Cornell University Library 
 PR4161.B41R2 
 
 Randolph, Lord DeVere, and other poems. 
 
 3 1924 013 438 613 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 343861 3 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERp 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 REV. JAMES BOWNES, M.A. 
 
 I. ate of Trinity College, Cambridge, Vicar of Creech St. Michael, Author 
 
 of " A Story without Names, and Other Poems,'' and " A Vision of 
 
 Martyrs, and Other Poems " 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SWAN SONNENSCHEIN 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 & CO. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 o;<»<o 
 
 PAGE 
 
 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE . . .1 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS . . . 77 
 SELENi: AND ENDYMTON : A DRAMA ... 88 
 
 MY FRIENDS . . . . . I07 
 
 A SILENT SCENE ... . . . I08 
 
 CHARLOTTE ... . . 109 
 
 SHE SLEEPS WITHIN THE OLD CHURCHYARD . 110 
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY .Ill 
 
 WHEN THE SWEET MOON SAILS OVERHEAD . Ill 
 
 I WISH THAT I WERE FAR AWAY . . .112 
 
 BYRON . . . . . . -113 
 
 LORD TENNYSOn's DEATH 
 FLOWERS 
 
 CONSTANCE . 
 
 HESTER 
 
 DEATH 
 
 TO AN AMERICAN LADY 
 
 114 
 
 116 
 
 117 
 
 118 
 119 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PRE-EXISTENCE .... 
 THE LIVES OF GREAT MEN . 
 AFRAID OF DEATH ! . . . 
 
 THE WAVES . 
 MUSINGS 
 
 THE MOON 
 
 LIFE AFTER DEATH 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I20 
 
 121 
 
 122 
 
 123 
 
 . 125 
 
 126 
 
 . 127 
 
 . 128 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Feom out the portal of his Castle fair, 
 The Lord de Vera stepped on with hastening pace, 
 And tow'rds a distant summit set his face, 
 Because he wished to breathe the freshening air, 
 And for a time sit contemplating there. 
 
 And with a hastening pace he strode along 
 
 'Mid fine and olden oaks on either side — 
 
 Monarchs of trees despite their age yet strong — 
 
 And with a shelving park that opened wide. 
 
 Displaying herds of cattle, tame and wild. 
 
 And an embower'd lake as sweet and mild. 
 
 As gentle slumbers of a little child. 
 
 And having passed this pleasant smooth domain, 
 
 He entered in a wood that bordered it, 
 
 A kind of sanctuary, — a forest fane : 
 
 The columned pines formed aisles obscurely lit 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERS. 
 
 By glimmering light from many a leaf-bound slit. 
 Whilst branches swinging in the air around 
 Gave fragrant incense, and the breezes' sound 
 Swelled like the organ's rolling notes profound. 
 
 III. 
 
 At length he gained the summit, 'twas a hill 
 
 That beetled o'er a portion of a vale. 
 
 And there before him rose, undimmed and still, 
 
 A distant fronting range, which seemed to hail 
 
 The spot on which he stood, like friends who fail 
 
 To clasp again, while at his feet afar 
 
 A river sparkled like the sun's bright car. 
 
 Enraptured by the sweetness of the sight 
 
 He sat him down to view, and stayed a time 
 
 And drank repeatedly with fond delight 
 
 The freshening air which flowed that lofty clime ; 
 
 Such a transcendent pleasure sometimes known 
 
 When he beheld the rising sun at prime. 
 
 Or when he saw the black-eyed night alone 
 
 Seated upon her splendent starry throne. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Although but young, De Vere was yet a man 
 Who loved to think upon and to explore 
 The wondrous works of nature, and to scan 
 Its glories vast, for then his soul would soar 
 Above the daily woes with pinions fleet, 
 And find in these employments joy complete 
 That threw around his life a halo sweet. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 V. 
 
 But though a thinker, he had travelled long, 
 And had beheld the cloud-capt Switzerland, 
 And eyed its lakes, and heard the thunder -song 
 Of waterfalls and avalanches grand, 
 And gazed upon the glaciers reaching far, 
 Where silent mists their dusky wings expand. 
 And where the mountains' snowy garlands are. 
 Which shimmer, silvered by the morning star. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In Egypt he had ridd'n through deserts bare. 
 And seen in Turkey Saint Sophia's shrine. 
 And lived in Italy at Venice fair. 
 And marked in Germany the rich grape vine 
 That decked the sloping banks of castled Rhine ; 
 And sailed in Palestine on Galilee, 
 And roamed the valley of Gethsemane, 
 And having climbed to Olives' solemn height, 
 Had viewed Jerusalem with raptured sight. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Travels had animated him anew. 
 
 And wholly changed him to a man more hale 
 
 Than when he bade his home and friends adieu 
 
 W^ith feeble body and a visage pale ; 
 
 But yet, despite companionship and change, 
 
 His mind was seeking for a fresh bright range, 
 
 And oft when left alone would meditate 
 
 On various subjects which disturbed that date. 
 
 Now science and belief was one of these 
 
 With which the world of letters was distraught. 
 
4 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB, 
 
 And he was only too rejoiced to seize 
 
 The occasion for amusing time and thought. 
 
 But, like a rolling stone, it stopped not here ; 
 
 What was begun as merely idle play 
 
 By gradual steps passed into doubt sincere, 
 
 Whether the strong and ancient castle grand, 
 
 Built on a lofty rock to ever stay, 
 
 Was not a house on treacherous shifting sand. 
 
 After a time this caused him to decline 
 
 To reckon revelation as Divine, 
 
 And dealing blows on all alike, to see 
 
 The Christian faith but ideality ; 
 
 But though he thus despised its marvels all. 
 
 And utterly refused to brook their thrall. 
 
 He yet believed a short and simple creed — 
 
 Love to your neighbour and to God indeed. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Such was De Vere in his religious view, 
 Believing what he openly professed ; 
 In speech regardless of what might ensue : 
 In deed, he would for certain do his best ; 
 The man who would, if any need arose. 
 Have helped a friend against a host of foes. 
 
 But Lord de Vere became depressed as night 
 Began to steal along and veil from sight 
 The quiet vale beneath his feet, and dye 
 With leaden hues the lofty azure sky, 
 Until the brightness of the blue expanse 
 Was darkened over, and the star's sweet eye 
 Opened and shone with fair and lustrous glance, 
 Like one afresh from some delightful trance. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 But why SO sad did he that night appear ? 
 "Was it because the evening's lengthening gloom 
 Not only had diffused the landscape clear 
 With shades, and made it mournful as a tomb ? 
 Or, an iinlighted coloured crystal dome ] 
 But also clouded o'er his eagle gaze, 
 Which ever loved a well-known view to roam, 
 A realm which kindled ecstasy and praise ? 
 No ! sadness mostly cometh from the mind. 
 And 'tis not difficult the cause to find ; 
 It may arise from ruin of the health, 
 Or from bereavement of a friend or wealth, 
 Or from a disappointed plan or hope, 
 Or failing powers with future time to cope, 
 Or from a change from airy warmth to chill. 
 Or from events which come together ill. 
 Or passion fierce which after burning bright 
 Turns silent, dismal, cold and ashy-white. 
 Or from a marriage which has been delayed. 
 So that the heart with heavy woes is weighed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But with De Vere the latter was the cause ; 
 
 He, acting contrary not to nature's laws. 
 
 Cherished a love for one he loved so dear, 
 
 That she appeared to him for ever near. 
 
 Whether he was upon a lonely roam 
 
 On lofty hills that circled round his home, 
 
 Or 'neath a firmament of forest green 
 
 Through which the daylight shone like stars of sheen. 
 
 Or sitting in a quiet bushy dell 
 
6 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 On which the sound of passers seldom fell ; 
 Yet often in the breeze her voice he heard, 
 And her belovfed steps in leaves which stirred, 
 And to a flower he compared her face, 
 And in it saw her tender, youthful grace. 
 
 xu. 
 
 This lovely lady's name was Gwendolene, 
 The daughter of the Duke of Zollerreen 
 And of his wife Horatia Geraldene, 
 Each being descended from an ancestry 
 E,enowned for loyalty and chivalry. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Duke, a man of fine commanding port. 
 
 Was in exalted office at the court, 
 
 Tlie Lord Lieutenant of his county too, 
 
 With many a magisterial work to do, 
 
 All which impressed the country folks with awe 
 
 Whene'er his Grace upon the way they saw. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He was of quick and stubborn temper strong, 
 Not readily moved from what is right or wrong, 
 And followed up his views unto the end, 
 In the direction in which they would tend. 
 And in his politics he was intense. 
 And his religion wanted broader sense. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 The Duchess was a woman with a mind, 
 
 Yet, like her husband's, of a narrow kind, 
 
 A mind that looked from but one point of view. 
 
 And from that point regarded all things true. 
 
 Forgetting truth appears so different 
 
 According to the person's mind and bent. 
 
 And she was dark, and not angainly tall, 
 
 And of a striking elegance withal ; 
 
 Stately, though not imperious, in her mien, 
 
 One not so easily forgotten when seen ; 
 
 A kind of queen as lovely as the night 
 
 AVhen skies are with the splendent stars bedight, 
 
 A contrast to her daughter fair to see. 
 
 As morning shining forth enchantingly. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Ah, yes ! the Lady Gwendoleue was fair, 
 With large, dark violet eyes and golden hair. 
 And softest rosy hue upon her cheek, 
 And smile as radiant as the sunlit air. 
 That gave her perfect-featiired countenance 
 A look which seemed to dazzle and entrance. 
 But, strange to say — unsteadfast nature's freak — 
 Do not attempt the cause of this to seek — 
 She was unlike her parents in her mind. 
 For she was pliant, patient, and inclined 
 To take a liberal view, though not extreme. 
 On anything of consequence supreme ; 
 Y"et, like them, she was quick of intellect — 
 A woman grand in every respect. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Now with the Duke's strait views on every theme, 
 
 And Lord de Vere's opinions broad and free, 
 
 No wonder that my Lady's pleasant dream 
 
 Was rudely wakened into misery, 
 
 Not of an unreciprocated love. 
 
 But of the daily sneer and chilling frown 
 
 From those whose very name her soul did move, — 
 
 I mean her parents, who appeared the crown 
 
 Of all her girlish thoughts, the star above 
 
 That shone with chaste and guiding radiant sheen. 
 
 And so my Lord de Vere and Gwendolene 
 
 Severely were forbidd'n the holy rite ; 
 
 The chord that binds immortal spirits e'en. 
 
 Was not to draw them closer and unite, 
 
 And make them lovely with ethereal joy, 
 
 A joy, though sets the sun and light takes flight. 
 
 Is yet on earth the least without alloy. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But an injunction for these two to part 
 
 Was not acknowledged by submission due; 
 
 Whether in woman or in man, the heart 
 
 When plighted once, desireth to be true. 
 
 Ah ! love the fairest thousand gems is worth. 
 
 Love can subdue all things in heav'n and earth. 
 
 And love can burst the prison's strongest chain, 
 
 And can revive a failing life again ; 
 
 It makes the pale cheeks glow, the eyes shine bright, 
 
 And slow and weary steps elastic, light ; 
 
 It oasts a glamour over mournful life, 
 
 And sheds great peace o'er raging, deadly strife. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 And, like a white-robed angel from the sky, 
 It bears the soul to satisfactions high. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Ah ! ah ! in spite of this severe command 
 To break for evermore affections' band, 
 My Lord de Vere and Lady Gwendolene, 
 As though by chance, were often to be seen ; 
 He, suddenly devoted to his steed. 
 Continually from home away would speed. 
 But was it to the chase, the stirring chase, 
 He rode at such a dangerous, fiery pace ? 
 Ah, he no sooner would from view recede 
 Than he — a mere coincidence so sweet, — 
 His love, the Lady Gwendolene, would meet. 
 And she, so charitable to the poor, — 
 Delightful unto her in leisure time, — 
 Was oft seen standing at a cottage door. 
 Bent on her task of tenderness sublime. 
 When Lord de Vere, although a learned peer, 
 And an exalted thinker, I aver. 
 Would on a morning ride be passing near. 
 And find a chance of breathing words to her. 
 Thus matters might with them awhile have gone. 
 Causing a tedious and a long suspense — 
 When circumstances brought a crisis on, 
 A crisis of momentous consequence. 
 
 XX, 
 
 One day, a long-remembered autumn day. 
 
 When gloomy seemed the air and skies were gray. 
 
lo RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 And songless were the hedges, fields, and trees, 
 
 And sadly sighing was th' inconstant breeze, — 
 
 One day, a long-remembered autumn day, 
 
 When both the lovers met upon the way, 
 
 De Vere observed his love had on an air 
 
 Of sadness, which she seldom seemed to wear ; 
 
 And on his asking her the reason why, 
 
 She answered, with a trembling voice and sigh : 
 
 " Eandolph, my father has been talking long 
 
 Against you with expressions bitter strong ; 
 
 He says he does not care at all for you. 
 
 And your religion is not proper, true. 
 
 And will not bring long life and happiness. 
 
 But only much regret, and much distress. 
 
 And he will not consent for us to wed, 
 
 And if we do, 'twill bring upon my head 
 
 His solemn condemnation, and perchance 
 
 Neglect of me in every circumstance. 
 
 And even loss of mine inheritance. 
 
 And all the world's dark aspect, which will blast 
 
 My life in early season, or will cast 
 
 On it the deepest melancholy hue. 
 
 Making me night and day for ever rue 
 
 My disobedience unto his behest, 
 
 In such a shameful manner manifest. 
 
 And then he told me I must wed that man, 
 
 The immensely wealthy Earl of Astrakan. 
 
 Dear, I shall never break my promised plight 
 
 With you I value more than treasures bright, 
 
 And though I cannot speak of what I feel, 
 
 For it is more than utterance can reveal. 
 
 Yet what is said is but a simple flower 
 
 That I have gathered from the ideal bower." 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He seemed, at her remarks, most gratified, 
 And with a kindled face he thus replied : 
 "Since you have said you love me, I declare, 
 No powers upon this earth can move me e'er 
 From being true to you,— what may befall, 
 They cannot take me from your side at all ; 
 And though the world may look at us askance. 
 We will encounter it with scornful glance. 
 And let it not excite and trouble us 
 With its opinions, scandals infamous, 
 And we will cast it from us like a fly. 
 Settled upon the skin to bite and sting, 
 Or loud coarse language of a passer-by, 
 Whom but to touch would be a sullying. 
 
 '• No reason why we should allow this world. 
 With all its dress and scented tresses curled. 
 With all its fashions, graces, and its guile. 
 To part us with a mere contemptuous smile, 
 Or take from us the spirit of delight, 
 As day is hurried off by gloomy night. 
 No, with the monster we will war amain, 
 And pierce its head with arrows of disdain ; 
 And though we cannot draw its sharp long teeth, 
 Yet we will trample it with hate beneatli. 
 
 " And as regards religious views, forsooth. 
 Are they to marriage state to be a bar ? 
 
12 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Most men believe in one great central truth — 
 
 A God, — who e'er is present, though afar ; 
 
 On other doctrines of their faith they are 
 
 Bigots that haste their fellow-men to death, 
 
 And breathe upon their names the slanderous breath. 
 
 O great the misery from intolerance ! 
 
 The many sighs, and moans, and dreadful yells. 
 
 The desolation and the tearful glance 
 
 Of victims in inclement, dripping cells. 
 
 Or in the torture chamber with the rack 
 
 On which their limbs were strained and made to crack, 
 
 The deadly scaffold and the trunkless head. 
 
 Or stake with chains and fiery fagots red ; 
 
 And then there was th' arena with the pangs. 
 
 Which many a man and woman gentle-born 
 
 Bravely endured from cruel beastish fangs. 
 
 Or barbarous falchions sharped by hate and scorn 
 
 Heavens ! if people could but see the past. 
 
 Intolerance on earth would never last. 
 
 " But in religious views we may agree. 
 
 If not, we will remain in sympathy. 
 
 For you have pleasant qualities serene. 
 
 And you are tolerant and kind, I ween, 
 
 A pilot and a compass unto me 
 
 Who sails upon life's dangerous, stormy sea. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Yet what your sire has said of Astrakan 
 Was surely Astrakan's concocted plan. 
 Disclosed by innuendos and a play 
 On words or glances light'ning as a ray 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 13 
 
 On darkened way or moon in nightly space. 
 The Earl is full of boldness and of craft 
 That varies as the vane with breeze's waft ; 
 He is as sweet as summer to the face, 
 But double-tongued and bitter when away, 
 And spends his time contriving projects base, 
 And like a snake obscurely tracks his prey ; 
 And if his wretched groom or lean footboy. 
 His own relation or familiar friend, 
 By chance should e'er displease him, or annoy, 
 I say in truth, may Heav'n that one defend. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Not such a man is easy to defeat. 
 With all his wealth and power and deceit. 
 I have a mind to shoot him like a dog, 
 And make that to his life the epilogue. 
 But it would make the matter only worse, 
 For I should be a murderer ^ and a curse 
 Unto my friends, relations, and my name, 
 And always branded with disgrace and shame ; 
 And, worst of all, belovfed Gwendolene, 
 I should incur the loss of you, my queen. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " No ! no ! a better plan must be devised 
 
 To rescue you from being tyrannized, 
 
 And pressed to take a step within your life 
 
 To a condition with misfortunes rife. 
 
 O the enormity and endless woe, 
 
 day with sun that never seems to glow, 
 
 1 Lord de Vere evidently refers to the execution of a certain 
 gentleman in 1823 for killing another in a duel. 
 
14 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 When words are said wittout a feeling fond, 
 And mockery stands close by the plighted bond, 
 And years are passed with one who, though abhorr'd, 
 Is yet by law companion, husband, lord ! 
 All this will bring afHiction, sorrow, ire, 
 Upon the heads of mother and of sire 
 Who force, alas ! their own begotten child 
 To marry with her love unreconciled. 
 
 " Do not be driven to such a dismal state 
 By wedding one whom you abominate. 
 O cast then such a thought far, far away, 
 Live in the lustre of the summer's ray ; 
 Come, fly with me, my love, and we will wed. 
 And pleasant peace our path will overspread.'' 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Lady Gweudoleue became all red, 
 
 As when the rays from orient bowers are shed 
 
 Upon the distant azure sky new bom. 
 
 While disappears from sight the star of morn. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Lady Gwendolene became all pale, 
 
 As if her very soul was deeply stirred. 
 
 And as by blaze of day a nightingale, 
 
 She was distraught too much to speak a word, 
 
 xxxr. 
 
 The Lady Gwendolene was silent long. 
 
