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Readers are asked to re- t>ort all cases of bools j marked or mutilated. 1 Do not deface book^ by marks and uniting. Cornell University Ubrary PR 4889.L6L8 Love-lore and other, early an«J,]a*®' K*" 3 1924 013 517 044 The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013517044 POEMS LOVE-LORE AND OTHER, EARLY AND LATE, POEMS W-rj- LINTON APPLEDORE PRESS, HAMDEN, CONN:, U.S.A. 189s II CONTENTS Night and Morning . . /".s''' 127 Two Brothers 131 Epithalamium 140 HEART-EASINGS 143 To the Reader . 14-; Bound with Her Hair 145 Beyond Compare 146 In Her Garden 147 Against Her Haste 148 The Dream . 149 Claiming Her Promise 150 Reproach jie not! . 151 Love's Exception . 152 The Jewel . -153 To Mr Iervis Markham . 154 A Vision of Fame . 155 EPIGRAMS . . 156 CATULLUS . 159 LOVE-LORE 169 Prologue ... 171 By the River . . 172 Yet again Young Love . 173 Hymeneal 174 Two ... 175 No Marvel . 176 The Fair Unfair . 177 CONTENTS I" Weed-like . . ■ /«,r« '77 Farewell, Hope! ■ • • 17S The Lily . . . . ■ '75 The Riddle . . . . i8a Of Inconstancy ... 181 Rustic . • ... 182 Why I love ... ■ '81 18. 18. Amaryllis Adonis Leap-year Diviner Love Across the World iSf Under the Lindens . • " Lost Love . ■ '^ i8< Heavenly Eyes . • i9< Waiting . ■ '9 Love jealous . '9- Count of Time ■ '9 Admiring Love Hero.s Song '9 A Dream ■ '9 Flower Courtship '9 Whom I mean , . . '9 Love Once • • '9 Rosalind ■ . • '9 Othersome -° Grief . ■ ^° rv CONTENTS Love afraid . . . page 201 My Maiden ... ... 202 Which of us? . . . 203 Rosy Wine ... . . 204 Madam! No! . .... 205 To Sorrow Love and Youth . . 206 Too late . . . 207 Why .... . . 208 Which .... ... 209 Love's Service 210 Weep not! sigh not! . . . 211 A' Health ... . 212 Advice to a Maiden 213 Not flattering . Spring and Autumn 214 Drought . . .215 No MORE Faint Heart . . 2\i The Ideal . . . 21/ The Counterfeit ' • 21J Loving Faith . . 2k Sleeping on Latmos . 22c Long ago . . 221 Crippled Aimi5 moi I . . ... 22: For Love's sake . , 22- CONTENTS V Threnody . . page 224 FORTUNA . . , , 225 Hope and Wish . . 226 Fairest . ... 227 The Prayer to Diana 228 Under a Cherry-Tree . . 229 Camomile . . . . . Dirge . 230 Sapphic . . , .231 The Law of Change 232 Her Rivals . . 233 To Pansies . . . . . 234 Sleep . .... Fie, Love! fie! . . 235 If Love might last . 236 More Mulidor 237 The Last Toast . . . . . 238 Tricksy . . 239 In Her Grave 240 Detur Pulchriori . 241 Love's Blindness . . .242 Lais . . . 243 Lingering . For Strength . . . 244 Paris justified ... 245 Homeward .... 246 Happening . . ... 247 yj CONTENTS A Proverb P'^e^ ^47 Mv Valentine 248 Mistress Jane ■ 249 Seasons . The Trespass . ■ 250 Bare Feet. . . 251 The Daisy Epicurean . 252 Happy Days . . 253, The Silenced Singer . . 254 The Singer's Apology . 255 POEMS CLARIBEL OR LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP IN TWO ACTS DRAMATIS PERSON.^ BoLESLAUS, King of Bohemia Casimir, Prince of Poland 1 J- The Friends Albert, a Page ) Claribel, The King's Daughter Rudolph and other Princes, suitors for the hand of Claribel A Courtier Knights, Ladies, and Attendants. CLAPvIBEL ACT I — SCENE I. The Court-yard of the Palace. A flourish of horns. Boleslaus and his Knights and Guests returni7ig from the chase, with Servants carrying a deer. Then follow some Huntsjnen. I FIRST HUNTSMAN T was ihe Prince who kill'd him. SECOND HUNTSMAN You are wrong : Lord Albert gave him his death-wound. 1 heard Prince Casimir himself tell how it was. FIRST HUNTSMAN Perhaps so : but he ever crowns his friend With the first garland. They were close enough For such an error. CLARIBEL SECOND HUNTSMAN You are wrong again Not half so readily the Prince resigns His honours, even to him. THIRD HUNTSMAN There's truth in that : Or else the Page does with him as he will. FOURTH HUNTSMAN How long has he been favourite ? SECOND HUNTSMAN They were friends Even in their boyhood, — since your Casimir First visited our court, — sworn friends : the Prince Would have none other for companion. They rode together, hunted, swam, and fought, And studied ; none e'er saw them separate. When Albert was advanced to be the page Of our young Princess, your Prince Casimir Was jealous as a girl that he must lose Some hours of him. And in her turn the girl, The Lady Claribel, grew just as fond ; And pined when he roust leave her for the wars. There he 'd the hap to save the Prince's life ; And so was knighted, and strode on apace To closer friendship, — 'faith, 'tis well deserved : For there's none braver or more mannerly. More true, more kind in speech, nor one who bears CLARIBEL 5 Himself more nobly, though not noble-born. But all the same he is our Lady's Page : She will not part with him. When your young lord Left us, some months since See where come the friends. Holding themselves aloof from all the rest ! Enter Casimir and Albert ALBERT You have not told me yet what lucky chance Gladdens Bohemia with your step again. CASIMIR No chance, my friend ! you have expefted me. Yes ! but so long that expedlation fell Into disfavour, for a lying slave That brought false messages of your return. Why left you us ? CASIMIR Well, you shall know the cause Both of my leaving and of my return. I was impatient of the company Of these same wooing princes who have throng'd So many months past your Bohemian court With idle supplications. I was vex'd To see them buzzing round the Princess' ears. I had grown up beside her till it seem'd 6 CLARIHEl That she belong'd to me. And when they came To interfere, 'twas an impertinence That gall'd me till I could not, even to you, Own my annoyance. So I left them here, Trusting my deeds might well outvoice their word? In her dear estimation. — You are hurt That I kept this so secret. ALBERT Hurt at that? CASIMIR Why then this change of countenance ? Your face Is mapp'd with hostile lines. What moves you so ? ALBERT I fear this love may sunder us. CASIMIR My friend ! — Should it not draw us closer, thee and me ? ALBERT It sliall. Forgive me for a moment's doubt ! Enter an Attendant. ATTENDANT — to Albert The Princess has been asking for you. Sir ! CASIMIR Pat off your fears ! nothing can harm our love. CLARIBEL 7 ALBERT I will be sure of it. CASIMIR Be here again Quickly ! ALBERT Ay ! presently. CASIMIR r 11 stay for you. ACT I— SCENE 11. The Princess Chamber. Claribel reading ; a Lady waiting. Enter Albert. ALBERT Your highness sent for me. CLARIBEL In truth I did, But have forgot my purpose. ALBERT May I wait Till you recall it ? g CLARIBEL CLARIBEL That might be for ever. How have you pass'd the morning? ALBERT With the Prince. CLARIBEL You have been hunting with him : is 't not so? ALBERT I will forswear it if it be your will. CLARIBEL Nay ! I 'd be wrong to either step between You and your friend or stay your arm from deeds Of manly daring. I must blush to own A woman's may-be foolish timorousness ; And you are over-rash. Confess the truth : You love the cha'se more than all joys on earth, Save Casimir's friendship. ALBERT Madam ! one thing more. CLARIBEL And that, best-loved ? ALBERT M\' duty toward your grace. CLARIBEL CLARIBEL Is it that weighs down your brows so heavily ? ALBERT Nay, Madam ! 'tis the light that dazzles me. CLARIBEL Your love is light, then. To her Attendant — Go, fetch me my lute !- 1 will sing some low song shall charm away Your sorrow with its plaintive melody. I did not deem that love should make men sad. My father's court is throng'd with lovers, fair As summer butterflies, as careless too. Methinks a gayer, goodlier company Is rarely met with. But perchance your love Is of another hue ? ALBERT The self-same hue. Yet somewhat differing. CLARIBEL Differing : ha ! I see, , You and your mistress. Trust me, if 'tis so, You love unworthily : for I know none So high may bar your suit. Some arrogant girl. Who thinks a peerless knight not noble enough. ALBERT No ! no ! there is no arrogance but mine : lO CLARIBEL If hopeless reverence can be arrogant. CLARIBEL You are too diffident. Dare you confide Your love to me, that I may plead with her? I '11 guess who it may be. How high is she ? ALBERT Madam ! about your height. CLARIBEL About ! And fair? ALBERT Fair as Bohemia's Fairest, as the dawn Of the first, brightest Spring ; as fair as Hope, Could Hope be the Beloved. Fair as Thou. CLARIBEL If it be not some page's courtliest tone. Or cunninger gloss, to me you would address Your nameless praise. I am not vain enough To answer — I deserve it. What heart-words May echo ALBERT Lady ! if transparent speech Display'd my soul's depth, giving back yourself To your own gaze : In the name of loyalty, My most aspiring thought hath ne'er displaced. Yet credit this — I have not earn'd your scorn. CLARIBEL II CLARIBEL My scorn ! ALBERT O Beautiful ! thy very pride Looks angel-like : yet wrongs me Let me speak ! True heart-devotion, ne'er so meanly born, Is homage worthy of a Queen's regard ; The lowliest truth would kiss her raiment-hem Too noble for her trampling. I am paid With your most distant smile for my best worth ; But even my humblest love is no fit slave For your disdain. CLARIBEL — looking in his face Albert ! ALBERT My eyes are dim CLARIBEL — kissing his eye-lids Canst thou see clearly now ? Nay, do not kneel ! Rise to the full height of thy worthiness. That my glad soul may look up into thine. My royalest knight ! How couldst thou ever doubt ? What ! scorn of thee ? My life hangs giddily Upon the sunniest peak of happiness. Let me hold fast thy hand ! j2 CI.ARIBEL CLARIBEL For ever, love ! ALBERT My Princess ! ATTENDANT — returning Madam ! you desired me fetch Your highness' lute. There is a broken string. CLARIBEL No matter ! Leave us now ! My song is sung. ACT I — SCENE III. A Room of State in the Palace. Boleslaus on his throne ; Claribel seated at his feel ; the Princes standing in front; Knights, Ladies, Attendants. BOLESLAUS We wait your slow decision, Claribel ! These princes now have sojourn'd in our court Full time enough for the most fickle eyes To make election : difficult at first. Where all are worthy ; but a woman's wit And ready apprehension can not fail CLARIBEL 13 To note ere long some difference of port, Or manner, or behaviour, which may help Her certain choice. Which of these lords shall be Your husband, heir unto Bohemia's crown ? CLARIBEL May I be free to speak ? BOLESLAUS Speak as thou wilt ! CLARIBEL Then, good my lord ! my choice doth light on none. BOLESLAUS Thou hast no choice 'mong all these gentlemen ! What then ? CLARIBEL I would not wed with either, Sir.! I speak it not of mere maid bashfulness, Nor frowardly contemning princely worth. Albeit not for my purchase while my heart Hath no response. My answer is but this — I can not choose to wed unless I love. BOLESLAUS Then we must choose for thee. Shall it be said King Boleslaus has play'd with welcomed guests? Yet, Princes ! speak to her ! Your smoother tones 14 CLARIBEL May charm this waywardness. We little like To have our purposes so set at nought. PRINCE RUDOLPH Princess ! I pray you to allow my suit. A jewel should be worn and well display'd, Not hidden away : and thou a priceless one With thy rich dower of beauty. For the love Hath so long knit our houses, let me bind Our realms in one dear hope, thy hand in mine ! CLARIBEL Prince Rudolph loves the jewel set in gold. It is Bohemia's Daughter he would wed ; And as Bohemia's Daughter I reply — I am too proud to be his handmaiden, Even to place the jewel in his cap. ANOTHER OF THE PRINCES Lady ! beseech thee let my passion move Thy virgin coldness. Not Bohemia's round Of golden glory, but the sunny light Of all perfedtions circling thy bright self. Hath warm'd my heart. My life will worship thee With utmost patience, let thy sweet Spring smile Shine on me through this winterly contempt. CLARIBEL Let that same patience ask another Spring ! I do not warm to thee. Thy sunniest speech CLARIBEL 15 Thaws not the ice between us, I am fix'd In my first resolution. ANOTHER OF THE PRINCES Yet relent ! Set me, dear Princess ! to some arduous task Whose prize may be thy favour. Let me wear Thy glove, even as a promise, on my helm. CLARIBEL Is then thy courage all so dull to need The spur of a poor guerdon ? Wouldst hold back From nobleness until thou hear'st the price ? My father's daughter is not yet for sale, Though honour bid. CASIMIR Belovfed Claribel ! Refuse me not for this : while these have sought Thy favour with word-wooing, I have cared Rather to let the echo of brave deeds Reach thee from far and whisper my desert Than strive to please thine eyes, reflefting back From my unstained armour the glad sheen Of thy most radiant presence, or to mix My words in this midsummer melody. If Fame have spoken for me, may thy voice, Sweeter than Fame's, approve her plea and mine , CLARIBEL Prince Casimir ! I should dispraise your worth l6 CLARIBEL By scornful words. I fear my speech has err'd From courtesy toward these gentlemen : Yet I would not contemn their dear regards. Truly I thank them that they so affedl Bohemia's daughter. My acknowledgment Will heal, I hope, such wounds as I have made. You too I thank, Sir ! for your kindly thoughts : Which I am all too poor to render back With the sole rendering you could well accept. Too poor, for that my heart has been and is Unsway'd by love toward you. I beseech, Of you and all these lords, constru6lion clear Of my most simple words : I do esteem Yotr.r several worths, but none of you I love As she should love who would be royal wife. By your own truths, I pray, believe me now. I do not falter. BOLESLAUS Stay ! this shall not be. We may not have our policy so cross'd By girlish whimsies. Thou shalt wed perforce. But not to make eledlion blindfolded. To-morrow we will hold a tournament ; And there thou shalt adjudge thyself as prize To him who best deserves. Nay, answer not ! — Princes ! we would that we had girls enough To wive you all : so none might leave our court Unsatisfied. But since that may not be. We pray you hold our loves of equal weight ; CLARIBEL 17 Nor blame our care that only one can gain. To-morrow shall proclaim Bohemia's heir. We leave you to the tending of your hopes. Exit with Claribel and Train, the Princes following . As they go out PRINCE RUDOLPH — to Casimir You look not in discarded mood, my lord ! CASIMIR Why should I, when to-morrow will amend To-day's deferral ? [ Casimir and Albert remain \ Albert ! look at him ! 'Faith, he's as sad as if King Boleslaus Himself had stamp'd refusal. Let him fear ! For Hope girds on my sword. Her hand is mine. ALBERT Whether she will or no ? CASIMIR A woman's No. But thou hast heard. She has not made a choice : Save that her words to me were gentler-toned. I quarrel not with that. My course is clear. She bids me write the Yes with my own hand. Shall I not snatch her from this summer swarm ? ALBERT But if she yet should choose ; and if her choice Should be another? CLARIBEL CASIMIR Think'st thou I would yield ? Yield her whose love is more than life to me ; For I 'd not live without her. ALBERT Would'st thou wrong The gentle love which never may be forced, Whose very worth is impulse and desire ? Has she no right to give away herself? Shall the Beloved be without respefi:, Dishonour'd and enslaved as something vile ? Would'st brutally o'ermaster the Adored, Claiming her heart even if it gave not back One pulse to thine ? CASIMIR If ! if ! — My doubtful friend ! Thou hast never loved or thou would'st know that ifs Are meaningless. My mortal enemy I 'd grasp with ungloved peace ere I would turn One step out of the path toward my love Even for my brother and most dearest friend. Let them beware ! for I or the other side, Though ne'er so many, in to-morrow's lists Shall look our last on her. Her hand is mine. CLARIBEL 19 ACT I — SCENE IV. A Hall in the Palace. Retainers lounging about : some cleaning armour, some seated at a table, drinking. FIRST RETAINER I '11 wager you Prince Rudolph is the man. SECOND RETAINER Not he, but our Prince Casimir. THIRD RETAINER I '11 hold My master wins. FOURTH RETAINER Or mine. FIFTH RETAINER — from table where some are drinking But which is he The Princess most affedls ? FIRST RETAINER Why, none, she says. FOURTH RETAINER Ay ! says : a woman always says her No. That 's good Bohemian for " I thank you. Sir ! " [ To one of the Princess Attendants passing ] Is it not? e:irl ! Where runnest thou? We'll have 20 CLARIBEL A match at last. Shall it be a double one ? GIRL No fear of that : no king will father me. Was I my Lady, I would take the veil Rather than marry any against my will. KOUTRH RETAINER You '11 never have the chance. GIRL Why not? Sir Squire! FOURTH RETAINER Because you 'd not be able to say No. GIRL Try me ! FOURTH RETAINER That's Yes, — Yes before question too. He attempts to kiss her. GIRL Have done ! FOURTH RETAINER But truly, if a woman can, Say, do you think the Princess mean'd her No? GIRL What 's that to you ? CLARIBEL 2 1 FOURTH RETAINER Nay, what a mood you 're in. I did not go to offend you. SECOND RETAINER Let her be ! But tell us, do you think your mistress cares For none of our young princes? GIRL 'Troth, not she, Unless Prince Casimir. SECOND RETAINER He's worthy her. Yet I know one more princely to my mind Even than he. GIRL Who then ? SECOND RETAINER Your lady's page. He 's kinder, has a gentler way with him ; Nor any upstart pride. FIFTH RETAINER He 's proud enough With the king's knights. SECOND RETAINER 'J'hat 's true. But not with us. CLARIBEL FIFTH RETAINER Then he 's one of us. GIRL — passing on Well, I can 't stay here Idling with you. A set of gossiping knaves ! SIXTH RETAINER — at the table Here 's to the winner ! FIFTH RETAINER You pledge warily. SIXTH RETAINER I am a courtier. FIFTH RETAINER Where may you have learn'd State policy ? SIXTH RETAINER The school is not far off, Nor hard to find : under the palace-eaves. SEVENTH RETAINER I like not this rough wooing. What say you ? EIGHTH RETAINER It bodes no good. FIFTH RETAINER Tush, man ! what would you have ? CLARIBEL 23 Girls must be married. Who s-hould choose for them If not their fathers? A PAGE Or if not ihemsclves ? FIFl'H RETAINER Ha ! so you boys may fancy, always wise In your own mad conceits. Most likely judge, Young Inexperience ! PAGE Well, I would not have My father choose for me, nor take a wife Whose only Yes came from her father's mojt'.i. Does it follow that my father's suit fits me? SEVENTH RETAINER The boy 's not wide o' the mark, though it is well To have a father's san£lion. I ne'er knew That a forced marriage came to any good. I heard, the king, after he left the lords. Had harsh words tow'rd his daughter. Hj's quick tongued. EIGHTH RETAINER And hasty in his will too. What he says Is done on the spur o' the moment. Well, I hope Prince Casimir may win her, PAGE So do I 24 CLARIBEL NINTH RETAINER — coming in Prince Rudolph even now is taking leave. PACE He will not risk the fight. SIXTH RETAINER I 'm of his mind. A. broken pate 's a sorry wedding gift. I 'd rather keep mine whole though I was sure To have a crown for plaster. FIFTH RETAINER Will you pledge The winner now? SIXTH RETAINER I '11 pledge you any way. FIFTH RETAINER Here 's a safe journey to you ! SIXTH RETAINER And to you, Fair weather for your wedding ! NINTH RETAINER Come ! the Prince Has call'd for us. SIXTH RETAINER I 'm with you CLARIBEL 25 SEVENTH RETAINER It looks black : There '11 be a storm by the morrow. PAGE Do you hear How the wind moans ? Was not that lightning too, Over the royal chamber? There, again ! END OF ACT I. BETWEEN THE ACTS A TOURNAMENT. ACT II— SCENE I. A Garden of the Palace. Albert pacing to and fro. The clash of swords outside ; then a flourish of trumpets. Enter a Courtier. COURTIER PRINCE CASIMIR is vi6lor. ALBERT My brave friend ! — My more than friend ! COURTIER Ah, Sir ! but you have miss'd The crown o' the tourney. 'Twas a sight, i' faith, Worth staying for. He '11 be a worthy lord To our elie peerless Lady. He will wear Bohemia's glories proudly, as he wore The eagle on his helm, that seem'd to say — "I clutch the world from all." — But you are dull. I thought your joy would kindle at his triumph, Knowing how much the Prince affedls ALBERT I wait Your story, Sir. CLARI3EL 27 COURTIER [ Forefend his pageship's spleen ! 'Tis something to be friended by a prince, And heir-presumptive. He has hid himself In dudgeon that he might not cross the lists And win a hole in his head to loose his pride.] Aside. I shall have pleasure tracing, Sir ! for you The course o' the strife : for 'twas, upon my soul. More like a battle vow'd unto the death Than a mere jousting, — even for such a prize, A princess and a crown. You should have seen Prince C.asimir approach, with eyes downcast, To kiss the Princess' hand ; you would have thought Some pilgrim met a Cross in the Wilderness, He bow'd such adoration, and so held Her white hand in his touch. But when he rose, 'Twas plain to read the vidlory in his face. I would not have encounter'd such a lip. Like Fate exultant. You'd have sworn each step Was over an enemy. So, one by one. He overthrew the combatants : not one Had power to make him halt. ' Twas summer play, A thunder-storm : they had no chance with him. Though they fought gallantly. And our good king Sate smiling; and the Lady Claribel ALBERT Sate smiling too ! COURTIER No, Sir ! she sate as scared. 28 CLARIBEL You see she is not like some dames of ours Who love to look upon our manly sports. She is almost too gentle for a queen. Give me a lady whose regard would track A brave man's deeds, nor flinch to see him win. For my part — — ALBERT Sir ! I thank you ; I have heard. I pray you leave me. COURTIER Sir ! at your command. [ He seeks some prompt preferment from the Prince : Perhaps to be the new king's chamberlain. I '11 travel in his shadow.] Aside and exit. Enter Claribel. CLARIBEL My dear lord ! My wife ! — O, dearest ! what a chance is ours. How shall I slay my friend ? how crush the bloom Of that most noble nature ? Yet I find No other remedy. CLARIBEL O, dearest love ! Do not ally with wrong to heap more woe ! Rather shake hands with Fate to our own loss, Paying her forfeit with atonement calm. CLARIBEL 29 Unless it be through breach of our true faith. Ah me ! I have no guess of what to urge. The king my father chafes at the least delay ; And even now the hand of Casimir Twines in my hair, and his lips seize on mine, As sealing his possession. My quick sire Chides me that I sit sad and silently : Rating me as unduteous that I make No cheer to meet my bridegroom. ALBERT He must die. By heaven, what is this man that he should dare O'erstride the threshold of my love ? A prince ! And that? a chance. My eyes, that front his brow, See there no natural mark of mastership ; My blood bounds to the full as free a tide ; My soul is robed as royally as his. A chance ! a chance success ! nay, he hath won A tourney, from some swordsmen. I would fast Three days, not seeing thee, and take his life. Despite his pride of birth. The chance that brought His lips so near to thine shall bring his head Beneath our feet. CLARIBEL — taking his hands Temper this passion, love ] Is friendship then so slight that its green boughs, That harbour'd thee so many pleasant days, Can all be stripp'd before one wintry gust, — Its fragrant blossoms all so soon forgot ? 30 CLARIBEL It makes Love shudder, friend ! You will not bring That dull ape, Jealousy, into our home Among your noble thoughts. Prince Casimir Treats me with delicacy, tenderly, In his respeft. And even were friendship nought, His 'nice behaviour may enforce some claim To gratitude. O, pure-soul'd ! thou art right. My fierceness owns thy gentler potency. I will not, come what may, dishonour him. But how to meet this pass ? CLARIBEL Your thought be swift ! This day he is to wed me, — as some Russ Marries his captive, in his conqueror's garb, Scarce having cleansed his armour. ALBERT [ Light breaks there.] Aside. CLARIBEL What say'st thou ? love ! ALBERT Believe, nought shall be done To hurt our dignity. But I '11 be there, Even at the altar. Only trust in me ! CLARIBEL 31 ACT II — SCENE II A tangled forest. Albert waiting. Enter Casimir. CASIMIR Joy, joy, my brother ! Albert ! help thy friend To bear his triumph. It is all too much. ALBERT It is. Thou canst not bear it. CASIMIR What mean you ? You are moved. What sorrow has invaded you ? Forgive me that I did not mark your grief, So full of mine own bliss. What may it mean ? ALBERT That I would bear thy triumph. Yes, my friend ! Since love and friendship are too great a load Even for thy Atlas shoulders Let me speak ! — Therefore renounce thy love ! thou canst not wed Bohemia's daughter. CASIMIR Who would cross me there ? ALBERT Thy friend. CASIMIR What friend ? thyself perhaps. 