V5 /\. 900JL7 ^/3/9h Cornell University Library PR 4984.M55F5 Flamma vestalis, and other poems. 3 1924 013 522 473 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis bool< 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/cu31924013522473 Flamma Vestalis IN SAME SERIES. The Lady from the Sea. A London Plane Tree, and other Poems. Iphigenia in Delphi. Mireio. Lyrics. A Minor Poet. Concerning Cats. A Chaplet from the Greek Anthology. The Countess Kathleen. The Love Songs of Robert Burns. Love Songs of Ireland. Retrospect, and other Poems. Brand. Son of Don Juan. Mariana. Flauima Vcstalis. By Sir E. Burne-Jone Flatntna Vcstalis AT^i'D OTHER 'POEdMS by EUGENE MASON CAMEO SERIES T.FisberUnwin PaternosterSq London E.G. MDCCCXCV. ,gg£^ A.^ 0-O2.9 Alt rights reserved Contents, PAGE For Buriie-Jones' Flamma Vestalis . 7 A Love Duet .9 A Ballad of the Silver Hind . . 11 Ideal Love . . . . .20 My High Princess ■ . . 21 At Benediction . 22 The Nuptial Mass . . 23 The Blue Rose . ... 24 The Rose Garden . . 25 .Ffl>- Bume-Jones' Dies Domini . 26 Giorgione's Kiss ■ 27 Biblia Pauperum ... 28 Suggested by Perugind's Madonna and Child . 30 Spiritual Art 32 /« Me National Gallery ■ • • 33 Art of Arts . . .... 34 i^?-o»« a Library Window ■ 36 6 Contents. PAGE Colombe's Birthday 3^ Winter Evenings . . . • • 4° For J. K. Huysiuan's " A Belwurs " . 41 After Reading '' Mdlle. de Maupin" ... 42 Rossetti's Gift 44 Dante's Grief . . ■ 45 In Memory of John Keats . ■ 47 A Woman's Hair Prisoners of Hope A Child's Dreams The Dream Child The Flower Bride Raymond's Mistress In Memory of David Gray Death's Gifts A Ballade of Pioserpine The Song of Her Body A Spring Carol . Prelude to a St. Dorothy Old French Sonnet after Baudelaire Exotic Perfutne . An Old Goldsmith The Chatelaine . 48 49 SI 53 56 57 58 59 60 62 65 67 69 71 73 74 75 Flamma Vesta lis. 7 For Burne -'Jones' Flamma Vestalis. TN purple vestment, and in gathered hood, The Vestal Virgin passes down the street, With recollected thoughts, and covered feet. And downcast eyes where folded memories brood. No love hath stirred her bosom, no man wooed, She walks on ways with holy tasks replete, With half-told beads, and symboUed rai- ment meet, A handmaid vowed to Vesta, white and good. Ah, Love, foreknown, compact of hope and dream, This painted ghost thy shadow as I deem. 8 Flamma Vestalis. To thee with beckoning hand and song I cried ; Haste, love, and tend the Ht lamps of thy shrine. Warm breast and face at this red hearth of mine, No Vestal, but a woman, and my Bride. A Love Duet. A Love Duet. '\ll Y heart and I beguile the weary ways With dainty converse in our Lady's praise. In sweet duet we find our Lady fair From slim white foot to dark upgathered hair. Who loves the more, nor heart nor I can tell, So dear she is and so desirable. Yet when I sing my Lady's mist-veiled eyes, Her mouth made tremulous with low replies. The ordered fashion of her simple dress, The slender wonder of her loveliness. My heart rebukes me, pleading I prefer This outward show and vestiture to her. For this my heart repeats in every place, That she herself is fairer than her face, 10 A Love Duet. And sweeter far than voice, or lips, or cheek, The candid thought that bids her mouth to speak. Thus loving one her body, one her soul. My heart and I together love the whole ; And ease the burden of life's heavy ways With dainty tribute to our Lady's praise. A Ballad of the Silver Hind. ii A Ballad of the Silver Hind. " D EST in my bower, dear Lord, to-day, My soul is sick with fear, My heart doth ache ; for Mary's sake Chase not the silver deer. " Six months ago for my maiden wreath You gave me a golden crown. And the bridal gift I got that tide I bear beneath my gown." " I cannot rest in thy bower, sweetheart. Where the maidens sew and sing ; To sit till night by the red fire-light Would ill beseem a King." 12 A Ballad of the Silver Hind. " Last night I dreamed that I was dead And cold as any stone, And a silver hind stood by my bed And bade my soul begone." He caught the weeping Queen to his breast, He kissed her pallid mouth, " Another dream you shall dream e'er morn, A fairer dream in sooth." He waved his hand as he rode away, " Blow horns for the merry chase." But the Queen's lips stirred with no farewell word. And hers was an ashen face. With winded horn and baying hound. With knife and hunting spear. He sought till noon before he found The slot of the silver deer. The hind sprang forth from a leafy brake Where the weary hunter stood. Like sudden snow, like bolt from bow She sped for the distant wood. A Ballad of the Silver Hind. 13 Her hoof was white as the silver bright, Like shining gold her horn, Her body fair as a maiden's breast And sweet as springtide thorn. With winded horn and baying hound, With knife and hunting spear. O'er field, and hill, and forest glade, Through mountain stream and dappled shade, He followed the silver deer. With voice, and rein, and bloody spur He urged the swift steed on ; The hounds drew close to the flying prey, He gripped the knife in his lust to slay. When, lo, the hind was gone. The hounds crept back like a whimpering child, The stout steed plunged and neighed. The King's blood pricked like points of ice. So sore was he afraid. He swore an oath and he crossed his breast. To Saint Hubert paid his vows. And staring round, but a bow-shot off He marked a fair white house. 