 For she appeared convulsed by feelings strong. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 15 
 
 By hopes and joys, and by foreboding fears — 
 At last she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 When she had dried her tears, she smiled and spoke, 
 
 Whilst on his face a trembling hope awoke. 
 
 " Dear Randolph, oh, I must decide not now, 
 
 Although I love you dearly, I avow. 
 
 Yes ; be content with this a little while. 
 
 And give me time myself to reconcile 
 
 To the important course you bid me go, 
 
 Important you must manifestly know. 
 
 I feel as though upon a river's brink. 
 
 Afraid of passing to the other side. 
 
 Lest in its deadly current I should sink. 
 
 And be o'erpowered by its rolling tide ; 
 
 Wait till I try to cross this river o'er. 
 
 And then to be your own for evermore." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He unto this with ready words replied, 
 
 " sweet to know that you will be my bride. 
 
 Nor care at all I for the whole world wide. 
 
 Since you will be my world all glorified. 
 
 But yet do not forget to pluck the flowers 
 
 The whilst you may, because they fade so soon, 
 
 Or frosts may come, or sudden heavy showers 
 
 May hurl them on the ground in death's long swoon. 
 
 If we delay, some circumstance may rise, 
 
 And bring upon our dreams a dread surprise. 
 
 And lay our lofty castles in the dust. 
 
 And make my armour expectation rust. 
 
 Yes, Gwendolene, disastrous is delay ! 
 
 O let us seize the occasion whilst we may. 
 
l6 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VBRE. 
 
 Because if we should ever let it slip, 
 
 Our foe may dash life's pleasures from our lip. 
 
 Yes, time is flying, we will take the cup 
 
 Of bright delightfulness and drink it up, 
 
 And we will crown ourselves with flowers sweet, 
 
 And bask beneath a sun of genial heat, 
 
 And we will talk together, and will dream 
 
 Of time and change, and of the splendent gleam 
 
 That shall iUume this world in coming years, 
 
 When peace and love have smiled away their tears. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 " Gwendolene, do not delay, I say ! 
 But marry me a fortnight from to-day ; 
 And let us hope that mighty power, fate, 
 Will then assist us now disconsolate." 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 But unto this she answered, " At this place 
 Three days from hence you will behold my face ; 
 And I will tell you, dearest, certainly, 
 What will be best I deem for you and me. 
 But meanwhile think about me who does need 
 So much of sympathy and love indeed, 
 To leave the shelter of my parents dear, 
 And wear the bridal robe of hope and fear, 
 And lose my friends whom I have always known, 
 And face the hostile world alone with you. 
 But I must go, for now the day has flown, 
 The sun has set, and eve has darker hue, 
 Yet we shall meet here soon ; adieu, adieu ! " 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 PAKT IT. 
 
 I. 
 
 There was a chastened grace to charm the eye 
 
 Within a room of ancient Castle Vere ; 
 
 And light shone bright from many a chandelier 
 
 On ancient furniture and jewelry, 
 
 On medals, coins, and china vases high, 
 
 And in this room was Lord de Vere alone, 
 
 With none of his compeers and kindred own. 
 
 The owner of these softened brilliances. 
 
 Which were displayed with such a lavish ease. 
 
 The most refined and captious taste to please. 
 
 Was sitting there with open looks of woe. 
 
 As if he were disconsolate and low. 
 
 What was he thinking of? A frightful dream, 
 
 That, rushing o'er his spirit like a stream 
 
 Destructive in its rushing, wild career. 
 
 Had left him such a chilling air and drear ? 
 
 Ah, no ! his thoughts had winged a downward flight. 
 
 And had descended in the realms of night. 
 
 He sorely was oppressed with dark despair 
 
 About the Lady Gwendolene so fair. 
 
 Lest she, for ever precious to his heart. 
 
 Might have, alas ! from him at last to part. 
 
 II. 
 And now he rose from his accustomed seat. 
 And slowly paced the room with thoughtful feet. 
 Then suddenly stopped, for 'midst the tick of clocks. 
 He, listening, thought he beard a few faint knocks 
 Upon the ponderous portal of the hall. 
 A moment, then he opened wide that door. 
 
r8 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 And there before him stood a figure tall, 
 The maid of Gwendolene and no one more. 
 "My Lady ordered me to quickly bring 
 To you this note ; " and then not lingering 
 She turned and went into the shadows dim, 
 And so was lost to Castle Vere and him. 
 
 III. 
 With feverish steps he hastened from the gloom 
 To ope and read the letter in the room. 
 " I cannot meet you : father wishes me 
 To hurry to a ball in company 
 With Lord St. Clare of Clare, my uncle dear, 
 And yet you must remember to appear, 
 And keep a tryst with me on Friday's morn 
 At six, upon the walk close by the thorn." 
 
 IV. 
 
 De Vere expressed a look of wild unrest, 
 
 And then his head sank down upon his breast ; 
 
 " Can she be playing false % " he muttered low ; 
 
 " I never shall have joy, if that be so ; 
 
 I shall be like a stone upon a steep 
 
 Set rolling into some abysmal deep, 
 
 Or like a star that, falling from the sky, 
 
 Is only seen to hasten past and die. 
 
 Or if she be not false, she may be lured 
 
 By well-bred suave attentions manifold, 
 
 And in her mind the thought of me obscured 
 
 By every kind of scandal subtly told. 
 
 And though I do not doubt her kindliness 
 
 And her unspotted goodness not the less, 
 
 Yet her ductility may make her prey 
 
 To the designing and adventurer gay. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DP. VERB, 19 
 
 V. 
 
 " Ah, Gwendolene, I do not doubt you, no ! 
 But yet your pliancy may be my woe ; 
 You may be torn away from me by those 
 "Who are no friends, I know, but deadly foes ; 
 Or led from me by gleam which is a light 
 To take you far from my devoted sight." 
 He paused, and added then, " The second hour 
 The clock has struck within the turret tower, 
 'Tis lonely to be here, without a soul 
 That can be seen and may with me condole. 
 'Tis lonely here ! I must away to sleep ! 
 And must no longer such late watches keep." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Unto De Vere went slow the sombre hours. 
 
 He passed them not in pleasant dreams of flowers 
 
 And gardens gay, and lawns and soothing bowers. 
 
 Nor mild, still niglits, with skies and stars that shine, 
 
 And on the soul the sense of peace divine. 
 
 No, no ; to him the hours sped dully on ; 
 
 And when he slept, he dreamt he was alone 
 
 Amidst a waste whereon sun never shone. 
 
 By many a yawning darksome deep abyss, 
 
 Near which was heard a torrent's angry hiss ; 
 
 And then loud cries arose for instant aid 
 
 From Gwendolene, who said she was afraid 
 
 Of some repulsive monster terrible, 
 
 Inspiring all the horrors of a hell. 
 
 These scenes then seemed to fade and die away. 
 
 And he was standing in an old church gray ; 
 
 And Gwendolene his love was by his side 
 
 Arrayed in white, and somehow was his bride : 
 
20 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 But as they walked the walks of Castle Vera, 
 The monster seemed to frequently appear 
 And be a menace and a danger near. — 
 When Gwendolene in terror clutched his cloak, 
 And tried to speak, but failed — 
 
 And then he woke, 
 And forthwith found himself in daylight clear, 
 'Mid sounds familiar falling on his ear. 
 
 VII. 
 
 What is the meaning of this dream \ he thought. 
 
 Was it by spirits wrought ? or merely nought 
 
 But the distempered fantasy that flits 
 
 From the profound of mind, and on it sits, 
 
 Appearing like an evil sable bird 
 
 With no benignant look nor kindly word ? 
 
 However, good is often found in ill, 
 
 From it I am to wed my Lady still, 
 
 Although I do not like that monster grim. 
 
 Did he betoken death or troubles dim ? 
 
 But, bah ! it is but superstition base 
 
 To lay such stress upon a fleeting dream ; 
 
 What is a dream but thoughts sent forth apace 
 
 From glowing forges of the mind, which seem 
 
 Before the eye of memory to beam ? 
 
 My mind is working when I am awake, 
 
 And when I sleep it often works forsooth, 
 
 And like a tempest-ruffled inland lake. 
 
 It taketh time to make it calm in truth. 
 
 Why should I fill myself with dismal woe 
 
 About the nightly thoughts that come and go ? 
 
 They turn out sometimes wrong and sometimes right. 
 
 Sometimes of aspect dark, and sometimes bright. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 But differ, I suspect, from mental state, 
 And not from spirits good or reprobate. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But he could not from off his spirit throw 
 The matter of the night so quickly, no ! 
 And pondering on this and Gwendolene, 
 He wandered to a mount which could be seen. 
 To be alone, lest any one should guess 
 By chance what did his templed soul oppress ; 
 And having climbed unto the lofty peak, 
 He tried in vain a short relief to seek 
 In a transparent outstretched lovely view, 
 Resplendent as a stellar bright world new ; 
 And then descending to a wooded dell. 
 He felt him like a monk within a cell. 
 And wrapt in scientific thought sublime. 
 Forgot his gloomy troubles for a time. 
 And woke to find the sun within the west 
 Had now departed to his golden rest. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And then, departing thence, he wandered o'er 
 
 A purling stream up to a heathery moor, 
 
 Bedecked with flowers like a beauteous child, 
 
 Healthy with breezes, bracing pure yet mild ; 
 
 And here he staj'ed awhile and stood spell-bound. 
 
 Then largely revelled on its glory round, 
 
 And laughed and sang away with all his might. 
 
 Like spirits in a heaven of delight ; 
 
 But as he thought 'twas getting late of day. 
 
 Amidst this pleasant spot he did not stay, 
 
 But plunged into a forest's dark recess. 
 
22 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 That skirted this entrancing wilderness, 
 
 And then emerged in view of Castle Vere, 
 
 Which shone through gathering gloom as if to cheer, 
 
 A pleasing contrast to the sombre wood, 
 
 The dim expansive park, the sable hood 
 
 Completely covering o'er the azure sky 
 
 From any glance of mortal upraised eye. 
 
 He mused, "How like to life appears this sight ! 
 
 It often seems forbidding as this night, 
 
 Or as that woodj or firmament above, 
 
 Or frequently it beams to fantasy 
 
 With brilliancy amidst the thoughts of love, 
 
 Like yonder lighted Castle standing high. 
 
 Ah ! but there is one thing to keep in mind : 
 
 We sometimes think hell's light is heavenly pure, 
 
 And after many wanderings only find 
 
 How deep we are within the shades obscure ; 
 
 So we are guided on by weird fire-drakes 
 
 Which float upon the treacherous plains of time. 
 
 And only lead to quagmires of mistakes. 
 
 Or fearful death in their absorbing slime. 
 
 This is the way that lives are lost, are lost, 
 
 So much not withered in the bud by frost. 
 
 Nor laid in heaps by plagues nor maladies, 
 
 Nor blighted by luxuriance nor by ease. 
 
 As lured by circumstances into bane. 
 
 From which no sweet recovery again. 
 
 However, I am one of those who trust 
 
 Amidst this world's deceit and strife and dust 
 
 And an almighty death ubiquitous, 
 
 There may arise a future glorious. 
 
 When bitter sighing shall be drowned in praise. 
 
 And hell's false lights be lost in heavenly blaze." 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 23 
 
 And then he cast a glance up tow'rds the sky, 
 And saw the stars were beaming from on high. 
 " This is a peaceful harbinger and sign," 
 He thought, " sent forth above, by Heav'n Divine. 
 I feel no saddening sorrow nor a smart, 
 I feel my very feet with gladness start, 
 Dispelled the grievous darkness of despair. 
 Departed from my breast the load of care, 
 Banished the dreadful demon far away, 
 And hope and joy are come with me to stay." 
 He looked once more at stars still shining clear. 
 Then hastened onwards unto Castle Vere. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The sun at morning sprang from deep repose 
 With face flushed deep as any crimson rose, 
 Whilst his irradiance o'er the hills was drawn, 
 And sparkled on the streams and on the trees. 
 And gently warmed the cool and wakeful breeze. 
 And spread upon the verdant level lawn 
 Ten thousand times the splendour of the dawn. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Amid that scene incomparably fair 
 
 De Vere and Lady Gwendolene were there, 
 
 Yet on their faces was an earnest air. 
 
 "So Astrakan has dared propose to you ! 
 
 Well, that is startling, unexpected, new 1 
 
 I thought he would not make so bold a move. 
 
 But rather crawl along the winding groove 
 
 Of low chicanery or darkened skill, 
 
 Unto your parents' kind and biased will. 
 
24 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 What said they unto it *! Were they intent 
 
 For you to breatlie to him. a quick consent, 
 
 Holding before your view the pleasant bait 
 
 To marry one so high indeed in state, 
 
 His many fine demains and moneyed wealth. 
 
 His well-bred steeds that prance and glow from health. 
 
 His cameos and all his diamonds rare 
 
 Destined to grace his future consort's hair? 
 
 These were to you the gaudy toys held out, 
 
 By which was shown his mirriage worth, no doubt ! 
 
 Come, tell me, dearest, as I fain would learn 
 
 That which I only c.in in part discern," 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then she replied, " The evening of the dance 
 He paid me great attention and respect, 
 Assumed the airs of sprightly dalliance. 
 And showed the tact of subtle intellect. 
 But when I saw this meretricious mode, 
 I then began to tremble and forebode 
 That which I strove to vainly keep from me, 
 And what I feared, a dire catastrophe. 
 Next morn he called and begged a tete-a the, 
 And asked me be his wife with smiling eye, 
 And said he would return to know his fate, 
 Which would, he trusted, be a sweet reply. 
 
 " My father urged me yield to this request ; 
 It would, he said, be for my interest ; 
 He pointed out the enormous social gain, 
 The handsome settlement I should obtain : 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 25 
 
 That it was time, as I was twenty now, 
 
 That I should take on me the marriage vow, 
 
 Especially with one so rich and great, 
 
 A handsome partner, and affectionate, 
 
 And in opinions proper and sedate ; 
 
 And as it would be foolish to delay. 
 
 He hoped and begged I would at once say yea. 
 
 XV. 
 
 •' I told him all these pleasant sophistries 
 Had found no joy and favour in mine eyes ; 
 The man he thought sweet as a priceless hoard. 
 Or as a tune played on a dulcet chord, 
 Was only one with so much land and gold. 
 And disposition selfish, cruel, cold, 
 . And that no earthly power could make me wed 
 A creature I should ever hate and dread. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " My father passionately said to this : 
 
 ' I swear by Heaven you shall wed, young miss, 
 
 This worthy man ; you must be in a pique j 
 
 You have a frantic craze, a childish freak ; 
 
 And you must answer yes this very week.' 
 
 And with these words resounding in mine ears, 
 
 My hopes becoming sear and strong my fears, 
 
 I thought it would be best to leave him 'lone. 
 
 And to his angry meditations own, 
 
 And tire like some impetuous horse perverse. 
 
 Which to attempt to stop will make it worse." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 De Vere then smiled a slight approving smile. 
 As when is lit by rays a cloudy isle : 
 
26 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 "My Gwendolene, do not yourself deceive, 
 
 And make yourself 'gainst common sense believe,- 
 
 Knowing your father's arbitrary mind, 
 
 His stubbornness and self-reliance blind. 
 
 That he will change his views and come again 
 
 Unto your wishes sweet as summer rain. 
 
 He is enraptured, by the foolish plan 
 
 Of marrying you at once to Astrakan, 
 
 By his imposing park and residence, 
 
 His acres broad and golden affluence ; 
 
 And liking all this tinsel and veneer, 
 
 He wishes you to change your present sphere, 
 
 And live with one whose life will bring a stain, 
 
 Whose very sight will give you only pain. 
 
 xviii. 
 "As things are so, how shall you end th' affair * 
 For if you say you will not wed at all, 
 Your father will compel you in despair 
 To enter in this man's connubial thrall. 
 He will compel, I say, not by the course 
 Of stern commands and autocratic force. 
 But by the surer method never checked, 
 Of taunting you with want of due respect, 
 Or by your mother's many a kindly tear. 
 And by her earnest prayers, to lend your ear, 
 Not to oppose his rash and violent will. 
 But be conformable and placable. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " But can you hear such cheerless assonance 
 With unexcited soul and pleasant glance ? 
 Will not your health writhe under it and flit, 
 And like a lone, unhappy exile sit, 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 27 
 
 Nor playing harp, nor singing songs of mirth , 
 Tar from the charming country of her birth. 
 YeSj can you linger 'mid an atmosphere 
 Of dispositions sullen or severe 1 
 You may awhile ; I know the end will be 
 You will to me be only memory. 
 
 ■" And so to save you, dear, the annoyances. 
 The ridicules, the spites, the tyrannies, 
 The persecutions and vexatious pest 
 Of iiuent tongues that warn and much suggest, 
 A heart grown faint and sick at hope deferred, 
 At none of your solicitations heard, 
 The weary days and nights of coming years. 
 The sad despairs and many sighs and tears, 
 The coldness and desertion of your friends, 
 With no endearing looks to make amends. 
 And peradventure, too, a fate much worse, 
 Your very life seared by a fearful curse, 
 Your lips refraining words of joyous glee, 
 Your eyes bereft of hue and brilliancy, 
 Your feet possessing no elastic gait, 
 Your spirits sinking down disconsolate, 
 You must no longer now procrastinate. 
 We now must cross a Rubicon in life. 
 And then engage our foes in mortal strife ; 
 And if we win, we will with joy sit down. 
 And feast on ease, and wear the laurel crown. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " But you will ask, what are we now to do ? 
 I will declare that which I vow to you 
 
28 RANDOLPH. LORD DE VERE. 
 
 Will be the best for you, the best for me, 
 
 And so conclude this dire uncertainty." 
 
 He then approached and whispered in her ear ; 
 
 What did he say to her % What did she hear % 
 
 A deeper hue suffused her rosy cheek, 
 
 And as a fawn she looked as coy and meek, 
 
 And for a moment stood and did not speak. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " 0. Randolph, Eandolph, dear, it is too soon 
 For us to think of such a thing, to wed — 
 You say on Saturday at church ere noon." 
 But interrupting her at this, he said : 
 
 " Love, Love, love cannot brook delay. 
 Love never cares to loiter on the way, 
 She strains and speeds on tow'rds the happy goal. 
 The accomplishment of gladness in her soul. 
 
 "Ah ! love has every season for her own, 
 
 She comes when blossoms are and they are flown. 
 
 She passes to the throne and to the cot. 
 
 And cheers alike the lone and busy lot. 
 
 "She crowns the valiant victor in the fight. 
 And smiling whispers words of fond delight, 
 She animates the weary mind with strength, 
 And leads it unto blessed rest at length. 
 