32 CLARIBEL ALBERT Even so. CASIMIR This is mere trifling. But for that clench'd lip I should esteem you gamesome, scarce in tune With a friend's earnestness ; but your harsh words Unfriendlily apparel'd ■ALBERT Do I wear Your livery ? Sir ! CASIMIR You overstep your place. ALBERT Yet I have been the brother of a prince. CASIMIR Brother and friend ! you venture on my love. ALBERT No ! you on mine. CASIMIR Again, what meaneth this ? You talk enigmas ; let your meaning out ! For that sweet angel at the altar kneels, Waiting to be my wife. ALBERT Then I am plain. CLARIBEL 33 That angel never can be thine. Two claim Precedence of thy title, I and Death. The first may stimible, but the last is sure. Alas ! the shades of Death have sweeter haunts Than solitary life, or fulsome change That leads but to a grave. Love's wings have flown The circuit of the world, and find therein Only the Loved. Therefore forswear thy hope ! Bridle thy lion-heart until it break ! Her marriage-bed is rather in the tomb Than in thy arms. Do anything but hope ! CASIMIR As yet I tamely answer thy appeal, So overwhelming in its circumstance : Not understanding how thy birth and rank Should soar so giddily the eagle's height, To thwart thy friend, and rush between the troth Of prince and princess, past a king's decree. Open thy princely ears, then, to my cause ! — I have been praised, lord Casimir ! my form And port been judged not servile, and mine eyes Have overlook'd the haughtiest. I could stride And grapple with a prince, — ay ! with the best. Though but a jjage, my fortune placed me near A princess, and my soul was princely enough To worship her perfection. As I watch'd ( The page's duty, Sir ! ) her every mood, 34 CLARIBEL I found her sad when I look'd seriously, — Gay when my thoughts made merry ; when I sought The lists she paled ; and once her glajice met mine, And lit me to the chamber of her heart. Wherein I saw my image dearly throned ; And ere conceit could lend ambition words Her love stoop'd like a tame bird to my breast, — Where I must cherish it. And, to be brief. Know we are married, close as Nature's law Of holiest sympathy can bind two lives. Wherefore I bid thee to respefl my wife. As a true gentleman ; or else affront My honour with thy sword. CASIMIR I meet thy sword, Less deadly sharp than thy injurious words That flame-like bar my Eden. Out, alas ! O Claribel ! O Queen ! what cursed blot Hath fallen upon my 'scutcheon ? I, a prince, On the top step of a throne, to be hurl'd down By lower hands ; and my imperial globe, Thy perfe6l love, torn rudely from my grasp ! () shame ! O shame ! Unsay thy traitorous speech ! Some fiend possesses thee. ALBERT No fiend but Love, Love, the good angel, the omnipotent. Thy hilt's cross can not exorcize my life. CLARIBEL My sword-point shall, or thou step o'er my corse. I will compel her image from thy heart. — By our old friendship, tell me thou hast lied ! ALBERT No lie, but truth. CASIMIR Then one of us must die. ALBERT Therefore I sent for thee : for I, my prince ! Would have thy armour, wherein I must wed The Lady Claribel. Beware thyself ! For I will hunt thee for thy beauteous hide. Be brief ! she waits my presence with the spoil. /■^' 36 CLARIBEL ACT II— SCENE III. A Room of State in the Palace. King Boleslaus on his throne ; Knights, Ladies, and Attendants standing around ; Claribel kneeling at an altar in the midst. Song of Girls outside. Blessed Hours ! approach her gently ; Peace ! smile on her excellently ; Midnight Stars ! attend her pleasure. Veil thy splendour, Night ! Not even Love's own eyes should measure Love's delight. Touch life's chords with lightest finger; Echoes sweet ! around her linger ; By the love makes marriage holy, Tame thy carriage, Fate ! Like a bridesmaid murmuring lowly — Yet we wait, BOI.ESLAUS Where is the Prince our son ? A KNIGHT He comes, my lord ! Enter One in Casimir's arjnour, follow' d by his train of Knights. He bows to the King, and takes his place by the Princess, who rises, looking anxiously around. He takes her hand. CLARIBEL 3; My Beautiful ! BOLESLAUS We look'd for Albert here. He is not with thy knights. [ To an Attendant^ Go, seek for him ! He seems of late less mirthful than his wont. But his tried faith nor yet his double love Holds him excused from this our festival. ONE IN CASIMIR's ARMOUR My lord ! I left him some few minutes since, — The cause of my delay. He pray'd your grace, Through me, that he might have some days of lea\e On his most urgent business. I was bold To answer for your majesty. [ To Claribel'] My wife ! BOLESLAUS Well, well ! but we are loath to miss his face That shone so close to us. AN ATTENDANT { entering hurriedly^ My lord ! your page — BOLESLAUS What means that sorrowful visage? ATTENDANT Good my lord ! Forget my sad look in its sorrowful cause : 38 CLARIBEL Your page is murder'd. ONE IN casimir's ARMOUR ^to Clartbel) 'Tis some error, love ! Trust me, it is. ATTENDANT In the royal forest, Sire ! Not half a league from heie. It was his dog That led us there, who made us follow him Until we came where underneath a tree, Hid in the brake, we found the murder'd man ; Reclining as asleep, with a green bough Drawn tenderly to shield him from the sun. We thought him sleeping : but a pool of blood Was at his side ; the point of his broken sword Lay near, in blood ; and some ten paces off The red moss'd earth was trampled hard and wet. As he had fought a long and desperate fight. BOLESLAUS He was not dead ? ATTENDANT He had his visor close ; They loosed it as I turn'd away, in haste To bring the heavy tidings. SOME LADIES Help there ! help ! CLARIBEL 39 The Princess faints. ONE IN CASIMIR's ARMOUR She needeth air. Myself will bear her out. He carries her out. BOLESLAUS {to a Second Attendant entering ) He is not dead ? SECOND ATTENDANT Alas ! quite dead, my lord ! BOLESLAUS Poor Albert ! some one envied thee our love. Seek out the villains ! He shall be revenged. SECOND ATTENDANT It is the prince, my liege ! prince Casimir Is murder'd, — not the page. We were deceived. BOLESLAUS (pointing to the altar) Who was it then stood there? \^A long pause. ^ Will no one speak ? A COURTIER My liege ! if I presume not to be heard BOLESLAUS Speak, speak ! COURTIER Sire ! I have lately taken note 40 CLARIBEL Of sundry passages of favour given By your most gracious daughter BOtESLAUS Say quickly ! Unto whom ? COURTIER To lord Albert. BOLESLAUS ( striking him ) Lying slave ! — Who was it that stood there ? A THIRD ATTENDANT {entering hurriedly) My lord ! your page — BOLESLAUS ( turning fiercely on him ) 'Tis false. THIRD ATTENDANT Your pardon, Sire ! BOLESLAUS What wouldst thou say ? THIRD ATTENDANT I crave your patience, Sire ! Scarce ere I came Into your presence, on his favourite horse — The one the Princess gave him, his drawn sword Beating down all opposal, he flew through The palace gates. CLARIBEL 41 BOLESLAUS Say who ! ■ THIRD ATTENDANT Lord Albert, Sire ! The Princess borne before him. BOLESLAUS Get thee hence ! Who follows him ? His own reward to him Who brings them to our feet, alive or dead ! The Song repeated outside is heard faintly. By the love makes marriage holy The Song dies away, the wind brings back only the last words — Yet we wait ! All pause, then exeunt in confusion. ACT II — SCENE IV. An Antechamber in the Palace. Enter two Attendants, meeting. FIRST ATTENDANT Where is the king? 42 CI.ARIBEL SECOND ATTENDANT You bring him news of them? FIRST ATTENDANT Yes, yes ! but let me pass. SECOND ATTENDANT They 're taken, then ? Nay, tell me all, and I will lead you straight Into the presence. FIRST ATTENDANT Well, I am the first By far : so it does not matter. They are safe. SECOND ATTENDANT Where did you find them ? FIRST ATTENDANT Some few miles away. We miss'd them once, — but found their track again By blood upon the ground. SECOND ATTENDANT He had spurr'd hard. FIRST ATTENDANT It was his own. No doubt the friends had fought Like desperate fiends, — they were so nearly match'd. It seems his wounds had burst again, and bled Till he grew faint, so that at last he fell CLARIBEL . 43 From off his horse ; and when our troop came up The Princess was endeavouring to raise His body — for he seem'd to be near dead — Into the saddle ; and the good horse knelt, As he would help her. 'Twas a piteous sight. There was not even a tear on her white face. But for the king's reward not one of us Had dared to bring them back. She made us weep Though she spoke not a word, even when we took Her lover from her arms. We laid him down Gently upon some boughs : 'twas a kind youth ; We all of us -had loved him. He ne'er winced The while we bore him ; but still smiled on her. More as a mother smiles on a sick child ; And she walk'd by him with his hand in hers. Keeping her eyes on his ; and the good horse FoUow'd them almost like a funeral friend, As if he knew their sorrow. SECOND ATTENDANT 'Faith, 'tis sad. FIRST ATTENDANT Ah ! 'twas a bad deed, friend ! to kill the Prince. But let me go ! SECOND ATTENDANT This way ! the king is here. 44 CLARIBEL ACT II — SCENE V. A Room of State as before. Boleslaus on his throne, surrounded by his court ; Claribel standing before him. BOLESLAUS Who would have children ? Look, my lords ! to yours ; Use whips, not kisses ; bring them up with fear, Not love : or they '11 grow wanton, and play tricks In the public gaze, shaming your whitest hairs. Keep them more stridl, my lords ! ( To Claribel) Thou shameless girl ! To slide, so reptile-like, from kingly arms Unto this slave, this groom, this serving-man. Answer me, — how did he beguile thy heart To make thee lose thy honour? But, not yet ! Say he has spared that. Tell me he has done Some glorious deed, some service of great price In secret peril which we dream'd not of. Say yes ! and yet we '11 give him half our realm. CLARIBEL I know no service, — nothing but our love. For that I am his wife. BOLESLAUS O wretched slave ! Base, groveling, meanly choosing, — when thine eyes Were train'd to the highest. Tell me, haggard I how CLARIBEL 45 He lured thee from thy dignity. CLARIBEL My lord ! It is your words alone that taint our state, I pray you hear me. Though my doom was fix'd Before you spoke. — My father ! it was you Who chose this gentleman you now revile, From your whole court. That he was worthy, Sir ! Be witness his advancement by yourself. I plead not to extenuate a fault. But justifying truth. I saw him brave, Noble, and lovely ; my own sight confirm'd Your praise and fame's reporting. But I look'd With woman's eyes, and saw beneath all this A soul that beat in unison with mine, — In brief, Sir ! that fine sympathy which weds The loving, be their different states most wide, — Which ever draws the one to the other's side Past all convention or world-hinderance. True love is nature without baulk of fear : Hist thou the power to bind our natures. Sir? I loved him for he was a gentleman, — A king can be no more ; and that I found His soul as royal as my own, — O, more : For 1 look'd reverently to thee, Beloved ! Up to thy royalty. — You would have given My hand unto Prince Casimir, a true And kingly man, my husband's friend, — not more. Witness how dearly Albert prized my love. 46 CLARIBEL To slay his friend whom he loved more than self. Alas, my lord ! love will not brook defeat ; Nor is there true eleflion but the heart's. — I pray thee, let the past be strown with peace, And that thou recolle6l I am thy child, Thy only child, the heir unto thy love. Let not blind wrath usurp my heritage ! — For us, our life is one, — our life or death. BOLESLAUS My ears are stopp'd. — Bring in this gentleman ! [ The dead body of Albert is brought in, on a litter of green boughs.] BOLESLAUS Lo, thy Dishonour goeth to its grave. Hide thou close in thy chamber till thou hast sense To weed thy heart. Till then, — till thou art clear, I have no daughter — none, — O Claribel ! Claribel looks sadly at her father ; then quietly approaches the couch of Albert. CLARIBEL My Gentlest ! thou art gone : I haste to thee. She embraces him. BOLESLAUS Raise her ! CLARIBEL 47 None move. He comes down from, his throne and endeavours to lift her from the body. Look up ! — My daughter ! ONE OF THE COURT She is dead. [ 1848 ] jfi^ 1^ ,r '^^ EURYDICE ( ' ' Orpheus' Sweetest Song. " ) TpROM out the thick shade of a laurel grove -*- ( Crowning a little knoll of sacred ground, Like to a wreath forlorn hung o'er an urn,) Issued a dim and melancholy voice, The tender air infefling with sad breath. The yellow leaves dropp'd down the failing light. The autumn wind crept slowly through the boughs ; The wind and falling leaves with low sweet tones Echoed that plaint, till the great pulse of life Seem'd but the ebb and flow of one long sigh. ^^Eurydice! Eurxdice ! " was all The burthen of that sorrow • but anon These words came sobbing forth from a burst heart, Gushing in full flood of abandon'd grief, l,ike the low pining wail of Philomel. 50 EURYDICE " Eurydice ! mine own Eurydice ! — O Earth, o'er which her music footsteps moved ; O clear blue Sky, not deeper than her eyes ; Thou Forest-shade with sunlight leaping through. Not sunnier than her laugh, — nor lovelier that Than her thought-shadow'd depth of seriousness ; Ye Torrents, grandly falling, like her hair; Ye honey-clefted Rocks ! firm as her truth ; And ye, sun-kissed Slopes of harvest land, Smooth-rounded as the blessed globes above Her fertile heart : O Earth and Sky ! O Life ! That speak to me of her in every tone, That spoke to me of her in every word : — Why are ye beautiful, and She no more ? " Ye Hamadryads, with brown arms enlaced, Leaning against the gnarled trunks, half-veil'd In flood of level sunshine, your bright eyes Flashing amid green leaves ; or ye who glide Mistily down dim aisles, with gentle feet Responsive to the gentle fall of rain Dropping upon soft turf from lofty boughs, And glistening in the moonlight, like quick tears Upon a smiling face ! — why do ye mock My longing with vain phantoms, till mine eyes Strain to the distant purple of warm eves. To reach her form ? why do ye play with grief? Ye Naiads pure, calm-flowing in the cool Of overhanging foliage, your lank hair Trailing along the current, — why do ye EURYDICE 51 Babble with ripply lips that sweetest word — Eurydice, until the blabbing reeds That told King Midas' secret whisper mine T-o every wind, till every trickling wave Repeats my woe in more melodious tone. Ye Nereids ! with your coral crowns, and plumes Of waving weed, and blue hair in the spray Caught on the wave's edge by some eager breeze, — Why do ye haunt the sea-board with your grace ? Still rusheth up the shingle and returns The melody of dancing feet, and round The smooth-cheek'd pebbles slides the creamy foam, Eurydice ! — O Presences and Powers Of Nature, once so dear, my heart is deaf To your best witcheries. The strings are rent. My lyre no more can answer your delight, Nor with glad notes provoke your swift reply. " Eurydice ! my lost Eurydice ! No more thy bounding limbs are eloquent. On the smooth beach our Greek girls, as of old, Dance in the twilight : in the torches' glare. Answering the passion of the westering sun. Their warm cheeks flush more rosily ; I see The gleam of their uplifted arms, as each Hastily in the mazes of the dance Passes the fiame unto some sister hand ; I hear the song, borne by the gentle-voiced. Close-following upon the trail of fire In all its windings, — that dear Freedom-song 52 EURYDICE Our youths and maidens love ; and I can hear The sweet time-beats of soft feet on the sand : Eurydice ! Eurydice I no more Thou lead'st the chorus. Freedom, Fatherland ; Eurydice ! the future, as the past, Is buried in thine urn. I have no hymn. The toiches are extinguish'd ; the drear sea Moans in the gloomy hollows of its caves. "O thou vast soul of Nature I once waked With lightest touch ! O throbbing heart of Life, I'hat used to listen fondly to my lyre Made eloquent by her ! I do appeal Unto thy grateful memories. Alas ! The pulse of Life is no more audible. — Dryads and Oreads ! wherefore have we laid Our oil and milk and honey at your feet? O Nymphs of forest, mountain, plain, and flood ! Why have we pour'd our songs more honey-sweet, Our oil-smooth songs, our rich and fruity songs, — Why have we borne our Dionysan songs To you, making you jocund with much mirth, ./Vnd ye are silent now ? gentle Nymphs ! Have ye no drops left in your brimming cups? Dear Echo ! has thy sympathy no word, No drained flavour of those richnesses. To bring to my dry heart in her dear name? Ye Satyis ! wont to troop around our path In rude, broad gambols, your so awkward speech Were musical as Phoibos' golden tongue, EURYDICE SS If you would tell me whither she is gone. I pray to you, for all my household gods Are scatter'd. Unto you the Homeless prays, Powers of the waste and solitude once loved ! " Eurydice ! my own Eurydice ! — Alas ! no voice replies : the Earth is dead. — My Beautiful ! whose life was as the crown Of festal days, whose blush was as the bloom On the full fruit, whose days were as ripe grapes Clear and delicious on one cluster growing, — My Beautiful ! whose smile moved o'er the earth Like the first sunbeam of the year, whose voice Was the mild wind that whispereth odourously Unto the yearning buds that Spring is come, — More beautiful than Eos rosy-brow'd, Or than the arrow-bearing Artemis, — Thou Dawn of my existence, Promiser Of glorious days, thou pure Light-bearing One Chasing the shadows from across my path When night hung darkly o'er my clouded thought, Thou Spirit of my potent lyre now mute, Thou Gepius of my life, thou Life, thou Song, Eurydice ! my own Eurydice ! " She is not dead : this death is but a dream. Where art thou gone? Eurydice ! Return, Ere doubt hath grown to madness ! — It is not. The serpent did but coil around my sleep. Eurydice ! — Sweet Echo ! she will come, 54 EURYDICE Prank'd in thy guise,- out of the forest depth, And smile on me with that deep-hearted smile, More radiant than Persephone's when closed Her welcoming arms around Demeter's head Bow'd with its sheaf of joy upon her breast. Alas ! the mourning friends, the solemn priests, The virgin train, the sobs that hid the cry Of painful steps toward the funeral pyre, — Alas ! this little urn clasp'd to my heart. This empty husk of life, this loneliness. This death of life, — attest that thou art not ; That Sorrow lives, but not Eurydice. " Thou shalt not die ! O Son of Zeus, who brought Alcestis to this upper air, attend My dearer quest ! I will descend to her. And with my fervent song require from Dis My own Eurydice. She shall return Unto this pleasant earth. Persephone Will listen as my words shall fill her lap With Enna's flowers, and in her eyes shall look Demeter's mother-glances till her own O'erflow with ruth, and she shall wind her arms .\round the gloomy king and him conjure To give me the Belovfed to my prayer. C)r my whole life shall stand amid the Shades, Before the Fates, and with its chaunt enweave Her thread of life anew. I will bring back Her beauty to the earth, and live again. Strong in the sunlight of her summer love : EURYDICE Even as a tree that lifteth up its head After a storm and, shaking off the weight Of passed tears, laughs freshly in the sun. And yet a-nin, her hand upon my heart. My lyre shall speak unto the Life of things ; And the fair Nymphs crowd round us as of old ; And even Satyr shapes look beautiful ; And the dumb Spirit of the Inanimate Be stirr'd into expression ; and the Earth, Hearing the music of thy thoughts, Beloved ! Grow beautiful as thou art, till the world Resume the glory of the olden Gods. " Eurydice ! my own Eurydice ! — My grief is at my feet. My will is strong. My soul hath pass'd the ferry of despair ; My song pours forth resistless eloquence ; My voice is firm ; the Inexorable Three Relent. Persephone amid her tears Clingeth impassion'd to the knees of Power : Thou canst not hold the Loved ; she shall return. There is no deed impossible to prayer. To faithful will. — I hear thy following feet, Most musical of echoes ; step by step I count those dearest of dear promises, Conquering the steep ascent ; I see the light Of our old life ; I hear thy eager pants Closer and closer ; now thy fragrant breath Kisses my throat, thy passion-parted lips Lean forward, and the motion of thy hair 55 56 EURYDICE Touches my cheek. — Mine own Beloved One ! Eurydice, mine own Eurydice O God!' O Sorrow!—" Life is all a dream. The Past returns not. Look no more behind ! It is a phantom. Rather let thy song Mount as a pyre-flame up into the heavens. O Constellated Beauty ! thou art there. Not on the earth, nor with the buried Past, Lo, thy Eurydice awaiteth thee. Eurydice ! Eurydice ! THE GODDESS OF POVERTY From tlie Countess of Riidohtadt by George Sand. (~^ OLD-sanded paths ! and verdant heathy ground ! ^-^ Ravines by the chamois loved \ And ye, grand mountains, constellation-crown'd ! Ye wandering torrents ! forest-depths unproved ! Let the Good Goddess pass. The Goddess of Poverty ! Since the world's life, since men cam; on the eartli, The world she traverseth ; She dwelleth among men, she poureth forth Her travel-song, or singing laboureth : The Goddess of Poverty. Some, met to crush her, found her far too fair, Too agile, strong, and gay ; "Tear off her wings, enchain her, let her bear " Blows that shall crush her, till she die away, — The Goddess of Poverty. " They persecuted her, they beat and chain'd,- But never could debase ; S8 THE GODDESS OF POVERTY The poet's, peasant's, artist's soul remain'd, — The saint's, the martyr's soul, thy refuge-place : Goddess of Pover}y ! More hath she wander'd than the Wandering Jew, Than the swallow voyaged ; Older than Prague's cathedral, yet more new Than the egg o' the wren, more o'er the wide earth spread Than strawberries on the Boehmer-Wald is she, — The Goddess of Poverty. She hath had children many beyond count, God's secret them hath taught ; She spoke to the heart of Jesus on the Mount, To the eyes of the Queen Libussa as they sought The Labourer, to John and Jerome's soul On Constance' funeral pyre ; more than the whole Of the doctors and the bishops knoweth she : The Goddess of Poverty. The grandest and the fairest things one sees Upon the earth are hers ; She cultivates the soil, and prunes the trees, And leads the flocks with music of sweet airs ; The first dawn-peep, the first sun-smile she wears : The Goddess of Poverty. She builds the woodman's hut of the green bough. And gives the eagle eye THE GODDESS OF POVERTY 59 Unto the poacher, rears the young ones high, And lightens for old hands the spade and plough ; The Goddess of Poverty. 'Tis she inspires the poet ; she who renders The vagabond's flute divine, And from the Moldau's to the Danube's source Bears him with light-wing'd force, Crowning his hair with dew-pearls, making shine The stars for him with larger, clearer splendours : The Goddess of Poverty. She teacheth to the artisan his gear. To fashion stone and steel ; She makes the thread supple and fine as hair On the old mother's and the young girl's wheel : The Goddess of Poverty. She holds the thatch'd hut shaken by the storm. The torch and lamp maintains ; She kneads the household bread, and weaves the warm And the cool vestments ; feeds, and all sustains ; The Goddess of Poverty. She built great castles and cathedrals old ; She bears both sword and gun. Makes war and conquest, gathers death's wide fold, Gares for the wounded, hides the vanquish'd one : The Goddess of Poverty. 6o THE GODDESS OF POVERTY Thou art all mildness, patience, power to cope, And pitying heart is thine ; Giving them charity and faith and hope, Thou link'st thy children with a love divine : Goddess of Poverty ! Their shoulders yet shall rest from the world-load, Their labour-pain made worth ; Nor rich nor poor be in the coming times, When all men shall possess the fruits of earth And equally enjoy the gifts of God. Thou wilt not be forgotten in their hymns. Goddess of Poverty ! Their mother and their nurse robust thou wast. And their church-militant : They will pour balm upon thy wounds and haste That the fresh balmy earth may rest thy want : Goddess of Poverty ! Ere the Day o' the Lord shall come, torrents and woods ! Ye mountains and ye vales ! Heaths with your bird and flower multitudes ! Gold-sanded paths o'er which no king prevails ! Let the Good Goddess pass. The Goddess of Poverty ! rt THRENODY ALBERT DARASZ ( London^ 19 Sept. 1852.) ANOTHER DEATH ! another Martyr lain - In the Exiles' Tomb !