 
 
 Oh ! the morn was fair ! 
 At ten I threw my toilsome pen aside. 
 Put on brave garments, smoothed my rumpled locks, 
 Sighed as I saw the silver in my hair — 
 And went in timid mood — irresolute. 
 To bid my guests good-morrow ! 
 
 " Aye ! 'tis well ; " 
 
30 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 The father said : " my bed was over stocked 
 With antique draperies, and on my head 
 I feared a gilded caryatid might fall. 
 But not a ghost came to disturb my sleep, 
 And if I heard the squeaking of a mouse 
 I wager 'twas in dream. We like the place, 
 Serene and hoary with its memories. 
 But I am cursed with most unlucky news 
 Of tumbling stocks ; a dripping gondolier 
 Came from the consulate an hour agone 
 With this despatch : it does not marry well 
 With what you call your Cinque Cento calm. 
 Sir, I am modern, and I feel depressed 
 Among your storied stones. 
 
 What may we do 
 To fall into Venetian ways, and so 
 Court rest — much needed ? " 
 
 " Good sir, breathe the air ; 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 31 
 
 Drink in the sunlight, float in gondolas, 
 Gaze on a picture, linger at a shrine ; 
 Note how the trustful pigeons downward fly 
 From the tall Campanile in the square ; 
 Watch the tanned mariners who flock about 
 The old Dogana ; view the arsenal ; 
 Sup on a fish, and sip a glass of wine. 
 And pass the late hours at the Opera : 
 Such is our life — we cannot offer more." 
 
 " Oh may the sunshine of this blessed place 
 
 Smooth out the wrinkles on your troubled brow." 
 
 So said the girl, as to her father's side 
 
 She stole, and placed a white hand on his head. 
 
 In closely fitting garb of neutral grey 
 
 Her slender fona" was clothed : her face was bright. 
 
 Her eyes were mutinous : joy danced within 
 
 The dimples in her cheeks. But when her gaze 
 
32 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Met mine, a hasty sorrow came and went 
 Across the summer heaven of her brow, 
 As goes a hght breeze thro' a garden fair 
 Ruffling the flowers. 
 
 The tender httle face ! 
 
 That night the father bade me to his room. 
 " Sir, dine with us ; 'tis fit in your own house 
 You should preside at table. We have heard 
 Much talk of you today. My countrymen 
 Who linger here — idling their days away, 
 Playing with painted sunsets — say you're wise 
 In music, and can make an English song 
 Catch a new glory from Italian art. 
 I've heard the sunburnt fishers on our coast, 
 Trolling for spoil outside the Golden Gate, 
 Chant many a pretty trifle ; but I knew 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 33 
 
 No word of what they meant. 
 
 Sir, we will stay 
 Snug in the palace, for the wind blows cool 
 Tonight, and my old bones are querulous." 
 
 We dined in state. Anina spread the board 
 With heirloom treasures, silver, gold, and glass — 
 I had not seen them since my boyhood hours. 
 Her old hands trembled as she placed my chair. 
 But she was keen, alert, and dignified ; 
 And at dessert she brought strange syrups dropt 
 In water, saying that my ancestors. 
 Who scourged the Orient an hundred years 
 Before our house declined, had served them thus. 
 And so the fashion had been handed down. 
 Then, frightened at herself, she slipped away 
 To light the candles in the music room. 
 Hither we passed. 
 
54 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 The father in his chair 
 Half dozed, half listened, while I sang. 
 
 The girl 
 Nestled beside him, and her silken robe. 
 Rustling, made sweeter music to my ears 
 Than any song I knew. 
 
 Thus ran the lay ; 
 Here let me write it down ; I love to dwell 
 Upon the first faint words I sang to her : 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 35 
 
 I 
 
 Love, if Death prove but a dream. 
 
 And we seem, 
 Waking out of it, to grow 
 Dearer to each other far 
 
 Than we are 
 In this human hfe below. 
 
36 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 II 
 
 Will our spirits dimly yearn, 
 
 As they bum 
 In Infinity on high, 
 For each old familiar grace 
 
 Of this place 
 Where we lingered but to die ? 
 
 Ill 
 
 Will our souls remember well 
 
 What befell 
 On that moonlit night in June — 
 Nature swooning into bliss. 
 
 And the kiss 
 That put heart-beats into tune ? 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 37 
 
 Now when I ceased I heard the 'father's tones, 
 Muffled and fretful, as one speaks in sleep : 
 '' 'Tis pretty serithnent ; this is the place 
 For cooing words and melancholy moods. 
 They do not stir our Anglo-Saxon hearts. 
 Is't not so, daughter ? " 
 
 But she answered not. 
 
38 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Then I bethought me of a song I heard 
 
 Among the hills of Upper Austria, 
 
 When in my youth I took a pilgrimage 
 
 Thro' that strange land, for which I hold no hate. 
 
 But much stern enmity. 
 
 'Twas summer time. 
 And war was near. It was a woman sang — 
 Tears in her voice. I think I see her now — 
 White-lipped, protesting 'gainst the sacrilege 
 Of battle for the statesmen's fantasies ; 
 And one dull day in London, when I met 
 A poet who was hungry for a theme, 
 I gave him this heart-broken woman's wail, 
 Prisoned in dialect like gold in quartz. 
 And strung upon a quaint pathetic air ; 
 So he with English touch transformed it thus : 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 3) 
 
 I 
 
 Oh Emperor ! Great Emperor ! 
 Your cruel trumpets cry for war, 
 Ta rantara, tantara, tantara ! 
 The wheat is nodding in the sun, 
 The harvest work is just begun ; 
 But, mighty Emperor, I hear 
 A clash of sword, a clink of spear; 
 
40 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Down thro' the fertile valley comes 
 An echo from the beaten drums, — 
 And up among the mountains ring 
 Voices of those who riding sing : 
 
 " Now hy lo ho ! the trumpets blow ! 
 The horses go in pacing row 
 Across the bending grasses ! 
 Now hy lo ho ! the bugle^ blow ! 
 And what care we for lasses ! " 
 
 II 
 
 Oh Emperor ! Great Emperor ! 
 Tell me what God made women for ? 
 Ta rctntara, tdntara, tantara ! 
 Was it to hear these trumpets play 
 To call our lovers to the fray ? 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 4 1 
 
 Was it to know the wind-blown rain 
 Falls on our wounded and our slain, 
 Where they lie heaped in foreign lands ? 
 Was it in vain to stretch our hands 
 To those who shall return no more ? 
 May we not curse the cannon's roar ? 
 
 But hy lo ho ! the trumpets blow ! 
 
 The world must know you hate your foe, — 
 
 Your splendid army passes ! 
 
 But hy lo ho ! your bugles blow ! 
 
 And what care you for lasses ? 
 
 Ill 
 
 Oh, Emperor ! Great Emperor ! 
 Last night I had a visitor; 
 Ta rdmtara, tcmtara, tmitard ! 
 
42 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 In sleep I heard the bugles scream, 
 My lover came to me in dream ; 
 In reddest blood his hands were dyed, 
 A gaping wound was in his side ; 
 My heart cried to him, and he said : 
 " I am arisen from the dead ! 
 O love ! forget your grief and pain, 
 And let me sing you this refrain : 
 
 Now hy lo ho ! the trumpets blow ! 
 With laurels strew the field of woe 
 Where comrades brave are lying ! 
 Then, hy lo ho ! the bugles blow ! 
 And soldiers' trade is dying ! " 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 43 
 
 " I like a lusty voice," the father cried : 
 
 " Your song, sir, puts new mettle in my blood ; 
 
 I think I hear the moaning wind at play 
 
 Among my Californian pines and oaks 
 
 When thus you sing. 'Tis better than the sighs 
 
 And dainty lullabies of your hot South. 
 
H4 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 We, sir, live in the sunshine, like yourselves ; 
 Our fragrant land beside the western sea 
 Is bloomy, full of fruits and lustrous greens ; 
 But there's a vigor in the atmosphere 
 That makes our hearts beat to heroic tune. 
 Deep falls the snow along our mountain sides 
 In the capricious winter; and wild rains 
 Grossen the torrents in the canyons vast, 
 And hurl themselves upon the thirsty sand. 
 Nature oft spurs us with ungentle hand 
 To utmost energy. We cannot sit 
 With fawning fingers to caress a lute, 
 Wooing unseen ideals with our lips : 
 And so we better like your latest song — 
 Albeit a mortal sadness freights its rhyme — 
 Than all your sweet Venetian barcaroles." 
 " Forgive me, father, but the first song fell 
 With truer mu§ic on this Southern air." 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 45 
 
 So said the girl, and timidly uprose 
 And caught her laces round her. 
 
 Lo ! the moon 
 Came to caress her forehead virginal, 
 Putting to shame the candles' feeble glare. 
 I mutely galSd on her transfigured form. 
 And all the father's prating was forgot 
 In presence of her beauty. 
 
 From that night 
 I date the consecration of ovfr love. 
 Although she gave no sign. 
 
 ^ The days sped on. 
 
 While Venice wove its grave idyllic charm 
 About her soul. She took a little maid 
 From an old fisher's household, and these twain 
 Flitted thro' churches and thro' galleries 
 In the warm afternoons. 
 
 The father dozed, 
 
46 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Or read his crackling prints from over sea, 
 Or, with a patient protest on his face. 
 Unloosed his purse strings at his darling's will 
 In shops and painters' garrets. 
 
 And at night 
 I read them legends of historic da)'s 
 Shrined by my poet firiend in English verse : 
 Oh happy moments, will }'e come no more ? 
 
 At last the longed for revelation came : 
 Let me muse on it. 
 
 Would that I might die 
 Dreaming of that delirious night ! 
 
 We read 
 Stories of Venice from this manuscript 
 Which lies before me as tonight I muse 
 Upon this anguish of my broken love. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 47 
 
 My poet, wearied with unfruitful strife, 
 Died in a London hospital. 
 
 His will 
 Was sad and cynical as was his end : 
 " Lo, friend, I give to thee my all — my verse ! 
 Burn it or keep it, as thou wilt. Farewell." 
 
 On that eventful night I read the tale 
 Of Loredan the Captain. Let me con 
 The pages over. How the letters spring 
 Instinct with action ! 
 
 Truly poets live 
 Mysteri9usly after they are dead. — 
 
48 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 CAPTAIN LOREDAN. 
 
 A.D. 1499. 
 
 I 
 
 Old Venice grappled with the Turk 
 In fourteen hundred ninety-nine ; 
 In truth it was a troubled work, 
 And ruddy were the seas as wine ; 
 For dread Bajazet set afloat 
 
A VENETIAN- LOVER 49 
 
 Against our fleet three hundred sail; 
 
 And when he took a fishing boat, 
 
 Remorselessly his soldiers smote 
 
 Our helpless men, and poured their blood 
 
 Upon the Adriatic's flood. 
 
 His cruisers left a bloody trail. 
 
 * * * Our Admiral Grimani lay 
 
 In hesitating silence till 
 
 While yet irresolute, one day 
 
 He heard our flock of galleys thrill 
 
 With lusty, manly singing. 
 