 "She Cometh to the maiden in her dream, 
 
 And o'er it casts auspicious lustrous gleam. 
 
 And she is present at the marriage gay. 
 
 And spreads her path with flowers in bright array. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 29 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " If, Gwendolene, you only love me well — 
 
 I know you do, for you are scrutable, 
 
 Your face reveals your thoughts as though a scroll, 
 
 And oft reflects the image of your soul, 
 
 As when is seen a star of peerless sheen 
 
 At night upon a glassy lake serene — 
 
 Yes, if you love me, you must love in all. 
 
 You must obey love's ceaseless pleading call 
 
 To duly meet me in a neighbouring fane, 
 
 And end the weary restless heart's deep pain." 
 
 He gave a mimic look of stern command. 
 
 Then bending low he clasped and kissed her hand. 
 
 When on that day went homewards Lord de Vere 
 His face wore radiant smiles, his hopes were clear, 
 And to relieve his feelings on the road 
 He spoke this unpremeditated ode : 
 
 " beautiful the scene around ! 
 I walk upon enchanted ground, 
 For I have seen my faithful love. 
 My pretty flower, my soft-eyed dove. 
 
 " And she has promised to be mine ; 
 The sun is bright, the sky divine. 
 There is a look on everything 
 As though it had the soul of spring. 
 
 " joy from woe ! life from death ! 
 At last I freely breathe hope's breath ; 
 
30 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 how my very heart doth beat ! 
 For I have seen my love, my sweet." 
 
 At last had come the happy marriage-day— 
 
 There was a ceaseless stir upon the floors 
 
 Of the domestic rooms and corridors 
 
 Within the ancient ducal palace gray, 
 
 As if foreboding some event intense, 
 
 One that would wholly thrill through nerve and sense. 
 
 Yet knew the Duke and Duchess not of it. 
 
 She in her room had sat her down to knit, 
 
 And he was toiling at a figured sheet, 
 
 Deeply absorbed within his locked retreat. 
 
 And then there was a rustling on the stair, 
 
 As if the trailing of a silken dress, 
 
 And came the Lady Gwendolene as fair 
 
 As blushing rose of striking loveliness. 
 
 And all her maidens kept a still profound ; 
 
 And by her matchless beauty seemed spell-bound ; 
 
 They were like stars when shineth forth the moon 
 
 With full resplendence at the night's high noon. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 She stepped into an azured soft-lined chaise 
 Amidst all this amazed and raptiu"ed gaze. 
 And by her sat a man of high-born air, 
 It was her uncle. Lord St. Clare of Clare. 
 He shared the present secret, and he knew, 
 And liked De Vere's kind disposition true. 
 But disapproved his brother's marriage scheme, 
 His violence and his hastiness extreme. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 31 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 AVithin a dim-lit temple at the east, 
 
 Close by the altar, was a white-robed priest ; 
 
 And fronting him the bride and bridegroom stood, 
 
 And felt o'erwhelming them a violent flood 
 
 Of mighty and profound and startling thought. 
 
 And were as one by sudden change distraught, 
 
 He by a rapid turn of fortune's wheel, 
 
 She by a leap that caused her brain to reel. 
 
 At last there was a silence for a while, 
 
 Then arm in arm they wended through the aisle ; 
 
 And the immense gates being open wide, 
 
 They saw before their eyes a crowd outside. 
 
 Who greeted them with kindly words and showers 
 
 Of pearly rice and freshly gathered flowers ; 
 
 And in the ancient tower hands with glee 
 
 Rang from the bells a peal melodiously. 
 
32 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Within the ancient hall of Castle Vere 
 
 Were many portraitures revered and dear ; 
 
 Here was the baron first, with breast-plate bright, 
 
 Who fighting fell in Naseby's bloody fight ; 
 
 The next, the second with imposing frame, 
 
 A courtier and diplomatist of fame ; 
 
 And here the third, for treason forced to stay 
 
 Amidst a barbarous country far away ; 
 
 And next his son, who in Culloden's strife 
 
 Close by Prince Charlie lost his gallant life ; 
 
 And there was Lord de Vere's grandsire, who came 
 
 With the attainder taken off his claim ; 
 
 And there his father, well renowned in state, 
 
 And in his day the Rupert of debate ; 
 
 And there besides was many a noble dame 
 
 And beautiful, without a stain of shame 
 
 To mar the whiteness of her honoured name. 
 
 Looking resplendent from the polished wall. 
 
 As if for brilliant scenes within that hall. 
 
 II. 
 
 Within that hall the evening of a day, 
 Which had been cold and full of shadows gray. 
 Lady and Lord de Vere were sitting there, 
 Each in a gilded, broidered, lilac chair. 
 Whilst he was poring o'er a science book. 
 She fanned herself with sad and thoughtful look. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 33 
 
 At last he ceased his not unpleasant task, 
 
 And by the fire he seemed awhile to bask, 
 
 And picture in the mass of coals ablaze 
 
 The forms of mortals in a golden haze ; 
 
 Then fairies flitting in an airy mien 
 
 With long fair wings, and dressed in garbs of sheen ; 
 
 Then fiery demons looking terrible. 
 
 As if upon the burning marl of hell ; 
 
 And then the towers of a castle high, 
 
 And an irradiant stately tourney nigh. 
 
 With brightly armoured knights prepared to fight, — 
 
 There was a crash, the scene had passed from sight. 
 
 III. 
 " You must at times feel lone indeed, I fear, 
 With no relation nor companion here ; 
 'Tis true you have me, yet 'tis not the same, 
 Each one requires not only change of aim 
 And change of thought and of amusementj place, 
 But, strange to say, a change of human face, 
 For this we love not less our kindred own. 
 For this aflfection loses not its tone, 
 In fact, it gains in grace, is more intense 
 By change of conversation and of sense. 
 And as a man once blind who now can see, 
 Beholds the sun with thankfulness and glee, 
 So love, when after roaming many a scene, 
 Views with enraptured thoughts her home serene. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " I wish, my Gwendolene, you had a friend. 
 It would to make your life more pleasant tend. 
 It would be like a sunshine after storm. 
 
 Or evening breezes after fine day warm ; 
 
 
 
34 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Why have you lost your friends ? It is not hard 
 
 To find a reason for their disregard : 
 
 For when a man weds, people shut their gate 
 
 Against him and his wife from violent hate ; 
 
 They mind that he has chosen other flesh, 
 
 The thought of that is madness always fresh ; 
 
 The scheming, baffled mother looks aside. 
 
 Her daughter cannot ever be his bride, 
 
 The father and the brother hug their spite, 
 
 And in revenge they take a fierce delight. 
 
 And like a dog when plundered of his bone. 
 
 They show their teeth, and snarl or howl and moan. 
 
 V. 
 
 " And so the world goes on with wrong and right, 
 With deeds of light and all the deeds of night, 
 Kind words and slander, love and enmity. 
 The meek dove moving o'er a troubled sea ; 
 So will it be until a golden age 
 Shall bring mankind a glorious heritage. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " All people range upon your father's side. 
 
 Say he is right to stand upon his pride, 
 
 I wrong to marry you without his leave. 
 
 And base enough to sadly you deceive — 
 
 I would as soon have blown my brains out first. 
 
 And let the worst have done its very worst. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " And you have also, dear, obtained your share : 
 Astrakan states you did not treat him fair : 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB. 35 
 
 You lured him on to blind your father's eyes ; 
 Your marriage was to him a great surprise. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " And gossips then attacls me with their prate, 
 
 The ravers with the vain and fervid pate 
 
 Utter their sentences ot furious hate 
 
 About my freedom of religious thought, 
 
 As if to them I am or can be aught. 
 
 By heavens ! why can they never leave me 'lone 
 
 Within the realm of mine ideas own ! 
 
 Instead of goading me with censures strong, 
 
 To what is I consider only wrong ; 
 
 If they would never speak with captious voice. 
 
 But duly in a way respect my choice. 
 
 And leave me to my moral sense, my priest, 
 
 I should be silent upon this at least. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " But all these sentiments do not arise 
 
 For mine own sake, but yours, my Gwendolene, 
 
 Since for the world I would not heave my sighs, 
 
 Nor note its sour remarks and deeds of spleen. 
 
 My mind is unenthralled by time or place. 
 
 My mind can quickly wing its flight through space, 
 
 It easily can reach the farthest star. 
 
 Or tell the secrets of the ages far. 
 
 What matter then to me about this world ? 
 
 My mind is crowned with utter, high disdain, 
 
 And with the locks of unconcern is furled. 
 
 Therefore about this world I feel no pain, 
 
 No anguish ever penetrates my heart, 
 
 No worries in my bosom ever start. 
 
36 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Never a cloud of care bedims mine eyes, 
 Nor nightmare dread my spirit terrifies 
 About my exile from the world's vile show, 
 With all its pranks and jests and smartness low, 
 Or aught besides that glows the hollow cheek, 
 And makes the cackling voice with laughter shriek. 
 
 " But though with me this perfectly is true, 
 Though as an artful rogue this world I view, 
 Yet to it there is something from us due, 
 We must I mean right ourselves in its sight, 
 By showing it a clement mind upright. 
 So to your mother now a note indite. 
 Phrase it with phrases that convey no spite, 
 Give her your love and ask her influence 
 To turn your father to a friendly sense. 
 
 " You start ! you think it spiritless of me 
 
 To pardon shameful wrongs so readily ! 
 
 Nay ! banish any such unworthy thought 
 
 That may have ever in your mind been wrought. 
 
 To me forgiveness is the vengeance best, 
 
 And though the world regards it as a jest, 
 
 I view it as an act of nobleness, 
 
 And in the showing of it not the less. 
 
 And yet the hateful hug their injuries, 
 
 And think themselves of all the world the aggrieved, 
 
 And bide their time to catch their enemies, 
 
 And pay them out for what they have received ; 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 37 
 
 Yet when they have had vengeance, is it joy ? 
 It may be joy, but yet with some alloy ; 
 'Tis not the joy of heaven, but of hell, 
 Not of the angels, but of demons fell. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " freely pardon those who fiercely hate 
 And slander you with hate insatiate, 
 And like to cast a shadow o'er your life, 
 Or turn its days of quiet into strife. 
 Or who corrupt a neighbour's kindly mind. 
 And make it with suspicion ever blind. 
 Who dash the cup of friendship from your lip. 
 And give you naught at all but rivalship. 
 O pardon them, I say, — it will be best. 
 You will amass regrets upon their head, 
 And if there be a God, you will be blest ; 
 Your memory a sweet perfume shall shed, 
 And, like a martyr or a saint, your name 
 Will have a halo of a noble fame. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " So if your sire will pass our marriage o'er. 
 
 And stretch the hand of friendship out once more, 
 
 And be not harsh, but sociable and mild. 
 
 And love you as a well-beloved child. 
 
 And try to look upon me as a son 
 
 By ordinance of marriage union. 
 
 And ask us now and then to come and stay 
 
 With him in hearty amity a day. 
 
 And hold with us discourses grave and gay, 
 
38 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 It shall be well, and all shall live at least 
 Amid a state of peaceful harmony, 
 As sweet as when the wintry storms have ceased. 
 The placid surface of a vernal sea." 
 
 He paused a moment, then he quoted free 
 The following poetry from memory : 
 
 " Dear Love, throughout the future, voices kind 
 For all the past will recompense the mind. 
 And spread upon our wounded spirits balm. 
 And whisper peace, and o'er us shed a calm. 
 
 " And we will sit within delightful bowers. 
 And gaze, unchecked by care, on graceful flowers,- 
 And muse on leading lives as fair as they 
 Through all the span of life's allotted day. 
 
 " And we will roam upon the lawns of time, 
 And, freed from sorrow, talk of things sublime, 
 And dream away a summer afternoon. 
 Then view the beauty of the radiant moon. 
 
 " And we will climb to summit of a hill. 
 And there our own immortal spirits fill 
 With the delight of seeing, clear and far, 
 A scene as fair as plains of heaven are." 
 
 She said, " I am rejoiced to hear you thus 
 Express these sentiments magnanimous ; 
 Better to be magnanimous and fail, 
 Than ever be ungen'rous and prevail ; 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 39 
 
 Better to do a noble deed and die, 
 
 Than shameful deed and reign with kings on high ; 
 
 Better to make the kindly first advance 
 
 Tow'rds peace and love, than be at variance 
 
 With those who ought by nature's tie to be 
 
 Our care in health and in infirmity. 
 
 And as we are about to do our best 
 
 To gain my parents' friendship manifest, 
 
 And send a careful note with such a quest, 
 
 I must advise you not to ever form 
 
 Too good opinion of success in this, 
 
 For well you know calm comes before a storm. 
 
 And often lofty hopes and sighted bliss 
 
 Before depression and despair's abyss. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " You, dear, are lenient, but my sire is stern ; 
 You are forgiving, he is hard to turn. 
 And troublesome to manage and be woo'd 
 From sudden fantasies and angry mood. 
 My mother has no influence over him 
 To quell, if e'en she wish, his hostile whim. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " But, ne'ertheless, 'tis best, I say, to try, 
 And if we fail, why then we can but sigh 
 Over the loss of pleasures halcyon^ 
 Or a resplendent lovely radiance gone." 
 
40 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Randolph, this morn from mother I have heard ; 
 
 She writeth in a chiding, angry tone, 
 
 And says my father spoke no pardoning word. 
 
 But vowed that both of us he would disown ; 
 
 That for a child of his to wed a man, 
 
 A strong, uncompromising partisan 
 
 Of the Deistic sentiment and aim. 
 
 And worse, a Christian even not in name. 
 
 Was too abominable to conceive, 
 
 And if I wished completely to retrieve 
 
 My former grievous faults and be his heir, 
 
 I must my Randolph's house at all not share 
 
 And e'en his very company forswear. 
 
 And come to him as should a daughter meek, 
 
 And in this manner reconcilement seek. 
 
 "I shall not answer, dear, such vehemence. 
 A daughter's love must bow to common sense ; 
 For when she marries, she departs from home. 
 With her congenial spouse this life to roam ; 
 And though parental love may call as erst. 
 Yet will connubial love come ever first. 
 This mostly is the law of every heart, 
 Written upon its tablets, not by art. 
 But by the hand of Nature, young and bold. 
 In phrases which disclose the story old. 
 And though all this for me a wife is true. 
 And though no love so great as mine for you, 
 Yet I bewail this present hapless state. 
 And wish my parents' minds although irate 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB. 
 
 May be induced to list to our demand 
 
 For sympathy and love and friendship's hand. 
 
 I much bewail, I say, my heart is torn 
 
 By these conflicting cries, I feel undone ; 
 
 But yet I turn to you as flowers lorn. 
 
 With wakened gladness to the morning sun." 
 
 He then replied to this, " I much lament 
 
 The impetuous, harsh reply that they have sent 
 
 Unto our letter for their amity ; 
 
 And yet regrets are not a remedy, 
 
 Nor wrath, nor violent words, nor obloquy. 
 
 Though I may shout, or shriek, or madly rave 
 
 Against intolerance, or even crave 
 
 And may obtain frojn earth on which I tread. 
 
 Tormenting pain on every bigot's head, 
 
 I will not do it, since what good can come % 
 
 What satisfaction of the soul arise 
 
 From such display of feelings quarrelsome. 
 
 And scenes of vengeance flitting past mine eyes ? 
 
 Or though I may invoke Heaven's fire on those 
 
 Who scheme against my peace, and are my foes, 
 
 I will not do it. 
 
 Let it be forgot ; 
 I am no monarch of a future lot, 
 I am no Aides of a dark deep hell 
 To destine pain without a parallel. 
 No ! And I say it too with humbleness, 
 I hope a better spirit I possess 
 Than ever feel at all the slightest thirst 
 For vengeance on an injury done me erst. 
 
42 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 " But though iutolerance is most absurd, 
 
 And any vengeance is to be abhorr'd, 
 
 And is indecorous in deed or word, 
 
 Yet the disfavour of a child's sweet love 
 
 Is worse, and would the heavenly angels move 
 
 To shed their tears amid the songs above. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " But, Gwendolene, what was your father at 
 
 To send such messages to you his child ? 
 
 In days that are no more he would have sat 
 
 And rocked and laughed at thought of such a thing. 
 
 Or in his old, good-natured fashion smiled. 
 
 Alas ! the former days have taken wing. 
 
 Borne off the smile with which he used to dower 
 
 Our lively varied talks for many an hour. 
 
 So different from that which he is now 
 
 With his relentless eyes and lowering brow. 
 
 But the pity, such a nature kind 
 
 Should drift away with every stormy wind ! 
 
 But so it is, some men of every age, 
 
 Worthy of high renown on history's page. 
 
 Are wrecked amidst their lives in warm, hot blood. 
 
 And then the world is mazed so much of good 
 
 Should have been lost in overwhelming flood. 
 
 " However, we must let affairs alone. 
 And never mind the storms that shriek and moan. 
 But stand with folded arms and heedless eyes 
 At every blast that sweeps these worldly skies, 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 43 
 
 And as a man who safe upon a rock, 
 Beholds with no alarm the violent shock 
 Of waves against his solid island home 
 With roarings deep, and angry, snowy foam. 
 So we will stay upon our rightful claim, 
 And take no notice of injurious blame. 
 And not disgrace our ancient family name 
 By bandying hasty messages of shame. 
 Or kindling stolid feelings into flame ; 
 And thus we shall preserve our dignity, 
 And scorn the attacks of barefaced bigotry. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " But you, my Gwendolene, belov'd and fair ; 
 I will embrace you with mine arms for aye. 
 For these attacks can never^ never tear 
 Our spirits and our minds and hearts away. 
 Ah ! ah ! my love is greater tlian before ; 
 These cares have made me love you all the more, 
 As when the cruel eagle drives the dove 
 Into the shelter of its faithful love. 
 
 " But, dear, I sigh for you to play the lyre ; 
 
 Its silvery tones afford my spirit tire. 
 
 Fire of a kind, refining and divine, 
 
 To light the eye, and make the dull mind shine. 
 
 To show awhile the depth of every hell, 
 
 Or heights where glorious light and beauty dwell." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He brought her then the chorded instrument ; 
 She lightly swept the strings and o'er it bent. 
 
44 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 As if to catch the sounds that softly stole, 
 
 As gentle kisses from some lovely soul. 
 
 And then she played a favourite piece well known, 
 
 Whilst he in tune sang with a mellow tone 
 
 Verses composed amidst the moonlight sheen 
 
 One summer's night, to give his Gwendolene. 
 