— O Grief ! thy fangs are sharp ; And these heart-cleaving agonies threat to warp The hopefullest spirit from its upward strain. Alas ! the higher hope, the farther fall : And more than lofty hope must be thy pall. O unaccomplish'd hope ! O grief of griefs, When the sap faileth ere the worth is ripe ! Thou proud fruit-bearer whom Decay doth wipe. As a mere painting, from life's page ! The chief Of the world's worthiest look'd to thee for aid ; And we to worship in thy branching shade. The axe has struck thee in thy manhood's prime. Thy purpose unmatured : so fairly blown Thy blosscm, and the fruit set ; all foreknown 62 THRENODY The richness of thy virtue, the sublime Eternity enkernel'd in its growth ; — Thy life read to us certain as God's troth. Far from thy home thou liest : strangers' ground Must pillow thy sad sleep. Some two or three, Thy brother-exiles, doubly kin to thee, Their tears long since exhausted, droop around Thy narrow death-bed : hearts that may not break, Harden'd against thy loss for Poland's sake. Over thy grave no tears ; but death-like clasp Of hands that may not wave thee back to shore ! Thy tomb is but one martyr-stair the more, Whereon we mount the martyr's crown to grasp. O Friend ! vye dare not whisper Hope to lay Our bones by thine. Our hope must turn away. Must turn even from thy ashes, Well-beloved ! Not thou, nor ought but our relentless task, May claim our thought. And yet, if toil might ask A guerdon for the toiler worth-approved, 'T would be some weary hours, toil-spared, to gaze Back on thy life, re-studying all its praise. In vain ! Recall the past ! Recall thy life ! — The shadow followeth the vanish'd form ; His grave is yet moist earth, their tears are warm ; But flowers spring up, new blossom-smiles are rife. Not unto us. Thy shadow clouds the world, Deepening the gloom wherein our life was furl'd. THRENODY 63 For we have lost thee ; and though round our brows The hastening hours entwine their dearest wreath, Our country's freedom and the world's, thy death Would shade the laurel blossoms. How carouse The full of joy above thy distant grave ? Despair hath buried all in that sea cave. Ah, no 1 God's world is wider than our earth. What is this earth? A narrow altar-stone. Which thou, brave friend ! didst lay thy life upon For God : a sacrifice of endless worth. All worth is endless, thou must live therefore : Part of the Eternal Work for evermore. We look to see again thy form divine ; We pray to follow on thy path. What prayer ? The vow that slayeth even grief's despair, The prayer of deeds of the same high stamp as thine. Stay for us. Angel ! within heaven's gate : Thy ancient comrades call on thee to wait. Our arms again shall hold thee to our heart ; Our eyes again shall read thy inmost soul ; -\nd foot by foot toward the higher goal Our lives shall climb : — God ! nevermore to part. Pray God to snatch us up to heaven's gate : Lest thy swift-soaring spirit should not wait. The sun is down ; but in the western clouds The lengthening trail of splendour grandly lies : The hem of Hope yet glistens in our eyes. 64 THRENODY And what if night the sunniest memory shrouds? God hath a morrow for the loving. We Will grieve no more for one lost utterly. Memory and faith shall lift us to thy side. So shall our thought be wing'd, even as the dove Of comfort, that the weary ark may move Toward the shore. And whatsoe'er betide Our lives, — do we not know that thou art free From earth's lament, from earth's anxiety? O blessed Dead ! beyond all earthly pains ; Beyond the calculation of low needs ; Thy growth no longer choked by earthy weeds ; Thy spirit clear'd from care's corrosive chains ! O blessed Dead ! O blessed Life-in-death, Transcending all life's poor decease of breath ! Thou walkest not upon some desolate moor In the storm-wildering midnight, when thine own. Thy trusted friend, hath lagg'd and left thee lone. He knows not poverty who, being poor. Hath still one friend. But he who fain had kept The comrade whom his zeal hath overslept. Thou sufferest not the friendly caviling Impugning motive ; nor that worse than spear Of foeman, — biting doubt of one most dear Laid in thy deepest heart, a barbed sting Never to be withdrawn. For we were friends : Alas ! and neither to the other bends. THRENODY 65 Thou hast escaped continual falling off Of old companions ; and that aching void Of the proud heart which had been over-buoy'd With friendship's idle breath ; and now the scoff Of failure even as idly passeth by Thy poor remains, — Thou soaring through the sky. Knowing no more that malady of hope — The sickness of deferral, thou canst look Thorough the heavens and, healthily patient, brook Delay, — defeat. For in thy vision's scope Most distant cometh. We might see it too, But dizzying faintness overveils our view. And when disaster flings us in the dust, — Or when we wearily drop on the highway-side, — Or when in prison'd, exiled depths the pride Of suffering bows its head, as oft it must, — We can not, looking on thy wasted corse, Perceive the future. Lend us of thy force ! No more of grief ! — Thy voice comes to us now, .\nswering our invocation. We uplift Our eyes ; and, looking through the tempest-rift, Behold the light of thy triumphant brow There in the line of God. Lest we should miss His farthest throne, he neareth us with this. THE POET PROPHET T^'HE POET is the Prophet. His the task -*- To herald Truth yet far from common sight : The germs of the world's work to bring to light, To lift the Resurredtion-Hope from Hell. Song is a Gospel. Whoso doth but bask In poet-glory, who thrusts not the might Of Wisdom's spear before the ages' fight, Is not The Poet — sing he ne'er so well. The Poet is the Prophet. Wouldst thou clip Isaiah's wings, and mew him in a cage — A singing bird — my Lady Lazy's page — To soothe dull ears with some luxurious rhyme? He stands before God's altar ; his grand lip Hath kiss'd the living coal ; the prophet rage Burneth his heart, — and on our darken'd age Bursts forth, a lava flood of hopes sublime. I'HE POET PROPHET 67 I'he poet is the seer, and sayer too : Prophet and sooth-sayer of all mankind. What though, like the Song-Titan, Homer, blind, And with no conscience of the future growth, He sings of Troy the Past? Yet Troy the New Comes on the echo. Is the tempest-wind Fraught but with battle-shouts ? Some tones you'll find Of music yet unknown ; past, future, — both. The Praiser of Admetus' noble Wife True marriage prophesied : an argument As close as Milton's, when that seer went From Freedom's Temple down unto his home ; Not less a poet then than by the strife Angelic standing when high heaven was rent. He, who best sang of God and Man's Descent, Sang also of the Paradise to come. And He who wears the Constellated Crown, As king of human minds, within the rim Of his wide realm may see a Brighter dim The starry point of each haught pyramid. Brightest the Star whose rays are farthest thrown, Whereby the storm-confused his sails may trim. Higher than Hamlet the Promethean Hymn Of the Far Future Shelley hath unhid. The Poet is the Prophet : nothing less. ' Tis he who, lark-like, biddeth Toil aspire ; 68 THE POET PROPHET Or through our wilderness, a pillar'd fire, Goeth before us. Tliough he seem a cloud, In this broad glare of little-knowingness, Ere night our Best shall follow and admire. The Pole-Srar of Man's Life is in the Lyre. Stoop not, O Poet ! from thy causeway proud. THE OLD LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR ' ' I 'HOU knewest nor feir nor faltering ; thy life- vow Of patriot service thou didst well maintain : Therefore, though Death may hide thy valour now, When comes worst need thou shalt return again." So chaunted in low tones the Fairy Crew Of that dark barge whereon King Arthur lay, Drifting adown the misty river's flood, After his latest fight. So chaunted they. Staunching his death-clefts ; while he, sad of soul, Ponder'd Sir Lukyn's story wonder-fraught : How when Excalibar, at Arthur's hest Flung in the stream, had dipp'd toward the wave, A hand had ri.-:en, and grasp'd and borne it down. And thus King Arthur dream'd amid his wounds. " Excalibar, the charmed sword, returns Unto the hand that gave it, — sunk, drawn in. 70 ARTHUR Nor left such ripple as an autumn leaf Reaching the water-marge on Evening's breath. So sinks my life after its turmoil'd years Without a trace : blown from its branch of power, And Time's dull stream flows o'er it heedlessly. It should not be so. I have served the Gods ; Kept myself pure ; and stoutly grappled Hope, Till, firmly embraced, our pulses were but one. It is no braggart speech : yon gifted sword Had courage for its handle, and as straight My life was and close-hammer'd as the blade, — True steel that never struck an idle blow. Unto what end its stalwartness ? Defeat. Lo, I lie here. The sword hath left no mark." ''ThoLi shalt return again ! " the Fairies sang, While the sore-hearted dream'd amid his wounds. " Year after year I strove, and through the fight Bore Hope upon my breast, as one would bear A beautiful bride ; and when they slew her there I struggled on beneath her dearest form. O Hope ! beloved, best beloved Hope ! That brought my Country's ransom as thy dower ; O Hope ! that I have cherish 'd mid ray griefs In long night-watches and through all the din Of battle-storm ; ay ! even when toil was cursed, And knightliest endeavour by repulse Was driven away, like chaff swept from the floor ; When field on field beheld me overthrown, ARTHUR 71 Yet never conquer'd : witness Dawn and Eve, That ever found me rising from defeat As clomb the Sun from yesternight's red couch ! Would I might battle yet ! Give way ! I will ; And pile our foes upon the last free space Of British earth. Why am I slumbering here, And rny good sword not ready to my hand? " Year after year, and ever the same fierce strife Without remission. I was as a pass Through which a host defiles with measured tramp : Squadron hard-following squadron till the earth Rejoices in the custom of sure steps. Let me be buried in the shallowest tomb. Beneath' the march of heroes ! Death is nought If I may be a stair to Viflory. Where art thou? Vijlory ! — I am here, o'ercome," And shame, more deep than spear-thrusts, draining life. He lay entranced, nor heard the Fairies' song. "Calmly the sun drops in its western grave, The seed beneath the glebe, and life to death ; 'I'o-morrow comes in joy, ripe corn-fields wave, And ever the heroic wears its wreath." " How have I fallen? Has the fault been mine? I have not flinch'd from peril, nor counted pains; What po'-^ible inconvenience or mishap. 72 ARTHUR What adverse odds, what difficult steeps to climb, Troubled me never. I ask'd nought but this — May it serve thee? my Clountry ! Welcome then. Self-care was but a feather in the scale, Or as a spark in one vast-soaring blaze, 'I'he fiery passionate wish to rescue thee. Thou wast my sacrificial altar ; I A bridegroom offering. Do I boast? Ye Gods! The boaster has done nothing. Lived and died. He boasts a failure- Give him leave to say He fell as a king falleth." Where again The Chorus swell'd around him, as a pulse Throbbing indignantly against reproach. " Thou knewst nor fear nor faltering ! " so they sang. " Ho ! who will follow Arthur to the war? Methought when once our banner was display 'd, The whole land should have risen as one man. Behold your duty ! Forward at the foe ! Had been enough. — The recreants ! Woe is me ! They cavil'd at the standard-bearer's name ; Doubted the leader could maintain his place, — Others were worthier, might be among themselves ; 'Twas an unlucky day to close with Doom ; Yon covert safest was for skirmishers ; Some little forethought till the rest came up ; — And so sate down on cowardice, a soft couch. Where they would plan campaigns, as sluggards think In morning sleeps they put their armour on. ARTHUR 7: And wake in bed. But these would never wake : Rotting amidst their reveries till the land Stank with the Cowards' Pestilence. ' Twas so, Brave Hearts that fought by me from first to last ! That we were left to meet the invaders' whelm : Wrong ever adlive, while before these homes Right humbly begg'd for alms some stealthy help In her sore want. Even that was oft denied. False-lifed lip-servants ! pillow'd warriors Whose crest should be a liar's cloven tongue i You barter'd Freedom for a dunghill ease, And let the land of all our glorious siies Be trampled underneath the ruffian heel Of foreign tyranny. My soul is drear. " Do I forget you ? Arthur's trusty peers ! Proud comrades, lovely in your noble strength ! My Knights, my Royal Ones ! whose words were deeds, Whose deeds were hymns of triumph. Let me die, Since you are fallen. Have the Powers betray'd Your promise ? Worth is worthless. Life itself Is falsehood. It may be the Powers are weak. Since Valour wins not. Is their own abode Invaded by the Evil of our days ? Are even the Gods grown false and dastardly? I am a king, and I may dare to ask. I hear the smooth lush whispering of the stream. And, blending with it, words as dreamily smooth. What forms are these that hang above my bier? 74 ARTHUR Where do they carry me throughout this night? — Defeat, and death, and all before me dark." But the white garments glimmer'd in his sight For all the darkness, — like the first of dawn To one lone-watching on some weary height ; And the sweet chaunt slid through his barren griefs. Like softest rain in fields long parch'd with drought. Ever the Fairies sang, as glode the barge. "Thou knewst nor fear nor faltering. Thy sure life Has been an aft devout, whose worth shall chain The future to thy purpose. When the strife Has reach'd its height thou shalt return again." And one clear voice, whose echoes leap'd to shore And stirr'd the dead upon the battle-ground, Sang yet again. The King forgot his wounds. "Thy true adventure was a living seed, The harvest of the Eternal can .not fail : Thy spirit shall return, at their worst need To help whom now thy arm may not avail." It is a fable of the meed of Truth : Most knight-like Truth, that, scorning sloth or fear. Hastens to meet the Evils of the time ; And, be he ne'er so poorly companied, Dares all their force, copes with their fiercest tides, ARTHUR 75 Defies disaster and despair itself, And leaves upon the sorriest place of death, Where hopes are scatter'd like autumnal wrecks, A memory that shall live and bring his name In fire to the hearts of new endeavourers, — Leading them from the gloomiest depth of care, Even when their need shall be most desperate, With power as if his Angel had return'd To avenge the past defeat with viftory. True-soul'd and valiant ! Arthur ! come again : Is not our need enough? What voice replies ? l<;illIK!!lil THREE ENGLISHMEN KING ALFRED SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE HARRY MARTEN THREE ENGLISHMEN ALFRED W HAT need more seeming dire than Alfred's Fleeing from Chippenham that winter night ? Poor comfort found he in the woods and fens. In his sure heart alone might faith alight To breathe and wait occasion for new strife. The snow fell softly over Wiltshire downs, Hiding the horse of chalk out there by Calne, When Alfred, having hunted Guthrun north, Sat down to keep the feast of Epiphany Within his walls, safe-thought from all molest. The Danish cavalry came o'er the snow With noiseless speed ; burst through the city gates, And drove dismay through all the Saxon power Or ever there was time to clutch a brand. Right on the easy town that avalanche RoU'd, whelming, crushing down the revelers ; Only some few, half-arm'd, escaped in the dark, Across the .^von, out to the dreary wilds. S ALFRED Seven years had Alfred waged unresting war: Nine battles in one year the king had fou^^ht. For ever, as one swarm of Danes was crush'd, New swarms rode in upon the ocean wind : Much as when one essays to out-tread a fire, Fast as this flame expires, yon scattering sparks Inflame quick embers in some other place. Even so those hydra-natured pirates throve. Now all was ablaze again throughout the land : Our first sea-vi6lories, Warham's promised peace, And the late gain at Execester, — all nought : Vidlorious Alfred a poor fugitive. Counted as dead by both his foes and friends. His friends dispersed, none daring look for him, His wide realm narrow'd to a forest lair, Nor power nor vantage-ground save in himself. But whoso holds from God a steadfast will May laugh in the teeth of the most gaunt Despair, Nay, even yoke that beast to pull the car Of his triumphal course above the years. Follow, light Hope ! thou armourer to a king. The hero's steps, — through all the thicket depth Of his long hiding, o'er the wild boar's track. And the wide traces of the bounding deer ; Follow him through his lonesome wanderings, By moor and dark morass and tangled dell, — Glad if somewhile beside a swineherd's fire His numb liands reinvigorate may trim LFRED 79 The arrows, once a terror to the Dane, Now only used to bring the monarch's food. Follow him day by day, night after night ; Speak to him in his lone and cheerless dreams ; Smile on his aimless path ; till, one by one. He meets some loyal subje6ts of his worth, And breaks a way through the thin frozen sludge To Ethelingay's Isle, — one solid space In the vast breadth of sloligh, where he may build A refuge from the overrunning Dane, A sandluary for what few hopes survive. Rekindling in them patriot energy. Follow him, Hope ! tell him to bide his time. There in his fastness, in the heart of the waste, The monarch and his little band abode. Enduring hardest shifts of outlawry, — The winged arrows for their pillowing, And sunlight startling them with hostile glance ; Making swift forays or for food or news ; Snatching such scant subsistence as they could. Inquiring where the Danes, where English souls, Until they heard how Alfred's old renown Had stirr'd some few brave spirits in the land To new achievement, and how Devon's Earl, Besieged in Kinwith, fiercely sallying forth, Had put to rout the Danish Hubba there With mighty slaughter ; — then the king aro^e, And loosed his banner, and his war-cry flew Thorough the English' heaven and men look'd up 3 ALFRED And flung their swords on high to hail the shout Of "Alfred once again for England's war ! " Who needeth tell what every child repeats? How as a harper through the enemy The daring monarch pass'd, — amused their sloth With idle song beside their dissolute boards, Espied their weakness, caught them out of guard, And paid them back the trick of former days. The sun is yet scarce risen on Ethandune, The pirate watchers nod o'er their debauch ; At Egbert's Stone by Sehvuod-side have met The best of VVessex, Alfred at their head ; Before that sun the fallen wine-cup gilds The Avon shall be red with Danish blood And Chippenham's surprize have like revenge. Tljereafter the Defeated wins his way From strife to strife, a crowned conqueror : Taming his former viftors, trampling down Invasion on invasion : not without Disaster and due costs of high reward : A long and weary tale of restless days, Fatigues innumerable, ceaseless cares. Sometimes discomfiture and falling back, And baffled hope, and work to be redone, — Zeal held to drudge like a worsl-burden'd slave. And Courage with his armour never off. And Speed ill-yoked unto unequal help : A work like that of Sisyphus, to roll The rock of sure success to heaven-height. For year by year the foemen seem'd subdued, Swore peace, departed, and again return'd. But nought can stand against determined will. Stronger than Fate. A ceaseless drip outwears The granite : patient resolution so Softens the stony heart of Destiny. Though even the indomitable Hastings try His subtilest sleights, and War, by Genius led, Put forth, Briareus-like, its hundred arms. Striking the king on this side and on thai, Compelling his swift presence everywhere, From Romney Marsh to western Severn's mouth. And from the southern cliffs to Chester's walls, — Though pestilence come in the invaders' train, And every form of difficulty strive To farther aid accomplish'd generalship, — Though inward pain, even from his early years Gnawing out strength, conspire against his life, — Defeat on Alfred nevermore shall press. For he had met it and had overcome In every shape it knows, save one, despair : And in that guise it dared not look on him. So stalwart Truth at last was olive-crown'd. .Vnd now in his old days the king hath peace ; And the land rest, — its trust laid like a bride Upon that royal heart, securely glad. .•\nd he, who whilom at the swineherd's hearth Bore chiding for the lowliest negletl. Now leads the nation with his puissant \\ ill, As valourous in peace as erst in war ; 2 ALFRED Seateth bright Justice with him on his throne, Foundeth great universities, and rules His own life with as scholarly discipline. Making each hour his steward for good deeds. He, who divided his last bit of bread With some wayfarer, now sends costly gifts Out of his treasury, to farthest Ind ; His ships with Vi6tory's breath to swell their sails. Full-freighted with his fame for many lands, Bring back the homage of the first of earth ; And from the heaven whereto his soul aspired His glory beams on us along the years, A star whose splendour may not be outshone. Such is the life of Valour. It persists. Its proud defiance answereth Defeat. It tramples on despondency. It tholes Under God's harrow, bides, and overcomes. Why, the poor spider in Lord Robert's cell Seven times repeats his foil'd endeavouring : Shall Bruce do less? Thence unto Bannockburn Is but a journey, master'd step by step. Rightly did Rome's great Senate honour him Who in his country's ruin slew despair. Wait yet by Hope's lone altar, Poland ! wait ! To-morrow's sun will rise for all these tears. That "Isle of Nobles" to the mainland now Is join'd. So to this isolated aft Of English worship let the continent GRENVILLE 83 Of later worth adhere ! Till England be An Isle of Nobles, the world's Athelney. GRENVILLE'S LAST FIGHT /^UR SHIPS lay under Florez, You will mind ^^'Twas three years after Effingham had driven The Pope's Armada from our English side. We had been cruising in the Western Main, Singeing some Spanish beards ; and now we lay. Light-ballasted, with empty water-casks. And half our crews disabled ; our six sail — Beside two pinnaces and vidfuallers — Pester'd and rommaging, all out of sorts. My ship was Richard Grenville's, The Revenge. They knew Sir Richard in the Spanish seas, And told wild stories of him ; their brown dames Frighted the babes with fancies of his deeds. So hard-complexion'd was he (they would say) That when he drank a health he crush 'd the glass Between his teeth, and swallow'd cup and all. And then his " blood-draughts " Tush ! such idle tales ! We only knew a gallant gentleman Who never turn'd his back on friend or foe. 84 GRENVILLE Well, lying by Florez — as I told you now, The Spanish force unlook'd for hove in sight : A force of fifty-three great men-of-war. Lord Thomas, taking note of their array, Deeming it vain to grapple with such odds, Signall'd his company to weigh or cut ; And so all did except our Grenville's ship. You see, we anchor'd nearest to the to*n. And half our men were sick on shore. Beside, Sir Richard never hurried from a fight. We got our sick on board and safely stow'd Upon the ballast ; and, that done, we weigh'd. By this the Spaniard 's on our weather-bow ; And some would fain the captain should be led To back his mainsail, cast about, and trust Our sailing. Nothing of that mind was he. He would not so — he said — for any fear Disgrace his flag, his country, or himself ; But force their squadrons through despite of all, Forcing the Seville ships to give him way. And thus he did on divers of the first. So — as we mariners say — they sprung their luff. And fell under our lee. But windward bore .\ huge high-carged ship — the Spaniards call'd San Philip, took the breeze out of our sails. And ran aboard us. Then, entangled so, Four others, two upon our starboard bow. And two on the larboard, up and boarded us. We help'd San Philip from our lower tier, .\nd flung her back ; the other four closed in, — GRENVILLE 85 Drove on us like so many hornet-nests, Thinking their multitudes could swarm us down. We brush'd them off and brush'd them off again. The fight began at three o' the afternoon ; And all the night through we kept up the game : Darkening the stars and the full harvest-moon With the incessant vomit of our smoke. Ship after ship came on at our Revenge, Ne'er less than two big galleons on her side, Boarding her as the tides wash up a rock, To fall off broken and foaming 'mid the roar Of their own thunder. They so ill approved Our entertainment, that by break of day They had lost appetite for new assaults ; And slunk far from us, like a ring of dogs .