 With clamor loud and long; 
 
 And through his brain went ringing 
 
 This burden of the song : 
 
 '■'■ Oh, where is Captain Loredan ? 
 For he will show the way ! 
 Give us our Captain Loredan, 
 
 4 
 
so A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And we will tempt the fray ! 
 Now listen to this hoary man 
 
 Who leans upon his oar ; 
 He 'II tell you how brave Loredan 
 
 Slew twenty Turks and more ! " 
 
 So through the ships the story ran, 
 And o'er the seas the glory ran — 
 
 The story of 
 
 The glory of 
 Victorious great Loredan ! 
 
 II 
 
 Grimani felt his cheeks grow white, 
 But not with fear — it was with rage ; 
 For he had sworn that in this fight 
 He'd blot proud Loredan's bright page. 
 " What is this Captain Loredan 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 5 1 
 
 But ofificer at my command ? " 
 
 He cried. " I'll crush the daring man, 
 
 And lest he rush into the van 
 
 Of battle, newer fame to win, 
 
 I'll fold my galley's banners in. 
 
 And hug the comfortable land." 
 
 So said he; and he paced the deck 
 
 With jealous envy at his side. 
 
 While grim Bajazet wrought his wreck 
 
 Among our shipping far and wide. 
 
 But still came breezes bringing ^ 
 
 Our galley oarsmen's song ; 
 
 O'er purple waters flinging 
 
 Its protest against wrong. 
 
 " Oh, where is Captain Loredan ? 
 
 He's here with us today ! 
 
 Give us our Captain Loredan — 
 
52 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 He will not bid us stay ! 
 
 Now listen to this hoary man 
 
 Who leans iipoii his oar — 
 
 He 'II tell you how staunch Loredan 
 
 Has swept the waves before." 
 
 So through the ships the story ran — 
 And o'er the seas the glory ran, 
 
 The story of 
 
 The glory of 
 Victorious great Loredan. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Nor day nor night Grimani stirred ; 
 
 The Turkish fleet, grown bold, drew near. 
 
 Our men, impatient, begged the word 
 
 For action, but Grimani's sneer 
 
 Froze up their hearts ; until one morn. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER S3 
 
 Out from the shimmering splendor broke 
 
 A blood-red dawn — ^ for battle born ; 
 
 And haughtily, as if in scorn, 
 
 The Crescent's pennant fluttered high 
 
 Upon a mighty craft, close by, 
 
 Standing alone. 
 
 ***** Then, with one stroke 
 
 Of springing oars, a galley sped 
 
 Out from our midst : a second came 
 
 To join her ^ and like lightning fled 
 
 Beyond Grimani's cry of " Shame ! 
 
 What are those oarsmen singing 
 
 Who my command disdain ? " 
 
 Back came the answer, ringing 
 
 In strange ecstatic strain — 
 
 "^ This is the Captain Loredan ; 
 These be his galleys twain ! 
 
54 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Lo ! here is Captain Loredan, 
 Who7n fools cannot restrain ! 
 Now listen to this hoary man 
 Who toils upon his oar ; 
 And win with Captain Loredan, — 
 Or Venice see no more ! " 
 
 So through the ships the story ran 
 And through all hearts the glory ran — 
 
 The story of 
 
 The glory of 
 Victorious great Loredan ! 
 
 IV 
 
 The Turkish monster thrilled with life 
 From her gigantic sides rained down 
 Huge missiles with destruction rife ; 
 And many a fighter fell to drown 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 55 
 
 Between the galleys' sides that shook 
 
 As if with frenzied laughter, when 
 
 The thunders of our cannon took 
 
 The yellow from the Turk's wild look, 
 
 And brought the ashes to his lips. 
 
 He could not fight these bellowing ships, 
 
 Nor war with these enchanted men 
 
 Who climbed along his galleon's rail ; 
 
 Who swam, and sank, and sprang in space. 
 
 Still fighting ; men who scorned to wail, 
 
 Tho' carved by swords ; and who with grace 
 
 Kept up their rhythmic singing 
 
 With dying lips that bled. 
 
 Sang — to the galleys clinging 
 
 With fingers battle-red — 
 
 " This is the Captain Loredan, 
 And we are all his men ! 
 
56 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 How like you Captain Loredan, 
 Who fights you one to ten f 
 Now listen to this hoary man, 
 Who still is at his oar ;. 
 And fly from Captain Loredan, 
 Or Byzance see no more ! " 
 
 So through the ships the story ran, 
 And o'er the seas the glory ran — 
 
 The story of 
 
 The glory of 
 Victorious great Loredan ! 
 
 Swift sailing from the roseate East 
 Came kindred ships the Turks to aid. 
 And now the struggle's rage increased ; 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 57 
 
 Wild flames broke forth to make afraid 
 The Moslems on their conquered craft. 
 Just as the banner of Saint Mark 
 Was raised upon her, fore and aft 
 Came a weird shudder; and abaft 
 The wretched Turks ran quakingly 
 To leap into the crimsoned sea. 
 Then came vast thunder. 
 ******* It was dark. 
 The ship, our splendid galleys, all 
 Went skyward — trending friends and foes, 
 As fire burst through the Avooden. wall 
 To stores of powder. 
 
 Then arose — 
 Out of the chaos bringing 
 A harmony complete — 
 A sound of voices singing 
 This chorus strong and sweet : 
 
58 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 "To die with Captain Loredan 
 
 Is joy enough for men ! 
 
 Who would not die for Loredan, 
 
 No matter how or when ? 
 
 Oh, listen to this hoary man 
 
 Who floats upon his oar : 
 
 He sings the death of Loredan 
 
 Who ne'er will lead iis more!" 
 
 To Venice so the story ran, -.» 
 
 And through the world the glory ran 
 
 The story of 
 
 The glory of 
 Victorious dead Loredan ! 
 
A- VENETIAN LOVER 59 
 
 " So died this stalwart man of many wars — 
 My ancestor — a valiant gentleman." 
 My pride spoke thus : 
 
 Now she had read this tale 
 In grave tones musical as vesper chimes. 
 
 'Twas midnight. 
 In a comer dozed the maid, 
 Dreaming no doubt of Tonio whom she loved. 
 The father, pinioned to his wakeful couch 
 
6o A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 By angry illness, rang a warning bell 
 
 That jangled loudly in the corridor. 
 
 She rose, obedient to his petulance — 
 
 Bade me good night : I kissed her on her lips — 
 
 r faith, 'twas natural ; I know not how 
 
 Or why I did it : and I held her, flushed 
 
 And cold by turns, a moment to my heart. 
 
 Then she awoke the maid, and stole awa}-. 
 
 Nor cast a backward look. 
 
 First kiss of Love ! 
 Life holds no other gift so dear as thine ! 
 
 Thereafter all the days were fine. 
 
 O sweet 
 The tremulous sudden meeting of our hands. 
 The silent wedding of our pleading eyes. 
 The surge of hearts' blood when our garments touched ! 
 Sweet to arise at morn from dreams of her : 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 6 1 
 
 Sweeter to long for her beloved face 
 Than fully to possess some grosser joy ! 
 Oh sweet to sit beside her in the dark 
 While to Torcello rowed our gondolier, 
 Piercing with melodies the odorous night, 
 And writing rippling couplets with his oar 
 On the responsive water ! 
 
 Sweet to feel 
 The round world throbbing into harmony 
 With the majestic measures of our bliss ; 
 O passionately and divinely sweet 
 To know that high enraptured love was ours ; 
 And thro' it half to guess Infinity 
 By that strange vast enlargement of the soul 
 Which comes with love : 
 
 To feel a scorn of Death, 
 Because there is one treasure richer far 
 Than Orient depths of sea agleam with pearl — 
 
62 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Than galleons laden with encrusted spoil 
 
 Of pillaged monasteries ; richer still 
 
 Than sacristies heaped with the crowns of kings, 
 
 And priceless gems of popes and cardinals, — • 
 
 One treasure that this same ungracious death 
 
 May never ravish fijom us — ' 
 
 Love, that mocks 
 At fatal severance of our feeble breath. 
 And knows eternal youth beyond the tomb ! 
 
 We part tomorrow, and for ever ! Stay, 
 O cruel dawn ! put off thy rosy march. 
 And let me woo remembrance in the dark ! 
 
 Aye, moments when the sensuous joy of life, 
 The play of muscle and the heat of veins, 
 Delight of vision and content of nerve. 
 When all these glories of existence palled 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 6 
 
 Before the base and trenchant fear of death, 
 Ye can return no more. 
 
 Fled are the doubts — 
 Misshapen creatures from the hidden world — 
 Gone are the mockeries that nature brought 
 To sting me into madness. 
 
 Love has come 
 To make my days and nights one golden dream. 
 Rude Time and ruder Circumstance, jog on, 
 
 fatal twain, in sullen pilgrimage ; 
 
 1 will not listen to your weary tread, 
 I will not mark the turns of Fortune's wheel. 
 Nor hear the shouting in the market-place, 
 Nor tremble at the battle shock, nor blanch 
 At pestilence. 
 
 For what can harm me now ? 
 Do I not love, and am I not beloved ? 
 Why have I cried against my fate that bids 
 
 :> 
 
64 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Forth from my arms the woman I adore ? 
 Upon their eager wings our spirits mount 
 To luminous and boundless fields of air, 
 To heights serene where earthly passion's thrill 
 Were profanation^ — ! 
 
 Yet I shall regret, 
 Perchance, when Venice knows her face no more, 
 That wild night when she came into my arms 
 And clung an instant there — then kissed and fled 
 Ere I could give her kisses back again — 
 Fled past the startled waving tapestries. 
 And hid her coy confusion in her room. 
 I shall start up when I am here alone 
 And think I hear her footstep. 
 
 Coward heart 
 Wilt not be still ! 
 
 The tender little face ! 
 Oh death in life ! I cannot let her go ! 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 6 
 
 Great souls that strive to rise upon their flight 
 To noblest course have strongest need of love. 
 They do but sublimate their passions. See, — 
 My English poet taught this in his verse, 
 While musing on the mighty Florentine 
 Who probed Eternity and mocked at space; 
 May not my heart find comfort in the rhyme ? 
 So runs it in the ghostly manuscript : 
 
 D 
 
66 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Some say that Dante sang as one 
 Who wept while singing; but I think 
 That when he trod the dreadful brink 
 Of Hell, and felt the vapors dim 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER dj 
 
 Clos.e round him, still his soul was glad 
 As birds are glad in shine of sun. 
 The great Italian knew he had 
 Love's mission to the hearts of men, 
 And so he wrote with cheerful pen, 
 Nor ever dreamed of being sad. 
 
 II 
 
 Stem was he, and his cheeks were pale. 
 And oft a tremulous throbbing note 
 From his clear poesy would float, 
 Like that of some lone nightingale 
 "Who doth its mate's caresses miss. 
 Intent its passion to exhale 
 In varied singing ; but the bliss 
 
68 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Of his pure love struck higher strain 
 Than momentary wail of pain, 
 And thrilled Inferno with its kiss. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Not even he, who set his feet 
 
 On ways no other mortal knew ; 
 
 Whose fine imagination flew ^ 
 
 Heavenward, eternity to greet ; 
 
 Whose rapt poetic vision bent 
 
 Downward, where death and shadows meet- 
 
 Not even he, as forth he went. 
 