 " And thou wilt love me ! how sweet 
 
 To think that thOu art mine, 
 That I may look into thine eyes, 
 
 And say I too am thine. 
 
 " Now I am thine, and thou art mine, 
 
 Whatever may betide, 
 And I shall be thy loving spouse, 
 
 And thou my darling bride. 
 
 " Yes, place thy hand in mine, and swear, 
 
 lov'd and loving heart. 
 That come what may, in life and death, 
 
 Thou wilt from me not part. 
 
 " And I the while will hold thy hand, 
 
 And gaze upon thy face. 
 And think that thou art ever mine 
 
 Through ages to embrace.'' 
 
 The months rolled on, and then the winter came 
 With no resplendent face and healthy frame, 
 But heavy eyes, and gloomy listless air, 
 And many flowing locks of hoary hair, 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 45 
 
 White as the fleecy racks that fly on high, 
 And are the tresses of the agfed sky, 
 Or as the breakers of the ocean vast, 
 When by the violent tempest fiercely lashed. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The winter came, and flakes of snow fell down, 
 
 The heavens looked on with dark and threatening frown. 
 
 And now and then the fir, and elm, and oak, 
 
 Out of their slumbers suddenly awoke. 
 
 And asked the passing breeze the reason why 
 
 They should be roused, since spring could not be nigh. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lady de Vere sat in an oriel. 
 
 And watched the snow-flakes as they downward fell, 
 
 And as a leaflet floats into the sea. 
 
 She glided in a thoughtful reverie : 
 
 " These flakes," she thought, " are pure as angels' words. 
 
 Or as the sinless hungry little birds. 
 
 Or as a human soul returned from pain 
 
 And freed from all its former deep-dyed stain, 
 
 To live and die within this world again. 
 
 And in the end be lost as atmosphere, 
 
 Within an uncorrupted ether clear." 
 
 And now a mass of snow, with thundering roar. 
 
 Came like a torrent from the roof high o'er, 
 
 And startled her as when a bird is stirred 
 
 By mortal footsteps or a lowing herd. 
 
 And then De Vere stepped in with paces fast. 
 
 And all his countenance appeared aghast 
 
 As when the sea is moved by squally blast. 
 
46 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 " A mouated messenger has come to say 
 Your father longs to see us both to-day, 
 As he has suddenly been taken ill 
 From the effects of violent cold or chill, 
 And lies in anguish and exhaustion great. 
 And more or less is in a sinking state. 
 This by your mother was dispatched with speed, 
 For us to quickly reach your sire indeed. 
 
 " How dread, Gwendolene, is this I hear ! 
 How sorrowful it sounds upon mine ear ! 
 That one whom I have closely known so long. 
 So full of life, intelligent and strong. 
 Should in a few days' time be overcome. 
 And nigh an inmate of the churchyard dumb. 
 Alas ! old man, I freely pardon thee 
 For all the wrongs which thou hast done to me, 
 And hope thou God's forgiveness wilt obtain, 
 And an abatement of thy ache and pain, 
 And if thou hast to meet at last thy death, 
 No dreadful struggles and convulsive breath, 
 But an agreeable falling into sleep. 
 An easy quick descent along life's steep. 
 Into the chilling valley dark and lone. 
 Where long ago have gone thy fathers own ; 
 Or if it be the great Creator's will 
 Thou shouldst revive and shouldst recover still, 
 I trust it may be so, and wish thee well 
 Full many years of peace unspeakable. 
 With days of pleasant unalloyed success. 
 And nights of downy, long forgetfulness. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB. 47 
 
 And, Gwendolene, my thoughts shall be anou 
 For his recovery an orison 
 As potent as the sun that draws amain 
 Water from out the ocean's briny plain, 
 To send it back in sweet, refreshing rain. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " But, dear, the chariot now is at the door, 
 And though the snow falls fast and tempests roar. 
 It is our bounden duty not to stay ; 
 Let us away ! And let us not delay ! " 
 
 On through the raging storm the coursers rushed. 
 
 Panting, with vigorous exertion flushed ; 
 
 And scattering far the opposing snow aside, 
 
 As when a barque sails on the ocean wide, 
 
 And drives away the pallid crested waves. 
 
 As if they were so many fearful slaves. 
 
 Whilst through the raging storm the coursers rushed, 
 
 My Lord de Vere and Lady both were hushed. 
 
 And heeded not the howling wind that blew. 
 
 The falling snow, the sky's dark, threatening hue, 
 
 Or trees which passed away like friends from view. 
 
 And as they headlong drove upon their way. 
 
 They heeded not, they heeded not, I say. 
 
 Because their hearts and souls were but intent 
 
 On one to whom their onward course was bent, 
 
 And so they never minded passing things 
 
 Like warriors disregarding death on wings. 
 
48 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Gwendolene,'' the old man softly said, 
 And then he slowly turned to her his head, 
 " I sent for you, for I can never die 
 Till I have seen you first and bade good-bye. 
 You must forgive your poor old father, child, 
 And hear his prayer to be reconciled, 
 Nor think of all his words and mien austere 
 Upon your marriage with your husband here. 
 You know — if not, then I will tell you now — 
 I had a sabre cut across my brow 
 Giv'n by a Sikh or Hindoo near Nagpore, 
 In India, seven years ago or more. 
 The foe with speed burst from a parapet, 
 I, sword in hand, was helping one beset. 
 When I received a wound amid the fray, 
 That rendered me unconscious through the day. 
 Beneath a sun discharging ceaselessly 
 On me his rays of heat and brilliancy. 
 Whether it was the sabre cut or sun 
 That was the cause of me being so undone. 
 And taking such a foolish, frantic view 
 Of everything in life concerning you, 
 I cannot say in truth, but yet I know 
 Not only has this illness brought me low, 
 It also has presented you to me, 
 And all your actions with lucidity. 
 I now no longer see you as a child, 
 -Wayward and disobedient but abhorred, 
 And harassed shamefully and most reviled, 
 And worthy of my love and due reward. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 49 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " I cannot bring again to you the past, 
 And throw a radiance on a sky o'ercast ; 
 I cannot lift the curtain of a scene 
 Where all was sad and passionate and mean, 
 And tell you that was pleasant and serene j 
 I say I cannot bring the past again. 
 But I can soothe the anguish and the strain 
 Arising from my harshness and disdain, 
 And taking off the thorns of wrath and woe, 
 Make easy all the path you have to go. 
 
 " You must protect her now, Eandolph, hear ! 
 Be kind to her, she is the jjartner dear 
 Of all the troubles, pleasures, that may start 
 Into existence, ever in your heart. 
 When I am gone, recall my worthy parts. 
 And not the evil and the many smarts 
 And achings of the breast, the losses sore, 
 Which I have caused in days that are no more. 
 
 " And now the end at last is drawing nigh, 
 The night is closing in, and I must die. 
 But when the hour may come I cannot tell, 
 Yet, my children, take my last farewell." 
 
so RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 The Earl alone sat in his morning room, 
 
 Bedecked with antlers and with many a plume ; 
 
 And on his face there was a look of gloom. 
 
 His savage eyes shone bright beneath brows knit 
 
 As when at eve two stars on high emit, 
 
 Straight through the gathering shadows of the night. 
 
 Their ceaseless and their wildly piercing light. 
 
 "Ah, what is this," he thought, " I hear to day, 
 
 That fills me with disgnist and with dismay? 
 
 That ZoUerreen has left his lands and gold, 
 
 And all his pictures, treasures manifold, 
 
 To Gwendolene upon his wife's demise ? 
 
 This is a most deplorable surprise. 
 
 I thought he would have left them to his niece, 
 
 And to her eldest son at her decease ; 
 
 But leaving them to Gwendolene alone 
 
 Is making them to be her husband's own. 
 
 If I could have foreseen it or have known, 
 
 I would have not allowed, without a strife. 
 
 The Lady Gwendolene to be his wife. 
 
 " I like her much, she is so passing fair, 
 More fair than all the daughters debonnair, 
 Who move upon the lawns of grassy green, 
 And in the courts of birth or aureate sheen. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 51 
 
 She will have gold and fertile broad domains, 
 
 And mines and woods, and all that appertains. 
 
 Well situated in a good ring fence, 
 
 Very desirable in every sense. 
 
 Bah ! how I hate De Vere ! I loathe the man ! 
 
 He is a writer and a charlatan, 
 
 A sad denier of the faith sublime, 
 
 An endless reader and a scientist, 
 
 Heav'n knows what next, perhaps an alchemist. 
 
 And everything besides at selfsame time. 
 
 The fool has darkly soiled his noble blood 
 
 By such commingling with obnoxious mud. 
 
 And ever made himself a living shame 
 
 Unto his order and ancestral fame. 
 
 And he the husband of my Gwendolene, 
 
 The mate of one befitted to be queen. 
 
 This scientist, this walking library. 
 
 The partner of a woman fair to see. 
 
 And owner of a goodly property. 
 
 " But how can ever I repair all this, 
 
 And put an end to all his present bliss ? 
 
 There is the rub ! the man his wife has got, 
 
 And he will add to his successful lot 
 
 An income which will make a golden hoard 
 
 And to his being certain joy afford. 
 
 I should be mad to try to oust him out, 
 
 One man as well may take a strong redoubt. 
 
 Or rout a regiment of infantry. 
 
 Or dry the ocean fathomless and free. 
 
 But stay ! a lucid thought has come to me, 
 
52 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 What one man cannot do, yet others may, 
 Where one would fail, yet others win the fray. 
 Csesar alone did never conquer Gaul, 
 But with the assistance of his legions all, 
 And like the wind that bloweth everywhere, 
 I freely will disperse amidst the air 
 The viewless seeds of vengeance and of hate 
 O'er those whose friendship now I cultivate, 
 And they, not I, shall yield a painful fate. 
 Ah, Lord de Vere, I have you I avow, 
 I will pale your cheeks, and crease your brow, 
 And place sharp thorns upon your pillowed ease, 
 And make your brain as restless as the seas, 
 And like a tree seared by an autumn sky 
 You will appear as though about to die. 
 
 " This I will try to do, and more beside. 
 
 If ever opportunity betide. 
 
 But what if such a piece of luck should come ! 
 
 Then I would poison all your wine of joy, 
 
 And all your pleasures and your days destroy, 
 
 And draw the dagger of my vengeance dumb. 
 
 And pierce you through like some umbrageous oak 
 
 When stricken by the lightning's deadly stroke. 
 
 Who knows but this may shortly come to pass ? 
 
 'Tis weary sitting here to gnash, alas ! 
 
 And fume and conjure up revengeful dreams. 
 
 Your fall, your dying groans and sighs and screams. 
 
 And then awake and find it imagery 
 
 Of merely fleeting fickle Fantasy. 
 
 But why refrain ? Why should I never try ? 
 
 Why should I stay and turn away mine eye 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB. 53 
 
 From the accomplishment of destiny ? 
 
 Yes ! bare the arm and nerve the hand of hate, 
 
 Go strike the blow before it is too late ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 Within the neighbourhood of Castle Vere 
 
 There was a lively tattle far and near 
 
 About the conduct of the noble Lord, 
 
 Around the tea-cups and the dinner board. 
 
 'Twas said that he was queer, and even mad, 
 
 And that he drank too much ; how very sad ! 
 
 And that he frequently returned at dawn. 
 
 When light was faintly stealing on the lawn, 
 
 And that he, after feasting and carouse, 
 
 Eushed, with a sword in hand, about the house, 
 
 And he was violent, and precipitate, 
 
 And known to be a wily profligate ; 
 
 But for my Lady how unfortunate ! 
 
 All these reports De Vere had duly heard 
 
 By innuendo and by casual word ; 
 
 But yet their author he could never find, 
 
 Rack as he would continually his mind, 
 
 Or sound as though by chance with ready tact, 
 
 Those who believed that they had heard a fact. 
 
 And as a trav&ller who many a year 
 
 Has suffered burning wastes and atmosphere 
 
 To view a river's fountain far away 
 
 And has to abandon all attempts for aye^ 
 
 So Lord de Vere, at every recourse. 
 
 Failed to detect the evil, woeful source. 
 
5t RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sometimes his wife was indirectly told 
 These truthless shameful stories, manifold, 
 Which by contemptuous looks she would contemn, 
 And hint there was no word of truth in them. 
 Yet listeners deemed this but a stratagem. 
 
 She failed to ever reach the hidden root, 
 And only saw the dark and deadly fruit. 
 And often wondered how the world could feast 
 On what was given by a fiend at least. 
 
 •VIII. 
 
 De Vere was stricken by this slanderous prate ; 
 It made him wrathful yet disconsolate ; 
 His cheeks became intensely sunken pale ; 
 And howe'er much he tried to deftly veil 
 His inner feelings from a sense of pride, 
 Yet they at times with ease could be descried. 
 
 IX. 
 
 His sleep was restless, or was not a sleep, 
 Or if not that, immured in dreamings deep, 
 From out which he would burst in waken'd plight 
 Of something dreadful coming into sight, 
 A gloomy feeling some profound event 
 Was going to occur or imminent. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 55 
 
 If these reports were wholly true, not lies, 
 Or partly false, not uttei' calumnies. 
 He would have never cared, but in the face 
 Have coolly, resolutely looked disgrace ; 
 But to be wrongly charged when innocent 
 Would make the greatest saint irreverent ; 
 Even a worm when trodden on would turn. 
 Or smouldering fuel stirred would fiercely burn. 
 
 XI. 
 
 His Lady, not dissimilar in this. 
 Because her sympathies were only his, 
 Had thrown herself into a deep abyss 
 Of wild despair from hapless spirits low, 
 Made sad by many a craven, brutal blow 
 Her husband had received as unaware. 
 As if from spirit hands from out the air. 
 
 xir. 
 
 At last their wounds began to never sting, 
 Their ears appeared to never hear the ring 
 Of jarring words as harshly as before, 
 And like those 'customed to a ceaseless roar, 
 Or like those daily drinking poison slow, 
 They grew indififerent to their cruel woe. 
 And so they gained in time by thoughts remiss, 
 A high Nirvana sweet with tranquil bliss. 
 
S6 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 The air was fresli and redolent as balm, 
 
 And well accorded with a lovely dawn ; 
 
 The ancient lindens looked in pleasant calm 
 
 Upon a smooth and sparkling dewy lawn, 
 
 Flecked here and there with beds of many a flower 
 
 Of brightest colour and of rarest kind, 
 
 That ever was disported by the wind. 
 
 And near these ancient trees there was a bower, 
 
 In which there sat a well-dressed lowering man 
 
 As sinister as what the eye could scan. 
 
 Who seemed a Satan in a fine disguise, 
 
 Amid a second blooming Paradise. 
 
 " I have been 'wake all night," he muttered now, 
 
 " And thought that I would come and cool my brow 
 
 A few brief hours amidst the freshening mom, 
 
 And soothe it with the scent of flow'rs spring born. 
 
 My brain became disquieted and hot 
 
 With thinking of De Vere's auspicious lot, 
 
 But Heav'n be thanked ! my innuendos dark 
 
 Within his inmost bosom hit their mark. 
 
 They made him sharply feel I fully know ; 
 
 Some time ago he looked diseased with woe ; 
 
 His face was sicklied o'er with mental pain, 
 
 His eyes were lustreless as stars that wane, 
 
 And he, possessing not his wonted fire, 
 
 Was like an unattended ashen pyre. 
 
 This sight was pure elixir unto me. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 57 
 
 It roused my spirits unto boundless glee ; 
 
 It was as wine poured out for me to quaff, 
 
 To quench my thirst and make my spirits laugh ; 
 
 Yet ! I have drunk the wine — the bowl is drained ; 
 
 He now is well, and for his feelings pained 
 
 He has obtained an easement from a sense 
 
 Of calm and unalloyed indifference. 
 
 What shall I ever do in second place ? 
 
 Kill him ! The world will call that murder base. 
 
 Stop ! I can do the same thing, yes, the same. 
 
 And men may give it not an ugly name, 
 
 Nor ever guess at all the secret means 
 
 By which I take him off these earthly scenes, 
 
 And then I shall not lie awake, but sleep. 
 
 Folded within the arms of victory, 
 
 And dreaming I am on a thymy steep. 
 
 Sitting with Gwendolene beneath a tree, 
 
 And listening raptured to her sweet-toned voice. 
 
 Inviting me with gladness to rejoice 
 
 O'er many happy years of life to roam 
 
 With her in foreign regions and at home ; 
 
 And that De Vere was not her hero true, 
 
 But I was her ideal, e'er in view. 
 
 How foolish not to have proposed before ! 
 
 It might have saved her many troubles sore ! " 
 
 And then he smiled. " If this should come apace, 
 
 It will surpass ambition, and efface 
 
 My bitter disappointment in the past. 
 
 And spread a banquet after such a fast." 
 
58 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 " But oh ! there comes the very man for me ; 
 
 'Tis John the butler ! Ah ! we shall agree ! 
 
 Stand there ! my man. I think your name is John t 
 
 How is your poor old father getting on ? 
 
 Not well ! I am distressed to hear it so ; 
 
 You know some men when old, are full of woe, 
 
 For time increases their infirmities, 
 
 Like ships becoming water-logged on seas. 
 
 But, John, your father owes me one year's rent, 
 
 And from the messenger whom I have sent, 
 
 I learn he cannot pay, as crops were poor, 
 
 Being twenty bushels to the bad, or more. 
 
 I do not want to turn your father out, 
 
 I pray so with unceasing prayers devout. 
 
 But Heaven's laws are based on what is right, 
 
 And the avenger of the laws is might. 
 
 But the avenger, mark you, may relent. 
 
 If you should carry out bis due intent. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Now listen to my words, now do you hear ! 
 
 You are the butler of my Lord de Vere, 
 
 And doubtlessly you draw and serve the wine, 
 
 And make his glass with golden liquid shine. 
 
 'Tis Xeres pale which I have seen him drink, 
 
 And he does take scarce naught besides, I think ; 
 
 Lady de Vere drinks only purple port. 
 
 You say one glass a day of fine old sort. 
 
 And now we ask of you a trifling task. 
 
 Drop seven drops each week from out this flask 
 
 Into the wine you give my Lord indeed. 
 
 But not, good John, my Lady's wine, take heed ; 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 59 
 
 Perform this service six short weeks for us, 
 
 We will for such attentions sedulous 
 
 Eeward you in a generous manner thus : 
 
 Your father shall possess his farm rent free, 
 
 And have from all past debt immunity ; 
 
 And you shall have a thousand pounds in gold, 
 
 And many other favours manifold ; 
 
 And as a savour of your future pay. 
 
 Here, take this purse ! But, mind you, no delay ! 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! " he mused, "so I have done not ill ! 
 