\bout a crippled lion, out of reach Of daring that has taught them due respeft, Watching till his last agony spends itself. Some fifteen of them grappled us in vain ; Two we had sunk, and finely maul'd the rest. But, as day broaden'd out, it show'd our plight : No sail in view but the foes that hemm'd us round, Save one of the pinnaces, which had hover'd near To watch our chance, and now like hare with hounds Was hunted by the Spaniards, — but escaped. A bare one hundred men was our first coa.it ; And each slew his fifteen. But by this time Our powder was all used, and not a pike Left us unbroken. All our rigging spoil'd ; Our masts gone by the side ; our upper works 86 GRENVILLE Shatter'd to pieces ; and the ship herself Began to settle slowly in the sea. It was computed that eight hundred' shot Of great artillery had pierced through her sides. Full forty of our men lay dead on deck ; And blood enough, be sure, the living miss'd. Sir Richard, badly hurt at the very first. Would never stand aside till mid of dark : When, as they dress'd his wound, he was shot through, The surgeon falling on him. Still he lived, — Nor blench'd his courage when all hope was gone ; But, as the morning wore, he call'd to him The master-gunner, a most resolute man ; And bade him split and sink the unconquer'd ship. Trusting God's mercy, leaving to the foe Not even a plank to bear their vidlory. What worth a few more hours of empty life, To stint full-handed Death of English fame ? Brave Gentleman ! I think we had no heart To sink so rare a treasure. Some of us Were stiffening in our pain, and faintly cared For loftier carriage ; cowards were there none , But so it was, that we among us chose An honourable surrender, — the first time Our captain's word refusing. I must own The Spaniard bore him very handsomely. Well-pleased he was to give us soldier terms Rather than tempt the touch of our last throe ; And courteously were the conditions kept. GRENVILLE 87 The Spanish Admiral sent his own state barge To fetch our dying hero, — for our ship Was marvelously unsavoury ; and around The Southern warriors reverently throng'd To look upon the Mighty in his death : So much his worth compell'd acknowledgment. And well nigh a new battle had burst out 'Twixt the Biscayans and the Portugals, Disputing which had boarded The Reve For him, he bade them do even as they would With his unvalued body. A few hours. And Death bow'd down to crown him. Never sign Of faintness show'd he ; but in Spanish said These words, so they might be well heard by all. " Here with a joyful and a quiet mind I Richard Grenville die. My life is closed As a good soldier's should be, who hath fought For his country's sake, and for his faith and fame. Whereby from this body gladly parts my soul, Leaving behind the everlasting name Of a true soldier and right-valiant man Who did the work that Duty bade him do." When he had finish'd these and other words Of such-like grandeur, he gave up the ghost With stoutest courage. No man on his face Could see the shade of any heaviness. So He and Death went proudly on their way 3 GRENVILLE Upon the errand of Almighty God ; And God's smile was the gladness of that path. And now immediately on this great fight So terrible a tempest there ensued As never any saw or heard the like. Nigh on a hundred sail of merchantmen Join'd their Armada when the fight was done, — Rich Indian argosies. Of all the host But thirty-two e'er reach'd a Spanish port. Their men-of-war, so riddled by our shot, Sank one by one ; and our Revenge herself. Disdaining any foreign mastery. Regarding else her captain's foil'd intent. Went down, so soon as she was newly mann'd. Under Saint Michael's Rocks, with all her crew. The Spaniards said the Devil wrought their loss. Helping the heretics. But we know well How God stands by the true man in his work ; And, if he helps not, surely will revenge The boldly dutiful. My tale is done. Sir Walter Raleigh — Grenville's cousin, — he Has given the tale in fitter words than mine. My story looks like shabby beggar's rags About a hero. But you see the Man. The diamond shines however meanly set. Sir Walter laid his cloak before the Queen : But Grenville threw his life upon that deck For Honour's Self to walk on. ' Twas well done. HARRY MARTEN 89 For fifteen hours our hundred kept at bay Ten thousand : one poor ship 'gainst fifty-three. The Spaniard proved that day our English pith. No new Armada on our cliffs shall look While Englsh Valour echoes Grenville's fame. I have some strength left. I will hence to sail With Master Davis. Home is very calm ; But Honour rideth on the crested wave. 1854 THE PRISON-THOUGHTS OF HARRY MARTEN ' ' I ■'HOU flowest, Stream ! beside old Chepstow's -'- walls, , Thence to the Severn, and the Severn falls To the wide ocean. I have ceased to flow. And yet thou listenest to the stagnant Woe That overhangs thy bank, like some vain weed Rooted in Chepstow's hoariness. Indeed, — Save that the veriest weed its hope may fling Upon the winds, there as on certain wing Borne to the mainland, — I but weed-like seem. 90 HARRY MARTEN And yet my memory loves to watch the dream Of Harry Marten's triumphs,— those brave days When Vane outshone me with his steady rays, When gravest Milton scorn'd not Harry's wit, And fierce-will'd Cromwell had some heed of it ; When we stood in the breach against the world, And from his folly's wall the Stuart hurl'd Into the tide of ruin. By this tower, If all those glorious days were in my power, I would not reconsider them again. But shout my battle-song to the same high strain, Take the same odds, the same gay daring strife, And the same forfeit of a prison'd life Past even the natural riddance of the grave. Not for himself, O Freedom ! would thy knave Ask some poor wages. Let my life be shent, And this worn tomb be all my monument ! " Dear Freedom ! have we vainly toil'd for thee ? Our Rachel lost, and our apprentice-fee This Leah, the Evil-favour'd. Shall I laugh, Write on her lips my jesting epitaph, .And hug Misfortune for another term ? Alas ! if Hope might set the slowest germ In these old chinks. But England's soil is dead As Chepstow stones. The blue sky overhead Is all the prisoner's hope in these wall'd years, " I need not wet this dungeon-mould with tears ; I will not tame my spirit to its cage ; HARRY MARTEN ' 91 As little would I stoop me to assuage Captivity with foolish querulousness. And yet my courage mourneth nonetheless Our ruin'd cause, and that nor sword nor voice Of mine may lead the time to worthier choice : While I rust here like a forgotten blade, And Scot and Vane in bloody tombs are laid. And yet not so, friend Scot ! — thy better doom To wait by God until new chance may bloom Out of the barren land men call thy grave : This England which thy virtues could not save, Nor pious Vane lift heavenward from the slough. " For me hard penance but atoneth now My many a youthful folly : though the worst Left me a patriot. Wassails quench'd no thirst For the full cup of England's Liberty. I never squander'd my great love for thee ; And though men call me loose of life and speech There was no public a6l they could impeach. And my loose tongue was first which dared to say What hinderance 'twas stood in the nation's way. Or loose or not, it wagg'd to no ill tune Nor out of time. ' Faith, Lll forswear no boon Of this frank life ; and now in living grave Am thankful that I /lad and that I have: While memory traces back the flow of mirth, From here where it is driven under earth, — As if the Wye had dived 'neath Chepstow's base. God give the stream some outlet of his grace ! 92 HARRY MARTEN There is some reach of joy in looking back On the lost river's current. I can track Its merry laughing gush among the reeds, And how its ripplings lipp'd the blossomy weeds In shallow passages, its songful strife Swift bounding o'er the rocks of active life. And see again the glorious forms whose worth Its sometime deeper water imaged forth. No idle image was refledled there : Not in the stream, but on the rock I bear The impress of the Gods who stood by me. Nor was I all unmeriting to be Their chosen companion. Arrows may hang loose, The bowman yet be staunch and mind their use. " My England ! never one of all thy brave Whose love o'erpass'd my love. I could be grave Whene'er thy need required a solemn brow. What was my task ? To give thee room to grow : To give thee sober freedom, godly growth : Freedom and sandlifying worship : both. Milton and Vane and Scot and I at one Were in this work. And I am here alone. And Milton in his darkness ^if he lives. '' O English hearts ! are ye but Danaid sieves Wherethrough like water noblest blood is pour'd ? O English sense ! what is this word Restored} Restore Heroic Virtue, Holy Strength, Now, Agonistes-like, through all the length HARRY MARTEN 93 Of this great England prostrate. Gyved you lie, Mock'd at by Dalila, your Royalty. I set this dungeon-gloom against the May Of all your Restoration. I will say Against it. I, a pleasure-loving man, Place every pleasure under Honour's ban, And bid you give your Country life, and death. Rather than foul the- land with slavish breath. Am I a prisoner? Difference between Chepstow and England is not much, I ween : ' 'I'is but a cell a few more paces wide." "Year after year, and under Chepstow's side The muddied Wye still flows. My hair is grey. My old bones cramp'd, my heart this many a day O'ermoss'd with sorrow like an ancient tomb. Now the old man is harmless, he may roam So far as falls the shadow of his jail. Jail'd for his life. I have not learn'd to quail. "Thou askest me — ' If 'twere to do again ? ' I tell thee — Yes ! the Tyrant should be slain. Scot's word is mine : ' Not only was my hand But my heart in it,' Here I take my stand : Nor twenty years of solitude can move My conscience from its keep. And so this love, Your pity proffer'd me, must be withdrawn ? Well, Harry Marten never cared to fawn. 1 am alone again, on my grave's edge." 94 HARRY MARTEN "And my long-suffering shall be as a wedge To rive this tyranny. I climb thy height, Old feudal fastness ! with my feeble might, And see from thee, for all my age is dim. The beautiful rich woods beyond the rim ■Of Wye and Severn, and the meadows fair Stretching into the distance ; and the air Is charged with fragrance ; and the uncaged birds Say blithely in the sun their liberal words, Which yet shall wake the tillers of the ground. And lo ! the harvestmen are gathering round The banner of God. They put their sickles in : The day of a new trial doth begin. Thou saidst aright, my Vane ! it has to be. Nor jail nor scaffold stays Futurity." " The twenty years have pass'd even as a mist ; And now the dying prisoner's brow is kiss'd By his old comrades : Hampden, Pym, and Vane, Fairfax, and Scot, and Ludlow, Cromwell fain To hide old scars and holding Milton's hand, Bradshaw, and Ireton : at my side they stand, And the old cheerful smile illumes my cell. — ' There is no death nor bondage : we, who dwell In higher realms of faith, assure thee this.' — Friends ! ye say sooth : this cell no longer is A prison ; England only is my bound, This coward England all unworthy found. Still you can smile. — ' The resurredtion-morn Riseth o'er England's grave ; and we forlorn HARRY MARTEN 95 Shall be triumphant. Look thou forth, and see Our merry England, kingless, bold, and free. We have not lived, we have not died, for nought. The vi6lory we have lost shall yet be wrought : We have not sown high deeds and hopes in vain.' " " Bright lightning flash of death ! speed through my brain. And sink into the grave my sacrifice : A. grave unhonour'd until England rise To avenge the Regicide' O Martyr Tomb ! Thou bear'st the seed of Triumph in thy womb. GOD WISH Perhaps the notablest Norse God we hear tell of is the God Wiinsch or Wish. Car\y\e^ s I7ero-lVors/ii/>. r^ OD WISH ! if one of inodern days ^^ Might lift to thee a prayer. What forrr, of worship should he raise To claim thy care? Such words as these ? — I would have health I would have strength of liml) ; With truth at heart, and wisdom's wealth Of eyes ne'er dim ; I would be gentle, pure, and fair, As One who loved me pray'd ; And bold and firm to do or bear In Virtue's aid ; I would have will to pro[;he y ; I'rave deedi I wou!J achieve, And on the Future's tapestry (irand tis-^ue^ weave; My life should journey, a,-, a ^-t;l Tow'rd an eternal r.ini, GOD WISH 97 And nations worship from afar Its track of flame ; I would build up in my own mind A temple unto TniMi, And on its shrine an offering bind, — My age and jouth ; I wruid have faith of One to whom r.ly faith should be a prize ; And love, — if tliou couldi't ope the tomb Wherein One lies ; And children's beauty should bud forth Around the parent stem And hope behold our scantiest worth Fullgrown in them ; I would have means to enrich the poor. And power to uplift the low. And all misfortune's barren moor With blessings sow ; And I would win my fellows' love, If love may guerdon zeal That dares their deepest miseries prove To surely heal ; And praise should keep my name tmbalm'd In history's choicest cell, 98 GOD WISH For men to say in years joy-calm'd — "He loved us well." Or should I pray in fewer words, For virtue, love, and fame? Or ask all joy that earth afifords. In one loved name? No answer issues from the North : The Norsemen's potent God Sits signless ; Doom no more comes forth To obey his nod. God Wish ! have I not pray'd aright ? Yet grant, before I die. One lightning f^ash athwart the fight, One glimpse of sky. God Wish ! what other God but thou Under some aspedl Greek Approved his favourites with the vow — " Have what ye seek ! " They chose "what best might please the Powers. Ere morriing did return The hope of all their youthful hours Lay in an urn. THE HUNCHBACK God lays his burden on each back But who What is within the pack May know ? A LL pointed at The Hunchback. He, they said, -^^- Was hideous ; and their scorn Doubled the anguish which bow'd down his head, So friendlessly forlorn. Low bow'd his head, even lower than was need For all his Atlas weight : Bow'd with men's scorn, and by his own sad heed Of what might be the freight Neath which so painfully his being creep'd : Was it a heritage, Cirowth of his father's sins on him upheap'd ? Or his own sinful wage ? O THE HUNCHBACK Ask'd he of law-giver and sage and priest, Of all the esteem'd and wise ; And gat no answer : nay ! not even the least From worshipp'd Beauty's eyes. No less they spake : some saying — It was not, There was no hump at all ; And some that — It was nothing that he sought, The why such did befall. Some laugh'd, and some long visages did pull. Some knew not what he meant ; But the Beloved was so pitiful He cursed her as he went. "Some bade him quit vain inquest, and delight Each sense with pleasant things ; And some deem'd 'twas the sign that Heaven would blight His highest imagings. Some said — A surgeon's knife could v/ell remove The mere excrescent flesh ; While others — Pruning it would only prove How fast 'twould grow afresh. And some, who cited Law and Gospel, laid New heaviness on his neck : Let him that hath have ever more, they said, .And let the wreck'd bear wreck ! THE HUNCHBACK lO Yet, after every check, repulse, and scoff, He ask'd again, again — What is this burthen ? Can none take it off ? Is there no end of pain ? Flung back on his own soul, what he inquired Was hardly, sadly taught ; With desperate travail he at length acquired Something of what he sought. He saw there was a meaning : that was much ; He trusted God was Good. These thoughts forbade impatience ; out of such He earn'd some spirit-food. And grew : for all the evil hump remain'd, — Like Sindbad's Man o' the Sea. Only no more was hope to be unchain'd : How from himself get free ? At last came Time, who from the chrysalis Brings forth the rainbow'd fly : Of Time he ask'd — What was this weight of his ? And Time gave full reply. Time mask'd as Death yet smiling did unpack The worn man's crushing load : Two wings rose out ; above the cloudy wrack The Angel, only call'd That Poor Hunchback, Through farthest heavens rode. UNSEEN WORTH So, looking westward yestereve, I knew A figure of sunn'd cloud : A very humpback till his load he threw, As Lazarus left his shroud. UNSEEN WORTH /'"^NE DROP of summer rain fell from the skies ^-^ Unnoticed on that day so bright and fair : It slid into the ground, and nourish'd there The acorn of an oak to live through centuries ODE TO YOUTH [ From the Polish of Adam Mickiewicz.] /^ PEOPLES ! heartless, soulless skeletons !— ^-^ O Youth ! give me thy wings, That I miy mount aloft from this dead earth And soar to where Enthusiasm flings Its light on nobler things, Waking new blossoms of most wondrous worth And blessing Hope with dreams of her beloved ones For him whose sight is nigh eclipsed by age, Whose wrinkled brow is bow'd unto the ground, Be his pale vision's bound The scant horizon of a measured page ! But Youth ! thy vigourous sight Should leap beyond the earth, and sun-like wend Thorough the path of life, from height to height, From end to end. Look down ! on yonder chaos, whose dark girth 104 ODE TO YOUTH Is wrapp'd in sluggishness as in a fog : It is the earth. Lo where on that dead ocean, like a log, Floats some strange reptile shell'd in shapeless rind, Itself its ship, its pilot, and its helm, — Feeding on what less reptiles it can find, Now on the wave-top, now deep in the whelm. All heedless of the unheeding tempest's shock. Now bubble-like it bursts against a rock : And no one of its life or burial wist. It is the Egotist. Youth ! the nedlar of my life Is only sweet when it it shared with others. Let friendship's golden thread enlink you, brothers ! And heaven-joys shall in your hearts be rife. Together, then, young friends ! Each one is happy in united ends And strong, and in enthusiasm wise. Together, then, young friends ! Nor is he hapless who nears not the aim. Enthusiasm leading him, he dies. In mid career struck down ; his brethren rise O'er him, as on a stair, toward eternal fame. Together, then, young friends ! Though steep and slippery be the path. Though Violence or Weakness you prevent : ODE TO YOUTH 105 Let Wrath be vanquish'd by diviner Wrath, And wrestle in youth with Weakness till her charms are spent ! Who could with baby hands the serpents quell Can grapple with the centaur in his prime ; Will bring back vi6tims from the throat of Hell, And reach at last to Heaven's wreath sublime. So reach thou far beyond the grasp of sight ! Burst through what thy mere reason can not pierce ! Youth ! be thy soaring like the eagle's flight ; Thy arm a thunderbolt, so swift and fierce. Hurrah ! foot set to foot, with mighty hands Our arms shall bind the sphere. Our thoughts concentre here ; Our souls one will commands. We '11 tear this lump of earth from its deep base, And push the sluggard on a newer track ; Rend off its mouldy rind, and give it back Its spring of life, fresh as our youthful grace. Over dark chaos and the void of eld, Confusion with confusion wildly blent, God's Word forth went : And lo, the worlds appear'd, in space upheld. Shouted the hurricane, the waters leap'd, And myriad stars the heavens in splendour steep'd : So in the nations' hearts is darkness now, — Will, like the elements, with will contending : Io6 ODE TO YOUTH But the divinity of Youth its brow Uplifts, and lo, the agony is ending. The new world issues from the gloom : With Love henceforth upon its bright path wending, And by Love's power upheld through the eternal doom. Light driveth down the sky the cloudy wrack Of error ; feeling bursts its icy bar. Welcome, thrice welcome. Freedom's Morning Star! The Saviour Sun close follows on thy track. LOVE'S SHADOW T LOVED, gave body and soul for dower, -*- Then he flung me from his heart. What else ? he had gather'd and worn the flower. Let it fall ! and so depart. I was a loved and duteous wife. The wife of a worthy lord : O, never worthier, nobler life Deserved to be adored. But I, — I daily, nightly pray'd. As the loving need not pray : Dear God ! vouchsafe to me thine aid To be true to him alway. .-\nd he I loved was my husband's friend. I never loved man but him. That passionate heaven so low did bend My wifely eyes grew dim. Under the porch I stood alone As through the limes he came : I08 LOVE S SHADOW Or ever his hand had toucli'J my own My blood was boiling flame. O God, to lie on a loving breast, Unable to make return ! And O for the fire that knows no rest, That burneth, and aye must burn I Or ever his breath had woo'd my cheek. Why doth the Lady blush ? Or ever his love had time to speak My life toward him did rush. Under the gnarled oaken boughs. On a grey moss'd stone we sate ; Silent were both : what need of vows In the presence of Love and Fate ? It was but two or three days at most He came, scarce spoke, and went : The very sun was a mooned ghost In the dreary firmament. And daily, nightly, ever I pray'd : Great need was now to pray : O Truth ! vouchsafe to me thine aid, Lest I should fall away. love's shadow 109 Again, in the hot and sultry June, The Presence is at my gate ; And my pulses throb to a lofty tune, And my heart is all elate. For I will love him and do no wrong : O Truth ! upstay me now ! Thou and I, Beloved ! are strong : — His lips were on my brow. And so, weak heart ! be brave awhile ; Parch'd lips ! hope not to kiss. I met my lord with a loyal smile ; But my soul was none of his. "Take her and love her more than I ! " For ruth I could not move : — How I long'd to kiss him tenderly, The man I did not love. 'I'ake her ! And wherefore didst thou take ? My joy hath made me blind. Love ! I have left him for thy sake : What welcome shall I find ? Or ever grey autumn bronzed the leaves, Poor Hope, that doubted ne'er. Was cowering under her palace eaves : The winds play'd with her hair. LOVE S SHADOW Mockingly then the Loved laugh'd out : " My Beautiful ! be content ; " Yes, I do worship thee, past all doubt, "But a Wife I never meant. " Summer hath many a warm day yet ; "Ever must love be free." Carelessly laugh'd he, — "Cheeks tear-wet " Will grow too pale for me." Had he tired, his love been cold or dull, Had desire been satisfied, — But a flower for my lord Caprice to cull And then to fling aside ! Or he loved another : but far, far worse, The doom he brought me nigh, — The sorrow, the shame, the clinging curse Of loving unworthily. Loving — O more than heaven above ; And to feel that all return Is the low desire which is not love, — A "love" which can seek and spurn. Scornfully laugh'd he as I went : " What wouldst thou have ? Sweet Life ! "Little matters for love's content "That empty name of Wife." LOVE S SHADOW So a year pass'd by, and we two ne'er met ; And I tried to loathe his name ; And no one cared for the cheeks tear-wet But the one I would not claim. A long long year. And then again We two were side by side. By the death-bed of my lord we twain Were watching, till he died. Then love's dark hate pass'd out of me, And I pray'd again : True Heart ! Love me and wed me. "Love is free," He answer'd : " We will part." Scornfully laugh'd he as he went — " Tis better we part. Sweet Life ! "Thou wouldst hardly be more content " Even with the name of Wife." Ere I look'd through the mist of tears He, the Beloved, was gone. How could I meet my widow'd years, Unlovely and alone ? Then Love stood manifest in Wrath : I cursed him franticly ; And slipp'd the Avenger on his path : — Who could avenge but I ? LOVE S SHADOW And step by step I follow'd him, I track'd him everywhere ; In vain he hid, — the tigress grim Could never miss her lair. Daily and nightly, his gate before, I lean'd at the lintel-post — O never, never I loved him more Thau when I hated most. At length we met. And gaze for gaze. He laugh'd, but his voice was kind : The full rich voice of the summer days. Till I grew sick and blind And dizzy in Love's great glare of light. Then fell Love's Shadow — Hate : And ere the cloud had left my sight The Man, the Loved, my life's delight, Lay dead at his own gate. TARQUIN THE PROUD REJOICING in imperiousness of will, Sits Tarquin. One allow'd Enters his presence ; standeth proudly still Before "The Proud." > The Sybil standeth there before the King, Waiting his question. He — What wantest thou, and wherefore dost thou bring Those books to me ? To sell them to thee, Tarquin ! They are dear. If thou wilt have them, say ! Quick as his " No ! " the form doth disappear. Too proud to stay. But after a brief while she comes again, With — I have burn'd a third. At the same price the other six remain : Again — thy word ? No ! says the haughty King : too l/irge the sum. And laugheth at the thought. Again she leaveth, even as she did come, — Unstay'd, unsought. 