 The sad-browed Titan, to explore 
 
 That sea that never had a shore — 
 
 Dared to neglect Love's sacrament. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 69 
 
 IV 
 
 The love he knew on earth below 
 Walked with him 'mid the choiring stars ; 
 Cheered him, as past the dismal bars 
 Of Death's dark portal, with a slow 
 Yet dauntless pace his course he took. 
 Intent the mysteries to know. 
 Nor ghost nor god his courage shook ; 
 And when his spirit seemed to swoon. 
 In splendor of supernal noon 
 On Beatrice, would he look. 
 
70 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 One day a shadow fell. The father came, 
 Frowning and pale with pains, not yet o'ercome 
 By all his daughter's studied loving care, 
 To pluck my sleeve and ask an interview : 
 " Sir, I do think you are a gentleman : 
 As one who bears a good historic name. 
 As one who lives a cleanly life, who writes 
 Fair music — as my host — nay as a man, 
 I do respect you. Sir, I will say more — 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 7 1 
 
 I like you heartily. Come ! there's my hand, 
 Now let me say a bitter, cruel thing : 
 You cannot wed my daughter. 
 
 She is pledged. 
 When she came here she knew it not. 
 
 Last night 
 I told her all. If I have been a fool. 
 It is too late my folly to correct." 
 And then he paused, and leaned against the wall, 
 And mopped his brow and eyed me with a look 
 That cut me like a keen wind. 
 
 Not a word 
 Came from my lips. 
 
 He frowned as if my thought 
 Sat on my brow defiant. 
 
 " In my land 
 We trust our maidens utterly : to lay 
 Suspicion on their movements were to doubt 
 
T2 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Ourselves ; our love demands no guarantee. 
 
 Sir, I have seen you twain together read 
 
 From many books, have heard you sing sweet songs; 
 
 Have let you go unwatched along the ways 
 
 At eve or morn ; have hired no servant's eye ; 
 
 To do a slavish spying. Now I think 
 
 The magic of your Venice, or your voice. 
 
 Or many things together, have entranced 
 
 My daughter's heart. 
 
 Mayhap the blame is mine: 
 I had forgot she is no more a child — ; 
 The years glide noiselessly. 
 
 I give you pain ? " 
 I bowed, and took his trembling hand in mine. 
 Few words I spoke ; but they were touched with fire. 
 And though he scowled, he listened. 
 
 " I do love 
 The gentle lady with a love as true 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER ^^ 
 
 A3 soul that never knew a baleful scar 
 
 Of wrongful passion e'er can offer lier ; 
 
 And with humility I here confess 
 
 That so my love is woven with my life, 
 
 So is it wound about my faithful heart 
 
 That nought but death could make its rapture cease ; 
 
 And when my breath is stilled, I do believe 
 
 'Twill linger on in some celestial form 
 
 More potent e'en than now." 
 
 We stood apart. 
 Eying each other like two men who meet 
 Upon a narrow precipice's brink, 
 Each one resolved to cast the other down 
 And to pass on to safety. 
 
 " Have you had 
 Confession from her lips ? " he asked, like one 
 Who dreads to hear the answer. 
 
 " Is it so ? " 
 
74 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 On rushed the current of his heated speech. 
 
 " Then you shall know, for yours are honest eyes, 
 
 And I would stand acquitted in your sight 
 
 Of any tyranny. 
 
 I had not dreamed 
 Love was so near. Sir, I will tell you all. 
 
 Sit in your nook while I walk to and fro ; 
 It cools the dancing fever in my blood. 
 
 I was a common man, and am so still ; 
 But I have lived a rude adventurous life. 
 Thrice have I stared disaster in the face, 
 And thrice the same hand saved me. 
 
 I have known 
 A love of friendship passing that of maid 
 Or mother. 
 
 Thirty years ago, I toiled, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 75 
 
 Forlorn and desperate, across the sands 
 Of sun-scourged Arizona. From my home 
 Upon the rocky cold Atlantic coast, 
 Driven by stress of fortime, I had gone 
 Westward, alone, with nothing in my purse. 
 And sorrows in my heart. 
 
 A ragged train 
 Of hungry, but alert,, courageous men 
 I found one day within a starveling grove 
 Hard by a gasping river, and I bound 
 My chances unto theirs. 
 
 We journeyed on. 
 Lured to a purple belt of mountains where 
 Nature had stored her treasures. 
 
 Ah, that march ! 
 My bones ache when I think on't ! 
 
 By our trail 
 The bronze Apache hovered. Every night 
 
76 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Was big with danger, and the heat by day- 
 Drank up our blood. One torrid afternoon 
 When, crazed with thirst, I wandered from the men, 
 I saw a coohng lake before me rise 
 With grateful palm trees on its reedy banks, 
 And on the blue horizon skimmed a sail. 
 It was the ocean's ghost, the dread mirage, 
 The somber peril of the desert. On 
 And on I staggered, with my eyes ablaze. 
 Until I fell face downward. 
 
 What was death 
 In those wild days to men who saw her face 
 Peeping from every dusty clump of sage ? 
 Sir, I had died forgotten on that waste. 
 But for one man, a new-found friend, who traced 
 My wavering steps, and with such sudden strength 
 As pioneers alone can muster, raised 
 My dying form, and packed me on his back 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER ^^ 
 
 And bore me into camp. 
 
 We touched our goal : 
 We wrested gold and silver from the rocks, 
 And joy was with me, for that faithftil man 
 Toiled ever at my side. 
 
 Ten years swept by. 
 We reached the city at the Golden Gate ; 
 Waxed rich in trade. I took a wife, and she, 
 My child, the idol of my heart, was bom ; 
 And as the crown of my felicity. 
 The friend abode with us. 
 
 There came a time 
 When nature, maddened at our empire, rose 
 With fearful, shocks to drive us from our homes; 
 The soHd earth rebelled against our tread; 
 My roof-tree fell ; my wifis was crushed ; I ran, 
 Clutching my infant daughter to my breast. 
 Desolate 'mid the ruins; and the crash 
 
78 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Of falling houses would have whelmed us both 
 Had not. two strong arms borne us from the wreck : 
 They were the brave arms of my friend. 
 
 Once more 
 We toiled together, storing up new wealth. 
 We learned to play with millions ; in our hands 
 All prospered ; time's relentless current made 
 No warning noises in our heedless . ears. 
 Pausing an instant in our upward course, 
 We saw my daughter grown to womanhood. 
 More beautiful than we had dared to hope. 
 And then we knew our beards were flecked with white. 
 
 Well, in those moments I grew over bold : 
 Men's minds were changed; a fatal madness ran 
 Thro' every mart ; we played with paper stocks 
 As gamblers play at cards. My prudent friend 
 Shunned every glittering chance; but I, poor fool. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 79 
 
 Mocked at his wisdom : staked my ample hoard 
 Upon a giddy hazard. Then the storm 
 Broke forth : an hundred weighty names were wrecked. 
 And mine was tottering. Sir, unseen hands, 
 Ere I could check them, showered in my path 
 The wealth I needed, and I stood the strain. 
 Outrode the tempest, and retrieved my loss; 
 They were the true hands of my earnest friend 
 That held me back from ruin ! 
 
 Thrice he came 
 As sent by Fate, and thrice he bound me thus 
 In forfeit to him. 
 
 Then I took an oath 
 Upon my life and honor saved by him. 
 And thus I phrased it : 
 
 ' Friend, my all is yours ; 
 Henceforth I hold it but in trust. I pledge 
 The whole to you, and by my love I swear 
 
8o A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 To give you whatsoever I possess 
 With glad alacrity, if aught of mine 
 Can bring you comfort or content.' 
 
 What less 
 Could man have done ? 
 
 . A soft light filled his eyes. 
 
 ' Give me the girl to wife ? 
 
 In loving you 
 I so have learned to love her, that I feel 
 My life enlinked most tenderly with hers.' 
 So said my friend. ' She yet has looked upon 
 No youth with favor. Tho' my face be old, 
 My heart is young. I ask it of your love, 
 Not of your fond and foolish gratitude : 
 Give me the maid to wife ? She does not look 
 Unkindly on me ! ' 
 
 So the girl was pledged. 
 And as I strive to be an honest man. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 I swear I thought t'was honor, peace, delight 
 To which I pledged her. 
 
 But she knew it not;-=^ 
 Nor dreamed or any marriage. So we came 
 Eastward, across the fat lands and the sea, 
 And every day I whispered to myself — ■ 
 My friend, my well-beloved friend, shall wed 
 My daughter, in some old fantastic town 
 Of Europe, whither he shall follow us ; 
 Then we will wander up and down the world, 
 A blessed trio, triply bound in love. 
 Until our hearts cry for our home again. 
 
 And now the charm of Venice, or your voice. 
 Or many things together — Sir, you know 
 All you must know : my friend comes on apace ; 
 We soon shall see him here; the girl is pledged. 
 Inextricably pledged — the fault is mine ; 
 
82 A VENfeTIAN LOVER 
 
 But all her life she has revered the man 
 
 Who comes to wed her; after reverence love 
 
 Will follow. Let us dwell on this no more : 
 
 I pray you, set aside an idle dream ; 
 
 Still read your books and sing your pretty songs 
 
 Together, but unlearn your love for her; 
 
 Think of it as a vision of the night. 
 
 For e'er this month is old we shall be gone 
 
 From Venice. Let me not disturb you, Sir, 
 
 With farther babble." 
 
 Then he bowed and went. 
 
 I have seen days so black with thick despair 
 No sun could cheer them. 
 
 This was such a day. 
 I sat with folded hands like some poor girl 
 Who reads a letter fallen into her lap, 
 And finds therein news of her lover's death 
 
A VENETIAN LOVPR 83 
 
 In brawl or sinking ship. 
 
 An *idle dream ! 
 With scornful emphasis he called it thus, — 
 My love — the lode-star of my life — my love, 
 The plank that held me buoyed above ,the waves I 
 Why should this grey-beard toy at will with souls 
 Welded and wedded for eternity ? 
 But how to stay his purpose ? 
 
 Would the girl 
 Accept the father's pledge, and so forswear 
 The love she gave me unsolicited. 
 Save by that love my eyes could not conceal ? 
 And this paternal insolence that bade 
 Me still to read and still to sing with her. 
 But to crush out my passion ! 
 
 In my heart 
 Hot thoughts of vengeance leaped. 
 
 I stifled them. 
 
84 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And fell back to mute hopelessness. 
 
 . The morn 
 Went slowly, and I hated it. I rose, 
 And idly played with an unfinished score, 
 Then tore it into fragments, with distrust 
 Of my perturbed brain grown quickly sharp. 
 And all the strength seemed taken from my limbs. 
 
 Now while I mused disconsolate, I heard 
 A fresh young voice that sang a sweet sad song — 
 The song I set to music for the girl : 
 I think the words are graven on my soul ! 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 85 
 
 Oh the happy afternoon, 
 When, upon the lone lagoon. 
 In a gondola we rode. 
 Thou and I ! 
 