14 A Ballad of the Silver Hind. " A draught of wine for a weary man," He beat on the oaken door ; An eldrich laugh rang down the hall And a witch girl crossed the floor. Her hair was red as the shining gold. Like silver her naked feet, Her body lithe as the leaping fawn, Her breast as the whitethorn sweet. Her gown was thin as the finest silk And laced with a purple band, A garland fair was about her hair, A gold ring on her hand. She poured the wine, and she pledged the cup, His cheek was of ruddy hue, So fine were the folds of her silken vest Her limbs showed whitely through. She held the draught to his eager lips, A leman to his mind. He gazed o'er the wine to her subtle eyes And knew the silver hind. A Ballad of the Silver Hind. 15 He sought her love as a wondrous thing, (God grant him shameful death), " Thou hast a bride to thy bed, O King," (The Queen's heart sickeneth). " Give me the spousal ring from her hand, The circlet from her head, (List what the wise leech saith), And thrust her forth to her father's land And crown me Queen in her stead." (The Queen swoons on to death.) They wrapt the Queen in her grass-green cloak. With a shroud o' the sendall white ; Her maidens filled in the new-digged grave At dusk, by the red torch light. Next morn where once was a fresh-digged grave They found a garden fair, With grass as green as a grass-green cloak And tendrils curled like hair. 1 6 A Ballad of the Silver Hind. All pleasant flowers and smelling herbs Stood thick about that place, Wet roses red as the Queen's true heart, Pale lilies like her face. In a hidden spot where the leaves grew close A pool rose still and clear, 'Twas deep as the eyes of a six months bride. And a white bird fluttered near. The King wed fast with that subtle witch, He loved her passing well ; She prayed no prayer at the bridal mass, Nor knelt at the sacring bell. In cloth of gold and cloth of silk They sought the banquet hall. Betwixt her head and the staring sun Lords bore a crimson pall. '' What garden fair, my little page, Hath grown before my door ? " " It grew last night from my lady's grave, It ne'er was seen before." A Ballad of the Silver Hind. 17 " Whence came this bird, my little page, That flutters there alone ? " " O that, my lord, is your dead Queen's soul. She makes a weary moan." The witch sped fast to that painful bird. Her face was drawn and wan. She gave her many a bitter word, " I bid thy soul begone." The white bird passed like a little cloud, The flowers hung faint and wan, The garden shrunk to a new-made grave. The Queen's fair soul was gone. The witch bride held with charm and spell Her groom in silken bower. Such wondrous love did king ne'er prove For dame nor paramour. The dead Queen's kith for their sister's wrong Harried with torch and sword ; She crooned in his ear a magic song. He marked no other word. 1 8 A Ballad of the Silver Hind. The poor folk clamoured at his gate, Lean, ragged, nowise fed, They marked his sloth, his pomp of state. His luxury of bread. They cried, " See how these wantons fare. They lie on down and furs ; We snatch our victuals from the dogs, We kennel with the curs." One morn they burst the gilded gates With weapons grim and rude. They plucked the King from his leman's arms And slew him where he stood. They mocked his brows with a tinsel crown, They filled his mouth with chaff, But the rudest stayed in his bloody toil To hear the witch bride laugh. She fled through the crowd of the gaping men. She gleamed down the burning street. Her golden hair was stained with fire. Blood stained her silver feet. A Ballad of the Silver Hind. 19 She passed to the haunts of the fooHsh men With the spell of her subtle eyes, Her breast is a snare, and her fallen hair. And her mouth of wine and lies. Woe to that man who is lured by her face And her specious words and kind. He shall break his heart in the headlong chase, His soul shall pass quick to its destined place, For the love of the silver hind. 20 Ideal Lovk. Ideal Love. A S one who passes from the busy street Within the hush of some rehgious place, May kneel awhile upon the altar-pace, And pray, forgetful of the noise and heat. He hears the fall of unseen angel feet. Faint incense odours breathe against his face, And where the tapers light a little space He sees the pictured Mother, sad and sweet. So in my heart I have a chapel fair For Love to pray in, hid from common stir. Enriched by music, dim with burning myrrh. But all the worship, all this glow of prayer Are hers to whom dear love doth minister, A slender girl, pure-eyed, with gold brown hair. My High Princess. 