114 LOVE S SHADOW And yet a third time comes she to the King. Tarquin the Proud is wroth. What are these books thou wilt persist to bring To me, so loath ? Angry, but moved by unaccustom'd fear, Tarquin boWs to her will, And takes the remnant, although trebly dear, — Haughtily still. Now tell me. Augurs ! what delay hath lost ! O King ! thou shouldst have bought. Even these are worth far more than all their cost. So treasure-fraught. These books contain of good and ill to Rome The certain prophecy. And all the weal or woe to thine own house That draweth nigh. Lay them in Jove's own temple, under guard ! Too late, too late to find The lost and the refused, the high reward Thou wouldst not mind. Tarquin the Proud hath perish'd in his pride. Who grudged the price to learn. He sought the Sybil. Never till he died Did she return. QUESTIONING I — THE PARIAH /^UTCAST, — and bad, — I dare say you are right. ^-^ I am a villain, viler than you think. I 've done most things men say are wickedness, And not much cared to set myself to square With what you call commandments. I had strength, And will and appetite, — a lusty man Even from my youth, — could eat and could enjoy. And never chose to give enjoyment up For stupid sacrifice or love of God. I loved my wenchings more, and plenty of meat, And drink that made me almost like a god — Even if it sometimes made a fool of me. Commandments ! I cared nothing for command ; But liked to live, and lived most as I liked. I ate and drank. When I was short of food, I stole it. Was not that my natural right ? And your rich folk had only stolen from me. What is a man if he may not eat and drink. II 6 QUESTIONING And kiss his woman ? O, when life was young I had my time of it. Now I grow old, I am no humbug to-repent and whine. But there are other things. Of course there are. Trees grow, have higher branches and more leaves. There 's nought I '11 take the trouble to deny. Why should 1 ? Shame and I have never met. Shame is a decently dress'd and pretty maid, Brought up in a Sunday School, and kept in-doors By a good mistress, and not fed too high For fear her parish cheeks get too much blood And tempt some sinner as she crawls from church In the summer evenings. I 'd not watch for such. I 'd scarcely turn my head to look at her. Even though I lay in the grass not half asleep While she pass'd by with hymn-book under arm, Looking demurely down upon her gloves. There was no one like Shame I ever knew : I kept no company with such as She. Red cheeks with rich blood in them, full thick lips That ask'd to be bitten, limbs as firm as mine : I thought these better than your modesties. We were wild beasts then, and we liked it well. But there were other things — you said just now. I am not for denial. I 'm not shamed. I have had blood upon my hands. What then? I wash'd it off. The man had injured me. I heard the other day a gentleman QUESTIONING 117 Shot down his friend for something he had done, Or something he had only said of him : I mind not what. Why should not I the same ? A knife was handier, and a deal more sure. Done in hot blood your gentleman in cold ! I 've done that too : but it was self-defence. I had as good a right to fish as they ; Better, for I was hungry, well nigh starved. I was not fond too of inside the jail. So, when he laid his hand upon my wrist, I put my other hand up to his throat. Tripping hira with a quick heel. [ Twas no use To let him up again. I made an end. And sent him down the stream to fish for himself. I have kill'd others too that stood in my way, — And got no medals for it, soldier-like. They were my enemies : shall not I fight for myself As v/ell as for the State that casts me out? Yes ! I broke laws, a plenty. Some of you Are paid for keeping them. If not, perhaps - I don't much heed laws, and I never did. I was not bred to the fashion. From a boy I have been taught quite other sort of work. Who makes your laws ? I know not, but I know They bite like v.-olves' teeth into my free will. Why shonld I heed them ? Tell you, I do not. I '11 drink, wench, poach, and steal, while I have strength ; And when that fails — then you may pray for me. Il8 -QUESTIONING Much good may it do me when I 've lost my teeth. Still I am sorry for one thing I did : When I play'd false to one who trusted me, And who was true and mere than kind, poor soul ! I saw some one I fancied more for the time. She was a fool ever to find it out. But what did it matter? She was none the worse. I 'd.not have liked her though at the same game. Perhaps she was no better than myself. There 's no good now in thinking over that. — I tell you, Parson ! I 'm too stiff to kneel. Who was Saint Simon? Stuck himself atop Of a great pillar — so I have been told — That men might see his utter filthiness. I am a saint too, standing very high On my own chosen perch of villainy. But did I choose it ? Say the Devil chose. The Devil indeed ! You parsons talk of him Like an old friend. Your Devil is so like God I don't know one from the other. Do I know There 's either? May be there is only one, — " God " for you rich men, " Devil " for us poor. Well then, the Devil or God, no matter which. Has made a saint of me. Of a queer sort ? Not queerer than Saint Simon. Look you now ! Just see, my masters ! I am as good as he : Rlay be almost as dirty, and full of sores Inside and out, not more of sores than sins : QUESTEONING II9 A thief, a lecher, and a murderer too ; And too': my pleasures without caring where, Or how, or who was worse for what I took. Was I much worse than most of other men? I have done just what a lusty fellow would : Reap'd the world wide and eaten of the best, — The best within my reach, at any rate. How do I know but that the Lord mean'd this. And I 've been doing his work at his ov/n wage? Not too good pay for all I have gone through. I 've not been one of the prosperous of the earth, Nor known much of fine linen, purple robes, Lolling in carriages or on soft beds. Yet I had appetites. I am a man. Shall I have less than any beastly swine ? The Lord not liking, why did he make me so ? Besides, I mind me that you spoke but now Of a people who were used to drench their slaves So their mad pranks might warn the masters' sons From drinking. May be I 'm a saint for that : A chosen vessel to put vileness in That better folk may see the worst o' the bad And so keep better, — for the flesh is weak. Let me alone ! What can you do with me ? Show me to naughty boys to make them good ? I 'rn a fine scarecrow. Tell you, I 'm a saint : Saint Simon, — or more like Saint Lazarus, With sins for sores. You dumb dogs lick at them As if you liked the job of curing me. Another of your stories ! How do you know QUESTIONING I am not set in the dirt to grow for heaven : A flower for Abraham's bosom some fine day ? Here 's your health, Parson ! and more luck to you. II — THE PARSON TpiRST SIN, and then the Judgment. It is so. -*- Father and God ! how came this man to sin? How may I medicine his agony? What shall I do to help the Impenitent? Shall I condemn, or shall I speak of peace ? What peace for sin ? what peace to the depraved ? What peace before the threatenings of thy wrath ? Are these Thy martyrs ? God ! Even at the stake, Before the strangling smoke can ease his pains. Or underneath the pile of crushing stones. The Saint upraises his exultant hymn ; Upon the battle-field, too proud to flee, Or in the last ditch of a long defeat. Or on the scaffold drench'd with noblest blood. The hero and the patriot smiling falls. Passing to Thee with triumph on his brows, Knowing the future harvest of his loss ; The good physician, the yet tenderer nurse. Struck down beside the dying or the saved; — (QUESTIONING 121 All who for Truth or for the common weal Have given or risk'd their lives, all these we know : The glorious army of the Sacrificed, Thy saints, Thy chosen, who shall reign with Thee, Their glory as eternal as their worth. The sufferer who has borne disease or grief — A daily task from Thee — without complaint ; The beggar Thou translatest up to heaven. For he was rich in patience ; and the poor, Who knew not, had not, and yet sinn'd not, good In spite of ignorance : we know them too : The kingdom of heaven is of such as these. Surely they are not martyrs, all of whom Pass crowned conquerors through the gates of love. The sinning are Thy martyrs. Father ! Thou Seest them too. Since not a sparrow falls Unnoticed or unorder'd of Thy Will. Thou dost not order sin. For is not sin Itself disorder? Yet disease is Thine. And vice is but disease of mind or will ; Poorness or imbecility of soul. If Thou dost order it, it must be good : And imbecility may be forgiven, And poorness led to wealth, nor always left Outside the porch of Thy benevolence. Why then the saint and sinner are alike In Thy esteem : the righteous and the kna\'e : The rain of Thy compassion falls on both. The cripple climbeth to the angel's place ; 22 QUESTIONING Thou liftest up the loathsome to Thy side, Not reckoning as wrong what wrought Thy will. And truly, if these wretches enter heaven, Good deeds and faith have but an equal claim. Our righteousness is but as filthy rags, And saintly Dives sups with Lazarus. Shall we then envy Wrong and doubt of Right? Is Evil then all pleasant ? and is Good Only a travail, painful, and in vain ? Not so ! not so ! Although Thy heaven were not, Evil and Good are their own sure reward. Sin yet remaineth sin ; and vice is vice, — The parent of unhappiness and shame. Weakness, and fear, and heathenish despair — When not debased to very brutishness. Right is even here the lord of higher joy Than ever the voluptuary knew. Take every pleasure sense and will exchange, Even in the heyday of their hottest blood. And one pure thought of duty fairly done — Whatever be the cost to life or hope — Outweighs it all. Is holiness so poor. Or man's best heritage so little worth, The prodigal is envied for his husks ? We thank Thee, God ! we know that Thou art just. And yet the piteous question cometh back : How came this man to sin ? Born, bred in it : His parents evil livers like himself : QUESTIONING I2j Lustful and lawless, vilely unrestrain'd, All better impulses were so o'ergrown And overshadow'd like good herbs by weeds And poisonous trees, until the garden-ground Became a wilderness weed-choked and cursed . Cursed for his parents' sins as they for theirs ; Cursed for that Evil came into the world, — Evil of weakness, of disease, of death, Of all that hinders strength of healthy growth, — Evil — the worm that dieth not. Alas ! So was he cursed : though God is merciful. I travel round unto my grief again : The sorrow of sorrows,— for that there is ill, — Our ill, though all be very good with Thee, — 111 — love is yet too weak to remedy, 111 — which our hope dares hardly look upon, 111 — that even faith can but behold through tears. All-loving One ! Thy Lazarus is dead : Bound with the grave-cloths, laid within the tomb. Forgive the impatience praying for Thy Word — " Not dead, but sleeping : Lazarus ! come forth," MAHMOUD'S FLIGHT /^NLY with water-gourd and dates for food, ^-^ Mahmoud is in the Desert, to evade The enemy who may not be withstood, Fleeing dismay'd. Night after night the warning voice had cried, " The Sultan's Vanquisher is on his way ! " The unknown danger not to be defied Bred his dismay. His women and his palaces are left : "AH a man hath he for his skin will give." Nay ! would he care although of skin bereft. So he might live? But whither flee ? To some far distant land Where none have heard of his world-reaching fa;ii: Where none his proclamations understand Or know his name. Far, far in the Desert ! Let the camel take MAHMOUD S FLIGHT 125 His way unguided, with the rein on neck, With wide foot-prints, — the swift sand hides the wake ; The merest speck. Not man and camel, but a point scarce seen, Lost soon as seen, is all the horizon shows. Safe is he even as if he ne'er had been Afraid of foes. And now the rein may tighten : past the might Of ill however closely it pursue. There is no track upon the star-lit night. No fear in view. Rest for the night ! But in the night his fear Wakens and bids him farther from the foe. What if through accident he draweth near? How can one know ? So on, yet on, rest not for night or day. While the last strain of sinew bears him through. On, on, pursue the solitary way. Though none pursue ! So hastening tow'rd the safely distant land Beyond o'ertaking, he one evening meets A poor lorn wretch who crouching in the sand Him humbly greets. 126 mahmoud's flight A poor weak failing wretch, so weak, so poor, ' Twere worse than shame to pass such wretched one, — Though the gourd empty is and all the store Of dates is gone. Mahmoud alighteth. "I have nought for thee." He looketh up and answereth — "It is said. What hast thou for thyself? Why come to me ?" Then bows his head. Bow'd down, he wraps him in his mantle-folds, Maketh no sign, nor other word he saith. Mahmoud sinks down beside him — and beholds The face of Death. Far, far into the Desert he had fled To avoid the Unavoidable : and there They sit in the sand together — dead with dead. Death and Despair. NIGHT AND MORNING NIGHT — IVTOW is the house asleep, and I may climb -^ ^ To my hope's heaven. You are trembling, Love ! — My maid lies in the chamber next to mine. And she sleeps lightly. — She will never hear Our kisses. — What if she were sick, or fear'd, And came to seek me, lying in your arms ? It may not be. I dare not. What is that ? — A mouse in the wainscot. There's no need of fear. When may this fortunate hour return again ? Your husband absent, none suspe6ting us. Kiss me again, and come ! Is this your tryst ? — My tryst ! There was another trysting-time He trusts me still, and I : I loved him once. I thought so, till you came. — But now your love Is mine. — And should you change as I have done. My God ! I who am false. You 'Id have me so ? — Not false, but true unto the higher truth, 128 NIGHT AND MORNING Your love for me : your heart's truth known at last. — r dare not. O, I dare not. Say good night ! And leave me ! — Did you appoint me but for this ? Nay ! but we part not so. — I will call out. — And tell the household what hath frighted you ? Tell the occasion made to fetch mc here, And of our yet moist kisses ? Say, so far You ventured, found it pleasant ; on the brink { Good husband will not mind that ) you drew back, Fearing the deeper current ? — You are hard. — As you who loving would deny your love. You love me. The swift hour asks why we wait. — You would not force me ? — You miscall it force When love at heart consents. I would but spare Your timorous conscience, making mine the blame. — For honour, if you love me, let me pass ! — You have given yourself to me and you are mine, My own. Your love acknowledges my right. — I do not love you. He I loved was one Who lured me by his very nobleness : A king to claim allegiance. You are not The man I loved. You v-.ouid lay shame on me For your vile pleasure. I could loathe you now. — Is it so ? Then honour lift me up again To the former height ! O thou Beloved One ! I would not wrong you. But your chamberlain : NIGHT AND MORNING 1 29 Not past your chamber door. And now, good night ! — {As she throws herself on her bed,) And I do love him. God be merciful ! -MORNING — RETURN 'D already? Sure, I thought to-day Given to fond epitaphs on joys self-slain. The inconvenient husband, was he home Too soon for moral lie-abeds ? But say. How fares the fair Bianca ? Lost in tears. Rain of Love's Morning after a close night ? — Are you a gentleman ' — Well, it may be. — I pray you then repeat no more her name Coupled with my desires. — Shifts the wind so? Cupid ! a most proud lover ! Now, I '11 bet She has jilted you at last. ' Tis so, ' tis so. A little dreg of virtue left in the flask, Has spoil'd a night-draught. She would yet will not. And hesitating, opportunity Has sent you back : the husband none the worse. — You 're slow to take my meaning. — So, you ask Am I a gentleman ? And your good friend. I would be sorry too, but your mishap You have not told me. Only by your looks, 130 NIGHT AND MORNING Which intimate you have not been quite in liick. Why, man ! you can but try again and have. Another night — I pray you, Sir ! have done. A virtuous lady — Very good, i' faith. A virtuous lady (most respedlful phrase) Stays you in the antechamber of her hope. We know the angler's craft. — Peace ! peace ! your thought Is slanderous, false as Hell. That lady's soul Is spotless. — You were disappointed then. Pshaw, man ! she does but hold you off, the more To contemplate your longing. She is like The rest of them. — By the All-living Truth, If you repeat that, I will write it false In your heart's blood. Draw, and defend yourself ! — Not I, against a madman baulk'd in love. The woman 's chaste because she bids him wait. Well, some of us are fools. I can but laugh. And so. Good-morning and next rime more speed ! B B ws s S ^m TWO BROTHERS UNLUCKY MAN ! whom Fortune not affefls For all his courtship, though his keen respedls \Vatch, like a faithful hound, before her gate. Waiting her coming forth both early and late. It is not every wooer wins her smile. — ^ So it meseem'd when, on a certain while, "'^** Two Brothers treading were the self-same path : One born for favour, and one vow'd to wrath. s/ V And yet is Fortune not alone to blame : He well may miss the birds whose lower aim Marks only rabbits in the road-side grass. The equal sun-light entereth through the glass Or open door : who will put up his blind >y^ May not complain that he no warmth can find, — He would not when he might. Some seekers lose ; But there are whose dull eyes the darkn^s, choose. My tale shows partly this. I pray your leave. Some joy may be in it, not all to grieve. 132 TWO BROTHERS Upon a morn of Spring, when youthful blood Is restless and only to live seems good, These two I spake of pass'd upon their way. The younger one, hight Fridolin, was gay And carol'd as he went ; and, light of foot, As prompt for motion as the mellow fruit Upon the bough when a wish brings it down, The ripe blood tingling in him — sole to crown, Ready of eye, and lithe in every limb, He went as all he met v/ere glad of him. «^ So debonair, and every motion grace, ^^ ^ Even in the shade the sunlight lit his face, ^ And the birds' songs for ever in his ears Pour'd music — or he heard that of the spheres. So that his voice was tuneful as a girl's. His brow was shelter'd with brown crisped curls ; And when he laugh'd he laugh'd both mouth and eye, Though both were firm if ill were lurking'nigh ; And quick his hand was and his footing sure. This bachelor — I trow no maid more pure — Had Beauty's self to be his paramour : So great his gain of Nature, whose sweet power Had fill'd his veins with sentience of all good. In bower, or hall, or city, or, green wood. Everywhere Gladness hasten'd to his side. Bold as a wife and trustful as a bride. And as he chirp'd and sang along the road, You felt a full heart was his only load. In the young golden buds he found delight TWO BROTHERS 133 And pleasure in the air, No anchorite t» Was he to hide content in his mind-cell ; jfe^^ But some bright fancy ever had to tell In tones that made the hearer's pleasure more. And for the poor his pity bubbled o'er, As doth some way-side well o'erflow its brink When the hot traveler, halting, stoops to drink. The elder was for gainfulness and trade : ~' He only cared how money might be made. He miss'd the skies ; of flowers he had no heed. Seeing no worth — -he said — in a mere weed. Unless he sold it as medicinal. A flower, it was a flower, and that was all. -,^_j^ Colour was only colour ; songs of birds '''^^ , To his conceit were but as empty words From some lame poet's scroll, and loss of time ; He loathed to hear the woods' autumnal chime ; Nor saw the stars, were winter nights most clear, Though much abroad. But then he had his cheer In a large profit ; and sometimes could laugh. When subtle hints raised his percentage half. The only book he cared for was slate : He deem'd him wisest who could calculate, /®\\ Carrying usury always in his head. The poor were but an idle lot — he said ; And for the weak — well, each man had his load. His strength bore his own burthen, thanks to God, And other men had better shoulder theirs Than hinder neighbours by importunate prayers. 134 TWO BROTHERS Wealth welcomes him who did not waste his days A-wandering off the high road in vain ways Of pleasantness : he held the Preacher's saw — That all was vanity ; and as a law "^ -^ The parable of the Hid Talent kept, '^•^ " Planning new profit as he dreamily slept. ^"^ He had great store of proverbs such as these : — Of early worms, and leaving grapes to freeze From lack of a due greedy diligence : For greed and thrift he call'd intelligence. No loiterer on idle ways was he ; But with a shambling gait went hastily. Outstripping soon the cheerful wayfarer, He reach'd the forest edge, and entering there, Where the old oaks their antler boughs outspread. Counting some coined venture in his head, He heard the song of the axe, and inly thought, Hcv/ much the sale had to the seller brought. And what the buyer's cost, and what his gain ; .\nd then it seem'd to him almost a pain Another but himself should so have reap'd. And so to a clear'd place he came where heap'd The naked limbs of the hewn trees were laid : A wild lone place, deep in the forest shade. Where round the fire the charcoal-burners stood. Leaning against the giants of the wood : Giants themselves, harsh-featured, muscular. Rude, and uncouth, — the iron men who are Accusom'd to hard toil, sun-bronzed and grim,. TWO BROTHERS I3S The Anakim of Labour. Seeing him, They moved to meet him, stepping in his path And one, more close, upon his shoulder hath Laid a strong hand and with rough aftion stay'd The startled man, wide-looking and dismay'd. But here retrace our course a little way, , To tell what haps had usher'd in this day : j^ Leaving our elder by the charcoal-pit. Foreseeing nought, and knowing not a whit Of what is in the swarthy burner's mind. Return we unto him who lagg'd behind ! Sf Our lad — the younger of the brothers twain — For honourable employment had been fain To serve as lady's page ; as such had grown In years and grace, and favour, — not alone With his dear mistress, but with her lord too, A knight whose worth was overmatch'd by few. Of prowess and great state, nor wanting wealth. Noting the boy so full of pith and health, r .. He had him taught all necessary things |/^ Leading to knighthood, with intentionings '^'^ Of more advancement ; and the gentle dame — Whose goodness perfedl was as her good name — God wot, she loved him for his pretty ways And gentilesse, and for the many days '*oj"' He had made cheery with his scraps of song, ''ts The lady, soothly, had no thought of wrong ; jv^ But, as a cloud comes in the clearest sky, 136 TWO BROTHERS So happen'd it : for lo there, by and by, The husband must grow jealous of the boy And hated him, and sought for his annoy ; Until at length, his hate o'ermastering him And his sick vision making honour dim. He will'd to compass the lad's death, his fear — So wicked men are — only lest appear Proof of his guilt, still tender for his wife. Determined then to take the stripling's life, ' He sent him forth this morning ; but before J Sped word of doom. The evil message bore "^ One whom he trusted in his woiser mood, fr" This one had yesterday been to the wood. And to the charcoal-burners gave command — "Who Cometh first to-morrow to your hand. Treat him as though he were a stick of wood ! " So when the elder came, they understood That this was he, their master's enemy. The man appointed on the morn to die ; * And made no pause, nor stay'd they to inquire. But seized the wretch and flung, him on the fire. Heaping fresh logs on him. Again- look back To Fridolin ! who, following on his track Came singing on as blithe as any bird : As yet far off, so that he nothing heard ? Of the other's death-cry. Now beside the lake He stoop'd o'er some young may-fly scarce awake Clung to the stalk of an unopen'd bud ; Or watch'd the small fry hiding in the mud TWO BROTHERS I 37 Of their own hurrying; sometime he would fling A stone in the blue depths, or make it sing Leaping along the surface, child-like pleased With simplest playthings ; then his song he ceased To steal upon and view the plaided snake Uncoil'd in the sunshine ; or admired the brake With all its crook-like fronds, as if forgot By fairy shepherds fleeing from the spot i ^ At his approach ( yet sure no fay nor elf ^W Had fright of one as natural as itself) ; Now he puU'd down some honeysuckle bough, As yet with only green leaves on it ; now Gladden'd his eyes with the rich purple tips Of the new oak-leaves ; or put to his lips A curl'd up maple-leaf, as boys will do, Sending his breath melodiously through ; Now counted nest eggs, with no thought of harm ; Then ran and leapt ; and as the day grew warm Unbutton'd to the cooler wind his vest, Giving to sight his smooth throat and fair breast, White as a maid's — he was so maiden fair And delicate-skinn'd. What sigh was on the air? Forsaken Dryad ! didst thou see again Thy Rhaicos. and recall thy loving pain ? — My master, Landor, sang of that so well, Methinks I do but stammer