86 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 How the ni,erry sunshine glowed 
 In the spray that fled and flowed, 
 Rippled, tinkled, fell to die 
 On the water ! Oh, the swoon 
 Of the earth and air and sky ! 
 
 Oh, the cry 
 Of the swaying gondolier, 
 As he sang his toil to cheer! 
 Oh, the color on thy cheek ! 
 Love ! we did not try to speak ; 
 
 We could only sigh. 
 
 II 
 
 Oh the midnight sweet with moon, 
 When across the pale lagoon 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 8 J 
 
 In the gondola we fled — 
 
 Thou and I. 
 How the melancholy dread 
 Of our parting bowed thy head : 
 How the moments seemed to fly ! 
 Love, I cried, 'tis yet too soon, 
 And I dare not say good-bye ! 
 
 Let us try 
 All our sorrow to forget ; 
 But my coward eyes were wet. 
 Oh, the pallor on thy brow ! 
 Love ! that night recalling now, 
 
 Are thine own eyes dry ? 
 
88 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 I caught, a fleeting courage from the song. 
 Methought she sang it not as one who took 
 With hmp obedience her father's wish 
 And made it her's. And yet, I knew not why- 
 She sang it. All that day I saw her not; 
 But, on the morrow, in San Marco's square, 
 I found her all be-ribboned and as bright 
 With laughter as a fairy ; not a hint 
 Of broken love was in her tripping tones. 
 
A VENETIAN "LOVER 89 
 
 Her maid was laden down with pictures, gems, 
 
 Mosaics — silly trifles — doubly paid 
 
 To grasping merchants ; and her father came 
 
 Behind the girl, a letter in his hand. 
 
 " Good news," he cried ; " my friend, my dearest friend^ 
 
 Him of the thirsty Arizonian waste, 
 
 Him of the earthquake — he — the helpful one, 
 
 Whose tale I told you, he will soon be here ! 
 
 See, how he writes, the tyrant, as he talks — : 
 
 " I come to Venice ; meet me at the ball 
 
 Given six nights hence in honor of a duke 
 
 In some old palace on the Grand Canal, 
 
 By that good Lady Lowknot, whom we met 
 
 At Monterey one summer. You are bid. 
 
 You and your daughter ; when cool midnight sounds 
 
 Amid the dancers at that merry ball, 
 
90 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 There meet me — not before. 
 
 I wish it so. 
 Long years ago I dreamed on't. You and I, 
 Our girdles filled with good- gold from the West, 
 Meeting in ancient Venice in a crowd 
 Of masqueraders — gravely as two Jews 
 On the Rialto ! To your daughter say," 
 So ran the letter's sense to just this point 
 Where moving jealousy awoke my frowoi. 
 When, with a tremor in her voice, the girl 
 Cried to him, " Do not vex our kindly host 
 With this weak fancy, planned by telegraph 
 From far-off Loiraon, with romantic zest, 
 By idle lords for idle ladies' routs. 
 I like not meeting old friends in a throng 
 Of gaping dandies." 
 
 " Yet it shall be so," 
 The father said. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 9 1 
 
 But, as we slowly neared 
 The dark lane where I left them, we touched hands, 
 And, with her soul resplendent in her eyes. 
 She whispered dreamily, 
 
 " I love my love : 
 So let my love love me that Time, nor Chance, 
 Nor Fate can e'er undo its." 
 
 And I bowed 
 Gravely, and stole away to mask the bliss 
 That promised to unman me, by o'er loud 
 Discussion of new plays at Florian's, 
 Among the coffee sipping loungers. 
 
 Aye, 
 That night was beautiful! My soul was bathed 
 In perfect peace. I played my little part 
 Before her father with a grace that took 
 Its inspiration from the sweet girl's face. 
 There was a secret comfort in her gaze 
 
92 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 That banished apprehension. 
 
 So we sang 
 And read once more together, eagerly, 
 Yet with a certain tenderness that cast 
 A holy light on our felicity. 
 The father bustled in and out, nor took 
 Apparent heed of our companionship ; 
 And so we bolder grew, and talked of love. 
 And daintily philosophized on death, 
 The darksome future and the spirit life", 
 Bereavement's somber pang : and then I read 
 A legend from my poet's manuscript ; 
 The last, alas ! that I shall read to her : 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 93 
 
 THE PATRICIAN'S CHOICE. 
 
 How still the sweet youth lay upon his couch ! 
 Tho' Death had touched his lovely body, none 
 Amid the weeping and the woe-struck throng 
 Of his patrician kindred owned despair ; 
 
94 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And thro' each brain there ran the murmurous thought- 
 The gentle boy, heir of the noble house, 
 The peer of princes, Fortune's chosen one, — 
 He cannot die — he is too young, too fair. 
 He is not dead : he lingers in a dream. 
 
 II 
 
 Outside the waters lapped the palace steps ; 
 
 Sweet Venice seemed to swoon away in bhss 
 
 Of sensuous summer sunset drowned in waves. 
 
 And tremulously sang the gondoliers 
 
 In underbreath the lines of Tasso's song. 
 
 The women on the balconies forgot 
 
 Their evening chatter, and the beggars had 
 
 A newer sorrow in their pleading tones. 
 
 For all the town was trembling for the boy. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 95 
 
 III 
 
 How could the angel of the sepulchre 
 
 Sweep with his sable wing'the brow untouched 
 
 By thrill of love, or passion's angry hand ; 
 
 Those lips inviolate of siren's kiss ; 
 
 The arm which never raised a brawling sword ? 
 
 Death should not dim the splendor of this pearl 
 
 Till it had gleamed for many proud decades 
 
 Upon Venetia's bosom ; so 'twas said 
 
 By peer and fisher in San Marco's square. 
 
 IV 
 
 Now slowly came the purple afterglow 
 To play upon the hundred marble walls, 
 
96 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And on the dresses of the waiting crowd ; 
 
 And its delirious magic put a joy 
 
 And lust for all the witchery of life 
 
 In every beating heart. With one accord 
 
 The people cried, " The boy, the peerless boy ! 
 
 Death shall not taste the sweetness of his breath ; 
 
 Let's to the palace with the famous Saint," 
 
 Then solemnly unto the ancient church 
 In long procession went the eager folk ; 
 And there, within the prayerful atmosphere, 
 Before an agate shrine with jasper gemmed, 
 They found the Saint — a wondrous holy man. 
 On whom renown of miracles had cast 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 97 
 
 A halo of the supernatural — 
 
 And through the panting accents of their fear 
 
 He caught their wish — that he should save the youth. 
 
 VI 
 
 A little time he dwelt on bended knee : 
 His faint words, floating on the chastened air, 
 Whilom he prayed, brought to the troubled men 
 A confidence which thrilled their hearts. 
 
 At last 
 He rose, and underneath the gorgeous dome, 
 Ruddy with rich mosaics Byzantine, 
 He stood a moment in the fading light, 
 Clasping his hands, and gazing upward ; then 
 He girt his robe, and murmured ; 
 
 " Follow me ! " 
 f 
 
98 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 VII 
 
 So forth they went, exultant with the hope 
 
 That he who led them on would crown their wish 
 
 And, as they left the church, the shadows fell 
 
 Upon the gleaming marbles of the East, 
 
 And on the dusky bronzes in the nooks, 
 
 And on the richly carven capitals 
 
 Of stately columns : while a gentle ray 
 
 Of fading daylight touched the pictured stones 
 
 And gilded horses at the portal's top. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Full hurriedly they swept across the square. 
 
 And through the labyrinthine avenues : 
 
 The bridges seemed to spring beneath their feet ; 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 99. 
 
 The poling bargemen stopped to sign the cross 
 Upon their hairy bosoms, when they saw 
 This strange, mute, rapt, ecstatic throng of men 
 And this thick press of women, humid-eyed. 
 Led by the tall Saint with religious face, 
 The quaint ascetic Saint who talked with God. 
 
 IX 
 
 Down to the great canal in haste they came. 
 And to the palace on the farther bank 
 In darting gondolas the leaders pressed : 
 In silent rows the others waited. 
 
 Now 
 The mourning servitors before the Saint 
 Bowed, half affrighted, as the godly man 
 
100 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Passed like a vision through their shrinking ranks. 
 Straightway the many marble steps he climbed, 
 And to the dead youth's bed he softly stole. 
 
 X 
 
 The weeping mother at his feet fell down, 
 
 " Alas, the pity ! Ah, the dread ! The doom ! 
 
 My geiitle son is lost : is dead indeed ! 
 
 Our love beguiled us, and we thought he lay 
 
 But in a trance. If Heaven hath sent thee here 
 
 'Tis not too late to work a miracle. 
 
 Oh, call him back to love and jocund hfe, 
 
 That he may crown his name with mighty deeds. 
 
 And warm me with the lustre of his eyes." 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 10 1 
 
 XI 
 
 So plead the mother, while around her pressed 
 Blonde maids, with chestnut eyes and russet hair, 
 Who thought with murmured words to stay her grief. 
 But tenderly the Saint unloosed the hands 
 Which tugged, imploring, at his garment's hem. 
 And pushing past the sacramental priest§ 
 Whose gowns still smelled of the anointing oil, 
 And past the kneeling cavaliers and dames. 
 He fixed his eyes upon the dead youth's face. 
 
 XII 
 
 With shaking hand an ancient friai^ began 
 To light the tapers, and their solemn sheen 
 
102 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Fell on the gilded samite on the walls, 
 Upon the bent and striving caryatids, 
 On Grecian marble and on damask cloths. 
 On bronze and silver bells, and chandeliers ; 
 The golden cups and copper basins caught 
 A faint reflection of the sacred gleam ; 
 And painted coffers richly seemed to glow. 
 
 XIII 
 
 The carven couch whereon the dead boy lay 
 Was studded o'er with turquoise, gold, and pearl; 
 Dense perfumes from the silken canopies 
 Filled all the air ; the satin coverlet 
 With golden fringes and with webs of lace 
 Was dazzling : but the Saint saw none of these : 
 He gazed upon the beautiful dead face 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER IO3 
 
 As if he longed to wake a new soul there, 
 And oft he whispered nf&ny an earnest prayer. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Death seemed abashed in such a splendid home. 
 
 The rich disorder of a noble's day 
 
 Betrayed its careless grandeur everywhere. 
 
 Here on the purple leather of a chair 
 
 A parchment poesy with silver clasp 
 
 Beside a crucifix of ivory 
 
 Was cast, and on the toilet table piled 
 
 Were costly treasures of Murano's isle, 
 
 And multicolored and enameled cups. 
 
104 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 XV 
 
 Beyond an ebony incrusted door, 
 
 Swung open, was a panoplied array 
 
 Of halberds and of lances damasceited, 
 
 Of bucklers, standards, trophies, banderoles ; 
 
 Of arms which Ghisi the great Mantuan 
 
 Had wrought with subtle skill ; the cupboards shone 
 
 With precious stones ; and in the niches lay 
 
 Majolicas and statuettes and gems, 
 
 The legacies of war-like ancestors. 
 