21 My High Princess, AS midst the jewelled throng some high princess Might pass unwitting of her father's thrall, Moving with gracious laughter down the hall, Shod with red silk, and tired with pearl decked tress — He marks the dainty fashion of her dress, Her bright ilushed face, her foot's rose- softened fall, The perfume, and the blaze of festival. And all the love that serves her loveliness. He dare not choose but worship, — not as one Who craves for guerdon, — what may his deep shame Possess in common with her stately name ! Yet though his ways may never know the sun. Though but a slave whose summer hours seem run, Deep in his soul is kindled love's white flame. At Benediction. At Benediction. ^HE knelt beneath the flaming central light, Whereon was wrought Maid Mary in her cell Heark'ning the cold high words of Gabriel, Vho bore three Lady-lilies, tall and white, ly love's bowed face was hidden out of sight In tender palms, and on her bright hair fell Faint stains of crimson, whilst the organ's swell Ihook the hushed church in pauses of the Rite. The dusk drew down, the gold and purple went, Yet still she knelt, — ah, surely not in vain Was that dear prayer, but from the darkened pane To hear her words the Virgin Mother bent, Whilst on her soul was shed, like silver rain, The Benediction of the Sacrament. The Nuptial Mass. 23 The Nuptial Mass. TTHE chancel glows like Paradise above — Glorious with gold to shadow forth Christ's Bride, Gleaming with lights to hail the Crucified, Fragrant, to speak the unction of the Dove. Surely His Banner over us is Love, As knit for ever, kneeling side by side In prostrate worship of the Lamb Who died. We break that Bread the world knows nothing of. Love, I am all unworthy thus to gain Your gracious gift of spotless womanhood, About you Raphael's guardian angels brood. And how dare I profane their sweet control ; For should your stainless soul from mine take stain Surely my soul must answer for your soul. 24 The Blue Rose. The Blue Rose. T HEDGED and tended my strict garden close, I rid the soil of each infructuose weed, In patient hope I gave my plot good heed Through autumn languor, and the winter snows. In pain and tears, with more than woman's throes, I strewed the ground Avith myth and dream for seed, Watered with brooding mists of many a creed. So I might raise one magical Blue Rose. And now that summer's gold is nearly done I know my garden but for barren sand, Enchanted blossoms fail the naked land. And in the chill warmth of a sunken sun I pluck the single prize my toil hath won. This spray of withered hedge flowers in my hand. The Rose Garden. 25 The Rose Garden. /^NCE in my dreams I found an ivory house Gardened with rose and vine-leaf for a screen, Wherein a maid walked reading, grave of mien, Whose Eastern eyes knew well the coming spouse. Then one ran softly, flushed by holy vows. Who closed the painted hours of Mary, Queen, And led his bride across the petalled green To love's own home, and ent'ring, kissed her brows. Ah, God ! the sunshine shivered off the close. Music and colour fled the darkened day. My dream wailed low, with golden face turned grey. And as it passed a winter's wind arose. The garden whitened under sudden snows. And I, — I crossed my breast and turned away. B 26 Dies Domini. For Burne -yones Dies Domini. T ORD, not in terrors, not with falling stars, Eclipse, and moaning sea, and quaking earth, Despair, division, monstrous things at birth. Loud war, and flying rumour of loud wars. Think rather, Christ, upon Thy piteous scars. Remember not our sins, our little worth. Or then indeed would Hell enlarge her girth. And cheerless laughter shake her molten bars. Come, Lord, on angel pinions, grave and calm. Ringed round with tender face, and flame-crowned head, Their raiment blue as hope, yet plumed with red, And bearing in Thy raised and wounded palm Healing and consolation, oil and balm. Divine Physician of the quick and dead. Giorgione's Kiss. 27 Giorgiones Kiss. T^HIS man the gods loved blindly ; moon and sun And stars bowed down before him. Each good thing, — Fame's rustling raiment white and glistering, A presence maidens turned to gaze upon — Became his portion, and his