as I tell This later story. Take it for its truth, And listen to the end 1 — So went the youth : Now on the road ; one moment on the edge Of the broad water, seeking among the sedge 138 TWO BROTHERS Some painted worm ; the next cast on the ground : And cartes many lessons there he found, From curious creatures who were quick to tell, To him had sense to mind, their magic spell. So on his way he garner'd various lore. And of delights he got them by the score ; And little sermons in Dame Nature's book ri Had time to read, open to those who look. fi Yet he stepp'd briskly onward, and ne'er lost Remembrance of his objedl, howso cross'd By thoughts ahd sights he wore as one may wear The flowers embroider'd on his robe, and bear Himself more proudly, but who will not stint Therefore his play of limb, less firmly print His foot in the road sand. And now he raught A winding height, and with new impulse sought The points of the v/ide landscape, miles of trees Mapp'd out before him, forest mysteries Crowding his soul with wonders ; then anon Descended to the woodland depth, just gone By the elder ; and so came in little while Unto the other's funeral pyre. His smile Was in its wonted place as he stepp'd in Among the burners, noting not the grin With which they welcomed him, supposing he ^ \ Had been sent after that the doom might be Reported. He was known throughout these parts. And always welcome, — for he won men's hearts With his first word — ofttimes before he spoke. There lounged or lay, beneath a centuried oak. TWO BROTHERS I39 The woodmen ; round about was piled the yield • Of the fell'd oak-trees, there all freshly peel'd For the sake of that strong bark the tanners use ; And the big naked trunks, branch'd like to thews Of huge preAdamite monsters, fallen hard by, Look'd as if they might crawl away ; and nigh To these were heaps of the small peeled boughs ; And not far off the woodmen's turf -built house ; And in the midst of all the charcoal pit, Smouldering, and charring all was thrown in it, — Nothing within its depth but blacken'd coal. May God forgive, and save that wretched soul ! It was the noontide rest : the axe that swung So lately in the tree's heart, till it flung The ages' master to the sward, now lay Unused ; the sturdy woodmen, some at play, Some at their meal, outstretch'd upon the grass, Gave greeting to the youth ere he could pass ; And one of the burners rose, and pointing said- "The will of the Lord his servants have obey'd.' The youth not understanding answer'd then — " ' Tis well," And, passing the unheeding men, Unwondering, went on his joyous way. God send him his deliverance every day ' EPITHALAMIUM O HINE brightly, Sun ! to greet this happy while : *^ Shine brightly, Sun ! maintaining old belief,— "Happy the Bride on whom the day doth smile." Glad Time ! make her ripe happiness the sheaf Of all her years ! Her happiness : is it not his also? Are not they henceforth One for all the twain shall know Of good or ill. Of joy or woe, Of hope or fear? But Joy and Hope alone We now admit. Fear ! be thou still ; And Doubt ! begone ; Nor let your shadows stray Athwart the fiower-strown way Of our young lovers, with triumphant feet Entering the porch of life's true perfedtness ! Hymen ! we bid thee bless These votaries, and grant them full increase Of future joy and peace — A life complete. EPITHALAMIUM I4I Fly hence, all Mischiefs that disturb the Home ! Wrath and Contention ! never venture here ! False Double-tonguedness ! suspicious Fear! Avoid this door ; nor even glance v^fithin ! Vile Jealousy ! let not your slime be seen On this clean threshold ; nor Distrust begin To rot the roof-tree, gnawing there between The rafters ' — But thou hither come, I'"ran!;-spoken Faith ! Love's handmaid ! ever wait To keep the order'd house ; nor lift the latch Nor ope the outmost gate For thoseunwelcomed ! fairest Faith ! attend The Married, as true servant and best friend ! If Sorrow should approach — alas the hour ! Come, thou not always enemy to man ! Not in thy panoply of dreadful power, Storm-messaging, but, as God's Angel can. With that sad smile on thy unwilling lips Telling them only of an hour's eclipse Of the continual sun ! Sit at their board, The while thou sojournest, A courteous stranger, and an honour'd guest ! Brief ije thy stay ; And as thou passest, with some thanks away, A bier sing thy last word ! No more ! we would not that a slightest shade Should soil ;he orange-blossoms' dainty white. 142 EPITHALAMIUM Pure as those blooms be all your years, as bright Your life, fair Maid ! Fair Maid no more, but fairer, happier Wife. O Wife ! O Husband ! bearing each a name More royal than the style of Queen or King, — When Time shall bring The higher Father-Mother-hood, Love's aim So reach'd, may ye In your like children see Your happiness repeated, and your worth. As years spring forth. Year following year with grander garnering ! Now even you. Good Wishes ! stand aside ! The Bridegroom and the Bride Would be alone. — Atone With no less wishful silence, for rude speech ! Utter but one more spell — Heart-breathed from all and each^ Fare well ! HEART-EASINGS SONGS, SONNETS, AND EPIGRAMS By A. W. Of the Middle Temple, Gent. [1595] '■• >. Reprinted literatim from a. copy supposed unique in the British Museum LONDON : T. AND J. ALLMAN, HRINCES STREET, HANOVER SQUARE. 1824 TO THE READER The lark, vprising from the nested come, Before he soareth to the opal skie. His wings in that low neighbourhood doth trie Wherefrom his high aspirings are vpborne. The child, before vpright he walk doth creepe, Holding his little hand to eurie aide. And trembling at eche step, til lesse afraid His limbs haue learnt to walk, to run and leape. The new vnproued archer aimeth neare. Nor yet essaies a farther quest to reach, Sith onelie practice to his aim shall teach Skill to pull downe the hastie fleeing deere. So with the archers feare, the boys, the birdes. My young attempt putts forth these weak am- [ biitions words. A. W. SONGS AND SONNETS BOUND WITH HER HAIR ]^AVE I found her ? O rich finding ! Goddess-Hke for to behold : Golden tresses seemlie binding In a chain of dulled gold. Chain me, hold me, O Most Faire ! Chain me to thee with that hair. Bind me to thee with those tresses, Lift me from my life-despond ; As a falcon in fond iesses Hold me with that golden strond. Chain me, hold me, fond and faire, Chain me to thee with that hair. "^''^^ii^^.- 146 HEART-EASINGS BEYOND COMPARE AS bright as the new-risen Svnne when Svmmer [is most faire, Svch is the radiant glory of my Ladys golden hair ; Fayrer than Phoebus yellowe lockes, hir gloriovs [beavties sheene, And pure as starrie splendovrs when boreal blasts [ are keene Bvt how with her compare ? Fresh and delightsome as the flowrs which May de- [ lights to wear ; And tender as the yovngling grasse ( so lightlie she [ treads there Lest it be bruized beneath her step ) ; and gentler [ than the dove, Of birdes that is most gentlest : svche the Lady of [my love : Bvt how with her compare? Daintie as falling snowe — we see it gliding downe [the ayre ; Good, winged with benignitie, as she an angel were : — Ah me, whenas I would take covnt of her gifts [manyfold. HEART-EASINGS 147 Her form, her face, her sweetest eyes, that haire of [ lustrous gold, I haue not to compare, - O Lady loneliest and best of all most good and fair, Beydnd compare, as past alle praise, my searching [finds nowhere Wordes fitted to expresse thy worth : fond Silence, [ hither come. And with proud finger signal Her, whose wonder [strikes men dumb. O Beauty past compare ! A. SONNET Vpon walking with my Mistress in her garden. ^Py/J_Y MIS'J'RESS, to her pleasaunce leading me. There bid me take one flowr that I might chuse. This highest grace then first vouchsaft, for Shee Till now my loues pursuit did still refuse. Ah, fairest flowre, methought, how may I vse Thy favour in such sort that it shall bee A gift not jio.ishing, nor yet abuse The richnesse of thy generous charitie ? 148 HEART-EASINGS As my hart drew me on I hapt to see A poor vnprized herbe that well might lose Respect mid all that beautious pageantrie. True emblem of my lot I deemed the Rues, So pluckt it ; and She smiling, "Keep thy dues : Thy witt may yet obtaine some ruth for thee." AGAINST HER HASTE ^\^HITHER so fast ? Ah see the kindly flowrs Perfume the pleasant ayre to make thee stay ; The climbing wood-bind, clipping all the bowrs, Clips thee likewise, for feare thou steal awaie. Fortune our friend, slow Time will not gainsay. Stay then awhile, Phoebe no tell-tale is : She would Endymion, I my Phoebe kiss. A\herefore in haste? Vpon this new-mown hay Sitt thou awhile, and listen to loues song. Lesse sweete the nightingales, who doth delaie Her plaintiue notes for drad to do mee wrong. Doth not this moonlit houre to loue belong ? Stay then awhile ! Phoebe ensample is : She her Endymion, I my Phoebe kisse. HEART-EASINGS 149 THE DREAM QLEEP hid me vnderneath her wings And bore me to my Ladys bowre In happy houre : [ Be still, oh hart, while Sorrow sings ] White-robed she lay vpon her bed. So still I knew that she was dead. So still and pale, — break not, my hart : That sight of woe how could I bear? Transfixed there [ Sleep gaue me this vnhappy part] I gazing stood, vntil meseemed 'Twas but a statue. So I dreamed. Awakend now, my dream is plain : It was not She whom I beheld, But fals Disdain [That in her semblaunce loue had queld] Be dead. Disdain ; my Lady, Hue And to my loue assurance giue. ISO HEART-EASINGS CLAIMING HER PROMISE ^^HAT saith my dainty dearling : Shall I now your loue obtaine ? Long while I sued for grace ; And grace you granted mee "When time should serue and place." Can any fitter be ? See now the time arriued : Both the time and place agree. What more would loue require Of loue deseruing long ? Deare, lend to my desire, Nor time and place both wrong. This cristal running fountain In his language saith, Come, loue ! The birdes, the trees, the fields. Els none can vs behold ; This bank softe lying yeelds. And saith, Nice fooles, be bold ! The sweet-breathd flowers inuite vs, Tho their voyce be low, they speak ; The Houre forgets to moue HEART-EASINGS I5 1 Til you haue answerd mee. Place offers for our loue, Time cannot fitter be. REPROACH ME NOT J^EPROACH me not with treason, Nor dealing vnsincerely ; Long time I loued thee dearly, Beyond th' extream of reason : Not I, but thou that turned. And safe loue spurned. Vpbraid mee not for leauing. Thy periurie now ruing ; Faiths interrupted wooing Was of thine owne atcheuing. My loue had lasted through Had thou, Vnfair, been true. Yet be not thou remonstrant That I returne vpbraiding ! I were once more perswading. And thou againe inconstant, If . . but thou maist depart : Thy falshood slew my hart. 152. HEART-EASINGS LOVES EXCEPTION J^EFITTE the flower vnto his witherd stemme, And make it solderd there to newly grow ; Pick vp the raindrops, and reuerse the streame ; Return shed teares to the closde eyes of Woe : All these attempt and, haply, not in vaine, But broken loue will neuer bloom againe. Gather the white flakes falln from Winters wings Storm-swept beyond thee ; fetch a shooting star Into thy chamber ; transform flames to springs ; Harness the Sun-god to Nights funeral car : AUe these are done, attempt not spent in vaine, But loue once fled none may bring home againe. Name eurie starre, and number Affriks sands ; Dig through the central earth in thy despaire ; Drain the deepe ocean ; holde in thy firm hands The fourfold windes, to say loue is not there ; Foreclose Eternity, and Time enchaine : Once seuerd loue shall not be whole againe. HEART-EASINGS I53 THE lEWEL 'yHERE is a lewel which not Indes may buy, Ne chemic art pretend to counterfeat : It makes men rich when housed with Pouertie, And sowre Misfortune v/ear an aspect sweet. Seldome it comes, to a few from heauen sent, This much in little, alle in naught. Content. It giueth a newe youthhood to the Olde, And helps the banisht man to laugh againe ; Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, Pans rustic whistle to fine Phoebus strainc. The few to whom it comes, from heauen sent, Wear on their harts this lewel, calld Content. 154 HEART-EASINGS TO MR lERVIS MARKHAM On his noble ir age die of The Revenge JERVIS ! while other pens of plausiue inke Pour forth vnpatriot fluddes on foreign themes, Thou vsest better warranty, meseems, Thy Muse with natiue Honour thus to link. He standeth closely vpon Glories brink Who rightly of an others glorie deems, His own worth shown by that which he esteems. So shall thy light with Grenuiles neuer sinke. Braue Richard Grenuile ! what a fame is wonne By thy wise daring. Greece and Rome may bow Before our English Manhood, and allowe This later time a vertue once their owne : Thy lines true historie declaring how Thermopylae atte Flores was outdone. HEART-EASINGS ISS A VISION OF FAME After the Italian MN All-Saints Day, late past, I chauncd to meet A beuy of faire ladies following One fairer than them alle, who in a string Led captiue Loue, and who the whole long street Made bright with beautie of her presence sweete : Truly an angell from heauen wandering, And whose clere eyes light as of God did bring Leauing a trail of glory as her feet Paced our poor earth. Passing she louted round To men of worth, a greeting of esteem, Lifting their humbler thought from off the ground To answering loftinesse. Did I misdeem, Or glanced she once at me? O blessed dream. Was I indeed among the Approued found ? 156 HE \RT-F.ASINGS EPIGRAMS On the yet lamented death of Sir Phillip Sidney, this dale the anniuersarie thereof. Not dead is noblest Sidney, through the veil Though past, and so obscured from our eyes : His bright renoun [that but to his life is pale] Across our path a ray from.heauen shimes-. CtJ^ . Of Mr. Markhani his tragedy. Then sett oure Grenuiles orb in Flores waue : But Markham, higher looking, saw it rise. Bright as a beacon, in the western skies. Our Englands War-Star, day-star of the Braue. On Her Most Grations Males tie, her late visit to the Te?nple. Not ofte the Sunne shone in this dismal place : But fayrer Phoebes night-reioicing face Smiled on it lately. Since which we may say. We need no sunne for our perpetual day. J HEART-EASINGS 157 To the by alle admired Mr. Edmund Spenser. From codes and statutes when I would withdraw To re-create my soul, I take in hand Thy Booke and, breaking past the cobweb Law, Wander with thee thru thy bright Faery Land. To the excellent poet and master in penmanship, mr good frietid, Mr. John Dauies of Hereford. Some write but ill, their matter not ill wroughte ! Thy happier quille well handles thy wise thought. Of my faire Mistress Mr appearance. I saw my Mistress face, her golden haire Wide-spred, and for a moment thought it Morn Fetching the sunshine, then knew Her more faire Than Eos selfe or other goddess-torn. On the most sweet Rosamund, my verie deare lone. Roses, wrong-named, your too proud petals close ! Of alle the world this is the onelie Rose. To my Lady Disdaine Pygmalion's statue, yet vnwarmd thou art, A flawlesse maruel with a marble hart. IS8 HEART-EASINGS On the marriage of an olde man with a girl. Frost weds with May, blighting her youths dear [ flowre, Though the White-haird endureth but an houre, Slain by the lusty Sunne, young Maias Paramour. To Mistress Anne H- seeing a mole on her white breast. GiUE me but leaue, and that deare spot on thee, Rare blemish of thy beautie, ( tho 't remain ) Buried beneath my lippes shall neuer be By enuious mortal eies beheld againe. Memorandum. Walking through Chepe was plagued with What [d'ye buy? "We haue alle kyndes of goods.'' A traders lie ! The whole street could not show me Honesty. On One crookt-nosed. Crookt is leffs nose, that index of the will : Crooktlie he follows it, from ill to ill. IN DISPRAISE OF A WOMAN CATULLUS WITH VARIATIONS APPLEDORE PRIVATE PRESS 1886 CATULLUS "^rULLI se dicit mulier mea nubere malle Quam mihi, non si se Jupiter ipse petat. Dicit ; sed mulier cupido quae dicit amanti In vento et rapidd scribere oportet aqu^. Carmen LXX. AFTER CATULLUS 'T^O NONE, my Love saith, would she rather desire to be married Than unto me, although Jove for himself should have sought her. She saith : — but the words of a Woman, O lover untarried ! Are wind, and as well might be written by wind upon swift-flowing water. n "Not Jove himself from thee could steal my heart. Sweet words my sweeter Mistress' lips that graced : A woman's promise — promise to depart Sooner than windy sighs on running waters traced. HI " I love you so, great Jove himself should seek My love in vain ": so whispers my fond girl. Well said, but yet, for all that blossomy cheek. We part. How slight a wind a wave will curl. l62 CATULLUS IV " None but thyself, though Jove himself might sue, Can own my love. Such oath her firm lips made Between our eager kisses : words as true As forms of wind on quicken'd wavelets laid. \' I ask'd- — If others woo thee ? " Not great Jove Himself should tempt me to forsake thy love.'' A wind-touch'd wave took up the waiting word, And bore it on till newer lovers heard. VI Write on wild winds or on the changeful waters Thy certain hopes : but dare not to expedl That one of Eve's most fairly speaking daughters Will keep a promise when hearts may be wreck'd. VII With none, that woman tells me, would she wed Except with me ; no ! not with Jove himself. Believe her ? Take a summer breeze to bed ; Or keep your running water on a shelf ! VIII Write on the wind and print upon the wave ! When that is done, despair In woman's shiftier nature to engrave The love she says is there. CATULLUS 163 IX Love-blinded, I believed her oath Of constancy — a woman's speech : The wind-kiss'd wavelets on the beach Broke, and — dry-footed are we both. X Light as the wind, and as swift waters hasting, A woman's passing love : And yet so all-delicious in the tasting We dream not of remove. XI A woman's vow : none else she loves. So blows the wind : The wind which every ripple moves No vow can bind. XII She loved me more than any : With the wind so went the stream. Did ever wavelet dream It was not one of many ? XIII Of course you are first, you '11 bet ! By Jove, it is always so. When wind and water met, Where did the bubble go ? 164 CATULLUS XIV Beside the stream that pass'd my mistress' door I lay, and listen'd as she told her choice : " I love but him." Such sounds the current bore To me, and carried on. Shall I rejoice ? XV Kissing her, mouth and throat and brow, "Thine aye though Jove himself should crave," She murmur'd back : a woman's vow, The wind's impress upon a wave. XVI "Were Jove himself to seek me for his bride, I should prefer thee," that is what she says. Wind and Water ! I am satisfied : 1 know so little of a woman's ways. XVII Be true to me, my Own ! She swore, by Jove, Wind, wave, her life to me was dedicate. Was 't Jove, or wind, or wave, that took my Love ? It only was the woman's wayward fate. XVIII Place in her heart none but himself could find, She told him ; eagerly the bait he took. He knew not woman's promises are wind. Or as the wind-born ripplings of a brook. CATULLUS It XIX Her love was "lasting." I repeated it To hurrying winds and to quick runlets told. That happy word, on wind and water writ, Continues. Does the woman's promise hold ? XX " Have I not chosen thee ? Dost thou not know Thyself my God?" She says, and I believe. She says and leaves me. Surely I should grieve At the wind's lightness and the rivers flow. XXI My Mistress beareth me such love Not Jove himself her heart could move. She says : but woman's vows on wind Or wave are writ, for lovers kind. XXII My Lady roundly saith that she prefers Me to great Jove himself for paramour. She saith : but, eager youth ! those lisps of hers Are wind, the rapid current written o'er. XXIII Wae 's me ! I trusted her. She said She luved me mair than Jupiter. She said ; and then, the fickle jade ! Ane ither cam' an' roupit her. l66 CATULLUS XXIV "Shure," sez she, "I would rather Give old Jove than you the Nay ! " Sez ! Thin she 's Froth-o'-wather, This she Proteus o' the Say. XXV " Dear ! not the First of Gods Should tempt me from your side." And yet, I would give long odds The wind shifts with the tide. XXVI The Sirens' song, borne on the foamy brine : "Stay, Passer! stay ! our love entreateth thee. Our love that evermore is pledged to thine.' So sang my false Beloved unto me. XXVII Loves me ? She '11 tell me so, and swear Not Jove himself could cause her care. So light a breeze affedts the sea. We voyage on right steadily. XXVIII ■ She thought she rather loved me, me alone And Jupiter himself to her was nought : Only a passing wave that at a thought Forgot the gust that thither it had blown. CATULLUS 167 XXIX She loves me so she would not even allow The suit of Jove : a woman's pretty lie. My Lais ! breathe that unrepented vow To the clear river gliding swiftly by ! XXX Dear Creature, she " could never change, Though every God in turn should press." Well, wind and water sometimes range : And how should woman's wit do less? XXXI Sweet to be told that I am loved the best, Sweet in a pleasant haven to abide : But wind must veer, water disliketh rest, And Venus is but sea-foam deified. XXXII Me first, she says. Though Jove had sought her : A wonan's phrase, Mere scriptured water ! XXXIII A zephyr's whisper to a rapid stream, Easy bestowal, easy the remove : So little lasting the fond lover's dream ( Catullus sayeth ) of a woman's love. l68 CATULLUS XXXIV None would she rather marry, my Love says, Than.me : no ! not, though Jove himself had sought her. That 's said : but a woman's vows in her still loving haze Are as a gale's words breathed unto swift- running water. XXXV tlnstable as the wave : can love be so ? Inconstant as the wind : is love but this ? And all of woman's soul a man may know As unsure and as fleeting as a kiss ? Dixit Catullus. LOVE-LORE [1887] Changeful as Proteus, vagrant as the air, Love has three names, — Hope, Rapture, and Despair. .■-"!:hfCS?