 XVI 
 
 A window in this princely armory 
 O'er-looked a garden in a spacious court; 
 The scent of jasmine and of orange came 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 105 
 
 Deliciously adrift through colonnades 
 
 Of Oriental jasper : fountains sang 
 
 Their idylls to the statues on their brinks ; 
 
 Here life was poetry ; and here to die 
 
 Seemed dire misfortune, for the heart was wooed 
 
 To highest pleasures in this gracious place. 
 
 XVII 
 
 A mystical exalted purpose set 
 A halo on the grim Saint's wrinkled brow : 
 And when he spoke, his voice was that of one 
 Who feels an inspiration move his soul 
 And dare not disobey it. 
 
 Thus he said : 
 " -pead one, who died when on hfe's threshold, wake ! 
 
I06 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Great Venice cannot think thee dead ; return 
 To all who love thee, and to love itself; 
 To love, to fame, to glory, and to joy." 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Then came to pass a thing most wonderful : 
 
 The dead face softened, and the closed eyes 
 
 Opened, and fixed their gaze upon the Saint. 
 
 Quick color tinged the yet unbearded cheek ; 
 
 The breath came, and the sweet boy lived again ; 
 
 Yet while his half appalled mother yearned 
 
 With outstretched arms, the eyes seemed to regret 
 
 Some vast effulgence they had lately seen, 
 
 And longed once more to see without delay. -f, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 107 
 
 XIX 
 
 So now anew the Saint spoke in calm tones : 
 " Beloved one, if in the deep unknown 
 Whence thou retumest, thou hast nothing seen 
 Sublimer far than all thou did'st possess 
 In this weak world of ours, then live again ! 
 If thou dost hunger for this human sphere, 
 For pride of flesh, and pomp of court, and bliss 
 Of woman's love, come back to us, and live 
 With royal zest a long and happy time. 
 
 XX 
 
 " But if the fields beyond be fairer far 
 Than any we in this dull space have known; 
 
I08 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 If death be but the cloud behind which light 
 Unspeakable, and pleasures infinite, 
 Tranquilities sublime, divine repose, 
 Celestial ecstacy, await us — then 
 I charge thee, lovely boy, seal up thine eyes. 
 Put this poor world behind thee, and return 
 Into the glories that we know not of." 
 
 XXI 
 
 The youth's eyes with a sudden rapture filled; 
 
 Unutterable splendor clothed his brow; 
 
 He raised his white right hand and put away 
 
 Life from him, as if it were poorer far, 
 
 Tho' it might linger thro' a century. 
 
 Than one half-glimpse of that eternity 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER .IQ9 
 
 Whence he returned a moment, at behest 
 
 Of this pure saint ; then, 'mid the golden fringe 
 
 And laces of the couch, he fell back — dead ! 
 
no A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 " Had he but known the infinite dehght 
 Of love, poor youth, he would have caught at life 
 As drowners pluck at air that gurgles up 
 Before their dying eyes : 
 
 would not have cared 
 For Paradise, without his soul's twin there 
 Beside him ; would have come down from the stars 
 And starved in hovels to be near his love. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER III 
 
 He would have bartered all Eternity 
 
 For one brief walk within some spicy wood 
 
 In fragrant twilight,, hand in hand with her. 
 
 He would have spurned the rapt archangels' flight 
 
 Thro' spaceless regions of infinity, 
 
 Past whelm of worlds, beyond the planet's ken. 
 
 He would have set his footsteps on hoar earth, 
 
 And joyed in taking on humanity 
 
 Once more with all its Hangers and its pains 
 
 To taste anew the sweetness of love's kiss." 
 
 I spoke thus, or I thought thus, for indeed 
 
 I know not if I voiced these many things. 
 
 Or if the girl could read them in my eyes. 
 
 But this I know, that through my soul they flashed 
 
 To hers, and found a faithful echo there. 
 
 Then she : " I think it would be hard to die. 
 
 Knowing the loved one lingers, strong with life ; 
 
112 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Hardest of all in Venice here to die ; 
 
 For this embodied and enchanted dream, 
 
 This gem of art in Nature's fairest frame, 
 
 Unique and dazzling, adds new joy to life, — 
 
 And to mine own, that here has found love's crown, 
 
 A sacred bliss that nought in the Beyond 
 
 Could compensate for loss of." 
 
 Then with tears 
 And sobs tumultuous, she pledged again 
 Her love to mine, and on her brow there sat 
 A holy tenderness. 
 
 Next morn her eyes 
 Were dulled with weeping, for the father's plan, 
 Ripened in haste to thwart our souls' desires, . 
 Was curtly placed before her. 
 
 Ere the noon 
 Was hot, I saw a hateful gondola 
 Beating its prow against our palace steps. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER II3 
 
 And soon with boxes, pictures, trinkets, books, 
 'Twas filled by tripping servants. 
 
 O'er my face 
 Dark shadows brooded, when the father came 
 To pay me gold and ask for a receipt 
 With cold commercial courtesy. 
 
 I signed 
 The paper that my hot eyes scarcely saw. 
 My fingers trembled, and my heart leaped up 
 With its Italian quickness. 
 
 Then the man. 
 With something like a quaver in his voice. 
 Wished me good things, and said my fame was sure. 
 If all the babble of Venetian lips 
 Were half confirmed : he hoped I would not dwell 
 On bygone episodes ; and so " Good day." 
 He sought a hostelry there to prepare 
 His daughter for her meeting with his friend; 
 
114 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Bade me to come and see them, and was gone, 
 Like one who feared to tarry ! 
 
 Ah ! my love ! 
 I could not fly to take thee in mine arms. 
 And urge thy yielding heart to cry to mine 
 For instant rescue. 
 
 But I groped my way 
 Thro' the glad sunlight that oppressed mine eyes 
 With insolent rejoicing, down the stairs. 
 And stood beside thee, saying murmurous things 
 Conventional, nor daring once to look 
 On thine appealing beauty. 
 
 Thou wert gone ! 
 I heard the ripple of the feathered oar. 
 And then Anina took me by the hand 
 And led me, unresisting, to my books. 
 I shuddered, then was calm. 
 
 Great grief is calm ! 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER II5 
 
 Day passed, and midnight came. I sat alone, 
 
 And lest my brain might tremble to the verge 
 
 Of madness, nervously I noted down 
 
 A flute-like brooding music for this song, 
 
 The voicing of some unknown poet's love. 
 
 She found it in a half-forgotten book, 
 
 And read it often to me. <©nce she made 
 
 This entry, in her racing girlish script. 
 
 And gave it to me as a talisman : 
 
 Ah, sweet the words, and sweeter for her gift ! 
 
Il6 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Love in the night, love in the day, 
 Love that goes with me all the way, — 
 Strong love that will not let me stray, 
 That is the love for me. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 11 7 
 
 II 
 
 Touch hands and lips and sail afar, 
 My love shall guide thee like a star; 
 Nor time nor space my love shall mar, 
 For I love only thee. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I know thy heart and soul are mine; 
 I know my will, my prayers are thine; 
 I need nor word nor written sign 
 To tell me what I know. 
 
 IV 
 
 Sometimes I hunger for thine eyes, 
 But then my faithful spirit flies 
 
Il8 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 To thine, and tells thee of my sighs 
 And of my passion's glow. 
 
 Love brings me safely to thine arms, 
 Love shelters me from hundred harms. 
 Love keeps for ever new thy charms 
 And consecrates our bliss. 
 
 VI 
 
 Love in the dusk, love at the dawn ; 
 Sweet Love that placed our hearts in pawn,- 
 When down to death we two have gone 
 We still shall feel thy kiss ! 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER II9 
 
 Long hours of death in life passed slowly by. 
 One mom, Anina laid a perfumed note 
 Upon my table, and, with boding scowl 
 Of disapproval on her parchment face. 
 Said : 
 
 " Here's a bright ray from the Northern Star, 
 Prime full of mischief. Oh, beware on't." 
 
 Yet 
 Methought there was sly gladness in her eyes. 
 When on the marble floor her shuffling feet 
 Were heard no longer, to my lips I pressed 
 Tlie missive ; then I broke the seal and read : 
 
120 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Love, I am not overbold; 
 Chide me not if I invite thee : 
 Love, I would not have thee hold 
 Me, thine own, as coy or cold : 
 Come ! thy presence shall delight me ! 
 Meet me in the sun or storm. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 121 
 
 Meet me in the solemn gleaming 
 Of the moonlight, pouring, streaming 
 Over waves that still are warm 
 From the day's impetuous kiss : 
 Meet me when thou wilt and where ! 
 'Say the word ; I'll follow gladly ! 
 Oh ! thy hand in mine were bliss ! 
 What for thee may I not dare ? 
 For my love, I love thee madly ! 
 
 Rose upon my bosom worn. 
 Go to him and say I love him ! 
 Perfumed tinted petals torn. 
 Whisper to him not to mourn ; 
 Naught on earth I prize above him ! 
 'Tis my duty and my pride 
 Thus withi/aithful lips confessing 
 
122 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 All the beauty and the blessing 
 Of our loves, no thought to hide 
 From the idol of my soul. 
 See him where I may and when, 
 At his look my heart beats faster : 
 Why should I my words control ? 
 He's the very pearl of men : 
 He's my life, my lord, m)^ master ! 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 23 
 
 Aye, there they were — the rose leaves, fluttering down. 
 I scarce had seen them in my fevered haste, 
 BiUt now I caught and counted them, and pressed 
 A reverent kiss on each, and felt a light 
 Davm on my brow. 
 
124 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 No man can know his strength,- 
 Can feel the manhood sacred in his veins 
 Till he has known the deep religious faith 
 Of one true woman in his offered love ; 
 Till he has seen her set it like a gem 
 Upon her forehead, and in pubhc gaze 
 Full proudly wear it. 
 
 Message of the rose, 
 What wealth of ecstasy didst thou bestow ? 
 
 So it befell that ere the day was old 
 My love had answered hers, and we were met 
 In that old Pantheon where sleep the men 
 Who once were dukes of Venice, 
 
 Thither came 
 In rustling robes the pacing Senators 
 To witness the entombment of a Doge, 
 
A- VENETIAN LOVE'fe 1 25 
 
 After that mighty potentate had laid 
 
 His wand of office in Death's bony hand. 
 
 With heavy stones they walled the warriors in, — 
 
 The warriors, the stately men who wed 
 
 With legendary ring the fruitful sea — 
 
 The sea which once our conquering galleys swept. 
 
 There sleeps a Loredan, my ancestor. 
 
 There was his body from the palace borne 
 
 Followed by noblemen in scarlet clad. 
 
 By mourning brethren from the faithful schools. 
 
 With banners floating o'er them ; 
 
 magistrates. 
 Patricians, and the ruddy throng of those 
 Who win their food from the capricious wave. 
 Beside that tomb I met her, and we held 
 Our breaths, and seemed to hear the solemn bells 
 Of ancient Venice tolling, as they tolled 
 When Loredan passed from the world of sound 
 
126 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Into the world of silence. 
 