work was done In shadowed gardens where the women sing. By marbled wells whence mirroring waters spring. Near sea- wed Venice, noiseless as a nun. And lest his years should sink with sad eclipse In dull senescence, grudging, lost to praise. Ere youth and love withdrew their golden haze. They broke life's thread with piteous finger tips, And gave him in the shortness of his days Death, caught like perfume from his lady's lips. 28 BiBLIA PaUPERUM. Biblia Pauperum. (St. Mary the Virgin.) C ERVANTS of Mary they, and dear to God, Who wrought this painted scripture of His spouse, This cloistral girlhood hid within God's house, The mystic bridegroom with the lilied rod. Or one fraught hour when Gabriel's feet, flame-shod, Bore the swift Ave, and her sevenfold woes. Till clothed in flesh, Christ's circlet on her brows. Free from the festal grave Heaven's courts are trod. BiBLIA PaUPERUM. 29 Star of the Sea — when white the surge, and wild, And hidden fears grow instant, and revealed. If self itself prove recreant and would yield. In that dread tide, O Fountain undefiled. Fast Ivory Tower, O Garden fenced and sealed. Mother of God, remember me, thy child. 50 Madonna and Child. Suggested by Peruginds Madonna and Child. /^HOKED, barren, blind, the desert ^"^ stretches wild. The haunt of robber band, and hidden slaves, With sultry wastes one winding river laves. Where no bird sings, and never flower has smiled. Yet here are fled the Mother and her Child, And Mary kneels adoring him she saves From Herod's fear, and with pure praying craves God's pity on the weak and undefiled. Mark well the answer. Sky and dreary sand Burgeon to life with cohorts of the Lord, Michael stands girded with the flaming sword, Madonna and Child. 31 Raphael who led Tobias by the hand Now guides these Pilgrims, yea, all under- ' stand As hand to lip Christ signs " I am the Word." 32 Spiritual Art. Spiritual Art. "W7ITHIN the hush of some tree-hidden bower, Beneath the sombre breaking of the day, In soft dead grace Eve's tender body lay Till God gave spirit to complete her dower. Then burst the opening bud to perfect flower. Then flesh woke manifest from senseless clay, Then voice, and life, and movement, marked the sway Of some divine impenetrating power. So in these latter days our English art Like mother Eve lay fair yet deathly numb, Till God's own breath aroused her from the trance. And — giving speech to her who yet was dumb — Mated to outward grace the better part The soul of rich and high significance. In the National Gallery. 33 In the National Gallery. A SQUARE with fountains, slopes of steps, a hall. And then the magic of this jarring room ; Here, pallid Christs adored within a tomb. There, the White King, or whirling Bacchanal. Here scourge and vigil hold the flesh as thrall, There Venus smiles, rose-crowned, .with burthened womb. Or women struggle in the ravished gloom Whilst lusty life keeps riotous carnival. Is it indeed all well that here we praise Contending schools, and creeds that dwell apart ! We walk like wizards on divergent ways. But ah, we love not with the single heart, Better, perchance, to build in temporal days Narrow, but deep, the channels of our art. 34 Art of Arts Art of Arts. TTHIS is the land of make-believe and masque, Haunted by flute, and horn, and lilting rhyme. Where rhythmic feet pulse fast in ordered time, And gilt-haired dancers pose in languid task. Romance moves here in plume and glancing casque Through dreams of dainty love, exotic crime Here dwells delight, with fool and lacquered mime. Or draped in purple wears the brazen mask. Art of Arts. 35 Mirage and rainbow gold are ours to gain — A fairer world where art and song have strayed, Loves lovelier far than love of mortal maid, Ideals fruition spoils not nor makes vain, A faery place where weeping leaves no stain. And sorrow is but joy in masquerade. 36 From a Library Window. From a Library Window. ■"PHESE are the golden streets, whereon for gain Girls harshly laugh, and worn men flag and tire, Where whoso walks is spotted with the mire, And hopes die down, and dreams are dreamed in vain. Symbols of sickness. Hospital and Fane Speak soul and body passed through Moloch's fire, Whilst all sweeps blindly to the common pyre And God keeps silence. — Leave the window pane. From a Library Window. 37 Here life goes softly as before a shrine, These ways with children's tears are never wet, Things fair and lovely in this place are set, Tristram and Yseult knit by flower and spine Lie here, and deep mid daisied grasses shine The gleaming feet of moonlit Nicolette. 