/>^S&1-W^-CJ I PROLOGUE N THE DAYS when Earth was young Beauty had not found a tongue : For the Gods forbade her speech, Lest her voice too soon should teach All the bliss that Love bestows, All the lore that heaven knows. Through the bleak world wandering. Silent Beauty yet could bring Unto many an anxious thought Dreams of heaven, else untaught : Everywhere that she might come She of heaven spoke, though dumb. Waited all the Gods the event, — Love alone impatient : Unto Beauty then he led. Blushing as he whispered, One who kiss'd her. So her tongue Was freed, and the first poet's song. BY THE RIVER T OVE ! of, delight the bringerand giver : -^ — ' Under the boughs began my lay, Sitting with Her beside the river ; Laughing the glad waves went their way. She whose beauty bewitch'd the Singer ( Under the green leaves lovers may ) Whisper'd — "I am the joy-gift bringer." Laughing the glad waves went their way. Love, of delight the bringer and giver ! Under the leaves, in the evening grey, Nothing I hear but the laughing river — Mocking my sorrow's roundelay. YET AGAIN '\7'ET AGAIN ! yet again ! -*- Dearest Love ! you do but feign. That a kiss? Or that ? or this ? Must I ask you yet again ? LOVE-LORE 173 Yet again ! yet again, Lover mine ! as you were fain Me to kiss ! What is amiss, You permit me — to complain ? Yet again ! yet again ! Kisses should be swift as rain : Every kiss Repeats its bliss : Kiss me now, and then again ! YOUNG LOVE C^O YOUNG were we that when we, kiss'd *~-^ We had no other thought : The joy that first love brought Nought farther miss'd. To watch the dawning of a maiden smile Was worth one's while. In those young days, what though we kiss'd We kiss'd without a thought : That tender of love sought Did hope assist, ' Twas but as hope helps in a morning dream, When things scarce seem. 1^4 LOVE-LORE But now, O Love ! whene'er we kiss, ( Be dumb, my thought ! ) The joy by her kiss brought Yet more doth miss. O Love ! thou wast sufficient in young days For innocent praise. O Love — Desire! renew the bliss That had no farther thought ; Or lead to the Besought Whom now we miss : Thee, Hymen ! — Love no more enough for us Grown curious. HYMENEAL O LOVE ! behold this Pair By Hymen brought together : Look on them young and fair. Give them fair weather ! Make them to be As He and She Were but time-sunder'd, and now brought together Eternally must pair ! Make each according heart So one with the other coupled LOVE-LORE 175 That, each of the other part, ' Tis one heart doubled : So made to be That He and She Estrangement conquer'd, now in concord coupled, Must own one single heart. Love ! hold thou fast this Pair ; Hymen ! keep them together ; Whatever storms they share, Whate'er the weather : Yet leave them free : That He and She Love gladly — not as slaves compell'd together. An ever-willing Pair. TWO TWO there were in the meadow lying. Under the shade of the blossoming trees Kiss to kiss gave close replying : Nought else heard but the honey-bees. Two were sitting in Sorrow's shadow ; Dead in the cradle their love's fruit lay : Did they think of the sunny meadow And the honey of yesterday ? r76 LOVE-LORE Two are there in the grave-yard lying Under the roots of the blossoming trees : Loved with loved, but no replying. Nought is heard but the honey-bees. NO MARVEL ^^Love ties a woman^s mind Looser than with ropes of hay.'' OINCE LOVE ties a woman's mind, * — Though as loose as ropes of hay. Prithee, Love ! my Mistress bind. Only for a day. For a day and night, to lay On her thought my faithful mind, While the hay-rope all one way Would remain entwined. Dear ! such sweetness do I find Here upon the fresh-mown hay, That I marvel not the Wind Will not let it stay. ^^^^S>£1. LOVE-LORE 177 THE FAIR UNFAIR ' I '00 fair for me whose grief is thy unfairness, -^ O Fair Unfair ! and most unfair to me : Beguiler, whose rich beauty lack'd no rareness Except that rarest beauty, constancy ! Why didst thou take my heart with loving words, To break, and fling away the worthless sherds ? These rude sad sobs, poor fragments of lamenting, My heart-remains, I render back to thee, O fairest Falsehood ! unto truth consenting, Then turning, true but to inconstancy. Take my last gift, my lost heart's worthless sherds. All that is due to One whose vows were words. WEED-LIKE r^ID YOU NOT say you loved me? ^—^ And I Enough, your word I could not doubt, — I heard. What change hath now removed me Out of the garden of your thought, As if I were a weed unsought ? lyS LOVE-LORE The flower of love you cherish'd In me ( I had your word, That like some passing bird Dropp'd a fair seed), unperish'd, Must it be only weeded out By that worst foe of the garden, Doubt ? O Love ! who this forsaking Seest, I have no word Of prayer ; but thou hast heard, And carest for this heart-aching. Thine is the hurt when in dark hours Men cast away thy very flowers. FAREWELL, HOPE! "PAREWELL, HOPE ! I cry : -*- I 'U not mope, — not I. If in her refusal She Will continue, let it be ! Other Hope I '11 try. I '11 not care, — not I So, Despair ! good-bye ! Thou shalt never bankrupt me : Love with One as fair as She Yet may share a sigh. LOVE-LORE 179 Love Thee though I die : Dearest Woe ! and why ? Too long hast thou pinion'd me : Other Love shall set me free, — One I know, near by. THE LILY |_i ■'AIR slender Flower, and straight, -^ And though so dainty white, Thy beauty may not mate With Her's, my Heart's Delight. Though shapely slim and fair, Yet in less fairness dight You fairest lilies are Than Her's, my Heart's Delight. Thou but her emblem art, An image to the sight Of purity, whose heart Is Her's, my Heart's Delight. Alas ! and thou must fade And perish : such the plight Of flower and flower-like maid, — Even Her's, my Heart's Delight. l8o LOVE-LORE THE RIDDLE T 7^ THY do I my Mistress love? — ' ' Tell me why, if any knoweth, That all Ladies else above Unto Her my duty ovveth. I confess Their loveliness : What then doth my preference move ? Others are as good and wise, Some are possibly profounder ; Even to my adoring eyes Is no saintly halo round her. I confess Their worth : no less Her beyond them all I prize. Love, they say, is always blind : Nay ! I see her every failing. Rather Love is as the wind, — Comes and goes, and unavailing ' Tis to guess His waywardness. She is loveliest, to my mind. LOVE-LORE l8l OF INCONSTANCY W HAT wonder when the Sun 's away We wander by the paler light? What wonder at the close of day We listen to the bird of night? And yet the Sun may be our choice, The lark's song most our souls rejoice. Of better Burgundy deprived, Bordeaux contents me for a while : Is it not so, though haply wived, On€ may accept a passing smile ? Because I love Thee more than all, Must none thy loveliness recall ? When Mars was absent, was it shame Thit Venus for young Adon pined' When Mars return'd, her constant flame Tow'rd him as steadily inclined. Dear ! if the Mother of Love can change. Dost wonder Cupid's votaries range? LOVE-LORE H RUSTIC ER cheeks — they are twin blush-roses ; Her breath is the new-mown hay ; Right daintily curved her nose is, Ivory carved, you 'd say. O rare ! Such is my Fair : Why doth she say me Nay ? Her hair like silk o' the maize is, The Wind hath a golden prize ; The Sun in his high noon blazes Can not outshine her eyes. Compare Aught with my Fair ! Why doth she me despise ? O Venus ! but make her willing, Cupid ! thy wit employ : Were surely no prettier billing Though Adon had not been coy. O rare ! Ah me, my Fair ! When wilt thou be my Joy ? LOVE-LORE 183 WHY I LOVE TVTOT for all thy beauty's splendour, -'- ^ Not for all the loving tender Of thy grace to me observant, Am I, Dear ! thy grateful servant, — Nor for all thy gifts and graces, — But because my thought'still places Thee with other things divine. Do I love thee, Lady mine ! For thy truth and holiest chasteness, Where thy love as in a fastness Welcomes me, for thy devotion To haught honour, thine emotion — Pitiful yet justly dealing Spite of womanliest feeling, — For thou art perfection's sign. Do I love thee. Lady mine ! Were I all thy virtues telling. Heralds' catalogues outswelling, Other reasons well could measure Why in thee my love has pleasure : But I need not fill the story, — Whoso know thee see the glory 184 LOVE-LORE Circling round thy face divine, Why I love thee, Lady mine ! AMARYLLIS A /TOURN, mourn for Amaryllis, whom Desire -'- -^ Masked as Love has stolen from our troop ! Lament for her, ye Virgins ! who conld stoop To such base service, quitting Dian's quire ! Lament for Amaryllis ! Never more Her voice shall lift the hymn in Dian's praise : Her silent ghost, among Love's Castaways, Wanders along the sad Lethean shore. Weep, weep for her ! if but our tears may blot The record of her sorrow and her shame. Love ! who beguiled her sense abused thy name : Forgive the blinded eyes that knew thee not ! LOVE-LORE 185 ADONIS TN VAIN I in' vain I I must refuse -'- The love so freely proffer'd me : I may not love but where I choose, Though Venus' self the wooer be. Hadst thou but waited, who can tell What happy gatherer might pass ? The fruit that of its own weight fell Is left unheeded on the grass. In vain thy love-ripe lips, thy arms Twined round me to compel my stay. Were but reserve among thy charms Perhaps I had not turn'd away. LEAP-YEAR "^ /"ENUS leans her cheek against " His shoulder turn'd away : " Love me, Adon ! though thou feignst : Thou wilt love me, — say ! " 1 86 LOVE-LORE " Loveliest face ! " she draws it down ; And " Push me not away ! " Aden answers with a frown ; "Thou wilt love me ?" Nay! She has kiss'd his close cold lips, Her fond whisper may But repeat her kiss ; she clips Him closer : yet 'tis Nay ! Venus ! vainly dost thou tempt : Love but yesterday Thee forsook. O Love-exempt ! Wherefore dost thou pray ? o DIVINER LOVE SON of Ocean-foam ! in vain Sad Hope thy restless wings would stay, Or Pleasure with her flower chain Confine thee when thou wouldst away. Woe worth their lives in thee who trust, Child of Desire, whose name is Lust ! But thou, O Love, the heaven-born, True offspring of the elder God ! Thou holdst this counterfeit in scorn. LOVE-LORE 187 And blessest those who kiss thy rod. Thy worship yields a joy more deep Than e'er had Adon lull'd to sleep. Thine is the temple, Power Divine ! To which I bring this constant heart, An offering at my Lady's shrine, Who in thy services hath part. For her dear sake my gift prefer, And gracious answer give through her ! UNDER THE LINDENS UNDERNEATH the lindens' shade Where the bees sweet music made, In the idle June time hot, Dora with her Damon lay : Haply he his love might say, — 'Sooth he would and he would not. WtU he loved, but was afraid : As they lay beneath the shade ('Twas all innocent I wot) Dora's head against him leant : Nothing else the maiden meant But she would if he would not. LOVE-LORE Underneath the lindens' shade, While the bees their music made, Simple love its measure got : Fond looks, honey 'd kisses Well, Something more might be to tell If I would, but I would not. LOST LOVE AS the rain-drops on the sand, ■^^^ As the snow-flakes on the sea. Is my love, with lavish hand Shower'd in vain on thee : To be lost Like the frost Of yet green mornings smiled on sunnily. As the the rain-drops on the sand, As the snow-flakes on the sea. Is my love : thy empty hand Wastes it, spurning me. Love's cold ghost. Like the frost Of wintry mornings, lingereth sullenly. LOVE-LORE 189 ACROSS THE WORLD ACROSS the world, my Dear ! - My hope shall reach to thee ; Nor Joy, nor Doubt, nor Fear, Our severance be. Joy will some echo wake. Bringing thee ever near ; And Doubt for thy dear sake Departs with Fear. And Grief herself shall look On me with those dear eyes. As absently she took Her one disguise. Across the world, ray Dear ! Though I may seem to roam, My heart is ever here With thee, at home. 190 LOVE-LORE HEAVENLY EYES ' I 'ELL ME not of heavenly eyes, Suddenly glancing to surprize ( As the sun in days which are Cloudy) eyes that watch and dare ! Tell me not of bosom'd snow, With volcanic depths below Of a heart whose hidden fires Kindle uncontroul'd desires ! Tell me not of wisest ways, And the subtlety bewrays How love 's waited for, and yet Is not sure it will be met ! Tell me rather of a soul Loving, but with such controul O'er itself that it may be Sure of its serenity ! Tell me of a form so fair I scarce think of fairness there, Knowing how it doth enshrine All that love holds most divine ! LOVE-LORE 191 Tell me of sufficient wit Love need not be shamed of it ! Fair or foul, as others deem, Thts is She I hold supreme. Be she homely, ay ! as true. Thorough-loving, trusting through. Though she have not heavenly eyes. This is She as heaven I prize. WAITING W HY should I wait, O Lover ! Hearing thy call? I come. Wait ? when thou dost discover Thy heart — my home. Why should I wait. Beloved ! Ready to meet thy call ? What though thou be unproved, Thine am I, all. Yet could I wait, dear Lover ! Wanting thy voice ( O heart ! ) Were it but one step over To where thou art. ig2 LOVE-LORE. LOVE JEALOUS T IME WAS methought 'twould be enough for love To live by Her, to worship and admire : Poor silly moth ! that all too soon must prove The kindling of Love's ire, And play with fire, And drawing nearer, nearer, so be burn'd, — Unknowing that I_ yearn'd. I look'd as One might on a painting look. Or on a statue fair but marbie-cold ; I sought not, I admired : Love may not brook A love needs not be told. Now would I fold The picture, the warm'd statue, to my heart : Now hath Desire his part. Once seem'd it much but listening to Her, Hearing her voice, whose music was so clear It was all pleasure ; now I feel the stir Of pain while She is near. Lest others hear. She must be mine, all mine, my very own : So Love at last is known. LOVE-LORE 193 COUNT OF TIME H OW shall we count our hours? Nay, Love ! our kisses count Our love's amount While the fount of time is ours. Count we our moments ? Dear ! Each moment is a kiss : Why, 'twere amiss To account for even a year. Who counts his kisses knows How much he did e.xpend At his love's end. Our love shall have no close. ADMIRING LOVE T IKE HER, the maiden who for years -' — ' Fed on the scent of flowers fine. Such is my love, which now appears To live but on its thoughts of thine. 194 LOVE-LORE That sweetness of love-bloom is all My food, my hunger's festival. The grace that haloes thee around Thy beauty's effluence that doth kiss The garden's most removed bound, My fond condition can not miss, — Who hourly hover round the bloom, Contenting me with its perfume. So modest humble my delight, Not daring to approach too near. But having thee in constant sight And living in thy atmosphere : No miracle I may confess, — So fragrant is thy loveliness. HERO'S SONG " ^y ET AGAI N, O my Leander !— ■^ Ere the happier Hours depart. Watching thee while thou dost wander Far from where thou leavest thy heart. Yet again, before the dullness Of the daylight hides thy form ! Love ! O Love ! be ours the fullness Of delight before the storm. LOVE-LORE 195 " Night ! Day can not lend thee splendour, Night that brings Leander here : Hasten, Day ! thy joys surrender For the presence of my Dear. Day of gloom ! Night had such glory : " — Ere she mourn'd her Castaway. Readers of Leander's story Love the night before the day. A DREAM T dream'd (ah me ! but life is dream-like all,) ^ I lay in a garden fair. Sweet-shaded there By a young peach-tree ; and the tree let fall Its blossoms of rich scent On me, — for what that meant. Then question'd I my thought to find what sense My dream interpreted ; The answer said — "The bloom o' the peach betokens preference." O heart ! if it be true My Lady cares for you. 196 LOVE-LORE FLOWER COURTSHIP I BROUGHT my Love a posy well-composed To speak for me in words she could not doubt : Sweet basil, box, and broom, With cedar, and the bloom Of red chrysanthemum ; And in my left hand, as of choice kept out, A marigold, half-closed. My posy well accepted then by her, The marigold she took and smiling threw Where the tall ox-eyes stand ; Then from her bosom's band \ Unloosed with lingering hand A single aster, — but with impulse new Pluck'd for me lavender. Sweet Basil, Good wishes, — Box, Constancy, — Broom, Humility, — Cedar, / live for Thee, — Chrysanthemum, / love Thee, — Marigold, Cruelty, — Ox-eye, Be patient / — Aster, /'// think of it. " Owning her love. She sent him Lavender." LOVE-LORE 197 WHOM I MEAN T NAME HER NOT : but whoso see -'- A fair and gracious dignity That, gentle born, is careful still For blossoming of gentler will ( The flower she weareth on her breast ), Know well to whom my hope's address'd. I need not name her, Beauty's Queen, Since well ye wot whom I do mean. I need not name her : whoso knows The fairest flower on earth that grows Hath seen her and my riddle known. Pure love her beauty doth enzone, And holdeth in her wavy hair One pearl of constancy most rare. I do not name my heart's fair Queen, Since well ye wot whom I do mean. I name her not. None other name But Loveliest my lips may frame. O hopeful lips ! when may you meet In worship at love's service sweet ? Sweet Heart, that registers my vows. Such thought of grace my suit allows. igS LOVE-LORE Yet name I not love's Fairest Queen, Since well ye wot whom I do mean. LOVE ONCE T OVE ONCE is nought but love alway ; -^ — ' They never loved whose hearts can say Love was : for true love can not change ; ' Tis only fancy loves to range. So reasoning, this content I drew : — Belinda might not be untrue. She told me, perhaps thought, she loved : But love so easily removed Is fickleness, mere Venus froth, — Just now I like and now I loathe. Such shimmer of a shifting sea Was all Belinda's "love" for me. Belinda, like the passing wave. May much embrace, but never gave Herself. A shell on ocean foam Were our Belinda's likeliest home. So, reasoning thus, content I knew The Unloving to herself was true. LOVE-LORE 199 ROSALIND /'~\N every tree the graven rind — Retains the name of Rosalind : I carved mine with it on each tree, 'Tis she alone that loseth me. I dug into the quarried stone Her name, so should our love be known To latest years : for my reward 1 found her more than marble hard. "My Rosalind" with idle hand I traced upon the shifting sand. To be by the next flood effaced : Her ebb of love had greater haste. Than stone more hard is Rosalind, And looser than the sand her mind : Hard heart and will infirm I find ; Love's grave I dig for Rosalind. LOVE-LORE I OTHERSOME LL not mourn though She refuse me, I '11 not deeply care ; Love shall never so abuse me : There are more as fair. Though I chose Love's White Rose, Lilies may compare. Shall I pine if She deceive me ? Die of my despair ? Let her, if so please her, leave me ! Truth indeed is rare ; Yet I '11 find To my mind One whose faith is fair. Be She coldly coy, or faithless, I '11 not too much care ; If her falsehood leave me scatheless. Her negleft I ' 11 share. Is this wrong? My love-song Finds a burden there. LOVE-LORE GRIEF "T^RAW thy hand across thine eyes ! -' — Turn away ! No tear fall for One who lies There to-day ! Speak no word, nor seem to heed What they say ! Can a dead heart care indeed ? Thine to-day. One in grave and One grief-slain, Clay to clay ! Parted ne'er to meet again : Pass away ! LOVE AFRAID T DARED NOT lead my arm around -'- Her dainty waist ; I dared not seek her lips, that mine Hunger'd to taste. LOVE-LORE I dared not, for such awe I found, O Love divine ! I trembled as my eager hand Her light touch graced ; And when her fond look answer'd mine I dared not haste, But waited, holding my demand For farther sign. Sweet mouth, that with so sweet a sound My dread hath chased. And to my lips the holy wine, Love's vintage placed ! Dear heart, that ever now will bound Or rest with mine. MY MAIDEN L ^AIR IS SHE, as a morn most fair, -^ And pure as earliest dew ; Like Spring's first gold her crisped hair. Like heaven her eyes' deep blue ; Her form is as the leopard's lithe. Her step as a wild fawn's free ; And like her heart her song is blithe With loving thoughts of me. LOVE-LORE 203 Glad' thoughts, a halo round her face, Her heart is so astir : O love, my love, give me the grace Of thoughts as worthy Her ! Sweet Heart ! the very Gods were glad Its sweet outcome to see ; And I a God since when She had Glad loving thoughts of me. WHICH OF US OURELY we both loved passing well. ^^—^ How it happen'd I can not tell, But so it came : Was She fickle or was I tired? Whose the blame ? Say that neither of us inquired Of that same. But this happen'd : one hazy day One of the twain was far astray ; But how it came, Whether 'twas I or She who went, 'Tis no blame. Both rriay be wrong yet innocent All the same. 204 LOVE-LORE ROSY WINE 1\ yr Y Mistress' frowns are hard to bear, -'- -*- And yet I will not quite despair; Nor think, because her b'ps I leave, There's nothing left me but to grieve. — The goblet's lip avvaiteth mine : My grief I quench in rosy wine. Dame Fortune too has faithless gone : But let her go ! I will not moan. Draw in your chair, old Friend ! and see What rating Fortune has from me. Clink yet again your glass with mine, — To Fortune's health, in rosy wine ! Pass, Fortune ! pass, thou fickle jade ! One fortunately constant maid Smiles on me yet ; though loves depart, Her presence gladdeneth my heart. Thy tendrils cling, O loving Vine ! My griefs I slake in rosy wine. LOVE-LORE 205 MADAM! NO! M ADAM, NO ! and leave thy wiles ! Though I own thee fair, I in truth distrust the smiles That any fool may share. I must quit, despite thy charms ( Truly they are rare ), But those all-embracing arms Can not detain me there. Madam, no ! my heart may yearn ; Love indeed could wait — Cared I but to take my turn Withlhose who crowd thy gate. TO SORROW LOVED sweet Sorrow in my early youth : To-day we are but friends. Companions then, and now she only lends Her presence for a while, 2o6 LOVE-LORE Graced with a smile Of more content than ruth. She loved me well in those confiding days : Perhaps she loves me still. ' Tis I am traitor, careless to fulfil The faith we pledged of old : 'Tis I am cold, Who turn me from her gaze. Reproachful Sorrow ! art thou yet as fond ? Ah, me ! my heart is dead. In that grey dawn our loves so fairly sped, Thou wooest now in vain : And yet remain ! I will not look beyond. LOVE AND YOUTH ' I 'WO winged genii in the air I greeted as they pass'd me by : The one a bow and quiver bare, The other shouted joyously. Both I besought to stay their speed. But never Love nor Youth had heed Of my wild cry. LOVE-LORE 207 As swift and careless as the wind, Youth fled nor ever once look'd back ; A moment Love was left behind, • But follow'd soon his fellow's track. Yet loitering at my heart he bent His bow, then smiled with changed intent : The string was slack. TOO LATE AJ'^ES ! thou art fair, and I had loved -^ If we in happier hours had met ; But ere tow'rd me thy beauty moved The sun of Love's brief day had set. Though I may watch thy opening bloom And its rich promise gladly see, 'Twill not procrastinate my doom : The ripen'd fruit is not for me. Yet, had 1 shared thy course of years. And young as Hope beheld thy charms, The love that only now endears Perchance had given thee to my arms. 2o8 LOVE-LORE Vain, vain regret ! Another day Will kiss the buds of younger flowers, But ne'er will evening turn away From love untimelier than ours. * WHY TTE pull'd the branch of hazel down, -'- -*- And kiss'd me ere he let it go. ' Twas very sweet ; I did not frown ; Why did my lover tremble so? Why was he silent as we went, Hand fast in hand, the dim wood through ? I knew he loved me, knew he meant Love's question. I was silent too. I ' ve not had time to ask him yet. ' Twas but a moment that my heart Beat against his, just now : we met At mother's gate, to kiss, and part. LOVE-LORE 209 WHICH "^ A THICH art thou? boy or girl, with face ' '^ So frank, devoid of shame. And closely curling hair, And with that rare Ingenuousness which would dishearten Blame, If Blame dared bring disgrace. Art thou Apollo? — here again In simple shepherd guise, Simple, but gracious too, As when he knew To please Admetus, with those level eyes Of most divine disdain. Art Dian, only chastely hymn'd? — Or Nymph of Dian's Court, At home in the green wood ? Methinks I could Attempt Aflseon happy in such sort. My sight thereafter dimm'd. Which art thou ? — I need ask no more : For my too venturing speech Hath scarcely touch'd thy cheek. LOVE-LORE And what I seek Is found in the swift blush, red as a peach, Mantling thy sweet face o'er. LOVE'S SERVICE H AST thou no pity. Love ! for thy poor thralls ? No ruth for all the sorrow that befalls Thy hapless servitors? Even so I pray'd To Him, the lord of earth and sea and air ; And he my foolish prayer Deign'd answer, and thus said : — " I have no pity. My true servants ask Nor wages nor reward ; but of their task Make their delight, the joy divine of pain Sometimes, but not the less it is delight. In their great grief's despite Sufficient is their gain." — I am not worthy^ Love ! to claim a place In thy close sandluary ; but of thy grace Admit me to the outer courts : and so In time that inner worship I may learn, And on thy altar burn The Sacrifice of Woe ! LOVE-LORK WEEP NOT! SIGH NOT! ■^ A TEEP NOT ! tears must vainly fall, ' ' Though they fall like rain : Sorrow's flood shall not recall Love's dear life again. Vain thy tears, vain thy sobs ; As vain heart-throbs .Of lonely years Since thou Love hast slain. Sigh not ! As a passed wind Is but sought in vain, Sighs, nor groans, may not unbind Death's unbroken chain. Sighs and tears nought avail ; Nor cheeks grown pale In lonely years. Love conies not again. LOVE-LORE A A HEALTH HEALTH to the damosel tall ! A health to my lass, though small ! Black eyes, or blue, Or brown will do, — Or green : we will drink to all. A health to the maiden slim. If her eyes but with love are dim ! Here's to the stout, Loving, no doubt ! I 'd pledge them both for a whim. Drink, drink to both dark and fair ! To the girl with the golden hair ; To her with the black ; And never slack Till the red has a handsome sh=.re ! A health to — The sort don't mind. Since your wine is of various kind. Toast each, as they pass. In a separate glass ! Remembering Love is blind. LOVE-LORE ADVICE TO A MAIDEN W ILT thou yield because he presses ? Easily earn'd is quickly spent. Bind him, Maiden ! with thy tresses ! Hasten not event ! Careless who too soon possesses : Lo, he came and went. Hold thy falcon in his jesses, For a while content ! But she said — "The giver blesses ; Love is given, not lent." And I thought her fond caresses Not improvident. NOT FLATTERING O NO ! her eyes are not like stars. Her hair 's not threads of gold ; And for her voice, it rather jars On me to hear her scold. 