 That poison is destructive, sure, and still ; 
 
 I bought it at Verona years ago 
 
 From one who if it were not idle prate, 
 
 Under the rose had laid for over low 
 
 No less than adversaries twenty-eight. 
 
 It is supposed to leave no trace behind, 
 
 No more than this agreeable western wind. 
 
 Which moves at will the trees with leaflets dressed. 
 
 And leaves them all in silence and at rest ; 
 
 And it accomplishes its work most sure, — 
 
 In six weeks' time the bird will be secure. 
 
 A pleasant pastime ! He with never pain 
 
 Is killed of which he cannot e'er complain. 
 
 'Tis like a mine, that fired with lighted tow, 
 
 Spreads havoc dread its victims never know. 
 
 " And now all will be well, if John be true ; 
 I cannot think that he will not be so, 
 For he appeared pleased when I held to view 
 The solid hoard of shining gold in hand 
 
6o RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 With rentless home, and free and meadowed land ; 
 
 And yet the knave is worthy of reward, 
 
 When I recall to mem'ry and record, 
 
 As I do now, my share of profit clean : 
 
 De Vere, my foe, within the tomb's caress. 
 
 And Gwendolene my Countess, and the queen 
 
 And partner of my home and happiness. 
 
 Well ! 'tis a blessfed prospect to possess. 
 
 My enemy to perish speedily, 
 
 His widow left to ever live with me. 
 
 It is a vision fair, my soul, to see 
 
 And glut thy hungry eyes with rapturous glee." 
 
 VI. 
 
 De Vere that night was talking to his wife 
 About the sadness with which life was rife ; 
 Why famine and disease, pale-faced and wild. 
 Should traverse with insanity, their child. 
 The many kingdoms of the earth entire. 
 And grave, the hound of both those demons dire, 
 Should then consume their victims like a fire. 
 And he conversed upon the future life. 
 Whether there was within it gloom or strife. 
 Whether the good were there opposed by bad. 
 And there all things, as here, appeared as sad ? 
 And then he spoke about the essential soul. 
 When it had shuffled oflf the body whole. 
 About its power to appear again — 
 Or was this but illusion of the brain \ 
 Did she believe in such a sight or not ? 
 For his own part, it had been not his lot 
 Within his life to ever see a sprite 
 At any time by day-time or by night. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 6i 
 
 And he supposed it ne'er by mortal eye 
 Could be descried in realms below the sky. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then she replied, " What you have said it seems 
 
 To me is true, for thoughts are often dreams, 
 
 And dreams are but profound or violent thought, 
 
 Which is in wondrous manner highly wrought 
 
 Into a startling picture for the eye 
 
 To turn aside or see with ecstasy. 
 
 But since all thoughts proceed from out the mind. 
 
 They vary as the will may be inclined. 
 
 Being sometimes sad, or stormy, or serene, 
 
 Or splendid as a fair and jewell'd queen; 
 
 And sometimes, too, the will exerts such power 
 
 In some eventful or impassioned hour, 
 
 That they exhibit spectres unto view, 
 
 Clear as the stars that shine in cloudless blue. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Or maybe we are influenced by a will 
 
 More potent far than ours, and subtler still ; 
 
 And so we being swayed let every whit 
 
 Into our minds of what it may transmit. 
 
 And, Eandolph, this appears indeed to me 
 
 A reason why so many people see 
 
 Before their sight their long-dead kith and kin. 
 
 As if alive on earth, glide entering in ; 
 
 Not that they see them, but they think they do, 
 
 Forced by a spirit's will to deem them true ; 
 
 And thus their mental eye, it comes to pass. 
 
 Clearly beholds as in a silvered glass, 
 
 The shapes of those who once abode on earth, 
 
 But have been bom with immaterial birth." 
 
62 RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB. 
 
 Whilst thought De Vere that night upon the theme 
 
 He and his wife had talked together o'er, 
 
 He fell asleep and passed into a dream, 
 
 Vivid as day when lighting sea and shore. 
 
 And lo ! pale men and women saunter'd by. 
 
 And looked at him with steadfast, wondering eye, 
 
 And then were lost to sight in foldings drear 
 
 Of darksome and of misty atmosphere ; 
 
 And one by one they w^ent, some looking weird 
 
 And gaunt and harsh, and only to be feared, 
 
 Some beautiful to see, and richly dressed 
 
 In loose slashed sleeves and cap and silken vest. 
 
 Some with dishevelled locks and falchions short. 
 
 And top-boots spurred and of an ancient sort ; 
 
 Some wizen, as if art could not erase 
 
 The wrinkles time had made upon their face ; 
 
 And as they passed and onward seemed to wend 
 
 In solemn train, at last he saw the end 
 
 At which, one masked and dressed in black drew nigh. 
 
 And stood erect before him silently ; 
 
 And in his dream he thought that he had seen 
 
 In hazy way before that stranger's mien. 
 
 " Why dost thou stay ? why dost thou stay % I say. 
 
 For all thy many friends have gone away ! 
 
 Tell me thy name, and who and what art thou ! 
 
 Or I will tear that mask from off thy brow ! " 
 
 To this an answer came in mournful tone, 
 
 " Hence, hence : and I will speak with thee alone ! " 
 
 De Vere then seized in haste a pistol near. 
 
 And followed on without a thought of fear ; 
 
 But when they reached the entrance hall, he stayed. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 63 
 
 " I shall not farther go ! Pull off thy mask ! 
 
 Say who thou art, for I will be obeyed ! 
 
 Now dost thou hear % Again I will not ask ! " 
 
 And when he raised his pistol up to fire, 
 
 The shape unmasked, and straightway thus replied. 
 
 In tones commingled with distress and ire, 
 
 ^' Behold thyself ! art now thou satisfied T' 
 
 De Vere shrank back, and indistinctly spake — 
 
 He found himself within the hall awake. 
 
 A rumour spread the country far and wide 
 That Lord de Vere again was greatly tried 
 With feeble health and frequent spirits low, 
 And this, mournful to relate, was so. 
 For he was growing weaker day by day. 
 And though his eyes shone with lucidity, 
 His face was pallid as the foaming spray 
 Hurled on the shingle by the deadly sea. 
 
 His malady before was want of sleep, 
 
 Arising from distress prolonged and deep. 
 
 That busy gossips of the social throng 
 
 Should have unjustly done him slanderous wrong. 
 
 'Twas different now the tongues had ceased to wag. 
 
 And suave and sycophant, the well-dressed hag, 
 
 The world, smiled sweetly on my Lord de Vere, 
 
 And quite forgot that they had thought him queer. 
 
 And their appreciation and their praise 
 
 Of everything of his became a craze, 
 
64 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 Superb his steeds and equipage's dress, 
 And like a crown hia Lady's loveliness. 
 But yet amidst this pleasant pageantry 
 There was a dreadful spot you could not see, 
 The goodly fruit was rotting at its core, 
 The roots by worm& were being eaten sore. 
 Ay, all was sweet to hearing and to sight, 
 And yet a storm was rising drear as night. 
 Which would destroy his life so young and dear, 
 And deafen evermore his mortal ear. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then the physicians were convoked in haste. 
 They looked amazed, and named the ill a waste ; 
 Perhaps my Lord had caught a cold or chill, 
 When that should pass away, so would the ill. 
 And he must be content to read much less. 
 And take his exercise in no excess. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And what did John the butler think of this ? 
 
 In any of his duties to his Lord 
 
 Did he appear abstracted, or remiss ? 
 
 Nay ! he, observant at the dinner board. 
 
 Moved here and there with soft and stealthy tread. 
 
 And watchful eyes and low subservient head. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He was a being -complacent as a cat, 
 
 But in his heart as cruel as a rat ; 
 
 He would at dinner pour his Lordship's wine 
 
 With changeless face and not a nervous sign. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 63 
 
 And then would stand erect behind his seat 
 With quiet aspect and assurance meet, 
 And yet he was as much a murderer 
 As any man stained dark with massacre ! 
 And worse ! because one was dispassionate, 
 The other in a heat of fury great. 
 Which is the nobler now — the crafty snake. 
 Or frank, brave lion in his wrath awake ? 
 
 XV. 
 
 How did my Lady view her Kandolph's state % 
 Did she preserve that well-bred mien sedate 
 Which seems to lure the mind and captivate % 
 Ah ! she was only deep anxiety. 
 That he, the well-beloved, might have to die, 
 That he for whom she had endured the fire 
 Of lamentable contumelious woe. 
 And bravely borne the anger of her sire, 
 Might after all be laid for ever low. 
 Ah ! this in truth was madness to her soul ! 
 For her to strive and hastening gain the goal, 
 And wear awhile the well-earned laurel crown. 
 And then be told by Time to lay it down. 
 Ah ! this in truth was madness to her soul ! 
 This was the dashing of the crystal bowl. 
 Filled with the sparkling pleasant wine of mirth. 
 From oflF her lips upon the hard, cold earth. 
 But she before him wore a cheerful air. 
 She did not wish to harass him with care 
 About her own disquiet and despair. 
 Yet when away from him her food was fears. 
 And her continual drink was bitter tears. 
 Her health presag'd, as well as his, decline. 
 And showed the symptom of decay and sign 
 
66 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Of nature hastening on fatigued, distressed, 
 
 Into the couch of everlasting rest ; 
 
 Not that her loveliness at aU was gone. 
 
 Her eyes more brilliantly than ever shone, 
 
 Her cheeks possessed a sweeter, richer bloom. 
 
 As fair as spring or summer putteth on ; 
 
 But yet the panting breath and frequent gloom. 
 
 And the excessiveness of light and hue. 
 
 Were signs of bitterness that must ensue. 
 
 And whilst each week in turn dragged on its way 
 
 It found her growing worse, so sad to say. 
 
 And yet the fatal signs intensified 
 
 Swelled like a scathing river in its pride. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 John, deep in thought, was in the servants' hall, 
 
 Keady to answer any ring or .call. 
 
 And there he sat with head bent on his breast, 
 
 And tight his thin and hueless lips were pressed. 
 
 " My Lord," he mused, " will have to-morrow night 
 
 His final dose, and sent to sleep outright. 
 
 From which he never will awaken more. 
 
 Nor ever feel an ache and anguish sore. 
 
 But I must mind to keep my secret fast 
 
 Within my breast until my moment last, 
 
 And for the present think of all the gold 
 
 That I shall certainly and shortly hold ; 
 
 And when I gain it, I shall surely then 
 
 Take from the Earl's big heavy purse again, 
 
 And find in him exhaustless source of wealth 
 
 By which I hope to eke out joys by stealth. 
 
 And I shall have him safe beneath my yoke, 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 67 
 
 And he will find it not a pleasant joke, 
 
 And there he shall remain and drag the load 
 
 Of my exactions, my befitting pay ; 
 
 And if he kick, I will apply the goad 
 
 Of his commands to make my Lord away. 
 
 O this is sweet and gay to think about ! 
 
 Never an idle tale, nor passing dream, 
 
 Nor brilliant thought, nor deftly woven scheme. 
 
 But obvious inference without a doubt \ 
 
 For here the flask he gave me weeks ago, 
 
 And soon my master will be ever low. 
 
 And then I shall receive the recompense 
 
 Of all the joys of earthly excellence. 
 
 But I must go — the bell is ringing now ; 
 
 O smile, my lips ! Be smooth, my rugged brow ! " 
 
 Next day with grasping breath, my Lady said, 
 " Kandolph, of death are you at all in dread ? 
 I view its very sight with utter fright, 
 And fear it as a child abhors the night : 
 Its pallid face and eyes that do not shine. 
 And parted, redless lips and joints made fast. 
 And not a trace of feeling nor a sign 
 Of life left even by its deadly blast ; 
 And then the knell, the cofiin and the shroud, 
 The friends bereaved, who wail in accents loud. 
 The sombre plume, the mourning with its gloom. 
 The sad and foul corruption of the tomb, — 
 All these before my gaze like demons rave 
 About the desolation of the grave. 
 You think that they are hued by feelings weak. 
 That I ought not to let them pale my cheek, 
 
68 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Or bring into mine eye a single tear, 
 
 Or from my mind heave forth a thought of fear. 
 
 But they are facta ! I cannot banish them 
 
 By any mental force or stratagem ; 
 
 For they exist and stare me in my walk, 
 
 And enter like a ghost amidst my talk, 
 
 And pounce upon my pleasures like a hawk. 
 
 I cannot disregard these fearful sights. 
 
 But look on them as flowers seared by blights, 
 
 Or ruined mansions robbed of joy and mirth 
 
 In every spot of this extensive earth. 
 
 And as for death, the author of this state, 
 
 I can but hate it with a deadly hate, 
 
 And feel yet thoroughly disconsolate ; 
 
 And if I can but will how I may die. 
 
 It shall be painless, quick, without a sigh." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 After a moment's pause he answered low, 
 
 " 'Tis contrary to nature, as you know, 
 
 To wish to leave this world and die at all ; 
 
 She never does resign without appal 
 
 All the endearments which she has enshrined 
 
 Within her heart, nor pluck the crown entwined 
 
 With flowers from off her brow without lament ; 
 
 As nature is, can I be difierent ? 
 
 Nay ! nay ! I even am more provident 
 
 Than other mortal men about my life, 
 
 For sake of you, my fond and faithful wife, 
 
 For you whom I regard with love far more 
 
 Than all the women fair of noble birth 
 
 Who talk the latest foreign fashion o'er, 
 
 For you who are the soul of all my worth, 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DB VERB.- 69 
 
 And all my thoughts ; aud when you die their death, — 
 
 yes, their death ! for life of me is you, 
 
 And when you cease to draw your lingering breath. 
 
 My life will bid indeed this world adieu. 
 
 This, dearest, is why I regret to die, — 
 
 I, sighless save for this, would close mine eye. 
 
 And all my words would be with changeless voice. 
 
 And oh, I should be glad to leave this world, 
 
 With an exceeding joy I should rejoice 
 
 To know my woes would be in ruin hurled. 
 
 And ended all the strife that shakes my frame. 
 
 And quenched the flickers of my flickering flame. 
 
 ■" For what is death ? It merely is a nought, 
 A foolish terror of the soul or thought, 
 A passing cloud that glooms life's radiant star, 
 And leaves it shining more resplendent far, 
 •Or 'tis a long, immensely long, repose, 
 Until a raptured new awakening, 
 ■Or 'tis the shedding of the autumn rose 
 To flower again and greet the sun in spring. 
 These are the views of death or imageries ; 
 Men see its signs, the stare of stony eyes. 
 The rigid features and the pallid face. 
 And all the being possessing not a trace 
 Of what they cherish most and most esteem. 
 Then hastily conclude it is most dire, 
 Instead of looking on it as a dream, 
 To which the soul awhile has to retire. 
 And what is, Gwendolene, a dream 1 I deem 
 It is a state of mind when all things seem 
 
70 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 To be and yet do not at all exist, 
 
 Like rising slopes and summits of a mist. 
 
 And so it is with death ; some men die well. 
 
 Ineffably impressive and sublime, 
 
 And their departure, like a pleasing spell 
 
 Yet mournful, sounds upon the ear of time ; 
 
 Whilst others die ill, so their deaths appear 
 
 Inglorious as the sun that in the West 
 
 Sinks down amid a dreary atmosphere, 
 
 Without a ray of splendour on his crest. 
 
 The reason of this is, the first scorn death. 
 
 The second hate and fear the last drawn breath ; 
 
 And so the first become bold heroes true. 
 
 Girt in a gilded tempered armour bright. 
 
 The second dastards of a ghastly hue, 
 
 Clothed in a garment dusky as the night." 
 
 He ceased from want of breath and energy, 
 
 And stayed in silence and in reverie. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And now along the avenues of air 
 
 The sounding of a bell began to swell. 
 
 And deep and grave intelligence declare. 
 
 Some one was dead ! It was the tell-tale knell 1 
 
 Who could it ever be that was deceased ? 
 
 Had any noble of a high degree. 
 
 Or county magnate, or a serf, or priest, 
 
 Passed to the great and mute majority ? 
 
 The Earl of Astrakan had breathed his last ! 
 
 And in the midst of dreadful schemings vast 
 
 To do to death a young and noble life, 
 
 Had fallen, in a useless vulgar strife. 
 
 So like a wrecker showing barques the light, 
 
 But living not to see them sink from sight. 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 71 
 
 Or like a whirlwind after wheeling sway, 
 He ceased his fearful work and passed away. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 How came it this most subtle potency 
 
 So soon had met a dire catastrophe % 
 
 He had been out at night-time in a fray 
 
 With a determined, poaching, well-armed horde. 
 
 And in the struggle for the feathered prey 
 
 A shot was fired that stretched him on the sward. 
 
 He was conveyed home, helpless as a child, 
 
 And sank in silence after raving wild. 
 
 XXII. 
 John heard too well the bell's deep solemn toll, 
 And knew who now had reached his mortal gdal, 
 And felt it was the knelling o'er a hope 
 That had existed in his earthly scope. 
 " So this," he thought, " the end of all my schemes ! 
 This the awakening of my pleasant dreams ! 
 And this the sharp axe which has felled the tree 
 That once adorned a smooth and verdant lea ! 
 Alas 'tis so ! but I must let it be ; 
 I must like others bow to destiny. 
 The things of earth pass into drear decay, 
 And in the end commingle with the clay ; 
 The trees, the leaves, the flowers and the grass 
 Will form a part of this terrestrial mass, 
 And man is no exception unto this, 
 Man with his plans for reaping wealth and bliss ; 
 Nor is the Earl. Alas, my gold, my gold. 
 And nought remaining save a tale untold ! 
 If I had ever known this would be so 
 I would have given not that bane, I trow. 
 
72 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERE. 
 
 But rather let another wight have done 
 That which I had not common sense to shun. 
 For what have I obtained ? Ah, what not lost ? 
 And who can tell the consequence and cost ! 
 And yet what is the need and benefit 
 Of thinking and lamenting over it ! 
 Because I never can undo the past, 
 'Tis gone for ever like a sailor's mast 
 When stricken by a sudden, raging blast, 
 And, drifting, lost upon the ocean vast. 
 Yet I will make the best of days to come, 
 And I will scorn regrets, and will be dumb 
 About the dangerous secrets in my breast, 
 And make time light, and so will take my rest." 
 
 The air was calm, the day was on the wane, 
 Within the west the sun was sinking down ; 
 And lovely and resplendent was his crown. 
 He threw his rays upon the peaceful plain, 
 And gilded glassy streams and ruffled rills. 
 Then died beneath the everlasting hills. 
 