38 Colombe's Birthday. Colomhes Birthday. nrHUS from my hair I pluck the coronet, — My brow throbs easier now I lose its weight — Unclasp the brooch pin of this robe of state, A year's mistake, please God, not life's regret. Woman, not duchess — now I quite forget The empire Fortune carried as her freight. And simple maid choose simple man for mate, So thou wilt wear me as love's amulet. Give me your hand. You called me once " play queen," Love is the priest, he crowns me ever thine, Anoints with sacred oil this head of mine, Colombe's Birthday. 39 Garbs me in cloth of gold with jewels sheen, Thrones me for good or ill, through rain and shine. Queen of thy soul, Colombe of Ravestein. 40 Winter Evenings. Winter Evenings. "VyriTH what keen joy I hear the clock strike five, For rising from my chair I drop the pen, And mixing with the crowd of passing men, Swarm homewards, as a weary bee to hive. I sometimes dream I am but half alive, Till, with the lamplight, in some cosy nook, I feel the firewarmth on my cheek, and dive Within the pearl-strewn depths of some loved book. For then I quite forget my poor estate, The hidden future, and my restless heart. And soul absorbed in some soft poet's page. Hear low-voiced damsels whispering apart, Mark silken galleys laden with rich freight. And breathe the perfumes of another age. A Rebours. 41 For y. K. Huysmans A Rebours. "WTHENCE came this woman to our alien air ! What sun-steeped lands, what teeming mines and seas Gave this rich gaud of fringed embroide- ries, These lucid gems her gilded bosoms bear ? She dwells in western towns, perversely fair, The fume of opium dreams within her eyes. Her body impregnate with essences, And spotted, leprous orchids in her hair. The taint of moist decay is on her breath. The sense of wasting hours and fetid death, And in her proffered hand strange gifts she brings, A palsied will, a heart's paralysis, Satiety and loathing — these and this, A snake that turns upon itself and stings. 42 After Reading " Mdlle. De Maupin." After reading " Mdlle. de Maupin.^' VEA, though the carven work be fair and good, The arches shapely, and the rich shrine dim. Though through the silence steals a perfect hymn And all be wrought in Art's divinest mood, Yet think not that the goddess deigns to brood Above the altar reared and decked by him To whom the body's beauty, white and slim, Is all the fair and true of womanhood. After Reading " Mdlle. De Maupin." 43 A woman's love is other than you deem, And only those are worthy of the prize Who mate high living with a noble creed ; Who strive by self-control and tender deed To catch the spirit-love which never dies When flesh is clean forgotten as a dream. 44 RossETTi's Gift. Rossettis Gift. A S the white soul sped up the golden stair On which the new-born ghosts make passing moan, He brought his dead — ere burial flowers were strewn — Those oft-read rhymes which called her beauty fair. Then stooping o'er the still form lying there Grey lips spake low to ears that heard no tone, As falt'ring that his songs were hers alone, He placed love's gift between her cheek and hair. May it not be that when his wearied soul Gleamed through the mists that veil the spirit lands, One broke the order of Our Lady's bands — Clothed in sad garb with mystic aureole — And fleeting to his side with fluttered stole, Held forth love's gift in passionate clasped hands. Dante's Grief. 45 Dante s Grief. "^TTHICH woe of all the lifelong woes that beat On Dante's soul lay sorest ? Not the bread — Tares mixed with salt — on which his exile fed, Not the steep stairs which scorned his weary feet, Nor the grim sentence, moans, and fiery heat At hell's perse portal, — but that one dear head. By his most grievous sin discomforted. Denied him salutation on the street. Love — my heart's refuge — soft, devout, and shy, Loved half as maiden, rev'renced half as queen, If you but knew my days as coldly seen 46 Dante's Grief. By Michael's eyes, — stained, froward, all awry. You too would rise with proud averted mien, Gather your raiment close, and pass me by. In Memory of John Keats. 47 In Memory of yohn Keats. 'X'HE voice which told the soft voluptuous ■*■ tale Of Madeline and love-lorn Porphyro Is silent now : the breezes creep and blow, Rustling the thin brown grass with piteous wail Above his grave. No grudging hearts now rail On one whose ever-spreading fame doth flow From a clear clarion, yet who long ago Was met with scoff, and sneer, and fierce assail. For now that years have blown aside all mist. And we appraise him at essential worth. He stands amongst the singers of our earth, The fairest form of that fair company Which climbed the rugged mountain-tops, and kist The maiden lips of deathless poesy. 