 There we stood : 
 The mutual caresses of our gaze 
 Awoke a tremulous passion in our hearts : 
 I think our lips had been most eloquent 
 Of kisses, had the sacred place not kept 
 Our love in awe; but words were slow to come. 
 The perfume of her garments, and the pale 
 And wistful beauty of her sweetest face 
 Stirred up a lawless might within my veins 
 Some brief time after, and I might have pled 
 For hasty flight together, for some rash 
 Romantic folly, later to repent 
 In dust and ashes : but a great faith came, 
 As sunshine sweeps resistless thro' a mist 
 To cheer the fisher when he gropes at sea. 
 At last she spoke : 
 
 " Love, if I meet thee here 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 27 
 
 It is because the days are dull and dark 
 Without thee ; and I know not if thy soul 
 Cries unto mine, but every hour I hear 
 The music of thy voice, and yearn to see 
 Thy grave eyes fixed upon me. 
 
 Love, I know 
 Nor death nor space could stir my love to break 
 Our hearts asunder. 
 
 Thou and I are one. 
 But let me tell thee of a new distress 
 Which darkens the horizon of our joy : 
 Yet shall the mellow sunshine soon return." 
 I listened grimly, with a throbbing pain 
 Sharp at my temples, like a man who hears 
 His ships are lost at sea, his treasures sunk, 
 His boldest captains drowned. 
 
 Satiric Fate 
 Had thrown its net upon us. 
 
128 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Then she told 
 How quick disaster with tumultuous swoop 
 Had gulfed her father in the mire of woe. 
 His paper thousands in the crisping flame 
 Of some wild panic on the Golden Coast 
 Had vanished ; he had risen a beggared man 
 That day at dawn ; had come to her and read 
 The cruel message flashed across the sea, 
 And cursed his lot and wrung his empty hands. 
 His prudent friend had warned him — but in vain. 
 Once, when his fortune trembled in the surge 
 Where wrecks were plentiful, that friend had steered 
 His failing bark, and saved him. 
 
 But his zeal 
 To double wealth already vast enough 
 To found a colony, or freight a fleet. 
 Had marred his judgment. 
 
 And the friend would come, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 29 
 
 Glad with high plans for their declining days, 
 To find his comrade stripped of all his gains 
 Save certain piteous hundreds — ^none too much 
 To hold them free from present misery. 
 So then the father, hot with grief and fear. 
 Anew had urged his daughter to accept 
 The pledged betrothal — had imposed his will. 
 Had wept and raged, and told her he must die 
 O'ercome with shame, were not his pledge fulfilled; 
 And were he dead, his spirit covild not rest 
 Unless he knew her wedded to his friend. 
 Full timidly, yet with consummate grace 
 And modesty, theSe things she said. 
 
 I kissed 
 Her trembling hands, and bade her take my love — 
 My questio'nless devotion, nor to break 
 One link in duty's chain because of me 
 Or my poor heart, which, to its latest throb. 
 
130 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Was hers — all hers, nor ever would relax 
 Its loyalty. 
 
 The tears were in her eyes, 
 But a proud color tingled in her cheeks. 
 She murmured, " Courage ! " 
 
 Then a prating group 
 Of tourists entered, and she stole away. 
 I felt like one who hears a melody 
 Melt into silence. 
 
 And I left the place 
 Still-footed, lest perchance I might arouse 
 Some chiding ancestor to knit his brows. 
 And in the name of our old house, forbid 
 My farther brooding on this pain of love. 
 This exquisite delirium of love 
 And faith commingled. 
 
 ' Twas an idle thought ; 
 So I took gondola, and seaward sped, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 131 
 
 O'er subtly colored and translucent depths 
 Of tranquil water. 
 
 Thro' my brain this song, 
 And music for it, — went and came as goes 
 And comes the moonlight on a marble wall : 
 
132 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 The old Doge sat in the Bucentaur 
 
 On great Ascension . Day ; 
 And lightly the galley glided o'er 
 
 The sunlit watery wa}'; 
 The brawny rowers bent and rose, 
 
 And made the long keel thrill 
 With their oar blades' quick and steady blows, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 33 
 
 Struck with united will. 
 Grey was the Doge and grand with age, 
 
 As good men often be; 
 A saintly warrior and sage 
 
 In cloak of cramoisie : 
 And his pages twain held up his train 
 
 As he went to wed the sea. 
 
 II 
 
 He mused on the pirates Narentine 
 
 Whom Venice overcame; 
 He gazed on the wave-engirdled line 
 
 Of towers tipped with flame. 
 The bishops sat on left and right 
 
 And blessed him with their smiles ; 
 
134 -A- VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And the bark with crimson all bedight, 
 
 Sped out beyond the isles. 
 Uprose the Doge with solemn grace 
 
 And stately courtesy ; 
 A holy light was on his face, 
 
 He bent a reverent knee : 
 ■Then he stooped to fling o'er the side the ring, 
 
 And to wed with it the sea. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Now round about the galley swept, 
 And back to the Lido flew ; 
 
 Below blue waters foamed and crept ; 
 Above the sky was blue. 
 
 In Santo Nicolo the mass 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 35 
 
 Harmoniously was sung; 
 The windows of historic glass 
 
 Abroad their glories flung. 
 Down went the nobles on their knees, 
 
 Alone the Doge stood he; 
 He bowed his head like one who sees 
 
 A visioned mystery 
 Of the men of old and of mighty mould 
 
 ^Mio had won and wed the sea. 
 
136 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Meantime the gondola, with noiseless speed, 
 Stole out across a shimmering lagoon, 
 And paused upon the midmost water, where 
 We seemed afloat in mighty lengths of sky. 
 My' soul arose and trembled on its wings, 
 Seeking return into that Infinite 
 Which ne'er, had been apparent to my sense 
 As now. 
 
 All earthly passion fell away. 
 Ashamed and frightened at this quick approach 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 37 
 
 Of spiritual presence. 
 
 From the world 
 I seemed remote; and palaces and men, 
 Ambition and the appetite for fame, 
 Were like forgotten dreams. 
 
 Great harmonies, • 
 Oft vaguely, heard when o'er my blotted score 
 By night I labored, now were wondrous clear. 
 The spheres were moving to celestial tune ; 
 The rhythmic grandeur overtopped my thought; 
 I could not measure, but was merged in, it. 
 Oh joy of death, if thus it doth unlock 
 The noble secrets of the universe ! 
 And so in spiritual swoon I lay. 
 The oarsman near me thoughtful on his perch. 
 Till suddenly there came a subtle light, 
 And out of it there flashed the lovely face, 
 The russet hair, the diamond at the throat. 
 
138 A VENETIAN I.OVER 
 
 The sweet low brow. 
 
 The tender little face ! 
 
 Ah ! liot without thee, soul's twin, would I go 
 Were Paradise to open all its gates ! 
 I roused the gondolier, and homeward went. 
 And to my lips, like some old melody. 
 With soft enchantment in its slumbrous notes, 
 Arose this little legend of true love. 
 It was a mild priest in a silken gown, 
 In some chaste chamber of the Vatican, 
 Who penned it first. A stately cardinal 
 Mouthed it full roundly in my willing ear 
 One day when walking on the Pincian hill ; 
 The sentiment was pretty, tho' profane, 
 He thought ; and so he- bade me write it down : 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 39 
 
 In times of old there was a wicked friar, 
 Whose truant heart was filled with passion's fire 
 For a fair lady, who by chance did dwell 
 Hard by the poor man's monastery cell. 
 From day to day, as fortune would befriend, 
 The monk unto the lady used to send 
 
140 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 A pious scroll with holy verses writ. 
 
 The lady marveled and her brows she knit, 
 
 But nothing of the Latin could she make, 
 
 Until one day love's hazard made her take 
 
 A careful scrutiny between each line. 
 
 And there she saw the friar's devotion shine. 
 
 Along the rich illumination ran 
 
 These words, hot from the heart of loving man 
 
 " Oh Love ! my love is like a springing flame ! 
 Oh Love ! God grant my love bring thee no shame ! 
 Love ! let my love before thine honor kneel ! 
 Love ! let sweet love my heart 'gainst longing steel ! 
 Love ! let my constant soul no tempter know ! 
 Love ! pray forgive me that I love thee so ! 
 Love ! I will love thee till the years are done ! 
 Love ! I will love thee when, beyond the sun, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 14I 
 
 Our spirits are commingled in the sweep 
 
 Of indistinguishable winds : will keep 
 
 Thy memory holy, if thou diest first : 
 
 Will love thee always, be thou blest or curst ! 
 
 As thou wert tnine before the world began — 
 
 So I am thine — thine only, for the span 
 
 Of this weak life, and for the time to be ! 
 
 Slay me or hate rne, Love — ' / must love thee ! " 
 
142 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And time crawls on ! 
 
 All ! when will it be dawn ? 
 And when 'tis dawn, how shall my soul affront 
 The glaring eye of that intruding day 
 Which shall unmask my sorrow ? 
 
 Since we met 
 Beside that marble shrine where Loredan 
 Lies mouldering in his monumental calm, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 43 
 
 I have not seen my love, nor had one word 
 To quell my spirit's fever. 
 
 Had she sent 
 A flower, a glove, a tresS' of hair, a book 
 Without a written line, I could have nursed 
 My wild impatience on it. 
 
 But her love. 
 Imprisoned in parental tyranny. 
 Hedged in by duty, frets and tugs in vain. 
 The friend has come. 
 
 At midnight at the ball 
 No doubt the tryst was kept. 
 
 What sound was that ? 
 Beat, heart, your muffled drums, love's funeral, march ! 
 Go graveward, love ! Hide e'er the dawning comes ! 
 Down, down, i' th' earth; down, down! Anina! Here? 
 Did I not bid thee leave me to my grief? 
 Why smilest, crone? 
 
144 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Athwart thy withered lips 
 There crawls a mockery of my despair. 
 Leave me, I pray thee. 
 
 What ! A letter ? Give ! 
 How my hands tremble ! God ! It is from her. 
 What say'st thou ? 'Twas a masker in a cowl, — 
 O'er merry with champagne, whose gondola 
 Over the breeze-flushed water to our steps 
 Came hastily, — who brought it ? 
 
 See — the lights 
 Burn dimly. Open yonder casement ! Air ! 
 Forgive me, good Anina ! 
 
 Thanks, thanks ! Go ! 
 
 Alone, at last ! 
 
 Sweet missive, hast thou brought 
 Life — life and love, or death — death and despair ? 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 45 
 
 HER LETTER. 
 
 (he reads.) 
 
 Mine own beloved one, my heart is Hushed 
 And full of reverence which chastens bliss, 
 And dims my grateful eyes with sudden tears. 
 O read with patience these few startled words. 
 Penned nervously with hands that scarce obey 
 
146 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 My eagerness to greet thee with great news. 
 
 Read, and give blessing to a soul that left 
 
 This morn our earth for far sublimer spheres, 
 
 And ere it fled the prison of our dull 
 
 Restrained humanity, made sacrifice 
 
 With glad devotion. Such a soul must shine 
 
 For ever in our tender memories 
 
 As shines a bright star in some summer night. 
 
 When tropic perfumes load the heated air. 
 
 J toy with words ! Forgive me ! 
 
 Let the glow 
 And moving rapture of this radiant hour 
 Bear all the blame. 
 