 The air was calm, but like a thunder-cloud 
 That bursteth o'er a firmament serene, 
 There swelled the sounds of lamentations loud 
 And marred the quiet of this earthly scene. 
 O why should lamentations sorely rise ? 
 Why should be wet and dim the lustrous eyes ? 
 Why should be wan and pale the healthy cheek ? 
 Why should the tongue in rending accents speak ? 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 73 
 
 Why should the foot seem scarce to move at all 
 In the apartments and the lofty hall 
 Of Castle Vere, that ancient, honoured pile, 
 In which so much renown had lived awhile ? 
 Its youthful lord and owner was no more ! 
 My Lord de Vere had yielded up his breath, 
 His eyes for evermore were closed in death ! 
 His soul had reached a glad ethereal shore ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And when, alas, his lady saw him dead. 
 She fell into a sudden swooning dread. 
 And lowly bowed in death her lovely head. 
 And there she lay with all her rich gold hair. 
 And on her cheeks there was a faint, sweet glow. 
 And o'er her face there was a peaceful air. 
 As calm as though she had not known a woe. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 These two were laid in death's sleep side by side. 
 
 Noble and young, with grace intensified. 
 
 As lovely as a mild and tranquil morn 
 
 When spring, the year's bright child, is scarcely born. 
 
 And there they lay as if in royal state. 
 But yet the guiltless victims of a hate 
 And bigotry that like two snakes immense 
 With bodies rendered strong with ire and spite 
 Sprang on them savagely with power intense. 
 And stifled altogether life's delight. 
 
74 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 Alas it should be so ! it should be so ! 
 
 A world of bigotry and hatred low, 
 
 Whose children, — murder, anarchy, and strife, — 
 
 With fierce and restless spirit ever rife. 
 
 Move o'er the earth, and try to fill the mind 
 
 With their pernicious tainting thoughts unkind. 
 
 In hope that they may make this orb a hell, 
 
 Fit but for demons and for them to dwell. 
 
 But yet, if ever truth become the truth. 
 
 And if she soothe and speak sweet words of ruth. 
 
 And she be peaceful and be scrupulous. 
 
 And kind, and gentle, and magnanimous. 
 
 Then, she like rain which cometh from the sky. 
 
 Will make this world entrancing to the eye. 
 
 And bigotry and hate will flee away. 
 
 And all their dreadful children feel dismay. 
 
 And screen themselves for ever in a night 
 
 From which content and light have taken flight. 
 
 XZVIII. 
 
 When Lord de Vere had passed life's little day, 
 John, scared by quiet hints or open say 
 Breathed by his fellow-servants in his ear, 
 One evening disappeared from Castle Vere. 
 How they acquired a knowledge of his crime 
 Will not be known for certainty in time ! 
 Perhaps conjectures, or a subtle sense. 
 Or an avowal, or an inference 
 From Astrakan's delirious ravings, shed 
 A transient light upon De Vere's death-bed. 
 But yet in any wise they knew or guessed 
 John's fearful secret, and he thought it best 
 
RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 75 
 
 To flee across the ocean to the west. 
 The evening he had gone, he sat to shroud 
 Himself beneath a tree, for many a cloud 
 From out the sky was pouring streams of rain. 
 And lightning-flashes down the mountain steep 
 Were flying wild and swift now and again, 
 When, unexpectedly, there seemed to leap 
 A lurid blaze from blackness overhead — 
 A crash within the boughs, and he was dead, 
 Struck down amidst a life of crime and shame 
 By the destructive arrow winged with flame. 
 
 And now beneath a marble chancel floor. 
 
 There sleeps, amongst forefathers twenty-four, 
 
 The last of all De Veres well-known to fame. 
 
 With Gwendolene, his once most lovely dame. 
 
 A short and vigorous epitaph in rhyme 
 
 Recounts the cruel ravages of time, 
 
 But never does by any word record 
 
 The noble parts which signalised my Lord : 
 
 His truthful open mind and constancy. 
 
 His daring courage and benignity. 
 
 His knowledge, too, of every branch of lore, 
 
 And his successful efforts to explore 
 
 The darksome mines of thought, and drag from night 
 
 Treasures of information into light ; 
 
 But though no mention of these qualities. 
 
 Yet in this story love the tvant supplies. 
 
 About his wife there is no sounding phrase 
 
 To tell her gentleness, and sing her praise 
 
 Of all her work amongst those stricken sore. 
 
 Still she will be forgotten nevermore. 
 
76 RANDOLPH, LORD DE VERB. 
 
 No need of varied rhyme and stately line, 
 With all the grace of unaffected art, 
 To laud self-sacrifice, and fitly shrine 
 Her dovelike character within the heart, 
 Because she lives in those she cherished well, 
 And in the mind of God immutable. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 Francis and Guy de Montford, brothers, 
 
 Lived at an Abbey gray, 
 Gained from the crown by courtly favour 
 
 When Hal the Eight had sway. 
 
 The family in former ages 
 
 Had often been o'ercast. 
 And yet had mostly braved the fury 
 
 Of every stormy blast. 
 
 Elizabeth had one De Montford 
 
 Arraigned within the dock ; 
 And in the end he' was beheaded 
 
 Upon the deadly block ; 
 
 Yet sweetly smiled the Court on Simon, 
 
 The only child he had ; 
 Perhaps it viewed with mournful pity 
 
 The father's ending sad. 
 
 One suffered in the great Rebellion 
 
 Many misfortunes sore. 
 And quitted with his royal master 
 
 His native friendless shore. 
 
 Another was a reckless gambler, 
 
 A jovial libertine, 
 And mortgaged with a shrug and laughter 
 
 His acres broad and fine ; 
 77 
 
78 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 The father of these brothers married 
 
 An heiress rich and great, 
 And so retrieved a wasted fortune 
 
 And eased a pressing strait. 
 
 Thus over all these generations 
 There had been storms severe, 
 
 Succeeded by a timely lulling 
 And sunshine glad and clear. 
 
 Now Francis was the elder offspring, 
 And thus his father's heir, 
 
 And he became in course the owner 
 Of large estates and fair ; 
 
 But Guy was left for his position 
 
 A meagre competence ; 
 Yet it did not produce within him 
 
 The slightest bitter sense. 
 
 For he so truly loved his brother, 
 JSTot all this world possessed, 
 
 If offered him, could ever shatter 
 His strong affection's rest. 
 
 They had been always reared together. 
 And in their youth playmates, 
 
 And ever friends in all their prattles 
 And all their mock debates ; 
 
 And when in time they went to college. 
 They yet were friends the same. 
 
 In walks and talks along the river. 
 And every manly game ; 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 79 
 
 And they were such confirmed companions, 
 
 'Twas said when they were there, 
 They had been never seen asunder 
 
 For certain anywhere. 
 
 And when they left the seat of learning 
 
 And roamed the great world round, 
 The bonds of brotherly love together 
 
 Their spirits firmly bound. 
 
 For when a Mongol aimed a matchlock 
 
 At Guy de Montford's head, 
 Francis in haste drew forth his pistol 
 
 And shot th' assassin dead. 
 
 And Guy in turn defended Francis 
 
 From white sharks in the sea. 
 By plunging headlong with a dagger 
 
 And causing them to flee ; 
 
 And so the brothers were united 
 , With cords of strength divine ; 
 Of which these daring acts of courage 
 Were but a feeble sign. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 Now there resided near the Abbey 
 
 The Lady Eleanor, 
 The only child of Lord de Bourbon, 
 
 A Privy Councillor. 
 
 And she was young, but yet accomplished, 
 
 And fair as any flower 
 Which glows with beauty in the summer 
 
 In some delightful bower ; 
 
So THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 But she, alas ! indeed was tender. 
 
 Ay, tender as a plant, 
 Which soft and summer breezes cherish, 
 
 And with their songs enchant ; 
 
 But which the winds of chilling autumn. 
 
 Whene'er they fiercely blow. 
 Would only cause to sigh and quiver. 
 
 And lay for ever low. 
 
 And Guy and Francis loved this lady 
 Within their hearts by stealth ; 
 
 They loved her for herself so lovely, 
 Not for her landed wealth. 
 
 And though they loved her dearly, dearly. 
 
 It brought no cloud across 
 The sunny firmament of friendship, 
 
 And brotherly love no loss. 
 
 But whom did she regard with favour % 
 
 And who rejoiced her eye ? 
 Was it the plain and wealthy Francis ? 
 
 Or was it well-formed Guy 1 
 
 Ah, ah, she loved unto distraction 
 Guy, handsome, brave, and good. 
 
 As any hero who has tarried 
 In mortal brotherhood. 
 
 And showed her love whene'er she met him 
 
 By blushing countenance, 
 Or by the drooping of the eyelids, 
 
 That screened a shy, bright glance. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 He loved her too, and oh, so fondly ! 
 
 But yet his nobler love 
 Unto his brother was unaltered 
 
 As heavens are above. 
 
 And there it stayed for ever steadfast. 
 Like one from duteous sense 
 
 Who draws his sword, resolved to battle 
 For changeless truth's defence ; 
 
 And there it stayed for ever steadfast. 
 
 Like ivy round the oak, 
 Which can be never from it sundered 
 
 By any tempest's stroke. 
 
 One eve the brothers in the garden 
 
 Were walking side by side, 
 Silent from thoughts which flowed their spirits 
 
 Like an o'erwhelming tide. 
 
 Silent they saunter'd in the garden. 
 
 Then turned and looked behind, 
 Because they heard trees moaning loudly 
 
 For the departing wind. 
 
 After a moment's pause, said Francis. 
 
 With heave of mournful sigh, 
 " That passing sound has marred this evening 
 
 A pleasant reverie. 
 
 " O Guy, for long I have been thinking, 
 
 With many musings sweet, 
 Of Eleanor and how I love her. 
 
 Ah, love her, I repeat ! 
 
82 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " I love her pretty gentle manners, 
 
 Her pleasant youthful grace, 
 The flash of intellectual radiance 
 
 That lighteth up her face ; 
 
 " Ah, Guy, she has, alas ! bewitched me. 
 As when flowers view the moon, 
 
 And seem from watching her resplendence, 
 Like those amid a swoon ; 
 
 " I cannot bring at all my feelings 
 
 To try a single thing ; 
 And want of power and resolution 
 
 Has stayed my spirit's wing ; 
 
 " For I am thinking of her ever, 
 
 And when I saw her last. 
 And what took place whene'er I met her 
 
 In all her seasons past ; 
 
 " And then I come to this so often. 
 
 If I by chance should miss 
 The union with her soul, the marriage 
 
 Of earthly hope with bliss ; 
 
 " How sad if such a thing should happen. 
 
 How wretched I am now, 
 To bring this thought into remembrance 
 
 Behind my heated brow ! 
 
 " Guy, belov'd and only brother, 
 
 do with me condole 
 In this my woe-begone condition. 
 
 And sate my yearning soul ! " 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 83 
 
 Guy from his brother moved his visage, 
 
 And deadly white it turned, 
 For love of lady and of brother 
 
 Within his bosom burned. 
 
 And, like two shining orbs in heaven, 
 
 Paled one another's light, 
 And changed their grandevir and their brightness 
 
 To darkness of the night. 
 
 " Francis, how my heart is throbbing," 
 
 He spoke with sad, forced smile, 
 Then walked away, and forthwith vanished 
 
 Inside the Abbey pile. 
 
 The day that followed this conversing, 
 
 Guy could be never found, 
 Though search was made where love thought likely. 
 
 At home and all around ; 
 
 He was not found within the study. 
 
 Nor in the arras hall. 
 Nor in the Norman columned cloister. 
 
 Nor ruined church at all. 
 
 Nor was he found amidst the garden. 
 
 On any trellised way. 
 Nor on the lawn bedecked with flowers 
 
 In gay and close array ; 
 
 Nor was he found beneath the shadow 
 
 Of the gigantic trees, 
 That flecked the park like stars in heaven 
 
 In lovely galaxies ; 
 
84 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Nor was he found beneath the shelter 
 Of some embower'd brake, 
 
 With eyes as though in meditation 
 Fixed on the glassy lake ; 
 
 Nor was he found within the forest, 
 Nor grove retired and still. 
 
 Nor by the broad and rolling river. 
 Nor on the heathered hill. 
 
 He never, never was discovered 
 
 In any district near, 
 Nor in the company of relations, 
 
 Nor with his lady dear ! 
 
 Because he loved his only brother 
 More than the whole world wide, 
 
 And splendidly would not prevent him 
 In making her his bride ; 
 
 This was the reason he departed 
 From many friends and home, 
 
 And journeyed unto foreign countries. 
 Across the briny foam. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 The Lady Eleanor de Bourbon, 
 When Guy had gone, looked pale. 
 
 Her visage being covered over 
 With sorrow's snowy veil ; 
 
 She had a listless air, and weary, 
 And never seemed to care 
 
 For all those many bright amusements 
 In which she used to share. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 85 
 
 She spent the day within the garden^ 
 
 With book upon her knee, 
 And yet a passer might have thought her 
 
 In deepest reverie ; 
 
 And when the evening cast its shadows, 
 
 And wafted cooling breeze, 
 She stayed too long for one so tender 
 
 Beneath the swaying trees ; 
 
 And when she in the house had vanished 
 
 She sat her down to play 
 Upon the harp some wailing music 
 
 Of love passed long away ; 
 
 And sometimes, too, she blent her singing 
 
 With tones of instrument. 
 Which was as sweet as scent of roses 
 
 And lilies redolent ; 
 
 And when 'twas late, she glided upwards 
 
 Unto her chamber own, 
 Light as a gentle breeze that passes 
 
 Unto its home unknown ; 
 
 And when she stole with tardy footsteps 
 
 Into the noonday glow, 
 Her face betoken'd night had given 
 
 But sleeplessness and woe. 
 
 Her parents were perplexed and frightened 
 
 At her dejected mien, 
 And thought it prudent and expedient 
 
 To try a change of scene. 
 
86 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 They forthwith took her to receptions, 
 
 To dances and to fetes, 
 And unto other entertainments 
 
 Where fashion congregates. 
 
 And yet, alas ! she was no better 
 
 For all these sights so fair. 
 So they determined, after counsel. 
 
 To find a softer air. 
 
 They therefore went with her a journey 
 
 From social life and home. 
 Unto the sunny, southern regions. 
 
 To Florence and to Rome ; 
 
 And when they reached th' eternal city, 
 
 She was indeed so weak, 
 And had such dangerous hectic colour 
 
 Upon her hollow cheek, 
 
 That the physicians were invited 
 To stay her sinking strength. 
 
 And yet, in spite of their endeavours, 
 The ending came at length : 
 
 One summer's dawning, when the radiance 
 
 That herald'd forth sunrise 
 Was glowing ou the eastern portals 
 
 Of the cerulean skies. 
 
 And when a star was slowly closing. 
 
 Above the western steep. 
 Its heavenly eyes of lustrous beauty. 
 
 As if about to sleep. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 87 
 
 The Lady Eleanor was passing 
 
 From scenes of time and woe, 
 And drooping like an early flower 
 
 With shapely head bent low ; 
 
 And when the sun arose with splendour, 
 
 She died without a sigh, 
 Breathing a well-known word belovM, 
 
 The name of haudsoine Guy. 
 
 And she was buried in the city, 
 
 Within a sacred ground, 
 Ay, sacred from the du.st of poets. 
 
 And warriors sleeping round, 
 
 And the surrounding solemn temples. 
 
 With glorious records strowii, 
 And standing like celestial angels 
 
 About their charges own. 
 
 And the bereaved and mindful parents. 
 
 In love and in despair, 
 Erected o'er their restful daughter, 
 
 A costly tombstone fair. 
 
 And had, with many a lamentation. 
 And many an ache and smart. 
 
 This epitaph engraven on it, 
 " Here lies a broken heart." 
 
SELENE AND ENDYMION ; 
 
 A Drama. 
 
 Persons in the Drama. 
 
 Selenk, the Goddess of the Moon. 
 
 Endymion, a beautiful youth whom she loves. 
 
 Apollo, the God of Prophecy, the Divine Seer. 
 
 Helios, the brother of Selenfe and God of the Sun. 
 
 Aides, King of Erebus (darkness). 
 
 Pythia, the Priestess at Delphi. 
 
 The priests at Delphi. 
 
 Maidens of Selenfe. 
 
 Spirits. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Scene. — Selenfe is watching over the beautiful youth 
 Endymion, asleep on Mount Latmus, whilst her maidens 
 stand at a short distance off. 
 
 Ghorus of Selene's maidens : 
 
 Our Lady in snowy dress 
 Sits on the brow of the hill. 
 And a youth in his loveliness 
 Is lying extended and still, 
 As though in a sweet repose. 
 She bends intent o'er his face, 
 For she loves the delicate rose 
 Tinting his cheek with grace, 
 88 
 
SELENE AND ENDYMION. 89 
 
 And admires his lineaments fair. 
 
 Unclouded by any care, 
 
 And prizes the beautiful tresses, 
 
 Clasping his head like caresses, 
 
 And falling in many a line 
 
 On a neck as white and as fine 
 
 As a Parian column divine. 
 
 Now she turns and leans on her side. 
 
 And her words flow smooth in their tide. 
 
 Selene to Endymion : 
 
 Oh, how I love you, dearest love ! 
 Not e'en the gods who dwell above, 
 And never thoughts from me conceal. 
 Have ever felt what I do feel. 
 
 many an evening I have come, 
 With deep ecstatic musings dumb, 
 To this romantic lonely peak, 
 
 To gaze upon your glowing cheek, 
 And your reclining even brow. 
 And watch and love, as I do now. 
 And having wakened you to talk, 
 And on the mountain heather walk, 
 And breathe the balmy, freshening air 
 Which has disturbed your golden hair. 
 
 \_Endymion begins to awake. 
 Ah ! ah ! he wakes from slumber deep, 
 
 1 see his eyes of lustre peep, 
 His eyes of deepest azure tinge, 
 
 From out their soft and drooping fringe. 
 
 O dear, I have been waiting long 
 
 For you to break from sleep's sweet power. 
 
 And like the nightingale with song, 
 
 Have whiled with thoughts and words the hour. 
 
90 SELENE AND BNDYMION. 
 
 For oh ! I did not like to spoil 
 
 The soft repose that seemed to coil 
 
 Around your noble spirit calm ; 
 
 You looked so sweet amid your dreams, 
 
 You might have lain by purling streams 
 
 Where all the breezes shed but balm. 
 
 My beautiful Endymion ! 
 
 When I beheld you sleeping so, 
 
 I ceased to meditate anon 
 
 On things of agitating woe. 
 