48 A Woman's Hair. A Woman s Hair. A WOMAN'S worship, Paul the Apostle said, Is in her tresses, yea, her hair hath been The gold-fringed napkin of the Mag- dalene, A stair which thrilled beneath its lover's tread. In northern runes a maiden's silken head Hid beggar rags with purple of a queen, Her locks girt Galahad — as virgin clean, — And served love's pillow for the laurelled dead. Men cry abroad its virtue. Nature's art. Praise gloss and texture, find this colour fair ; But ah, the magic — rich, exotic, rare, — He only knows who feels upon his heart The treasured wonder, sacred and apart. Dear gage of love, a maiden's fragrant hair. Prisoners of Hope. 49 Prisoners of Hope. "VVTHAT part have I in Jesse — for the King Scorns lukewarm service ; white of soul are they Who wear white raiment, victors from the fray Who wave His palm, and cast their crowns, and sing. These counted this rich life a common thing. They wrought in sterile vineyards all God's day. Their sweat and blood made green a grassless way, — What part have I with such high following ! Ah, Lord, constrain me, — if not here and now. Then far through mystic aeons, vast, unknown, Seek the faint soul and seal it for thine own. C so Prisoners of Hope. With skilled transplanting graft the barren bough, Shed lustral dews, and lively heats enow, So this sick weed may flower before Thy Throne. A Child's Dreams. 51 A Child's Dreams. "VVTHEN bed-time came, and childish prayers were prayed, She fell asleep, for all dear tales were told— Aladdin's lamp, the dwarf's enchanted gold, And simple rhymes that please a little maid. And now her curls — how like the soft dark braid Worn next my heart — fall, tangled fold in fold, Whilst with kissed cheeks deep pillowed from the cold She dreams, watched close by love, and unafraid. 52 A Child's Dreams. What silver shapes and shining fantasies Make night dreams strange as day dreams, and more fair ! The red-cloaked witch who climbed Rapunzel's hair Haunts she this slumber ? or may now arise Her mother's presence stooping softly there, With shadowy hair, and misty love-lit eyes ? The Dream Child. 53 The Dream Child. ;?^ I. VVTRAPT close in folds of ante-natal sleep, Thank God, dear child, that thou hast never been, Thine ears have heard not, nor thine eye hath seen, Nor heart conceived life's sombre ways and steep. Rest warm in soft oblivion, dreamless, deep. Where poppies bloom, and all the graves are green. With spotless heart, with soul unstained and clean, Thank God, sleep soundly, laugh not, neither weep. Better th' untimely birth, the Preacher saith. Than dead or living ; his the greater gain. For him the senses spread their snare in vain, 54 The Dream Child. He knows not with the taking of each breath Life's doubtful pleasure, and its certain pain, The squalid grave, the tragedy of death. II. And yet, perchance, were death the goal of life, Its written Finis, and the end of all, 'Twere good to live awhile, the senses thrall, And learn the worth of peace by means of strife. 'Twere good to woo a maiden, wed a wife. To pluck the common flowers that blow and fall, To dance a little in the carnival, Perchance, perchance, were death the goal of life. Ah, when th' outwearied body flags and dies, Might sleep and silence follow, all were well. But when the soul, reluctant, quits its cell, The Dream Child. 55 A tragic ghost with haunted, fearful eyes — Perchance the lurid dawn in orient skies May prove the smoulder of the fires of Hell. 56 The Flower Bride. The Flower Bride. T OVE heaped the glowing harvest, argent, pied, Deep coloured, richer blooms than earth hath doled, And framed his perfect dream, shy, silver-stoled. To ease the heart no love had satisfied. Whiter than lily gleamed the maiden's side, He spun her fallen hair of mary-gold. Shaped the still bosom on a rose's mould. And wrought of scent and bud a flawless Bride. Ah, types may paint her beauty to the eyes, But flowers, though red as gold, more pure than snow, Soft as south winds that from the spice lands flow. These fail to tell her thought's sweet charities. Her heart's red love, her soul's white ministries ; These have no symbol, these but one may know. Raymond's. Mistress. 57 Raymond's Mistress. " VOU say my life is led through pleasant ways, By fragrant myrtles, and the ripe gold grain, A lily-life, untouched by care or stain. Fulfilled with beauty, rich in love and praise. Yet who can thread the mystic tangled maze Which fences round a soul, or who make plain The barren purpose of a life-long pain Made hid and sacred from the common gaze ? " And speaking thus she plucked her kerchief down, And lo, her lover saw the tender side Fretted and wasted, " Ah mine own," she sighed, " If thus all eyes could pierce 'neath husk and gown In whose young heart would love be deified, Whose dainty head would men delight to crown? " 58 In Memory of David Gray. In Memory of David Gray. T S this the end, — a life of twenty years, A barren longing, and an aching heart, A voice unheard midst tumult of the mart, A poet's raptures, and a lover's fears ? And then a white-haired mother's bitter tears, A blind surcease from God's appointed work, A grave beneath the shadow of the kirk. Marked by the carven stone which love uprears. Is this the end ? — for then were living nought But helmless voyage, and impending wreck, A school wherein the lie is ever taught, A painted horror for the fool to deck, A mocking puzzle to our weary thought, A curse which follows at the devil's beck. Death's Gifts. 