 At twelve the tryst was kept. 
 My father, petulant and anxious-eyed. 
 Half vexed the toiling gondolier who tapped 
 His light craft's prow at Lady Lowknot's steps. 
 The palace portal was a blaze of lights; 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER I47 
 
 There was a scent of musk upon the breeze ; 
 And brawny servitors in scarlet coats, — 
 The only men unmasked — yawned wearily 
 As up the marble staircase tripped the throng — 
 Angels and demons, princes, monks and nuns, 
 Condottieri, Doges, Turks and Moors, 
 Ambassadors and Highnesses Serene ; 
 Grave Admirals and merry mountebanks, 
 Fantastic Punchinellos, Colombines, 
 Mad Harlequins and tottering Pantaloon ; 
 And tremulous with purpose, not with fear, 
 Disguised^ in vaporous lace and satin robes, 
 I seemed to float — nor feel my feet, and stood 
 At last beside the hostess. 
 
 Then I heard 
 My father's compliments give hasty place 
 To one quick cry of greeting, and I knew 
 He saw his friend, and hailed him with the joy 
 
148 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Born of his gratitude. 
 
 I dared not look ; 
 Before me rose thy face, and seemed to plead ; 
 The lights danced, and my heart sank slowly down. 
 But then I took my life into my hands. 
 And with supreme appeal to thy dear face 
 To guide me and inspire mj' trembling lips, 
 I did look up, and saw my father's friend, — 
 His form a trifle bent, his silver beard 
 Rippling below his mask ; his knotted hands, 
 That oft had been so prodigal for us. 
 Clenched nervously. 
 
 I knew him, tho' he wore 
 Thick flowing draperies, like a senator 
 Of Venice when she ruled an hundred coasts ; — 
 So forward stept, and placed m}^ hand in his. 
 Nor fretted at my father's last appeals. 
 Half like faint menaces. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 49 
 
 And now he took, 
 A bit confusedly, as one who treads 
 For the first time an unfamih'ar wood. 
 His way across the marbles, where the masks 
 Already balanced in the stately dance, — 
 And held my hand as firmly as when once 
 Upon a Californian precipice 
 He led me safely through a blinding mist ; 
 And presently we stood within a niche 
 Where windows opening on a balcony 
 Let in a hint and murmur of the sea. 
 The sound of distant song, and plashing oars. 
 
 " Here let us cast these silly baubles down," 
 He said, and doffed his mask. I did the same. 
 A tremor overran his massive frame. 
 
150 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 And o'er his furrowed cheeks an ashen grey 
 Stole slowly. 
 
 Then he said in broken voice : 
 " Why, child, your eyes are misty as with tears, 
 And there's a new romance upon your face. 
 And either 'tis your heart, or mine, that beats 
 Loud as a Chinese gong. 
 
 Come ! what's amiss ? 
 I charge ye, tell me truly." 
 
 So he leaned 
 Against the casement, and upheld his mask 
 To hide his changing face. 
 
 'Twas three hours since, 
 And yet it see^s a century. 
 
 My love 
 Arose and buoyed me on celestial wings ; 
 My courage came, and so I told him all. 
 Ah, love, I blush to write it, but I pled 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 151 
 
 Thy cause and my cause, and at last I said : 
 " If love wer,e not so sacred utterly 
 Beyond all other things in human ken, 
 Sir, I could lay my hand in yours and say — 
 Blest benefactor M my father's life, 
 Noblest of friends, beloved gentleman. 
 Here do I consecrate my coming days 
 To you and all that makes your happiness ; 
 Here I redeem my grateful father's pledge. 
 And freely do it. 
 
 Now the lips of love 
 Have touched my forehead, and I am no more 
 Free to bestow myself upon you. 
 
 Pray, 
 Let me have pardon if a single pang — " 
 
 Outside a merry crew of maskers sang 
 
152 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 A pretty barcarole, so rhythmical 
 
 Its melody seemed tingling in my veins. 
 
 My strength failed, and I sank upon a chair. 
 The knotted hands caressed my paling brow 
 A moment ; then the grave voice gently said : 
 " Go, child, your way in joy and peace. 
 
 My dream 
 Was but a dream. 'Twill vanish like a dream. 
 I love your father, and I love his child 
 Too tenderly to wrest her from her love. 
 Forget the idle project which jiad bound 
 Your body, not your spirit. 
 
 'Twas a dream, 
 A gold gleam in the mottled lump of quartz, 
 A vagrant thread of sunshine in the mine, 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 53 
 
 A glimpse of heaven thro' the moving mists, 
 A blossom in the canyon's sullen depths, 
 A precious memory ! 
 
 Sweet child, forget ! " 
 Those were his very words. 
 
 And next he kissed 
 My forehead, after which he raised his hand 
 As if in benediction. 
 
 "I am faint," 
 He murmured : " All this heat and masquerade 
 Trouble my senses. Listen, child — seek out 
 Your father mid the dancers ; bid him here, 
 While I catch breath upon yon balcony. 
 I hear he has been mad among the stocks 
 Once more, but mayhap we may save liim yet. 
 For all I have is his — and freely given. 
 Go, daughter!" 
 
 If I live an hundred years 
 
154 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 Never shall I forget those simple words 
 Embodying his final sacrifice. 
 
 When I returned, my father in my train — 
 
 Anxious for import of the interview — 
 
 We found the casement open, and we heard 
 
 The maskers trolling still their barcarole.' 
 
 Deep in the shadow on the balcon)^ 
 
 Seated upon an ancient carven bench. 
 
 My father found our friend, his whitened face 
 
 Serene and nobly upturned to the sk)-. 
 
 " He sleeps," we whispered ; then a bitter cry 
 
 Rang through the night, and down my father fell 
 
 Before his friend, and sobbed and wept and moaned, — 
 
 For 'twas not sleep, but Death ! 
 
 'Twas three hours since, 
 And I am calmer now. 
 
 Ah, sweet my love. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 55 
 
 Brave sacrifice oft cracks the heart-strings ! 
 
 Lo! 
 The dawn which yesterday we cursed has come 
 With luminous and swift resistless march. 
 It scatters doubting darkness — fills the sky 
 With gorgeous tints, and thrills my very soul ! 
 Love, from this sad place where my father mourns 
 For this great heart departed — from this room 
 Whither good Lady Lowknot sent our dead, 
 Nor let the joyous maskers know that Death 
 Had been this morn among them — from this room, 
 In reverent mood I come at last to thee, 
 My life, my lord, my joy, my only one ! 
 Thine, thine for ever ! 
 
 While these pages tell 
 Crudely this startling and pathetic tale, 
 I follow them, and in this golden dawn 
 Of magic Venice will I say to thee. 
 
156 A VENETIAN LOVER 
 
 As once I said when all the way was dark, 
 And both our souls were faint : 
 
 "/ love my love 
 So let my love love me that Time, nor Chance, 
 Nor Fate, can e'er undo us." 
 
 Love, I come. 
 
A VENETIAN LOVER 1 57 
 
 Why, SO 'tis dawn, and all the sky's agleam, 
 And all my being thrills with rapture ! Aye, — 
 And so the old man's great soul went adrift 
 Because his dream of love was but a dream ? 
 'Tis sad and strange : — the hand of Fate ! 
 
 I hear 
 A footfall ! Is it hers ? She comes — she comes ! 
 A fairy form in rustling draperies ; — 
 Is it indeed thyself, ir/ love, my own ? 
 Oh joy to clasp thee in these faithful arms ! 
 What ? Are these tears ? 
 
 ' The tender little face ! 
 
BY TUB SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 ECHOES FROM THE ORIENT; 
 
 WITH MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 (ENGLISH AND AMERICAN.) 
 
 WESTMINSTER REVIEW. 
 
 "Mr. Edward King's 'Echoes from the Orient' is an exceptionally 
 good volume of verse ; one of those clever volumes in which young 
 American authors are so speciall3»i proficient. The ' Idyl Among 
 the Rocks' is a very charming poem of modern Thessaly; and 
 'The Ballad of Miramar ' celebrates, in graceful 'verse, 'the 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 melancholy career of the unhappy Maximilian, who was Emperor 
 of Mexico for a season." 
 
 NEW YORK EVENING POST. 
 
 " Mr. King writes poetry with vigorous passion, rich imagination, 
 and a certain simple sincerity which is not common with the poets 
 of our time. It is to be said in his praise, and the praise is not 
 small, that he wholly escapes the blight of fancifulness which 
 has overtaken so many modern poets. There is not a trace, not 
 a touch, not a suggestion in his poems of artificiality, of metrical 
 or verbal tricks, of ingeniously devised effects, or of any affectation. 
 He is nobly simple, earnest, and honestly fervent. His is the 
 poetry of a strong man, moved to write by a poetic impulse too 
 sincere for frivolities and fripperies of art. The thought, the 
 picture, the emotion, which he would present is more to him 
 than the method of presenting it, and such decoration as he gives 
 to his poems is the spontaneous work of a loving hand which 
 decorates the thought for the thought's sake, not for the sake of 
 the decoration. He nowhere^Jalls into the paltry habit of the 
 time, which is to make the poetic conception a sort of peg to hang 
 fine verbal clothes upon. 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 " If we emphasize this negative side of our commendation, it is 
 not because Mr. King's poems afford no occasion for more positive 
 praise, but because in this way we may most readily make 
 apparent a fact of the first importance. Believing as we do that 
 the fripperies and fine clothes of modern poetry — the excessive 
 attention to verbal and metrical details, the little affectations of 
 artistic attitudes, and all the rest of it — are not only hurtful, but 
 positively destructive of genuine poetry, it seems to us to be 
 our first duty to Mr. King to emphasize his uniform avoidance 
 of such things. In doing so we say, more clearly than by direct 
 assertion, that his poetry has the too rare charms of simplicity, 
 sincerity, and manly fervour of inspiration. 
 
 " The first poem, called ' The Sorrow of Manol,' is a strangely 
 romantic story, founded upon a Roumanian legend, of an architect 
 who made a terrible sacrifice of love to art, in obedience to the 
 decree of a supernal power. The second, called ' An Idyl Among 
 the Rocks,' which is by odds the best of the poems, is a somewhat 
 extended story told in ten brief cantos of varying form. It is by 
 turns finely picturesque and fiercely passionate. . . ' Night in the 
 Herzegovina ' is a superb piece of descriptive work. . . 
 
 " It is a matter of rejoicing when a young man writes poetry 
 of this manly, genuine sort, in a time when the poetic art is so 
 commonly made a matter of mere word-mongering, when concep- 
 tion is trained, 'and expression is a thing of tricks and mechanical 
 devices. These poems are like a blast of the fresh', .wholesome 
 outer air in a room filled with stifling perfumes." 
 
 II 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 NEW YORK NATION. 
 
 " ' Echoes from the Orient ' owe a good deal, doubtless, to the 
 romantic nature of the legends they embalm, but it is to be noticed 
 that they do much more than show a sympathetic appreciation of 
 these — they decorate and dignify, in careful and natural verse, 
 the stories and sentiments which they treat. ... 'An Idyl Among 
 the Rocks ' has greater metrical variety, and burns with local 
 patriotism. Mr. King's sympathies with oppressed nationalities are 
 keen, and one of the best poems in his volume is ' A Woman's 
 Execution, Paris, 1871.' " 
 
 NEW YORK GRAPHIC. 
 