 And as the gloom of night takes wing 
 
 When smiling day steals forth to sing, 
 
 So when I saw you I forgot 
 
 My mis'ry and my dreadful lot, 
 
 Yes, quite forgot that Aides dread 
 
 In gazing on your curly head 
 
 And on your shapely countenance. 
 
 So pleasant 'midst your sleeping trance. 
 
 Endymion, my beloved well, 
 
 I have, so sad for me to tell, 
 
 And sad I know for you to hear. 
 
 News which I have not told an ear. 
 
 That Aides grave and potent King 
 
 Of all the realm of Erebus, 
 
 Who has awhile been hankering, 
 
 With dalliance coy and amorous. 
 
 To make me his connubial queen. 
 
 And take me to his I'ealm unseen, 
 
 Suddenly came this eve to me. 
 
 And in a tone of flattery 
 
 Declared his love was too much tried. 
 
 And bid me straightway be his bride. 
 
 I put him off well as I could ; 
 
SELENE AND ENDYMION. 91 
 
 But yet he wore deep gloom and stood 
 
 And looked aglow with violent ire, 
 
 As though he longed for vengeance dire 
 
 On me and on my happiness. 
 
 So I, you see, am in distress 
 
 About this cruel, mighty man ; 
 
 I fear him, and a deadly plan 
 
 To marry me against my will. 
 
 And take me off by brutal force 
 
 Unto his dismal kingdom chill, 
 
 To do his orders at his call 
 
 And bear his frequent humours coarse. 
 
 But this I do not like at all, 
 
 And as I know you love me, dear, 
 
 I do aver with words sincere. 
 
 To never wed this King austere. 
 
 And so I, loyal unto you, 
 
 Now ask what course shall I pursue % 
 
 Endymion : 
 
 Your words, apple of mine eye, 
 
 Fell on mine ear like melody. 
 
 Or water poured into a bowl. 
 
 Unto a weary, thirsty soul ; 
 
 For now I know you love mo well. 
 
 This thought upon me casts a spell 
 
 Of pleasure inexpressible. 
 
 But I have had foretaste of this 
 
 Amid a quiet dream of bliss : 
 
 I dreamt, Selene, you and I 
 
 Were bounden with the nuptial tie — 
 
 Now do not blush and look so shy — 
 
 And tarried in your dwelling fair. 
 
 Where anxious troubles never were. 
 
92 SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 And ever pleasant was the air ; 
 And all our days we spent in sleep, 
 And all our nights we wandered o'er 
 Some far cerulean breezy steep 
 Unto a western sounding shore, 
 And we disported on the waves. 
 And sat awhile within the caves, 
 And peered into the sea to see 
 What pearls and corals there might be ; 
 And then we rowed across the main 
 Unto your eastern home again, 
 And whilst I was within that place. 
 So full of happiness and grace, 
 I woke and found you face to face. 
 
 When we have joined the marriage lot. 
 You ought to take me from this spot 
 To that resplendent home of yours, 
 That stands upon the eastern shores, 
 To which you frequently repair. 
 But glimpse of which has broken ne'er 
 Upon my sight, except in gleams 
 Flashed through the firmament of dreams. 
 
 But since we are agreed to wed, 
 We first of all must foil our foe, 
 Lest he should bring unto a head 
 His thoughts of vengeance and of woe ; 
 But how I never seem to know, 
 For he is sly and powerful, 
 And though his subjects are but dull 
 And passive as the very ground, 
 Yet he possesses friends around. 
 
SELENE AND ENDYMION. 93 
 
 As such, what can we do, my sweet ? 
 Where turn our gaze for words discreet ? 
 I know nowhere those in a strait 
 Can plainly see the naked truth 
 With an unclouded sight forsooth, 
 Except by passing through the gate 
 Of the imposing Delphic Fane 
 In which prophetic visions reign, 
 And, like a mirror placed in time, 
 Display momentous things sublime. 
 Why go not there ? Eternity 
 Unveils his agM, furrow'd face, 
 And breaks the seal of mystery. 
 And scatters every doubt apace ! 
 Why go not there, Selenfe dear ? 
 Truth clear as morning shall appear ! 
 
 Selene : 
 
 Now I will go without delay, 
 For soon the night from eye will wane. 
 And morn gird on her girdle gay. 
 And all the heavens flame again. 
 
 To her maidens : 
 
 Ho ! maidens, yoke my two white steeds 
 Unto my sparkling chariot, 
 They somewhere are upon the meads, 
 Or on this mountain heathery spot, 
 For I for Delphi's shrine must start 
 Before the shades of night depart. 
 
 Chorus of Selene's maidens : 
 
 Our Lady Selenfe is going 
 To Delphi's devoted shrine, 
 
94 SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 For the sake of inquiring and knowing 
 The truth from the seer divine, 
 Which will bring the future in sight, 
 And thwart the designs of night. 
 
 Let us gather her steeds on the mountain ! 
 
 Behold they are standing there ! 
 
 And are drinking with glee from the fountain 
 
 Of pleasant refreshing air, — 
 
 yoke her steeds to her car, 
 
 That shines like a silver bar. 
 
 Hasten, the moments are flying ! 
 The hours are stealing away ! 
 And the sky in his palace is sighing 
 To look on the dawn of day ! 
 Now yoke her steeds to her car, 
 Which moves as smooth as a star. 
 
 Ev'rything now is completed. 
 
 As earth was in eon far. 
 
 And our Lady is gracefully seated 
 
 As stars in the welkin are, 
 
 And a white veil round her is twined, 
 
 And flows in the wind behind. 
 
 Now she kisses her hand to her lover. 
 
 With looks of affection deep. 
 
 And with lights of the night far above her. 
 
 She travels the mountain steep. 
 
 To the Delphic prophetic fane 
 
 To obtain remission of pain. 
 
SELBNE AND ENDYMION. 95 
 
 Act it. 
 
 Scene. — Temple of Delphi, with the priests standing at 
 the door. 
 
 Chorus of Priests : 
 
 Two coursers have come in sight 
 Drawing a chariot bright, 
 "Where a lady sitteth bedight 
 In garments of shining white, 
 And she wears a beautiful veil 
 That flows like the radiant trail 
 Of a star of glorious light. 
 
 She is coming anxious and tired, 
 To consult the priestess inspired. 
 The portal unbar with haste ! 
 Let her enter without delay, 
 In the courts of the temple gray. 
 With her maidens lovely and chaste. 
 
 Then addressing Selene : 
 
 Lady, we priests appear 
 
 To salute you and greet you here, 
 
 And trust that the heavenly fire. 
 
 Bestowed on the Pythia, 
 
 May shed in your night a ray, 
 
 And guide to a haven desire. 
 
 Selene . 
 
 I thank you with thanks sincere, 
 For the words I have joyed to hear, 
 
gS SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 And hope that the Pythian maid, 
 Inspired by Apollo revered, 
 May render me valuable aid 
 To baffle my enemy feared. 
 
 The Priests : 
 
 The priestess beheld on the way 
 Yourself and your splendid array, 
 And has gone to Parnassus Mount 
 To bathe in Castalia's fount. 
 For she knew you had come to see 
 'Neath the mask of a mystery. 
 
 Then they chajit the foUovnng : 
 
 We see a cloud with our eye. 
 
 Like the peak of a mountain nigh, 
 
 On which Hermes ^ sublimely doth sit, 
 
 And his visage with radiance is lit ; 
 
 He is sent by our god in the skies. 
 
 The god who is only wise, 
 
 The god who can only inspire, 
 
 And is lord of the golden lyre. 
 
 To touch the Castalian water. 
 
 And mind of the Pythian daughter. 
 
 mighty Apollo is god. 
 
 Though the heavens from exhaustion may nod. 
 
 And the earth may dissolve from sight 
 
 Like a night in infinite light. 
 
 And never be seen again 
 
 In eternity's endless reign. 
 
 Chorus of spirits in the air ; 
 
 We were mortals once on a time, 
 But since we have cast off the flesh, 
 1 Hermes, messenger of the godsi 
 
SRLENE AND ENDYMION. 97 
 
 We have gained a knowledge sublime, 
 A knowledge which was to us fresh : 
 There is but one God, only one, 
 He created the stars and the sun, 
 Man and the flocks of the fold, 
 And all that the eye can behold. 
 And all that the mind can perceive, 
 And the spirit can ever achieve ; 
 He has many a pre-eminent name. 
 But yet He is one and the same ; 
 He is known in Hellas as Zeus,i 
 And Jehovah in Palestine, 
 And as Jove ^ the Father divine 
 Where the Latin tongue is in use. 
 And in Asia in many a land 
 He is longed for on every hand, 
 And the farthest isles of the sea 
 Wait for His sovereignty. 
 He is God who is only wise, 
 The God who can only inspire, 
 And although far from mortal eyes. 
 He considereth ev'ry desire. 
 And in loving and mindful care 
 For a son Endymion fair. 
 He commanded us fly through space, 
 And convey His message of grace, 
 That will tell of His will most high 
 To the priestess in ecstasy. 
 
 ' In Greek mythology, the father of gods and men. 
 'Jove or Jupiter, according to Latin mythology, was the father 
 of gods and men. 
 
98 SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 A priest : 
 
 What were those noises, my soul ? 
 They sounded like the thunder's roll. 
 
 Another priest : 
 
 It was not thunder, I believe — 
 Though often distant sounds deceive — 
 'Twas strong-winged Hermes on the cloud, 
 Telling in heavenly accents loud, 
 Apollo's mind that rightly knows 
 Truth fraught with gladness or with woes. 
 
 Chorus of priests : 
 
 The priestess comes from the spring ! 
 
 Now she is entering, 
 
 In Apollo's prophetic fane. 
 
 Where the deadly Python was slain. 
 
 Now she sits on the tripod here. 
 Over the mouth of the cave. 
 Whence sulphureous fumes appear 
 And quiver around her and lave. 
 And the clouds of the incense twine. 
 Like columns that deck this shrine. 
 And point to the sky blue-dyed, 
 Where Apollo is glorified. 
 
 Addressing Selenk : 
 
 Now approach her, O Lady fair, 
 
 Through the wreaths of the fragrant air ; 
 
 She is sat on the tripod old, 
 
 Over the mouth of the cave 
 
 To declare the things she is told. 
 
 Lo ! her hands wildly wave, wildly wave, 
 
 And her tresses unshorn and profuse 
 
 Are flying disordered and loose, 
 
SBLBNB AND ENDYMION. 99 
 
 As if moved by a heavenly ire, 
 And her eyes are resplendent as fire, 
 Or meteors that brilliantly shine — 
 Hearken ! She speaks the Divine, 
 The message of Heaven on high. 
 
 The Pythia speaks : 
 
 Thou dost love, child of the sky, 
 
 And the flower-apparelled earth. 
 
 One not of immortal birth. 
 
 Let coursers decide for thee, 
 
 Thou then shalt possess with glee 
 
 Thy heart's and thy soul's desire, 
 
 A love all fair and entire. 
 Chorus of priests interpreting the prophecy and addressing 
 Selen} : 
 
 The maiden hath spoken, 
 
 And given a token 
 
 Of that which is true 
 
 And what may ensue : 
 
 A steed and a steed 
 
 And a chariot must speed. 
 
 Like the hurricane dread 
 
 Or the wild lightning red, 
 
 And a fair charioteer 
 
 Your love must appear, 
 
 And if he will strive, 
 
 And skilfully drive, 
 
 He will gain by surprise 
 
 In rivalry keen 
 
 The love of his eyes 
 
 On the Delphian green. 
 
 the day after morrow, 
 
 Joy vanquishes sorrow. 
 
loo SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 Seleni : 
 
 My friends, I thank you for th' advice 
 
 Contained in your auspicious song, 
 
 And trust to gain the paradise 
 
 Of all my sweet desires ere long. 
 
 Though Aides is by far too strong 
 
 E'en by the gods to be displaced 
 
 From ofif the path of love in haste, 
 
 Yet I anticipate, by aid 
 
 Of this advising oracle, 
 
 To frustrate him, and so evade 
 
 His further machinations felL 
 
 But I must forthwith go and tell 
 
 What of it seemeth suitable 
 
 To him and to Endymion. 
 
 And now, my friends, I say farewell, 
 
 And trust you all will be anon 
 
 Upon the course, smooth as a lawn. 
 
 The day succeeding morrow's dawn. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Scene. — Mount Latmus. 
 Seleni : 
 
 Endymion, but a day has passed 
 
 Since I beheld your visage last, 
 
 Yet it appears an age to me. 
 
 Of death's convulsive agony. 
 
 But I have done you, dearest, good — 
 
 You -whom I hold so passing dear — 
 
 Which will in every likelihood 
 
 With swift wings bring you ever near. 
 
 I went, when last I left you here, 
 
 To Delphi's shrine to represent 
 
 My anguish and embarrassment, 
 
SELENE AND ENDYM/ON. 
 
 And found the god in pleasant vein ; 
 
 For his obedient Pythian slave, 
 
 Upon the tripod o'er the cave, 
 
 Prophesied nought but only gain. 
 
 At all events, the steeds, she said, 
 
 Should bring me love of heart, and shed 
 
 Over my spirit perfect joy, 
 
 And sating long with no alloy. 
 
 The priests elucidated this 
 
 By saying, what was not amiss. 
 
 My lovers in a chariot race 
 
 Should strfve at Delphi's racing place, 
 
 And he who won should be my spouse. 
 
 By Hymen's wonted sacred vows. 
 
 On this I unto Aides went. 
 
 And told him of the arbitrament : 
 
 At first he seemed reserved and dark, 
 
 And for a time made no remark, 
 
 But in the end he gave consent 
 
 With manner sad and diffident, 
 
 To be upon the Pythian plain 
 
 To ever lose or to obtain, 
 
 When day should spread the heavenly roof 
 
 With many an azured warp and woof. 
 
 When I of him had taken leave, 
 
 I went, ere rose the star of eve, 
 
 To see my brother Helios dear. 
 
 And to propose in language clear. 
 
 That he should lend to you his car 
 
 Of ever purest burnished gold. 
 
 And swift steeds fiery as the far, 
 
 Hot Sirius splendent to behold. 
 
 He stared and hesitated long ; 
 
 At last he spoke his lingering aye, 
 
I02 SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 For you to have it, when the song 
 Of birds foretells sunrise is nigh, 
 And dewy gems of brilliancy. 
 
 Now I will leave, dear, all to you, 
 And Zeus, who knoweth what is true 
 And just in you, and what is ill, 
 And in your being can instil 
 The sense of trustfulness and hope, 
 And give you fortitude to cope 
 With Aides, full of subtlety. 
 And win the crown of ecstasy. 
 
 Endymion : 
 
 You, dearest, can rely on me ; 
 You know my love, and sympathy ; 
 And I will be when light explores 
 The azure main and sounding shores, 
 At Delphi's course to-morrow morn 
 To gain eternal love or scorn. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Scene. — The Pythian racecourse at Delphi, with a 
 crowd of priests and people waiting the entrance of the 
 chariots. 
 
 Chorus of priests : 
 
 Now the mom to the east has sped, 
 And soon with her hands of red 
 WiU touch the peaks of the mounts. 
 And the rippling waves of the founts, 
 And will draw the veil of the mist 
 From a heaven of amethyst. 
 
SELENE AND ENDYMION. 193 
 
 The momentous day has arrived 
 
 When one will soon be deprived 
 
 Of the shapely coveted prize 
 
 And the beautiful starlike eyes ; 
 
 And the other, with shouts of glee 
 
 And a rush of felicity, 
 
 Will easily reach the goal, 
 
 And win the joy of his soul ; 
 
 And the fervent and turbulent crowd 
 
 For a sight of the victor will call 
 
 With applauses repeated and loud ; 
 
 Whilst the morning will beam upon all. 
 
 But we see a chariot hie 
 
 From the verge of the eastern sky ; 
 
 It is ebon as dark-haired night 
 
 In her sable garments bedight, 
 
 And the coursers are black as the glades 
 
 In the realms of the nethermost shades ; 
 
 But behind is a car of gold 
 
 Which is radiant with rays untold. 
 
 And the steeds touch lightly the heath 
 
 As they bound o'er the ground beneath. 
 
 They draw to us nigher and nigher, 
 
 Swift as a flame of fire 
 
 When it leaps with a roar from the pyre, 
 
 It is Aides, the swarthy king. 
 
 Who is dark as a raven's wing ; 
 
 And the lovely Endymion, 
 
 With hair as light as the sun. 
 
 How splendid he looks, and fine ! 
 
 How his steeds and his chariot shine ! 
 
 As they pass through the air like a dart 
 
 When thrown from the hand with a start. 
 
104 SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 He will win, he will win, we are sure ! 
 The prize, the prize is secure ! 
 Whilst Aides in vain will toil, 
 The rohher will lose the spoil. 
 The falcon will miss the dove. 
 As she safely flees to her love. 
 
 They now are prepared to go. 
 
 How the cheeks with excitement glow 
 
 To behold them hurry and tear. 
 
 From the barrier straight through the air, 
 
 How the steeds of Endymion 
 
 Fret and paw to be gone ! 
 
 How he deftly handles his reins. 
 
 As each one prances and strains ! 
 
 But Aides is looking now 
 
 With a fierce and menacing brow. 
 
 And a cloud of hate on his face, 
 
 As he sees the splendour and grace 
 
 Of his rival's horses and car. 
 
 More bright than a scimitar. 
 
 Now they start, now they start with a bound, 
 
 And the wheels like the thunder resound 
 
 As they rapidly roll o'er the ground. 
 
 But Aides is foremost indeed ! 
 
 He is going a marvellous speed ! 
 
 Yet Endymion is loosing his reins, 
 
 And flow in the breezes the manes 
 
 Of his steeds as they rush at a pace 
 
 That must make him the first in the race. 
 
 And now they are side by side. 
 
 Like the surging waves in their pride 
 
 As they roll to the shingly strand, 
 
 Yet Aides with powerful hand 
 
SELBNB AND ENDYMION. 105 
 
 Turns into Endymion, 
 
 And like whirlwinds hasting anon 
 
 Makes at his chariot a dash. 
 
 Oh ! what a hideous crash ! 
 
 And Aides is now overthrown 
 
 And lies on the ground like a stone, 
 
 And the coursers are stretched, like their lord, 
 
 On the ruffled and verdurous sward, 
 
 Whilst Endymion proceeds elate 
 
 On the course at a stately rate. 
 
 And gains the goal like a star 
 
 That has climbed to the zenith far. 
 