214 LOVE-LORE Her nose is good — say for a scent ; Her mouth, I own, is wide ; And heaven a knack of laughing lent. To show the teeth inside. Her smile is pleasant, I allow ; Her lips, well, — they are curved. Enough for kissing-gear, — I vow Her lover 'd not be sterved. Such as she is, this maid I love ; If she '11 have me for man, I '11 prize her, fairer girls above. As fairly as I can. T SPRING AND AUTUMN HOU wilt forget me." "Love has no such word." The soft Spring wind is whispering to the trees. Among lime-blossoms have the hovering bees Those whispers heard ? " Or thou wilt change." " Love changeth not : " he said. The purple heather cloys the air with scent Of honey. O'er the moors her lover went, Nor turn'd his head. LOVE-LORE 215 DROUGHT ' j 'HE WIND waves over the grass : -*- Will it bring the rain ? I know not. Sad heart ! alas ! Tears will not ease thy pain. We are wanting the rain for the seeds Lying hard in the earth ; And our hopes have come up as weeds For the harvest of dearth. N NO MORE O MORE ! no more ! O happy Youth, so fearless, frank, and fair ! Thou comest with the blossoms in thy hair No more, no more. No more ! no more ! O happier Love ! one fairest fair blush rose Thy garden had, the Flower of Hope, that grows No more, no more. 2l6 LOVE-LORE No more ! no more ! Long-parted Joy ! ah, whither hast thou flown? Youth pass'd, Hope wither'd, and thy voice is known No more, no more. FAINT HEART TT'AINT HEART wins not lady fair : -*- Viftory smiles on those who dare. There is but one way to woo : Think thy Mistress willing too ; Leave her never chance to choose. Hold her powerless to refuse ! If she answer thee with No, Wilt thou bow and let her go ? When, most like, her No is meant But to make more sweet consent : So thy suit may longer be. For so much she liketh thee. Never heed her pretty airs ! He 's no lover who despairs ; He 's no warrior whom a fro.vn Drives from his beleaguer'd town ; And no hunter he who stops Till his stricken quarry drops. LOVE-LORE -17 Aim as certain not to miss ; Take her as thou wouldst a kiss! Or ask once, and if in vain, Ask her twice, and thrice again ! Sure of this, when all is said, — They lose most who are afraid. THE IDEAL NEVER for what She is Man loves, unknown her kind. And woman's love, like his. Is also blind. Each looks, but neither sees ; Hidden from both the Real : And all Love's ecstasies Adore the Ideal. Wherefore, our wit so scant, Love we ? Alas the hour ! .\sk why the full-grown plant Puts forth the flower ! Track o'er the pathless seas The wild birds' way, And yet Love's mysteries Thou shalt not say. 2l8 LOVE-LORE Seekers of what is not, The prize each one would win Is Beauty without spot And Truth within. Be glad if Hope can seize Some image of the Real, And calm sweet memories Still hold the Ideal ! THE COUNTERFEIT TF I COULD fashion Thee in stone, -^ Fair as thyself, Beloved One ! Even Phidias were content to see The world's most beauteous effigy ; And I with gazing on the stone Should wish myself Pygmalion. Could I upon the canvas paint Thy likeness, my love's worshipt Saint ! To Raffaele's dreams a grace I 'd lend. And with great Titian contend ; All lesser painters should despair To express a face so more than fair. O might I borrow Sidney's quill, Or Jonson's rare poetic skill. LOVE-LORE 219 And trace thy loveliness of mind In words of heart, till thine inclined To thank the poet at thy feet, — What song could be so honey-sweet? But in thy gloriousness of face, And in thy form's unstudied grace, I find such charms I must despair To fashion thy resemblance fair ; And sculpture, painting, poesy, Are weak for counterfeiting Thee. LOVING FAITH S AY THE WORS'l' ! Ere all is said Love hath fully answered. Defamation still may say And Detraction hold her way ; All is said, and Love yet smiles : Loving faith no falsehood files. Yet, were slander true as troth. Censure likely as now loath, Or if Peace ! the loving still Love, as Love for ever will. All is done : Love only smiles. Loving faith no doubt defiles. LOVE-LORE SLEEPING ON LATMOS AWAKE, ENDYMION! -^^^- How art thou sleeping still ? What light step climbs the hill, What brightness cometh on ! Awake, Endymion ! Wake, For Phoebe's sake. Awake, Endymion ! What dream hath lit his smile ? Was it that very while Her love around him shone? Awake, Endymion ! — Wake, , For Phoebe's sake. ^^ Awake, Endymion ! — Wilt thou not wake for this ? And his still lips a kiss Divine from fond lips won. Now wake, Endymion ! Wake, For Phoebe's sake. LOVE-LORE LONG AGO T~\ID I love you? Well you know. ■'-^ Did you love me? Who can say? Yet may be you did one day Long ago. Do you love me ? Answer No ! Yet I smile, nor will complain : It was sad to love in vain Long ago. Do I love you ? May be, though Love is silent, seeks not gain : — I remember love was fain Long ago. CRIPPLED ' 1 'RAIL thy broken pinion, Love -^ Bind thine eyes with sorrow ! I, no more thy minion, Love ! Bid thee Good-morrow. LOVE-LORE Useless to dissemble, Love ! Never can we borrow Past content : dost tremble? Love ! Bid thee Good-morrow ! Limp away ! forget me, Love ! I have wed with Sorrow. My prayers do not let thee, Love ! Bid me Good-morrow ! AIME MOI A IMEZ MOI, je vous en prie ! -^^- Never a word she understood : But her eyes told me she would, Said — Je t' aime, mon bel ami ! Aimez moi, je vous en prie ! Not a word could she understand. But the pressure of her hand Said — Je t' aime, mon bel ami ! Aime moi, and je t'en prie ! Never a word her lips pass'd by : Sweeter kisses gave reply. Said — Je t' aime, mon bel ami ! LOVE-LORE FOR LOVE'S SAKE I WOULD I were a fly on my Love's cheek, Or flea On her white bosom, or poor humble bee To sting her Hp when I would honey seek : Since flies or fleas may come my Mistress nigh, All happier than L O Love ! transform me. No shape were amiss To take. Her four-legg'd favourite, centipede, or snake, I M be if She my prettiness would kiss, And fondle me : so I might crawl beside This most dear Thing of Pride. Change me to anything that She can love ! \ toad : The jewel in my head I would unload ; Some happier day She might the gift approve. Or make me ( bully Jove ! Love's memory jog,) ;\ beautiful bull-frog ! 224 LOVE-LORE THRENODY "D RING thy saddest tears, O Earth ! -' — ' Never canst thou have Sjch great Worth Thy grief to crave. Pour from all thy crystal springs Full sorrowings, Nor mind the after dearth ! Strew on Her, O Trees ! your leaves ; Flowers, Blossoms ! fade. Winter reaves And clouds must shade Your joys in Summer's jocund time, Since in her prime Death binds Her in his sheaves. Springs, and Groves, all things of Earth ! Mourn since She is gone ! Life's great mirth Is changed to moan ; Hope, when She was laid in tomb. Dared not to bloom : So Loss defeated Worth. LOVE-LORE 225 FORTUNA H OW many wouldbt thou love ? fair Maid Sad was my heart, God wot : Thou raakfest Love himself afraid, And yet who loves thee not ? " I love, I love thee ! " Such words said, Glad was my heart, God wot : Upon my heart thy fair head laid. And yet thou lovedst me not. She loved, she said ; and left me so : Sad was my heart, God wot. Thy love of change so many know, And yet who loves thee not? Once leaving me thou didst look back ( Glad was my heart, God wot,) As bidding me to keep thy track : And yet thou lovedst me not. O Love, whom Love hath made so fair ! Sad is my heart, God wot : Thou leavest thy lovers to despair. And yet who loves thee not ? 226 LOVE-LORE HOPE AND WISH K Y ! if Love for wishing cared not, Or content with hoping dared not, Thou and I might love for ever : But our hopeful wishes, — they Must forbid our longer stay : Therefore must we sever. Dearest ! tell Hope to forsake thee ! Say to Wish — Thou shalt not take me, Love and I are friends for ever. Or tell Wish from thee to stray ; Hope forbid to watch and pray : So we may not sever. So we never shall be parted ; So, although I broken-hearted Die, despairing of endeavour. My poor ghost with thee shall stay : Love, were Hope and Wish away. From thee could not sever. LOVE-LORE 227 -FAIREST W HAT the earth has of most fair, Tell me ! — ' Tis the Rose When her young buds first unclose In the dew-sweet air. Nay ! not so : for I know One more fair than fairest Rose. What most pure as well as fair? Tell me ! — ' Tis the Sleet, Treading swiftly with fine feet The light floor of air. Nay ! not so : for I know One as pure as driven Sleet. What has life of joy most rare ? Tell me ! — It must be Love as glad as mine for Thee, Lady pure and fair ! Nay ! not so : for I know Greater joy, thy love for me. 228 LOVE-LORE THE PRAYER TO DIANA r^ ODDESS of the silver bow ! ^—^ Unto thee my days I vow : — Guard me in thy sylvan shade From all terrors for a maid ; From all wildness prowling round Keep me, in thy virgin bound ! Love, — I will not heed his shaft, Maiden will defies his craft ; Hymen, — better Uian's light Than his flame, however bright : Goddess ! take me for thine own. — ; She forgot Endymion. Even while the girl did pray, PhcEbe was upon her way To the happy Latmos cave ; Yet to her votary she gave, In despite of loving haste, Answer holy, pure, and chaste. Worship thou among my train. Looking not for Love, nor fain Hymen's flaring torch to invite To my realm of calm delight ! LOVE-LORE 229 Wait ! And farther had said on, But stopp'd to kiss Endymion. UNDER A CHERRY-TREE r^ CHERRY-TREE ! O Cherry-Tree ! ^-^ That Spring-time was so fair : Thy boughs were a white heaven to me, For He was there. O Cherry-Tree, glad Cherry-Tree ! He said my red Hps were Richer than thy ripe fruit : ah me ! He Iviss'd me there. O Cherry-Tree, sad Cherry-Tree ! Now are thy branches bare : The leafless boughs repeat to me — He is not there. CAMOMILE ]\A Y LOVE is like^the Camomile -^ -^ (A Lo\cr so complain'd ), That trampled groweth more the while. And flourisheth disdain'd. 230 LOVE-LORE The rose upon my Lady's breast Will fade within an hour ; But that, down-trodden, sore-oppress'd, Outliveth storm and stour. So in my heart the bitter weed Uplifteth its despair. And bideth until wholesome heed Shall move my Lady's care : Content to kiss her trailing gown — O love-fed Sorrow ! smile : For see, my Lady louteth down To pluck the Camomile. DIRGE "D LOOMS o' the May, with dews impearl'd, -" — Sweet pale roses of the Spring, Bring, and heap For her pillow, where uncurl'd Those soft tresses may be laid. Gentlest Sorrow ! lay the Maid Down, to sleep. No harsh sound disturb her rest ! Silent — keep thy nest, O Lark ! Dark ! awake LOVE-LORE 231 That fond plaint thou lovest best. Tune thy requiem, Nightingale ! Out, alas ! can Song avail For Her sake ? SAPPHIC T LOVE HIM, and he loves me not : alas -^ That this should be ! How should a maiden come to such a pass, A maiden free ? Woe 's me ! Free once as wind : but were I as the wind. To him I 'd flee, Breathe my love sighingly, and loving bind The now love-free. Woe 's me ! 1 love him and he loves me not. O Grief ! My helper be ; Wind ! bear me unto him, as a dead leaf Is borne by thee. Woe 's me ! 232 LOVE-LORE THE LAW OF CHANGE ' I 'HEY know not Love who love to range : -*- As who would sip from wine to wine Loses all taste in his exchange, And sups at length with Circe's swine. Love's self comprised the world at first : But, grown monotonous, Desire ( With itch of restlessness accurst ) Began the outer world to admire. Might I but Cleopatra know — Whose varied charms no use could stale : So, sounding love from high to low, From low to high, complete the scale. Vet, Helen ! I would meet thy smiles, And clasp Aspasia to my heart ; Then Sappho's frenzy, Lais' wiles. Experience, proving every part. Fool ! Change itself content deur.rs : In seeking all thou hast not One. Who shuts out light, to see the stars, May see them, but has lost the sun. LOVE-LORE HER RIVALS T GRANT that others have beguiled -^ My fancy, Love ! from you : But even as on them I smiled, My heart was not untrue. I own one moment your eclipse Behind that golden hair : But while her kiss was on my lips Your name was whisper'd there. And she whose ready-blushing cheek Half met my love confess'd Hea,rd me in fonder accents speak Of One still loved the best. German the first, the other French : I loved them, Dear ! before I courted you. Yoii jealous wench ! What ! never see them more? Nay ! by the lovely golden-hair'd. By her whose blush I own. You '11 pardon, their sweet names declared, — Moselle and Rose-Bourgogne. 234 LOVE-LORE TO PANSIES ^■^The pansy maidens heartsease call." P URE maiden thoughts, doubt not ! you are : And yet sometimes we see Your colour richer and bizarre As Venus' pansies be. So be it ! who would change the flower Grown at its own sweet will ? Our only wish with every hour To find the heartsease still. SLEEP TDE STILL! She sleeps. -* — ' Thy whitest smile, O Moon ! ( As once Endymion ) In pallor steeps Her fair face while she sleeps. Be still ! She sleeps. No leaf let fall. May-bloom ! But sweet perfume. LOVE-LORE 235 Where Silence creeps To watch her as she sleeps. Be hush'd'! She sleeps. O tender-winged Moth ! Have care, as loath To assail the keeps Where she still smiling sleeps. FIE, LOVE! FIE! UNTO LOVE my Lady said — " Fie, Love ! fie ! Counseling a yoimg maid to wed : Wed no man will L" — Love ! 1 pray thee, — do not fail : Since unless thou weight the scale All my prayers may not prevail. Ay, Love ! ay ! "Cease ( she said) to speak his praise Fie, Love ! fie ! What know maidens of men's ways? Men for love will lie." — Tell her. Love ! some men are true ; And I — one among the Few — Ask no more than is my due. Ay, Love ! ay ! 236 LOVE-LORE IF LOVE MIGHT LAST TF LOVE MIGHT last forever, -^ And Beauty keep her youth, Fond hearts now forced to sever Should 'scape remorse and ruth : If Love might last for ever. And Beauty keep her youth. If Love's sole name were Pleasure, And Beauty were not vain, Content might mete its measure. And tears be sweet as rain : If Love knew only pleasure, And Beauty were not vain. Could Beauty bloom for ever. If Love were constant Truth, Or Love well-dower'd Endeavour, And Beauty queenly Youth, — Love then would love for ever, And Beauty wed with Truth. LOVE-LORE 237 MORE MULIDOR T_T ER eyes ■".re brighter than a greedy dog's ; -^ -*- Her hair is yellow as a shock of grain ; Her suppley limbs are nimbler than a frog's Leaping from out a pool and in again. Heigho, dildido ! An I love her in vain ? Her throat 's round as a sack of wheaten flour, VVherefrom issues rare music as she s;)eaks ; Her bosom 's soft and white as snowy shower ; Redder than roses are her ruddy cheeks. Heigho, dildido ! Her have I loved for weeks. She gambols gaily as a youngling sheep ; Or walks more stately than a swimming swan ; To tell of her perfedtions, all the heap, 'Od wot, the longest day it were not done. Heigho, dildido ! I am so love-begone. 238 love-lorp: THE LAST TOAST L 'LING your hearts in the bowl till the liquor -*- runs o'er ! We have drunk many healths, there remaineth one more : We have named the Beloved, the Fond and the Fair ; — One toast yet invites us while time is to spare. Fling your hearts in the bowl, for the red wine runs low ; And my toast must be had ere one man of us go. We have honour'd the Absent, and thought of the Dead In the silence of love when no tear may be shed. Fling your hearts in again ! there 's enough for a health : To the Fair whom we name not but worship by stealth ? To the Fair long since loved ? We remember'd them all. — To the " Unfair," at leisure, or foul you befall ! Full glasses to Her whom Love seems to forget, LOVE-LORE 239 Whom Joy, narrow-minded, asks not to his set, To her the unworship'd, unwed, and unwoo'd, The Childless, the Martyr to life-solitude ! Alone, — ay, heart-lonely ! Unlovely ? Alas ! Love himself the Most Lovely hath brought to this pass. Drink ! drink ! Who '11 refuse, but to quit him of wrong ; Or grudge her the Poet's poor solace of song? I TRICKSY T was a tricksy girl, I wot, albeit clad in grey, She woo'd me, an I would or not, and stole my heart away. This tricksy maid This trick she play'd One warm Spring day. So staid, so simple, so demure, 'twas nothing she might say. But wimpled eyes which did secure the prize of all her play, This tricksy maid ! Love-sick, I play'd My heart away. 240 LOVE-LORE IN HER GRAVE TDEAUTY in her grave is lying: -' — Love's last words are said ; Silent Sorrow still replying — Still with tears unshed, For the Lovely and the Lost. O sad heart ! thou dost Too well know Nor Love nor Woe Hath gain of their vain crying. Beauty in her grave is sleeping, Strown with fragrant bloom. O, in vain, vain this upheaping Dead sweets on a tomb ! Love and Sorrow ! come away. O sad Death ! thy prey Can not know Or love or woe. Let us go, yet weeping ! LOVE-LORE 241 DETUR PULCHRIORI A /T Y Lady's eyes have heaven's hue, -^ Serenely bright and blue. My Love's are black as deepest night By lightning's light. My Lady's face, like blushing rose. With swift emotion glows. And mine is pale, as marble fair, With feeling rare. Her hair is golden as the round On royal foreheads bound. Her's is more dark than ebon twine Of Proserpine. As gently-carriaged as the dove Of Venus, She I love. And She is goddess-like in mien As Jove's great Queen. So strove they ; then unto a third The high dispute referr'd : . He on his tablets this set down — My girl is brown. 242 LOVE-LORE LOVE'S BLINDNESS ' I 'HEY call her fair. 1 do not know : ■^ I never cared to look. Who heeds the binder's costliest show When he may read the book ? What needs a list of parts to me When I possess the whole, Who only watch her eyes to see The colour of her soul ? I may not praise her mouth, her chin, Her feet, her hands, her arms ; My love lacks leisure to begin The schedule of her charms. To praise is only to compare ; And therefore Love is blind. I loved before I was aware Her beauty was of kind. LOVE-LORK 243 LAIS rpOR EVER stumbling to a fall, ^ And still afraid to look behind, Infirm of will, but wilful, all Thy native gifts have ^own the wind. We found thy beauty but a lure. Thy ready tongue a treacherous bait. Thy love a fancy — to endure So long as fickleness could wait. High-placed as fair, with wit and sense, Love was thine own and honour lent : Hadst thou escaped incontinence, Thy happier life had known content. LINGERING OHALL I for a woman pine *^-^ When she cares not to be mine ? Or, if she 'U not have me her's, Come with the other servitors ? 244 LOVE-LORE Eager Love would droop and die, Waiting for so slow reply. I would be the first to woo, But would have her ready too : If she will not understand Asking pressure of the hand, Or the swift prayer of an eye, Dullness take her ! what care I ? Nay ! and yet she must not haste : Hurried having is disgraced. But, as she sees me inclined. Let her only know her mind, To be prompt with her reply ! Doubtful love is apt to die. FOR STRENGTH TDREAKNOT, O heart! ■^ — Stern manhood bear the test ! Thou winnest not, but thou hast loved the Best. So part ! Be strong, my heart ! Be strong, my heart ! And strain thy level eyes LOVE-LORE 245 Beyond, this pain, lest Weakness thee surprize. Depart ! Break not, my heart ! PARIS JUSTIFIED T A 7"HAT else had Paris but to choose ' ^ The Queen of Beauty for his prize? What else when he had eyes to use, And sense to justify his eyes ? Poor Wisdom, knowing not of love Or wish to propagate her kind. Such maidenhood, who may, approve ! I own myself of Paris' mind. And Power that had no power to make A silly shepherd give to her The apple, even for love's sake, — Such Power, who will, to Love prefer ! So, it meseemeth, Paris had Good cause for Wit to allow his choice, For Power to spare the happy lad Whom only Beauty could rejoice. 246 LOVE-LORE HOMEWARD O WIFT-WINGED WIND, wild bird of the ^^ waste ocean ! Carry my message home : Tell her I come ; Whisper unto her of my life's devotion. Stars that behold us both for all this distance Between me and my home ; Tell her I come ; Assure her of my faith and love's persistence. Fore-reaching Thought ! thyself o'erstep the billow ; Bear thine own message home. I come, I come. Even now. Dear Love ! my glad heart is thy pillow. LOVE-LORE 247 HAPPENING T AST evening, carrying home my gift -' — ' Of fresh wild fruit in cool leaf laid, I met the little neighbour maid ; And my ripe offering went adrift. I hear of others. So they take — These fair young thieves, the dues of Eld. How may such larcenies be quell'd ? Tell me, some Matron, for love's sake ! A PROVERB ' A MERRY HEART goes all the way, -^ -^ Your sad heart tires in a mile-a." And well for the happy one to say — I was glad of your smile a while, ha ! If your smile may be for only a day. Might it last for even a mile-a. How happy could I be would you say " I will walk with you a mile." Ah ! 248 LOVE-LORE O sad sad heart ! for she turn'd away : We had not travel'd a mile-a. There is nothing for it but Welladay, And Alas for the loss of a smile ! ha ! MY VALENTINE "IWr Y VALENTINE ! my Valentine ! •^ -'- Blue Sky ! ( he said those eyes of mine Were heaven-like ) how art thou bright And he not here, my heart's delight. My Valentine? My Valentine ! my Valentine ! O foolish heart, 'so prompt to pine, Knowing his love ! But love is fear. So sure to come, and yet not here, My Valentine ! My Valentine ! my Valentine ! He comes : can Morn so brightly shine ? Sweet lips But eager love affords No time, nor is there need of words. My Valentine ! -^ LOVE-LORE 249 MISTRESS JANE TJARD WORDS, Mistress Jane! -'- -^ For a lover, "despise and disdain." But there 's that in your eyes Bids me ask you again, Mistress Jane ! I shall ask you "in vain "; And may "leave" you, I wiser remain, For that look in your eyes Bids me stay, and so gain My own Jane. SEASONS T3LUE flowers twined in the golden hair, -* — Bright in the sun and fresh Spring air, Childhood's laugh with the promise there. Climbing the apple-boughs among. Shaking the fruit down, — with a song : Youth ! such pleasures to thee belong. 250 LOVE-LORE Rich are the colours on falling leaves, Rich as the splendour of crimson eves, Or the gold of Autumn's gather'd sheaves. Stooping over the written page. White as the snow and wise as Age : — Which is it, history or presage ? THE TRESPASS /^UT AND ALAS ^-^ , For this my trespass ! I kiss'd her when I should not : Not that she would not. By my troth 'twas a likely lass. Out and alas ! — Herein my trespass : I would have love too quickly. She not unlikely : By my troth, so it came to pass. Out and alas ! — For so brief trespass She turns from me her sunlight. Ne'ertheless I have done right. By my troth, 'twas a likely lass. I.OVE-LORE 251 BARE FEET /^ FAIR white feet ! O dawn-white feet — Of Her my hope may claim ! Bare-footed through the dew she came, Her Love to meet. Star-glancing feet, the windflowers sweet Might envy, without shame, As through the grass they lightly came. Her Love to meet. O Maiden sweet, with flower-kiss'd feet ! My heart your footstool name ! Bare-footed through the dew she came, Her Love to meet. THE DAISY "T^ELL ME, DAISY ! as I pull -'- Thy petals in the sun, — Does he love me? does he love me? My Beloved One. 252 LOVE-LORE Answer, Daisy ! as I touch Thy petals, tell my lot ! Does he love me ? Yes ! he loves me. No ! he loves me not. Daisy ! Daisy ! once again. True petals, — Love has won. Does he love me ! Yes ! he loves me. My Beloved One. EPICUREAN TN Childhood's unsuspicious hours -'-The fairies crown 'd my head with flowers. Youth came : I lay at Beauty's feet ; She smiled and said my song was sweet. Then Age and, Love no longer mine, My brows I shaded with the Vine. With flowers and love and wine and song ; O Death ! life hath not been too long. LOVE-LORE 253 HAPPY DAYS f~\ H APPY DAYS of innocence and song ! — When Love was ever welcome, never wrong ; When words were from the heart, when folk were fain To answer truth with truthfulness again. — O Kapp5' days of innocence and song ! O blessed days of unforbidden joy. When gentle Love was yet a thoughtless boy, Unchidden for his boldness, yet afraid. For that he loved, to importune his Maid. O vernal promise of eternal joy ! O happy days of unrestrained song, Days unto which fond memories belong : A goldun dawn which never may return, Howe'er the poet heart for you must yearn, O happy days of innocence and song ! 254 LOVE-tORE THE SILENCED SINGER T HE nest is built, the song hath ceased ; The minstrel joineth in the feast, So singeth not. The poet's verse, Crippled by Hymen's household curse, Follows no more its hungry quest. Well if Love's feathers line the nest. Yet blame not that beside the fire Love hangeth up his unstrung lyre ! How sing of hope when hope hath fled, Joy whispering lip to lip instead ? Or how repeat the tuneful moan When the Obdiirate 's all my own ? Love, like the lark, while soaring sings : Wouldst have him spread again his wings ? What careth he for higher skies Who on the heart of harvest lies. And finds both sun and firmament Closed in the round of his content ? LOVE-LORE 255 THE SINGER'S APOLOGY M ERE waste of wit these poor love-rimes, These tinklings fit to tickle ears Of silly boys and girls in times Of play : offence to serious years ! Yet so did Shakspere spend his hours, And Sidney judged love-lore no shame, And Jonson grudged not nriblest powers : If not their praise, 1 share their blame. Nor do I of mere idlesse sing : Albeit without didaftic bent, My simple notes perchance may bring Some lesson of a wise content. Rebuke the lark "at heaven's gate" ! Reprove the foolish nightingale ! While these may sing I will not wait, Though wisdom frown or critics rail. HAMDEN, 1895