 " The distinguishing characteristics of Mr. King's versification 
 are its freshness and simplicity, and the utter absence about it of 
 anything like forced effects, or an attempt to make more of a 
 theme than it naturally presents. If he errs at, all in this direction 
 it is in being too studied and restrained, in declining to make use 
 of the legitimate ornamentation which poetry is usual|^ thought 
 to demand. This, however, far from weakening the effect of his 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 verses, really gives to them a force and strength, particularly in 
 his descriptive passages, where he shows great power; here his 
 realism — if we may be allowed to make a poetical application of 
 the term — stands him in good stead, and enables him to produce 
 pictures which are as forcible and distinct as if cut in relievo. He 
 is withal vigorous in his expression, fervid in his imagination, and 
 never outrages nature by strange flights or incongruous fancies- 
 Mr. King's method, in short, is admirable; and his poems cannot 
 help but find favor with all who appreciate true poetic feeling and 
 an honest, manly utterance." 
 
 PHILADELPHIA LEDGER. 
 
 " His sympathy with the Roumanians, Bulgarians, and Greeks 
 finds its fitting expresssions in this little book of verses. In his 
 ' War Contrasts,' the- sonnets . . . are vivid character pieces, while 
 the sad and awful story of the war runs through all the volumes 
 'The Ballad of Miramar' is a musical refrain to the memory of 
 Maximilian and Carlotta; and the whole expression of Roumanian 
 romance is found in a short poem called the 'Guzla.' 'A Woman's 
 Execution ' is the most spirited. ... He can give the features and 
 philosophy of the struggle as few other lookers-on can do. Thp 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 love sonnets, . . . few and reserved as they are, deserve a place 
 beside the famous sonnets from the Portuguese, and show quite 
 another vein of genius." 
 
 LONDON ACADEMY. 
 
 " Mr. King is an ardent admirer of the subject populations of the 
 Balkan Peninsula, and his ' Echoes from the Orient' are principally 
 devoted to eulogies of their virtues and pictures of their life. 
 ' An Idyl Among the Rocks ' has some narrative merit. The 
 miscellaneous poems, however, seem to us to reach a higher 
 poetical level, which is, perhaps, surprising. The first, some verses 
 on a Petroleuse, owes Mr. Browning royalty, but is very fair; 
 ' Birds that Flit by Ocean's Rim,' a short song, has some of the 
 simplicity and suggeitiveness of thought, the missing of which is 
 the fault of modern song-writing." 
 
 THE SCOTSMAN. 
 
 " In ' Echoes from the Orient,' Mr. Edward King gives us word- 
 pictures of the scenerj' of European Turkey, and of its subject 
 races, exhibiting a keen faculty of observation, and a true poet's 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 appreciation of the romantic and tiie beautiful. In spirited and 
 graceful verse he recites Servian and Roumanian legends. . . . 
 There is originality in most of his themes, and freshness and 
 feeling in his treatment of them." 
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE. 
 
 "To turn to the works of Mr. King, is to enter a new world 
 and to breath a new atmosphere. Mr. King's turn of mind is at 
 once bellicose and romantic ; ... he does his best to write like a 
 warrior and poet. His talk is of Bosnian maids and gipsies, 
 dwelling all night in reverie on the Roumanian plain ; of patriotic 
 brigands and sentimental Tziganes ; of noble monks and heroic 
 communardes ; and Moslem tyrants' rocky dens. Occasionally he is 
 a little absurd, occasionally a little dull ; usually his verse is spirited 
 and earnest, and he is quite readable. In ' Prince Lazarus ' and 
 'The Sorrows of Manol,' his humor is narrative; he tells not 
 ill a couple of popular legends. In 'The Fair Bosnian,' in 'An 
 Idyl Among the Rocks,' in ' No ! No ! ' and in ' Hola ! Hola ! 
 Gossip Mine,' he essays to be dramatic." 
 
 LONDON SUNDAY FIGARO. 
 
 " ' Echoes from the Orient ' "are a small collection of really 
 graceful poems dealing with Eastern subjects. Their metrical 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 technique is very perfect, and they are instinct with fine sensibility 
 and culture, especially that form of culture which results from 
 wide observant travel. In these days of poetic mannerism and 
 affectation, it is refreshing to come across simple strong verse 
 like Mr. King's. , . . There is no strain, no - bombast, no petty 
 prettiness of expression about it. . . . Some of the best work in 
 the volume is included among the miscellaneous poems at the 
 end. There is a ring of Bret Harte in the poem called ' A 
 Woman's Execution,' but, as a rule, Mr. King is quite original in 
 manner and idea." 
 
 NEW YORK INDEPENDENT. 
 
 "... Whatever the occasion that incited a poetic spirit, we will 
 be thankful that his muse was somehow set on fire. He certainly 
 from the st?rt excels in simple, artless style, in the fervent 
 expression of the heart's warmest feelings, and in painting the 
 charms of Nature on the borders of Classic-land. His lines are 
 free from the arts of older poets, his language unaffected, and 
 his story so simple and direct that we read with rapidity, our 
 interest ever increasing to the end." 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 BALTIMORE SUN. 
 
 "... The local color is well preserved. All these poems 
 indicate a high order of talent.'' 
 
 DERBYSHIRE TIMES. 
 
 " His volume is a charming collection of verses^ paving their 
 inspiration in a journey through that strange border-land of the 
 East, Turkey in Europe.'' 
 
 BOSTON TRAVELLER. 
 
 " ' The Sorrow of Manol.' . . . Mr. King has told the legend in a 
 style indicating the true poetic fire, and at the close he rises into 
 loftier mood, depicting the struggfts of the ' suffering artist with 
 considerable poWer. But the author, to our mind, is at his best in 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 those shorts poems wherein he embodies national aspiration, 
 a passionate longing, or a patriotic sentiment. He has the rare 
 faculty of attuning his lyre to every mood, of throwing his 
 personality into the creature of the moment, and making the 
 sentiments of another his own. ' Sweet Thessaly,' supposed to be 
 sung by a native Greek, will indicate the charm and vigor of 
 Mr. King's verse. . . . The range of the author's powers is shown 
 by the stern grandeur of ' Night in the Herzegovina,' the passion- 
 laden rhythm of ' The Ballad of Miramar,' in the plaintive beauty 
 of 'Guzla,' and the rough jollity of 'The Danubian Gipsy's Song.' 
 Mr. King's poetry, whatever its rank, is at least genuine, and far 
 removed from the work of the mere versifier." 
 
 BOSTON JOURNAL. 
 
 " There are in ' Echoes from the Orient ' a strength and direct- 
 ness, a freedom from imitation and mannerism, and a measure of 
 self-restraint which are quite uncommon in a first book of verse. 
 
 Poets of the day have adopted the fashion of ornamenting 
 
 their verse until little besides ornament is apparent. They delight 
 to try their skill in dainty and difficult measures, and concentrate 
 their energies upon form witl^such excellent success that they 
 frequently omit 1;he thoughts. To readers who are weary of simple 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 11 
 
 prettiness, who have been sung to and jingled at with all sorts of 
 tricksy measures, it brings relief to read poems like those of Mr. 
 King, in which form — though not at all unheeded — is made 
 secondary to thought." 
 
 THE SPRINGFIELD REPUBLICAN. 
 
 " The first of the ' Echoes from the Orient ' is a melancholy 
 legend of Roumania, entitled ' The Sorrow of Manol.' .... The 
 legend must be regarded as an allegory of the supremacy of eternal 
 art to human affection, and in this light Mr. King!s poem takes its 
 place as a strong, unwavering narrative, sustained at a pitch of high 
 simplicity, and culminating with unstrained effect. In the course 
 of the story there are passages, of exquisite tenderness, such as part 
 ofwManors appeal to the prince 
 
 " The second poem is of a lighter and more welcome sort ; it is 
 ' An Idyl Among the Rocks.' It is a happy mixture of pure Greek 
 sentiment and human love 
 
 " The characteristics of Mr. King's verse are a sense of the poetic 
 quality, a love df beauty, a sincerity of sentiment, and a restraint 
 of expression. He has no tricks, no pretences, no affectations. He 
 lacks an affluence of language ; there is a laggard air about his 
 work at times ; he does not moralize, he does not elaborate or 
 
 12 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 adorn, he does not show any ambition for the fantastic, the curious, 
 the malarious, or the unclean, which are the fashion nowadays. 
 He tells his poetic tales with the simplest directness, but with a fine 
 and true sense of their intrinsic power and of t- ~ pential quality 
 of emotion." 
 
 SCRIBNER'S MONTHLY. 
 
 "The Orient of Mr. King's volume is that bloody debateable 
 
 border-land between the forces of the Crescent and the Cross 
 
 This ground was trenched upon by Sir John Bowring ; . . . . others 
 have cast their eyes npon it from time to time ; but, so far as we 
 believe, Mr. King is the first English-writing poet who has set to 
 work seriously to preserve its echoes in verse, and who has fitted- 
 himself to do so by journeying through the region he describes. 
 Twenty of the thirty-one poems of which his volume is composed 
 are devoted to them; the longest, 'The Sorrow of Manol,' being 
 based on a Roumanian legend, while the remainder are attempts, 
 more or less successful, to embody the characteristic features ot 
 its landscapes, and the life of its peoples, their joys and sorrows, 
 ' fierce wars and faithful loves ; ' in a word, the elements of their 
 national character as it is reflected in their popular folk-songs. He 
 has been struck by what he has seen, and has produced it with a 
 
^FOTICES OF THE PRESS 1 3 
 
 faithfulness that has destroyed the poetic impression at which he 
 aimed. His work is carefully wrought, but it is literal and hard. 
 We miss the ideality which we looked for, and which must have 
 enveloped the themes as they existed in his mind. We especially 
 miss this quality in ' The Fair Bosnian/ who might have taken her 
 place in literature with Wordsworth's ' Highland Girl.' ' An Idyl 
 Among the Rocks ' suggests a stormy episode of Oriental border- 
 life. There is not much story in it, but what there is is fairly 
 indicated, and the gleams of landscape through which it conducts 
 
 us are picturesque Quite as distinct, and much less 
 
 Tennysonian, is this glimpse of ' Night in the Herzegovina.' . . . 
 ' The Ballad of Miramar ' is the best poem which the untimely fate 
 of the Emperor Maximilian called forth. ' Prince Lazarus ' is an 
 effective rendering of a well-known Servian legend ; and ' The 
 Tzigane's Canzonet ' is still better.'' 
 
 HARTFORD COURANT. 
 
 "The poems are Oriental in subject and feeling; but it is not 
 the conventional Orient with which he deals ; it iS that new land 
 of heroism and passion, which the late Turkish war opened to the 
 world of literature. In his transcription of what appears to be 
 a real legend, ' The Sorrow of Manol,' we have a narrative poem, 
 
 full of power and deep with the meaning of self-sacrifice. . . . 
 
 The author has wrought it out with great skill." 
 
 Printed by T. Symonds, go, "Rue Rochechouart, Paris.