 Chorus of Selene's maidens : 
 
 will not our lady be glad 
 To hear of her lover's success ! 
 It will end all her yearnings sad, 
 And kill all her bitter distress, 
 And dry all her heavy tears, 
 For he now will be hers for years. 
 And they will be heart unto heart. 
 Never, oh never to part. 
 And now she can call him her own. 
 No Aides can e'er interfere ! 
 For there he is silent and prone, 
 Conquered amidst his career. 
 O we are delighted, we are ! 
 The portals of pleasure unbar ! 
 And let it be free as the air 
 And sing like a bird ev'rywhere. 
 our lady is steadfast and strong 
 In her love for Endymion fair 
 As a beautiful passionate song. 
 
106 SELENE AND ENDYMION. 
 
 great is the power of love ! 
 
 It is strong as a lion fine, 
 
 Or a giant refreshed with wine, 
 
 Yet sweet as the eyes of a dove, 
 
 It fills the celestial breasts 
 
 Of the gods with an ardent glee, 
 
 And descending on earth, it rests. 
 
 And cahns disquietude's sea. 
 
 'Tis the mighty mysterious zone 
 
 That circles created things. 
 
 And the pleasant exalted throne 
 
 Of harmonious imaginings, 
 
 And it lasts like the stars on high 
 
 Through an endless eternity. 
 
MY FKIENDS ! 
 
 Alone I often give a sigh 
 For friends belov'd no longer nigh ? 
 Whether they are on native earth 
 Or distant from their land of birth, 
 Their hands to clasp, my love declare, 
 Would soften ills I have to bear. 
 
 But friends in spirit come again 
 
 When anguish wrings my heart with pain, 
 
 As when I muse of days now o'er. 
 
 Which can, alas ! return no more. 
 
 Or when I think of those I met 
 
 To love in vain yet not forget. 
 
 Though o'er me memory has cast 
 A gloomy shadow of the past. 
 Yet as the exile far from home 
 Loves all his former scenes to roam, 
 With fond delight I often dwell 
 On love of friends immutable. 
 
 107 
 
A SILENT SCENE. 
 
 Who does not love a silent scene 
 Of mountains, valley, river, sea. 
 
 And moon and stars of splendid sheen, 
 All looking sweet with sympathy ? 
 
 With sympathy, did I say t 
 
 I meant, with love, with brotherly love, 
 For man, and earth, and stars away. 
 
 Are children of a Sire above. 
 
 And when I see at daylight fall 
 The hills of melting purple hue. 
 
 My spirit seems to love them all 
 As well beloVd relations true. 
 
 io8 
 
CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Why weep so, dearest Charlotte ? grief 
 Is not confined to thee alone ; 
 
 My heart in vain hath sought relief, 
 As hath thine own. 
 
 Think not thou art the only one 
 Who loves so well his memory, — 
 
 He was my friend, dear as a son, 
 Now gone from me ! 
 
 And I, to bring him back, would die, 
 But this would not avail, I fear. 
 
 For he has soared beyond the sky, 
 From earth's dark sphere. 
 
 Yet we shall look on him apace. 
 For when the race of life is o'er, 
 
 We shall behold him face to face 
 For evermore. 
 
 109 
 
SHE SLEEPS WITHIN THE OLD CHUKCHYARD. 
 
 She sleeps within the old churchyard, 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the tower, 
 But she does not the snow regard, 
 
 Nor the impelling cold sleet shower. 
 Nor being terribly belied 
 
 By voices of the slanderous throng, 
 And hatred that was born of pride. 
 
 And nourished by a fancied wrong. 
 
 She sleeps within the old churchyard. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the tower. 
 And yet her grave is never starred 
 
 With the resplendence of a flower ; 
 And friends have so forgotten her, 
 
 Enwrapped in their ungodly care. 
 As not to rear a sepulchre 
 
 O'er her the well belov'd and fair. 
 
 She sleeps within the old churchyard, 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the tower, 
 And often I have thought it hard 
 
 So soon death took her in his power ; 
 And not when I am passing by 
 
 Do I forget her lonely grave. 
 With only winds o'er her to sigh, 
 
 And trees despairingly to wave. 
 
THE SCHOOL-BOY. 
 
 The boy at school inhales with joy his breath, 
 And, full of life, scarce ever thinks of death ; 
 He looks upon the world around with hope. 
 And wishes for the time with it to cope. 
 Ah, he ! whene'er a few brief years are o'er. 
 Will gaze with longing looks on days of yore. 
 
 WHEN THE SWEET MOON SAILS OVEKHEAD. 
 
 When the sweet moon sails overhead. 
 And shines on my garden gay, 
 
 To myself I have often said 
 The night is better than day. 
 
 the night is better than day. 
 When the moon is shining aloft ; 
 
 For its soft and transparent ray 
 Brings beautiful musings oft ; 
 
 Ay, beautiful thoughts come down 
 With ecstatic thrills in my mind. 
 
 And entwine there, fair as a crown. 
 Dreams of a lovely kind, — 
 
 Dreams which cannot be true. 
 
 And never can come to pass, 
 Yet to me they are as the dew 
 
 To the thirsty and sunburnt grass. 
 
 HI 
 
I WISH THAT I WERE FAR AWAY. 
 
 I WISH that I were far away, 
 
 And that my spirit were at rest 
 
 Beneath a cloudless sky of day, 
 And in a home that is all blest. 
 
 And then I should be ever free 
 From this exacting frame of mine, 
 
 Which so restrains the liberty 
 Of the immortal soul divine. 
 
 Enjoyment of a base desire 
 Is baneful as the water chill 
 
 Thrown on a brightly burning fire. 
 Making it lustreless and still. 
 
 Give senses sway and lust its fling 
 And let the animal be God ; 
 
 Then ring the funeral bell, ring — 
 The soul is dead — press down the sod. 
 
BYRON. 
 
 Has Byron met thy sight 1 
 Methinks I see him now, 
 
 The devil in his eyes 
 Beneath a lofty brow. 
 
 And o'er his face a look 
 To dare victorious death, 
 
 And utter forth a sneer 
 With his expiring breath. 
 
 And round his shapely head 
 The lurid lightnings flash, 
 
 Above him in the sky 
 
 The angry thunders crash ; 
 
 And yet he wears an air 
 Eeckless of dangers near, 
 
 And tightly folds his arms, 
 As though defying fear. 
 
 But now, alas ! he falls. 
 And fadeth from my sight, 
 
 Pierced by a spirit pale. 
 Holding a javelin bright. 
 
 And then I see a tomb 
 
 Of smoothly chiselled stone. 
 
 Engraved with Byron's name. 
 Within a chancel lone, 
 "3 
 
LORD TENNYSON'S DEATH. 
 
 ' ' Nothing could be more striking. On the bed a. figure of 
 breathing marble, flooded and bathed in the light of the moon 
 streaming through the oriel window." 
 
 The sun lias set, the evening chill 
 
 Sheds dewy tears o'er vale and hill ; 
 
 Yet fair as any angel white, 
 
 The moon from heaven in radiant light 
 
 Looks on the regions of the night, 
 
 And casts a crown of grandeur bright 
 
 Upon the poet's dying brow. 
 
 Alas ! dread death has strick'n him now ! 
 
 His soul like fire no longer glows. 
 
 Neither his spirit ever throws. 
 
 O'er all this kingdom by the sea, 
 
 A brilliant flame of poetry. 
 
 Alas ! dread death has strick'n him ; oh ! 
 The lyre that stirred the high and low. 
 And sent a joy from shore to shore. 
 He will on earth touch never more. 
 
 But he will strike mid asphodel 
 The strings of his melodious shell 
 Within some far serener clime, 
 And sing immortal songs sublime. 
 Deep as the music of the spheres, 
 Delighting even angels' ears. 
 114 
 
FLOWERS. 
 
 The flowers are fed with, dews, 
 And rocked by the passing wind, 
 
 And dressed with the sunlight's hues, 
 And nursed by the heavens kind. 
 
 Like mortals they breathe and grow. 
 Like mortals at times they sigh, 
 
 Like mortals they oft are low, 
 Like mortals at last they die. 
 
 Their shroud is the .'Vuturiln haze, 
 The earth is their stately tomb ; 
 
 The trees like the angels blaze, 
 The breezes bemoan their doom. 
 
 Their fortune is sweeter, oh ! 
 
 Than mortals disconsolate. 
 For life may have many a woe, 
 
 Yet death is oblivion's gate. 
 
 115 
 
CONSTANCE. 
 
 'Tis sacred soil, tread softly there ! 
 
 stranger, pass with downcast eye ! 
 For Constance, who was once so fair, 
 
 There slumbers on unceasingly. 
 
 The time when last I saw her face 
 Was when I met her on the way. 
 
 In all her brilliant youthful grace, 
 Like a resplendent flower of May. 
 
 I little thought that I should say, 
 " we have never met since then," 
 
 For, on an unf orgotten day. 
 
 This light of life was lost to ken. 
 
 This light was lost because its sun 
 With sable shades was shaded o'er — 
 
 A deadly clime to death had done 
 Her lover on a distant shore. 
 
 To part in death, who does not sigh ! 
 
 A lover and a love so true ; 
 He sleeps beneath a foreign sky,' 
 
 And she beneath the churchyard yew. 
 
 116 
 
HESTER. 
 
 Deae Hester, give me the flower 
 Which bedecks thy velvety dress, 
 
 Or else my spirit will faint 
 
 From distress at thy bashfulness. 
 
 I desire it since it recalls 
 To my mind thy beloved face, 
 
 Which, whilst I look at it now, 
 Has the flower's entrancing grace. 
 
 I love the grace of the flower, 
 But never so much as thine ; 
 
 For the flower has not a soul 
 As thy youthful beauty divine. 
 
 I can gaze for ever on thee. 
 
 With thy flower-like countenance ; 
 And should joy to lose what I have 
 
 For a heav'n of a tender glance. 
 
 Give me, Hester, the flower ! 
 
 do not, dear Hester, delay ! 
 I will wear it close to my hearty 
 
 And there till death it shall stay. 
 
 117 
 
DEATH. 
 
 What is in thee death so dread ? 
 What is in thy earthy bed ? 
 Which so often makes us fear 
 When thy presence draweth near ? 
 
 Smooth and soft, yet bright as glass, 
 Is thy cov'ring not the grass 1 
 And thy canopy the sky 
 Fretted with the stars on high 1 
 
 Lulled by the breezes' sound. 
 And the scent of flowers round, 
 Long and deep will be the sleep 
 Weary mortals e'er will keep. 
 
 ii8 
 
TO AN AMERICAN LADY. 
 
 Thy friends have gone, lady fair, 
 And thou art left in lone despair ; 
 No relative to cheer thee bacic 
 Along the stormy ocean's track. 
 
 how I feel for thee ! and long 
 To guard thee, dear, from any wrong 
 And soothe away thy bitter pain. 
 And tell thee thou must joy again. 
 
 Ah ! thou wilt find in me a friend, 
 A hand to tend thee and defend, 
 A heart, a soul sincere to none 
 Except to thee, the only one. 
 
 Believe me, I would rather be 
 Within a cottage mean with thee. 
 Than dwell within the costliest hall. 
 Where thou art not, my love, at all. 
 
 119 
 
PEE-EXISTENCE. 
 
 " The soul, being immortal, has repeated births, having seen 
 the things of this life and the other, and has learned all that it 
 can learn, and so it is not to be wondered that it can recollect 
 things which it has known before. . . . These opinions are 
 called up in him like a past dream." — Plato. 
 
 I DREAMT I saw you long ago, 
 But -where, I never seem to know, 
 Upon a summer's shining morn, 
 Before you, love, were ever born ; 
 And you appeared as now the same, 
 Yet said you had no mortal name. 
 Which gave me, I recall, surprise 
 As I was gazing in your eyes. 
 And then we seemed to talk away 
 Upon that summer's shining day ; 
 But when I would approach you near. 
 To take your hand and kiss you, dear. 
 You said you could not touch at all 
 Me living in the mortal thrall. 
 Yet you awhile for me would cease 
 Your immortality of peace. 
 And, bending to a human birth, 
 Would live, and love me, on this earth. 
 
THE LIVES OF GREAT MEN. 
 
 Lives of the great immortal dead 
 Are beacons beaming forth sublime 
 
 Through mournful darkness thickly spread 
 Over the stormy sea of time. 
 
 Their radiance is reflected light 
 Of Heaven eternal and divine, 
 
 And like the stars at deepening night, 
 Far more resplendently shall shine. 
 
 Ah ! God has given us the great, 
 That by their noble efforts fair 
 
 We may be rescued from the fate 
 Of the abyss of dread despair. 
 
 T2I 
 
AFRAID OF DEATH ! 
 
 And thou afraid of death ! 
 
 What is to die 1 
 It is a fainting fit 
 
 Or fleeting sigh. 
 
 Thou sayest death is dark ! 
 
 Fools make it so 
 By dismal plumes and crape 
 
 And sable glow. 
 
 Thou sayest death is cold, 
 
 Thou wilt not care 
 Though keenest winters come 
 
 And ice the air. 
 
 Thou sayest death is end 
 
 Of love on earth ; 
 ! death is but for man 
 
 A second birth. 
 
 Thy fears, thy fears forget ! 
 
 And laugh at death, 
 And then thou wilt be brave 
 
 In dying breath. 
 
THE WAVES. 
 
 I BEHELD the warriors in white 
 
 O'er the sea surface ride, 
 Swift and wild with delight, 
 
 To the high headland's side. 
 
 They fell in their pure array 
 
 With a moan and a sigh, 
 And squadrons passed where they lay, 
 
 Only to die. 
 
 The Moon looked over a cloud 
 
 On the dying and dead. 
 Overcome and scathed in a crowd 
 
 With their white splendour shed. 
 
 She criedj " my warriors, dash 
 
 To a victory nigh ; 
 Let your beautiful horses clash 
 
 With the hard headland high. 
 
 " It shall lie, I swear, in the sea. 
 
 Ere the positive fall 
 Of time in eternity 
 
 Shall thunder on all." 
 
 '! Bat," cried the Sun, from the place 
 
 Of his eminence own, 
 " That headland high from its base 
 
 Shall never be thrown." 
 123 
 
124 THE WAVES, 
 
 Then she told her warriors to stay 
 From the death struggle sore, 
 
 And to lay the dead far away 
 In the deep from the shore. 
 
 And there the fall'n in the fray 
 Were buried from sight, 
 
 As the silver bejewell'd day 
 Is hidden by night. 
 
MUSINGS. 
 
 Ye merry breezes fresh that come and go, 
 
 And mark your course by songs from waving corn, 
 
 And laughter from the rivers as they flow. 
 Ye cannot move a heart all worldly worn ! 
 
 Thou sun that spreadest with thy radiant light 
 The forest, vale, and heathered mountain side, 
 
 And causest them to look contented, bright. 
 
 Thou can'st not soothe a heart that time has tried! 
 
 Ye stars that dwell within the sapphire sky. 
 And view with tender eyes the earth below. 
 
 With all your love and all your sympathy. 
 
 Ye cannot cheer a heart bowed down with woe ! 
 
 Then, breezes, airy spirits, roam around ! 
 
 Shine, sun, until thine everlasting gloom ! 
 Gaze, stars, from out the blue expanse profound ! 
 
 All will behold some day my silent tomb ! 
 
 I2S 
 
THE MOON. 
 
 We see the face of the moon 
 
 As she moves through the vault of night, 
 When the sun has sunk in a swoon 
 
 Beneath the horizon bright. 
 
 But why is her body unseen ? 
 
 For we see her celestial face, 
 As she peeps through the heavens serene 
 
 In calm and transcendent grace. 
 
 Come ! I will tell you a truth 
 
 Known only to angels and me, 
 And revealed to me when a youth 
 
 On account of adversity. 
 
 Her body is hid from the eye 
 
 By a garment of azure air, 
 And this is the reason why 
 
 We see but her visage fair. 
 
 I have told you a mystery 
 
 Which will make you more learned far 
 Than any on land or sea. 
 
 Or e'en on a distant star. 
 
 Because you will know that the maid, — 
 The moon who abides in the sky, — 
 
 Has a body richly arrayed 
 In a robe of cerulean dye. 
 126 
 
LIFE AFTER DEATH. 
 
 I ASKED the Stars if there was life, life after death, 
 I asked the question with sonorous ardent breath ; 
 But they replied, " We cannot say, we cannot say. 
 Because your planet is so far so far away." 
 
 I asked the lordly Sun upon his throne of light j 
 If there was life, a light to shine in death's dark night ; 
 He stared at me with his resplendent eyes awhile, 
 And then bestowed on me a bitter mocking smile. 
 
 I asked the Earth, our ancient, honoured mother Earth, 
 From whose prolific womb man took his mortal birth, 
 If there was life, another life to live again, 
 But she did not reply except with calm disdain. 
 
 I asked the Grave, who reigns in dismal realms below. 
 If there was life from death, joy after human woe ; 
 He answered not, and there I stood 'mid still profound, 
 Save now and then I heard the dead leaves rustling round. 
 
 I asked the Winds, whilst speeding on their lonely flight. 
 If there was life, revived and full bloom after blight ; 
 They did not stop to speak, but moaned and sighed and 
 
 cried, 
 And left me miserable and dissatisfied. 
 
 And then I went to Eeason, and with many a sigh 
 I asked if souls like mortal bodies had to die ; 
 He answered, "Heaven has given every faculty — 
 Where life's desire is, satisfaction sweet will be.'' 
 
 At this reply I sang a song of heartfelt praise, 
 I seemed to see the future life with open gaze; 
 I stood upon a tomb and cried with ecstasy, 
 " death, where is thy sting ? grave, thy victory ? " 
 
 127 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAE. 
 
 Haek ! hark ! a solemn knell is heard 
 
 Along the shores of time ; 
 The sky is dark as chaos "was 
 
 In the anarchal prime ; 
 The winds shriek forth like mourners sad 
 
 Who wail a fearful crime. 
 
 And why does sorrow come here now, 
 
 And grief exert her power 1 
 And why does nature shriek so wild, 
 
 And why her visage lower ? 
 life ! death ! time and change ! 
 
 The year is dead this hour. 
 
 The year is dead ! the year is dead ! 
 
 But not my dismal woe, 
 Which ever seems^ alas ! to come, 
 
 And never seems to go, 
 Making the lyre of life to sound 
 
 With music sad and low. 
 
 Enough of this ! enough of this ! 
 
 Thou dusky demon hear ! 
 Come, angels bright, descend to earth. 
 
 And wipe away my tear^ 
 And sing to me of love and joy 
 
 Through all the present year. 
 
 THB END. 
 
 Printed by Cowan &' Co, , Limited, Perth. 
 
~-\ W"--^^