59 Deaths Gifts. f~\^ hidden ways I met the Lord of Dread ; His breath hung frosted on the summer heat, The noontide sunshine blackened at his feet, And in his shadow bud and bloom lay dead. For awe I made a darkness round my head And did such rev'rence as to Death is meet, Yet all my days from bitter turned to sweet Within the gloom that silent Presence shed. But when Death spake peace sank upon my breast, " Thy heart beats yet thine own for certain days. Prepare therein to meet my face with praise. For at my touch life's aim grows manifest. My gifts are tireless work, or stirless rest, And peace for those who wept on hidden ways." 6o A Ballade of Proserpine. A Ballade of Proserpine. T BRING no gifts of spice and bread, Of Ophir's gold and dye of Tyre, To deck Astarte's ivory bed Or heap beside her altar fire. No grace of love do I require, I haunt no garish rose-hung shrine, But crave for ease of heart's desire The dreamy eyes of Proserpine. 2. Within the kingdom of the dead Grey Charon plies his ghostly hire, And man and maid with soiled bare head Wail near the river's marsh and mire. Yea, never kiss, nor touch of lyre, Nor dancing girl, nor scented wine May glad those souls who hymn in choir The dreamy eyes of Proserpine. A Ballade of Proserpine. 6i Queen of the dead whom Death's self wed, Whose white flesh knew no burial pyre, On heart and brow has Lethe shed Forgetfulness of home and sire. In this thy piteous realm and dire May peace yet cause that face to shine. And soothe with poppied soft strung wire The dreamy eyes of Proserpine. ENVO Y. Queen, when my fated days expire. Grant me to know those eyes on mine. Eyes clear from tears, and joy, and ire. The dreamy eyes of Proserpine. 62 The Song of Her Body. The Song of Her Body. T^HIS is the song of her body, n)^.c-red, wonderful, white, A graft from the flora of Eden, a maid for her lover's delight, A comfort of cloud frcim the sun, a glow of soft flame in the night. God wrought her beautiful body, her limbs He shaped at His ease. He graced her with colour and worship, and all that a lover might please, And set His bright work 'gainst a background of flow'rs and flowering trees. How may I sing of her body — her lace flushes hot for a word. It is hidden 'neath delicale raiment, it is sweet as the song of a bird In some leafy recess of the woodland, unseen yet the clearlier heard. The Song of Her Body. 63 I am bound to her beautiful body by bands of crepuscular hair, It is heaped on her head as a circlet, or falls as a cloak she would wear, My heart is enwebbed in its meshes, and beats content in the snare. God set in her beautiful body twin casements to lighten the gloom, There exquisite dreamings move whitely, like maids through a room. They flicker with passionate torches, lit, dearest, for whom ! In the midst of her beautiful body the virginal bosom is spread, It stirs to her breath and her pulses, it pillows one fortunate head. And serves in a wonderful fashion for our love-child's daily bread. How may I sing of her body — her face flushes hot for a word. It is hidden 'neath delicate raiment, it is sweet as the song of a bird In some leafy recess of the woodland, unseen yet the clearlier heard. 64 The Sons of Her Body. This is the song of her body, rose-red, won- derful, white, A graft from the flora of Eden, a bride for her husband's delight, A comfort of cloud from the sun, a warmth of live flame in the night. A Spring Carol. 65 A Spring Carol. T HEAR the sound of growing grass, Of climbing sap, of bursting bud. The wonder of the spring doth pass Like wine within my blood. The trees were thick with singing birds, I read Dan Chaucer in my chair, There fell across the coloured words The shadow of your hair. Your voice their song, his rhyme, outsung, Your mouth was sweeter, love, than each. The soft contralto of your tongue. The cadence of your speech. Ah, if in ghostly counterfeit Your breathing presence came so near, Since dreams may prove so kind a cheat Think how I need you, dear. 66 A Spring Carol. I need you as a bird the south, I seek with passion no man knows The scarlet HHes of your mouth, Your bosom's pallid rose. I hear the sound of growing grass, Of climbing sap, of bursting bud. The magic of the spring doth pass Like wine within my blood. Then haste, dear love, like sudden spring O'er stable lands, o'er shifting sea. Most sweet, most fair that welcoming When hands are clasped with thee. Prelude to a St. Dorothy. 67 Prelude to a St. Dorothy. T LEARNED this legend from a silent tongue In simple days when faith was clear and glad, I cannot speak the spell its beauty flung About one dreamy lad. It haunted all the passage of my youth, A mystic shadow moving near to me, A Roman lady, witness to Christ's truth, God's maiden, Dorothy. And now in manhood if I dare rehearse This saintly legend of dim Pagan days, May her bright presence lighten my poor verse. Refine it to her praise. 68 Prelude to a St. Dorothy. May she who sent Theophilus the flowers Grant in this rhyme some fragrance may arise, Perfume of roses from uncankered bowers, Rich strays of Paradise. Grant also, lady, some prevailing prayer. That after penal cleansing, by Christ's grace, I too may tread those orchard gardens fair. And bow before thy face. Old French. 69 Old French, T F Love should pass with trailing wing ! I may not sleep for sorrowing. In dreamless watches of the night Love's parted presence seeks my sight. I left my bed at dawn of day And took my cloak of fur and grey. In orchard glooms birds sought their mate I entered by a wicket gate. And lo, the lark and nightingale Told to my heart a wondrous tale. For thus they sang that matin tide, " My true love hastens to my side. E'en now his boat of painted wood Beats with swift oars the Seine to flood. 70 Old French. Her satin sails spread fold on fold, With silken cordage manifold, And rudder of the beaten gold. Near ivory masts her sailors stand, Fair men and strangers to this land. One wears the broidered fleur de lys. The King of France's son is he. And eager, near the Prince's side My true love hastens to his bride." Sonnet. 7 i Sonnet. (After Baudelaire.) T N far south lands made sweet with fragrant balms I knew, beneath the shade of purpled trees And drowsy stillness of the drooping palms, Afar from towns, withdrawn in slothful ease, A Creole lady. Pale her tint, but warm. With soft brown skin, and nobly carried head. With tranquil smile, and dainty slender form, Assured calm eyes, and supple springy tread. 72 Sonnet. If ever, madam, fate shall shape your ways To glorious France, your grace — which nothing lacks To flash the jewel of some ancient seat — Within the shadows of your sure retreat Will cause a thousand sonnets in its praise. And make our hearts more humble than your blacks. Exotic Perfume. 73 Exotic Perfume. (After Baudelaire.) TN autumn twilight, when with fast closed eyes I breathe the fragrance of thy fervent breast, About me spreads a reach of changeless skies, And sunlit dazzling shores in happy rest. A drowsy isle, the dainty forcing place Of luscious fruits, and strange gigantic trees, The sultry dwelling of a slender race Whose girls are frank and lightsome as the breeze. Led thus by dreams towards these sunset climes, I gaze upon a crowded port, a throng Of masts and sails, an open windswept sea, Whilst from the land the perfume of the limes Makes sweet the air, and comes across to me Blent with the chorus of a sailor's song. 74 An Old Goldsmith. An Old Goldsmith. (From the French of Heredia.) T HANDLED brush and graver with more ease. More deftness, than all Masters of the Guild, In jewelled work my subtle brain was skilled, I shaped the vase, and wrought its storied frieze. Now, silver and enamel fail to please. For there I traced — so my snared soul hath willed — No sacred Rood, no Deacon Lawrence grilled, But vine-girt gods, or Danae's gold-clasped knees. To Hell's own service my red forge inlaid With fair devices some rich rufHers blade. Till deep in pride my part of Life is lost. Thus seeing I grow fearful, and am old. E'er death may come and falling dark enfold I chase a golden monstrance for the Host. The Chatelaine. 75 The Chatelaine. (From the French of Richepin.) ■WTITHIN a chamber dim with tapestry, Stiff in her long straight girdle edged with fur And steeple cap, the Chatelaine broods there. The linen veil falls whitely to her knee. She fingers at the rebeck listlessly And dreams of him who plighted troth with her, He fights to gain Christ's holy sepulchre In pagan lands beyond the weary sea. When he shall come to wed the maid he wooed And pluck the lily of her maidenhood What priest may tell, what subtle wizard know ? But should he die before the felon foe True to her faithful promise, chaste and good. No kiss shall warm her bosom's virgin snow. trirWIH BHOTHEKS, OHILWOKTH AKD LONDOIt. H