' ■iP'^ -■'•1,^'' "^ " '*" v' » ' ' "/ % * ^*'^^;b;C'/ •V V^-^-'^-^ .r^ -fif^ ^^ .^^ ' ^^./*:^i, '^ % *^>j- - o\ <^ ^yr,^ v' '^ '^>. «• ^-^.N -^ ^: ^%, =^ ^.^' ^/.^/^.,'= ^-'^ : '--^rr^ ° "^^^ A-*- .^>^?^£?k''. ■'cjr^ j^r^?^: .^°'<- ;.%./V^-^-./^k \'&^' i o."' J' r .^% -^ , ■^ , -~ 0?- ^0 ^. ;'%/ //fK': '^^^ ',^/ ^^ ft''-' s^' .0> ^^ N°-i.. im'- "^-^^'' .?^' •*<. '."if^JsA -^ '"' .^ „.. ^X^'Ma. THE COMPLETE WORKS ALFRED LORD TENNYSON POET LAUREATE CHARLES HOWARD JOHNSON \ E W \- O R K FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY MDCCCXCI CnrvRi.-.HT, .891 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 2-3f33i r<. do w. zxovi awrv From rool> whicii .siril.» so deep? why Paths in the desert* i^ould not I Bowmyselfdown, where thou hastknelt. To the eartli — until the ice would melt Here, and I feel as thou hast felt .' What Uevil had the heart to scathe Flowers thou hadst rear'd — to brush the dew From thine own lily, when thy grave Was deep, mv mother, in the clay.' Myself .> I,sitthus.> Mvself.> Had I So little love for thee? But why Prevail'd not thy pure prayers ? Why pray To one who heeds not, who can save But will not ? Great in faith, and strong Against the grief of circumstance Wert thou, and yet unheard. What if Thou pleade^l still, and seest me drive Thr.V utter dark :i full-sail'd skiff. UnjuloteJ i' ;hc echoing dance Cotifessions of a Sensitive Mind. Of reboant whirlwinds, stooping low Unto the death, not sunk ! I know At matins and at evensong. That thou, it thou wert yet alive. In deep and daily prayers would'st strive To reconcile me with thy (lod. Albeit, my hope is gray, and cold At heart, thou wouldest murmur still — ' Bring this lamb back into Thy fold, Mv Lord, if so it be Thy will.' Would'st tell me I must brook the rod And chastisement of human pride ; That pride, the sin of devils, stood Betwixt me and the light of God ! That hitherto I had defied And had rejected God — that grace AVould drop from his o'er-brimming love, \s manna on my wilderness, If I would pray — that God would move And strike the hard, hard rock, and thence. Sweet in their utmost bitterness, Would issue tears of penitence Which would keep green hope's life. Alas! I think that pride hath now no place Nor sojourn in me. I am void. Dark, formless, utterly destroyed. Why not believe then ? Why not yet Anchor thy frailty there, where man Haih moor'd and rested? Ask the sea At midnight, when the crisp slope waves .'\fter a tempest, rib and fret The broad-imbased beach, why he Slumbers not like a mountain tarn .> Wherefore his ridges are not curls And ripples of an inland mere .' Wherefore he moaneth thus, nor can Draw down into his vexed pools All that blue heaven which hues and ! paves j The other .' I am too forlorn. Too shaken : my own weakness fools My judgment, and nvy spirit whirls, Moved from beneath with doubt and j fresh] ' Yet,' said I, in i The unsunn'd strength. When I went forth in quest of tnith, ' It is man's privilege to doubt. If so be that from doubt at length, Truth may stand forth unmoved of change, An image with profulgent brows. And perfect limbs, as from the storm Of running fires and fluid range Of lawless airs, at last stood out This excellence and solid form Of constant beauty. For the Ox Feeds in the herb, and sleeps, or fills The horned valleys all about. And hollows of the fringed hills In summer heats, with placid lows Unfearing, till his own blood fiows About his hoof. And in the flocks The lamb rejoiccth in the year. And raceth freely with his fere, And answers to his mother's calls From the flower'd furrow. In a time, Of which he wots not, run short pains Thro' his warm heart ; and then, from whence He knows not, on his light tliere falls A shadow ; and his native slope, Where he was wont to leap and climb. Floats from his sick and filmed eyes. And something in the darkness draws His forehead earthward, and he dies. Shall man live thus, in joy and hope As a young lamb, who cannot dream, Living, but that he shall live on .' Shall we not look into the laws Of life and death, and things that seem. And things that be, and analyse Our double nature, and compare All creeds till we have found the one. If one there be ? ' Ay me ! I fear All may not doubt, but everywhere Some must cla.sp Idols. Yet, my God, Whom call I Idol ? Let Thy dove Shadow me over, and my sins Ke unremember'd, and Thy love Enlighten me. Oh teach me yet .Somewhat before the heavy clod Weighs on me, and the busy fret Of that sharp-headed worm begins In the gross blackness underneath. The Krakeit — Song — Lilian — Isabel. O weary life ! O weary death ! O spirit and heart made desolate I O damned vacillating state ! THE KKAKEN. Below the thunders of the upper deep ; Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea, His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep The Kraken sleepelh : faintest sun- lights flee About his shadowy sides : above him swell Huge sponges of millennial growth and heisjht ; And far away into the sickly light, From many a wondrous grot'and secret cell Unnumber'd and enormous polypi Winnow with giant arms the slumber- ing green. There hath he lain for ages and will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his Until the latter fire shall heat the deep ; Then once by man and angels to be seen. In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die. SONG. The winds, as at their hour of birth. Leaning upon the ridged sea. Breathed low around the rolling earth With mellow preludes, 'We are free.' The streams through many a lilied row Down-carolling to the crisped sea. Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow Atween the blossoms, ' We are free.' Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me. Claps her tiny hands above me, Laughing all she can ; She'll not tell me if she love me. Cruel little Lilian. When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs, .She, looking thro' and thro' me Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks : So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes. Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks ; Then away she flies. Prythee weep, May Lilian ! Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me. May Lilian : Thro' my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth ; Prythee weep. May Lilian. IV. Praying all I can, If prayers will not hush thee. Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, Fairy Lilian ISABEL. I. Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed With the clear-pointed flame of chastity. Clear, without heat, undying, tended by Isabel — Mariana. Pure vestal thoughts in the trans- lucent fane Of her still spirit ; locks not wide-dis- spread, Madonna-wise on either side her head; Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign The summer calm of golden charity. Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mooci, Revered Isabel, the crown and head, The stately flower of female fortitude. Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead. II. The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime; a prudence to withhold; The laws of marriage character'd in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her heart ; A love still burning upward, giving light To read those laws; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in dis- tress, Right to the heart and ' brain, tho' undescried. Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride ; A courage to endure and to obev ; A hale of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid life, The queen of marriage, a most per- fect wife. The mellow'd reflex ol a winter moon ; A clear stream flowing with a nuiddy Till in its onward With swiftei purer light The vexed ediii.s of its way- ward brother : A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite With cluster'd flower-bells and am- brosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunchas leaning on each other — Shadow forth thte :— the world hath not another (Tho' all her fairest forms are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity. ' Mariana in the moated granRe." Measure /or Measure, With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, ' My life is dreary, He Cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead 1 ' Her tears fell with the dews at even ; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ; She could not look on the sweet heaven. Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats. When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by. And glanced athwart the gl She only said, ' The night is dreary, He Cometh not.' she said ; .She said, ' t am aweary, aweary, I would that I ' Mariana — To ■ Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow ; The cock sung out an hour ere light : From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her : without hope of change, In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gr4y-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, ' The day is dreary, He Cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! ' About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept. And o'er it many, round and small. The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway. All silver-green with gnarled bark : For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray. She only said, ' My life is dreary, He Cometh not,' she said ; She And ever \*hen the moon was low, ■And the shrill winds were up and away. In the white curtain, to and fro. She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low. And wild winds bound within their cell. The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, 'The night is dreary. He Cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! ' All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creak'd; The blue Hy sung in the pane j the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, Or from the crevice i)eer'd about. Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors. Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without. She only said, ' My life is dreary. He cometh not,' she said; She said, ' I am awearv, aweary, I would that I were dead ! ' The sparrow's chirrup on the roof. The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lav Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, ' I am very dreary. He will not come,' she said ; She wept, ' I am aweary, aweary. Oh God. that I were dead I ' CLE.A.R-HEADED friend, whose joyful Edged with sharp laughter, cuts The knots that tangle human creeds, The wounding cords that bind and The heart ■■.ntil it bleeds, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn Roof not a glance so keen as thine : If aught of prophecy be mine. Thou wilt not live in vain. Low-cowering shall the .Sophist sit ; Falsehood shall bare her plaited Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not With shrilling shafts of subtle Nor martvr tl:,mes. nn swords Madeline— Song : The Oivl. Can do away that ancient lie; A gentler death shall Falsehood die, Shot thro' and thr'o with cunning words. III. Weak Trnth a-Ieaning on her crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, Thv kingly intellect shall feed, tfntil she be an athlete bold, kwA weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed ; Like that strange angel which of old, Until the breaking of the light. Wrestled with wandering Israel, Past Yabbok brook the livelong night. And heaven's mazed signs stood still In the dim tract of Penuel. MADELINE. Thou art not. steep'd in golden Ian- No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thro' light and shadow thou dost range. Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. II. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore. Revealings deep and clear are thine Of wealthy smiles : but who may Whether smile or frown be fleeter .' Whether smile or frown be sweeter. Who may know ? Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Light-glooming over eyes divine. Like liltle clouds sun-fringed, are thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thy smile and frown are not aloof From one another, Each to each is dearest brother ; Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other. All the mystery is thine ; Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore, Ever varying Madeline. A subtle, sudden flame. By veering passion fann'd. About thee breaks and dances ; When I would kiss thy hand. The flush of anger'd shame O'erflows thy calmer glances. And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown : But when I turn away. Thou, willing me to .stay, Wooest not, nor vainly wranglestj But, looking fixedly the while. All my bounding heart entanglest In a golden-netted smile ; Then in madness and in bliss. If my lips should dare to kiss Thy taper fingers amorously. Again thou blushest angerly; And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown. SONG— THE OWL. When cats run home and light is come. And dew is cold upon the ground. And the far-off stream is iTurab, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. II. When merry milkmaids click latch. ■ And rarelv smells the i The Ozvl — Reco/lectioiis of The Arabian Nights. •i or thrice his roundelay, ; or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five The white owl in the belfry s SECOND SONG. TO THE SAME. Thy tuwhits are luU'd, I wot, Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, Which upon the dark afloat. So took echo with delight, So took echo with delight. That her voice untuneful grown, Wears all day a fainter tone. II. I would mock thy chant anew ; But I cannot niimick it ; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo. Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. With a lengthen'd loud halloo, Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tu- whoo-o-o. RF.COLLECTIONS OF THK ARABIAN NIGHTS. When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free In the silken sail of infancy. The tide of time flow'd back with me, The forward-flowing tide of time ; And many a sheeny summer-morn, Adown the Tigris I was borne. By Kagdat's shrines of fretted gold. High-walled gardens green and old; True Mussulman was I and sworn, For it wos in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Anight my shallop, rustling thro' The low and bloomed foliage, drove The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove The citron-shadows in the blue : By garden i>orches on the brim, Gold glittering thro' lamplight d And broider'd sofas on each side: In sooth it was a goodly time. For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard The outlet, did I turn away The boat-head down a broad canal From the main river sluiced, where all The sloping of the moon-lit sward Was damask-work, and deep inlay Of braided blooms unniown, which crept Adown to where the water slept. A goodly place, a goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. A motion from the river won Ridged the smooth level, bearing on My shallop thro' the star-strown calm, Until another night in night I enter'd, from the clearer light, Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd palm. Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome Of hollow boughs. — A goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Still onward; and the clear canal Is rounded to as clear a lake. From the green rivage many a fall Of diamond rillets musical. Thro' little cry.stal arches low Down from the central fountain's flow Fall'n silverK;himing, seemed to shake The sparkling flints beneath the prow. A goodly place, a goodly time, For it was in thegolden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Above thro' many a bowery turn A walk with vary-color'd shells Wander'd enrrain'd. On either side All round about the fragrant marge From fluted vase, and brazen urn In order, eastern flowers large, Recollections of The Arabian Nights. dropping low their bells lalf-closed, and others studded wide With disks and tiars, fed the time With odor in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Far off, and where the lemon grove In closest coverture upsprung, The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul as he sung ; Not he : but something which pos- sess 'd The darkness of the world, delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal love, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd. Apart from place, withholding time, But flattering the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Black the garden-bowers and grots Slumber'd : the solemn palms were ranged Above, unwoo'd of summer wind : A sudden splendor from behind Fiush'd all the leaves with rich gold- green. And, flowing rapidly between Their interspaces, counterchanged The level lake with diamond-plots Of dark and bright. A lovely time. For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead. Distinct with vivid stars inlaid. Grew darker from that under-flame : So, leaping lightly from the boat, With silver anchir left afloat. In marvel whence that glory came Up.Mi me, as in sleep I sank In cool soft turf upon the bank. Entranced with that place and time, So worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Thence thro' the garden I was drawn — K realm of pleasance, many a mound, And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn Full of the city's stilly sound, And deep inyrrh-thickets blowing rounc' The stately cedar, tamarisks, Thick rosaries of scented thorn. Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks Graven with emblems of the time. In honor of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. With dazed vision unawares From the long alley's latticed shade Emerged, I came upon the great Pavilion of the Caliphat. Right to the carven cedarn doors, Flung inward over spangled floors. Broad-based flights of marble stairs Ran up with golden balustrade. After the fashion of the time, And humor of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. The fourscore windows all alight As with the quintessence of flame, A million tapers flaring bright From twisted silvers look'd to shame The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd Upon the mooned domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd Hundreds of crescents on the roof Of night new-risen, that marvellous time To celebrate the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. Then stole I up, and trancedly Gazed on the Persian girl alone. Serene with argent-lidded eyes Amorous, and lashes like to rays Of darkness, and a brow of pearl Tressed with redolent ebony, In many a dark delicious curl. Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone ; The sweetest lady of the time. Well worthy of the golden prime Of good ilaroun Alraschid. Six columns, three on either side. Pure silver, underpropt a rich from Throne of the massive which Down-droop'd, in many fold, Engarlanded and diaper'd With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. Ode to Memory. Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd With merriment of kingly pride, Sole star of all that place and time, I saw him — in his golden prime, The Good Haroun Alraschid. ODE TO MEMORY. ADDRESSED TO • Thou who stealest fire. From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present ; oh, haste. Visit my low desire 1 Strengthen me, enlighten me ! I faint in this obscurity. Thou dewy dawn of memory. Come not as thou camest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day ; but robed in soft- en'd light Of orient state. Whilome thou camest with the morn- ing mist, Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of' dawn have kiss'd. When, she, as thou, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits. Which in wintertide shall star The black earth with brilliance rare. Whilome thou camest with the morn- ing mist. And with the evening cloud, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere. the garden of the When rooted mind, Because they are the earliest of the year). Nor was the night thy shroud. In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Thou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope. The eddying of her garments caught from thee The light of thy great presence; and the cope' Of the half-attain'd futurity, Tho' deep not fathomless. Was cloven with the million stars which tremble O'er the deep mind of dauntless in- fancy. Small thought was there of life's dis- tress ; For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could dull Those spirit-thrilling eyes so keen and beautiful : Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres, Listening the . lordly music flowing from The illimitable years. strengthen me, enlighten me I 1 faint in this obscurity. Thou dewy dawn of memory. Come forth, I charge thee, arise. Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes I Thou comest not with shows of flaunt- ing vines Unto mine inner eye, Divinest Memory I Thou wert not nursed by the water- fall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried : Come from the woods that belt the grav hill-side. The seven elms, the poplars four That stand beside my father's door, ERE DEAD I 'The dakk deserted novSE."—fage 17. Odt to Alcmory. And cbiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er iiiiitted cress and ribbed sand, Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, Drawing into his narrow earthern urn, In every elbow and turn, The filterVl tribute of the rough wood- land, <)! hither lead thy feet ! I'onr round mine ears tlie livelong bleat I )f the thick-fleeced sheep from wat- tled folds, Upon the ridged wolds. When the first matin-song hath wak- en'd loud Over the dark dewy earth forlorn, What time the amber morn l'"c)rlh gushes from beneath a low- hung cloud. Large dowries doth the raptured eye To the vonng spirit present Wheii (irst she is wed ; And like a bride of old In triumph led. With music and sweet showers Of festal flowers. Unto the dwelling she must sway. Well ha.st thou done, great artist Memory, In setting round thy first experiment With royal frame-work of wrought gold ; Needs must thou dearly love thy first essay. And foremost in thy various gallery Place it, where sweetest .sunlight falls Upon the storied walls ; For the discovery .■\nd newness of thine art so pleased thee, That all which thou hast drawn of fairest Or boldest since, but lightly weighs With thee unto the love thou bearest The first-born of thy genius. Artist- like, Mver retiring thou dost gaze ■ e labor of thine early days : iilmg light , No matter what the sketch might be ; Whether the high field on the bushlc.-s Pike, I Or even a sand-built ridge ' Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Overblown with murmurs harsh, Or even a lowly cottage whence we see Stretch'd wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, The trenched waters run from sky to sky ; Or a garden bower'd close With plaited alleys of the rose. Long alleys falling down to grots. Or opening upon level plots Of crowned lilies, standing near I'urple-spiked lavender : Whither in after life retired I From brawling storms, I From weary wind. With youthful fancy re-inspired, We may hold converse with all forms Of the many-sided mind, And those whom passion hath not blinded, .Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded. My friend, with you to live alone, Were how much better than to own A crown, a sceptre, and a throne ! strengthen me, enlighten me ! 1 faint in this obscurity. Thou dewy dawn of memory. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours 1 )we!ling atnid these yellowing bowers: To himself he talks j For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks; Song — A Character — The Poet. Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sun- flower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. II. np, and hush'd, and room when he taketh The air is Cl05 As a sick m: repose An hour before death ; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist, rich smell of the rotting leaves. And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sun- flower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. A CHARACTER. With a half-glance upon the sky At night he said, ' The wanderings Of this most intricate Universe Teach me the nothingness of things Yet could not all creation pierce Beyond the bottom of his eye. He spake of beauty : that the dull Saw no divinity in grass. Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; Then looking as 'twere in a glass. He sniooth'd his chin and sleek'd his And said the earth was beautiful. He spake of virtue : not the gods More purelv, when they wish to charm Pallas and Juno sitting by: And with a sweeping of the arm, And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye, Devolved his rounded periods. Most delicately hour by hour He canvass'd human mysteries. And trod on silk, as if the winds Blew his own praises in his eyes. And stood aloof from other minds In impotence of fancied power. With lips depress'd as he were meek. Himself unto himself he sold : Upon himself himself did feed^: Quiet, dispassionate and cold, And other than his form of creed. With chisell'd features clear and sleek. THE POET. The poet in a golden clinie was born. With golden stars above ; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn. The love of love. He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill. He saw thro' his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will, An open scroll. Before him lay : with echoing feet he threaded The secretest walks of fame : The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed And wing'd with flame, Like Indian reeds blown from his sil- ver tongue, And of so fierce a flight. From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung. Filling with light And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Them earthward till they tit ; Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, The fruitful wit The Poefs Mind: Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Where'er they fell, behold. Like to the mother plant in semblance, A flower all gold. And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling The winged shafts of truth. To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Tho' one did fling the fire. Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams Of high desire. Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world Like one great garden show'd. And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcuii'd. Rare sunrise flow'd. .A.nd Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow. When rites and forms before his burn- ing eyes Melted like snow. There was no blood upon her maiden robes Sunn'd by those orient skies ; But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes was traced And in her raiment': in flame Wisdom, a name to shake All evil- dreams of power — a sacred name. And when she spake. words did gather thunder as they ran, .\nd as the lightning to the thun- Which follows it, riving the spi Making earth wonder, So was their meaning to her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, THE POET'S MIND. Vex not thou the poet's mind With thy shallow wit : Vex not thou the poet's mind ; For thou canst not fathom it. Clear and bright it should be ever, Flowing like a crystal river ; Bright as light, and clear as wind. II. Dark-brow'd sophist, come not naear ; All the place i,s holy ground ; Hollow smile and frozen sneer Come not here. Holy water will I pour Into every spicy flower Of the iaurel-shrubs that hedge it around. The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer. In your eye there is death, There is frost in your breath Which would blight the plants. Where you stand you cannot hear From the groves within The wild-bird's din. In the heart of the garden the merrj' bird chants. It would fall to the ground if you came In the middle leaps a fountain Like -sheet lightning, Ever brightening With a low melodious thunder; All day and all night it is ever drawn From the brain of the purple i tain The Sea-Fa irics— The Descrtcl House. the distance yon- Which s der: : springs on a level of Ijowery lawn. And the mountain draws it from Heaven above. And it sings a song of undying love ; And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full. You never would hear it ; your ears are so dull ; So keep where vou are : vou are foui with sin ;' It would shrink to the earth if you came in. THE SEA-FAIRIES. Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw. Betwixt the green brink and the run- ning foam. Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold; and while they mused Whispering to each other half in fear. Shrill music reach'd them on the mid- dle sea. Whither away, whither away, whither away ? fly no more. Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore? iJay and night to the billow the foun- tain calls : Down shower the gambolling water- falls From wandering over the lea : t )ut of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, .Vnd thick with white bells the clover- hill swells igh over the full-toned sea ; hither, come hither and furl your ume hither to me and to me : ither, come hitlier and frolic and play; Here it is only the mew that wails ; We will sing to you all the day : Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For heie are the blissful downs ami dales, And merrily, merrily carol the gah-s. And the spangle dances in bight Mid bay. And the rainbow forms and flics on the land Over the islands free ; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand ; Hither, come hither and see; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave. And sweet is the color of cove and cave. And sweet shall your welcome be : O hither, come' hither, and lie our lords, For merry brides are we : We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words : j O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee : 1 O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea. Who can light on as happy a shore All the world o'er, all the world o'er.' Whither away .' listen and stay : mari- ner, mariner, flv no more. THE DESERTED HOl'SE. Life and Thought have gone away Side by side. Leaving door and windows wide i Careless tenants thev ! All withm is dark as night : In the windows is no light; .\nd no murmur at the door. So frequent on its hinge before. The Dying Swan — A Dirge. Close the door, the shutters close, Or thro' the windows we shall see The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark deserted house. Come away: no more ot mirth Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth, And shall fall again to ground. Come awav : for Life and Thought Here no longer dwell ; Kut in a city glorious — A great and distant city — have bought A mansion incorruptible. Would they could have stayed with us! THE DYING SWAN. The plain was grassy, wild and bare. Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, And loudly did lament. It was the m'iddle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on. And took the reed-tops as it went. .Some blue peaks in the distance rose, .^nd white against the cold-white sky- Shone out their crowning snows. One willow over the river wept, And shook the wave as the wind did Above in the wind was the swallow. Chasing itself at its own wild will, .\nd far thro' the marish green and still The tangled water-courses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and . vellovv. The wild swan's death-hyr Dk th< Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow : at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; And floating about the under-sky. Prevailing in weakness, the coronach Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear; But anon her awful jubilant voice. With a music strange and manifold, Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold ; As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold. And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd Thro' the open gates of the city afar. To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. And the creeping mo.sses and clamber- ing weeds. And the willow-branches hoar and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds. And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank. And the silvery marish-flowers that rong The desolate creeks and pools among. Were flooded over with eddying song. Now is done thy long day's Fold thy palms across thv 1 Fold thine arms, turn to th Let them rave. Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds Let them rave. Love and Death — The Ballad of Oriana. Thee nor caiketh care nor slander ; Nothing but the small cold worm Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Chanteth not the brooding bee Sweeter tones than calumny .' Let them rave. Thou wilt never rai.se thine head From the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; The woodbine and eglatere Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tea Let them rave. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Kound thee blow, self-pleached deep, Bramble roses, faint and pale, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Thro' the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. The gold-eved kingcups fine , The frail bluebell peereth over Rare broidry of the purple clover. Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Wild words wander here and there : God's great gift of speech abused Makes thv memory confused : But let them rave. The balm-cricket caiols clear In the green that folds thy grave, Let them rave. LOVE AND DEATH. What time the mighty moon was gathering light' Love paced the thymy plots of Para- dise, And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes ; When, turning round a cassia, full in view. Death, walking all alone beneath a And talking to himself, tir.st met his sight : ' You must begone,' said Death, ' these walks are mine.' Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight ; Yet ere he parted said, ' This hour is thine : Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree Stands in the sun and shadows all be- neath. So in the light of great eternity Life eminent creates the shade of death ; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall. But I shall reign for ever over all.' THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. The Ballad of Oriana. the light on dark was growing, ' a, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana : Winds were blowing, waters flowing, We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana ; Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew-wood black as night, Oriana, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana, I to thee mv troth did plight, Oriana. She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana : She watch'd my crest among them all, Oriana : She saw me fight, she heard me call, When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Ori.ina : The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana : The damned arrow glanced aside, And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana! Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana ! Oh ! narrow, narrow was the space, Oriana. Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oriana. Oh ! deathful stabs were dealt apace. The battle deepen'd in its place, Oriana ; But I was down upon my face, Oriana. They should have stabb'd me where I i^y- ^ . Oriana ! How could I rise and i Oriana ? How could I look upon the day .' They snould have stabb'd me where I Oriana They should have trod me into clay, Oriana. O breaking heart that will not break, Oriana I pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Oriana! Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana : What wantest thou .' whom dost thou seek, Oriana ? 1 cry aloud : none hear my cries, Oriana. Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana. I feel the tears of blood arise Up from my heart unto my eyes, Oriana. Within thy heart my arrow lies, Oriana. O cursed hand ! O cursed blow I Oriana ! happy thou that best low, Oriana ! All night the silence seems to flow Beside me in my utter woe, Oriana. A weary, weary way I go, Oriana. When Norland winds pipe down the sea, Oriana, 1 walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana. Thou liest beneath the greenwood I dare not die and come to thee, Oriana. I hear the roaring of the sea. Circumstance — The Merman — The Mermaid. CIRCUMSTANCE. neighbor villages along the healthy Two childrer Playing mad leas; Two strangers meeting at a festival; Two lovers whispering bv an orchard wall ; Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease ; Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower, W'ash'd with still rains and daisy blos- somed ; Two children in one hamlet born and bred ; So runs the round of life from hour to hour. THE MERMAN. Who would be A merman bold, Sitting alone, Singing alone Under the sea, With a crown of gold, thr I would be a merman bold. 1 would .-.It and sing the whole of the day ; I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power ; lUit at night I would roam abroad and play With the mermaids in and out of the rocks. Dressing their hair with the white sea- And holding them back by their flow- ing locks would kiss them often under the sea, KnA kiss them again till Ihey kiss'd Laughingly, laughingly; then we would wander away To the pale-green sea-grov and high, Chasing each other There would be neither moon nor star; But the wave would make music above u> afar- Low thunder and light in the magic night — Neither moon nor .star. We would call aloud in the dreamv dells, Call to each other and whoop and cry All night, merrily, merrily ; '' 'ley would pelt me with starry span- gles and shells, Laughing and clapping their liands between. All night, merrily, merrily : But I would throw' to them back in mine Turkis and agate and almondine : Then leaping out upon them unseen I would ki.ss them often under the sea, And kiss them again till they kiss'd me Laughingly, laughingly. Oh ! what a happy life were mine Under the hollow-hiing ocean green I Soft are the moss-beds under the sea ; We would live merrily, merrily. THE MERMAID. W HO would be A mermaid fair. Singing alone. Combing her hair Combmg Under the In a golden curl With a comb of pearl On a throne .' I would be a mermaid fair ; would sing to myself the whole of the dav ; omh of pearl my hair ; still as I comb'd I would sing and say, ■ Who is it loves iiic- ? who loves not me ? ' 1 would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall Low adown, low adown. From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around. And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound. Over the throne In the midst of the hall; Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate With his large calm eyes for the love of me. And all the mermen under the sea Would feel their immortality Die in their hearts for the love of me. Id comb I Of the bold mer ■men under the But night I would fling on each side my low- flowing locks. And lightly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks ; We would run and seek. On the broad sea-wolds son shells. Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. But if any came near I would call, and shriek. And adown the steep like a wave I and fro, and hide the crim- From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells ; For I would not be kiss'd bv all who In the purple twilights under the sea ; Hut the king of them all would carry Woo me, and win me, and marry me. In the branching jaspers under the sea; Then all the dry pied things that be In the hueless mosses under the sea Would curl round my silver feet silently. AH looking up for the love of me. And if I should carol aloud, from aloft All things that are forked, and horned, and soft Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea. All looking down for the love of me. Mystery of mysteries. Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine. Nor unhappy, nor at rest. But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming .'\deline ? Whence that aery bloom of thine, Like a lily which the sun Looks thro' in his sad decline. And a rose-bush leans upon. Thou that faintly smilest still, As a Naiad in a well. Or Looking at the set of day, phantom two hours old Of a maiden past away. Ere the placid lips be cold.' Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, -Spiritual Adeline ? Margaret. What hope or fear or joy is thine ? Who talketh with thee. Adeline ? For sure thou art not all alone. Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own ? Hast thou heard the butterflies What they say betwixt their wings Or in stilh illest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews ? Or when little airs arise, How the merry bluebell rings To the mosses underneath ? Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise ? Wherefore that faint smile of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? IV. Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, Some spirit of a crimson rose In love with thee forgets to close His curtains, wasting odorous sighs All night long on darkness blind. What aileth thee ? whom waitest thou With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow, And those dew-lit eyes of thine, Thou faint smiler, Adeline i" Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies ? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side of the Dripping with Sabaean spice On thv pillow, lowlv bent With melodious iiirs lovelorn. Breathing Light against thy face. While his locks a-drooping twined Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays. And ye talk together still, Tn the language wherewith Spring Letters cowslips on the hill ? Hence that look and .smile of thine, Spiritu,tl Adeline. MARGARET, O SWEET pale Margaret, O rare pale Jlargaret, What lit your eyes with tearful power, Like moonlight on a falling shower ? Who lent you, love, your mortal dower Of pensive thought and aspect pale, Your melancholy sweet and frail As perfume of the cuckoo-flower .' From the westward-winding flood. From the evening-lighted wood, From all things outward you have won A tearful grace, as tho' you stood Between the rainbow and the sun. The very smile before you speak, That dimples your transparent cheek. Encircles all the heart, and feedeth The senses with a still delight Of dainty sorrow without sound. Like the tender amber round, W'hich the moon about her spread- eth. Moving thro' a fleecy night. You love, remaining peacefully. To hear the murmur of the strife. But enter not the toil of life. Your spirit is the calmed sea. Laid by the tumult of the fight. You are the evening star, alway Remaining betwixt dark and bright : Lull'd echoes of laborious day Come to you, gleams of mellow light Float by you on the verge of night. What can it matter, Margaret, What songs below the waning stars The lion-heart, Plantagenet, Sang looking thro' his prison bars .' Fxquisite Margaret, The last wild thought of Chatelet, Just ere the falling axe did part The burning brain from the true heart, Even in her sight he loved so well ? A fairy shield your Genius made And gave you on your natal day. Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade, Keeps real sorrow far away. You move not in such solitudes. You are not less divine, But more human in your moods. Than your twin-sister, Adeline. Your hair is darker, and your eyes Touch'd with a somewhat darker hue, And less aerially blue. But ever trembling thro' the dew Of dainty-woeful sympathies. O sweet pale Margaret, O rare pale Margaret, Come down, come down, and hear me speak : Tie up the ringlets on your cheek : The sun is just about to set. The arching limes are tall and shady. And faint, rainy lights are seen. Moving in the leavy beech. Rise from the feast of sorrow, lady. Where all day long you' sit betv Look out below your bower-eaves, Look down, and let your blue eyes dawn Upon me thro' the jasmine-leaves. ROSALIND. Mv Rosalind, my Rosalind, My frolic falcon, with bright eyes. Whose free delight, from any height of rapid flight. Stoops at all game that wing the skies. My Rosalind, my Rosalind, My bright-eyed, wild-eyed falcon, whither, Careless both of wind and weather. Whither fly ye, what game spy ye, Up or down the streaming wind .' The lick lark's closest-caroU'd The shadow rushing up the sea. The lightning flash atween the rains, The sunlight driving down the lea. The leaping stream, the very wind. That will not stay, upon his way. To stoop the cowslip to the plains, Is not so clear and bold and free As you, my falcon Rosalind. You care not for another's pains, Because you are the soul of joy. Bright metal all without alloy. Life shoots and glances thro' your veins, And flashes off a thousand ways. Thro" lips and eyes in subtle rays. Your hawk-eyes are keen and bright. Keen with triumph, watching still To pierce me thro' with pointed light ; But oftentimes they flash and glitter Like sunshine on a dancing rill. And your words are seeming-bitter, Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter From excess of swift delight. in. Come down, come home, my Rosalind, My gay young hawk, my Rosalind : Too long you keep the upper skies; Too long you roam and wheel at will ; But we must hood your random eyes. That care not whom they kill. And your cheek, whose brilliant hue Is -SO sparkling-fresh to view. Some red heath-flower in the dew, Touch'd with sunrise. We must bind And keep you fast, mv Rosalind. Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind, And clip your wings, and make you When we have lured you from above, And that delight of frolic flight, by day or night, From North to South, We'll bind you fast in silken cords. And kiss away the bitter words 1' I om off your rosy mouth. ELEANORE. English air. For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought. Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighborhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, .A mile beneath the cedar-wood. 'I'hv bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades : And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought, At the moment of thy birth. From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills. And shadow'd coves on a sunnv shore. The choicest wealth of all the earth, Jewel or shell, or starry ore, To deck thv cradle, Eleanore. Or the vellow-banded bees. Thro" half-open lattices Coming in the scented breeze. Fed thee, a child. In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming 1 Into dreamful sliunl.ur lull'd. Who may minister to thee.' Summer herself should minister To thee, with fruitage golden- rinded On golden salvers, or it may be. Youngest Autumn, in a bower Grape-thicken'd from the light, and blinded With many a deep-hued bell-like Of fragrant trailers, when the air Sleepeth over all the heaven. And the crag that fronts the Even, All along the shadowing shore, Crimsons over an inland mere, Eleanore I How may fuU-sail'd verse express. How may measured words adore The full-flowing harmony Of thy swan-like stateliness, Eleanore .' The luxuriant symmetry Of thy floating gracefulness, Eleanore .' Every turn and glance of thine, Every lineament divine, Eleanore, And the steady sunset glow. That stays upon thee .' For in thee Is nothing sudden, nothing sin- gle; Like two streams of incense free From one censer in one shrine. Thought and motion mingle. Mingle ever. Motions flow To one another, even as tl.o' They were modulated so To an unheard melody. Which lives about thee, and a s\ Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other melhnv-, Slowly awaken'd, grow so f ul 1 and deep In thy large eye's, that, overpower'd quite, I cannot veil, or droop my sight, But am as nothing in its light : .\s tho' a star, in inmost heaven set, Ev*n while we gaze on it, Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun re- main Fix'd — then as slowly fade again. And draw itself to what it was before ; So full, so deep, so slow, Thought seems to come and go In thy large eyes, imperial Elea- As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roof'd the world with doubt and fear. Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, I Irow golden all about the sky; In thee all passion becomes passion- less, I'ouch'd liv thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might Falling into a still delight. And luxury of contemplation : As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and Iving still Shadow forth the banks at will : Or sometimes they swell and move. Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer .sea : And the self-same influence ControUeth all the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bow-.string slackened, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand. Droops both his wings, regarding thee. And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleanore. But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined. While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon ; Or, in a shadowy saloon. On silken cushions half reclined; I watch thy grace ; and in its place My heart a ch.irmed slumber While I muse upon thy face ; And a languid fire creeps Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly : soon From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth ; and then, as in a swoon. With dinning sound my ears are rife. My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my color, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, n'd with delirious draughts of Brill I die V I he; thee; Yet tell my name again I would be dying evermore, So dying ever, Eleanore. Early Sonnets. Mvlife is full of weary (lays, But good things have not kept aloof, Nor wander'd into other ways : I have not lack'd thy mild reproof. Nor golden largess of thy praise. And now shake hands across the brink Of that deep grave to which I go : Shake hands once more: I cannot sink So far — far down, but I shall know Thy voice, and answer from below. When in the darkness o\'cr me The four-handed mole shall scrape, Plant thou no dusky cypress-tree, Nor wreathe thy cap with doleful crape. But pledge me in the flowing grape. And when the sappy field and wood Grow green beneath the showery gray. And rugged barks begin to bud. And thro' damp holts new-ilush'd with may. Ring sudden scritches of the jay, Then let wise Nature work her will. And on my clay her darnel grow ; Come only, when the days are still, And at my headstone whisper low, And tell me if the woodbines blow. EARLY SONNETS. Ever the wonder waxeth more and more. So that we say, ' All this hath been before. All this hath been, I know not when or where.' So, friend, when first I look'd upon your face. Our thought gave answer each to each, so true- Opposed mirrors each reflecting each — That tho' I knew not in what time or place, Methought that I had often met with And either lived speech. :ither heart and eyes we muse TO As when with dov and brood. And ebb into a former life, or seem To lapse far back in some confused dream To states of mystical similitude; If one but speaks or hems or stirs his TO J. M. K. My hope and heart is with thee — thou wilt be A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest To scare church-harpies from the mas- ter's feast ; Our dusted velvets have much need of thee : Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws, Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily; But spurr'd at heart with fieriest energy To embattail and to wall about thy With iron-worded proof, hating to hark The humming of the drowsy pulpit- drone Half God's good sabbath, while the worn-out clerk Brow-beats his desk below. Thou from a throne Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark. cha My life is fuli. of weary days "—Page i6. Early Sonnets. Like some broad river rushing down alone, With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was thrown From his loud fount upon the echoing lea :— doth cape, and isle, And in the middle of the green salt sea Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a mile. Mine be the power which ever to its sway Will win the wise at once, and by degrees May into uncongenial spirits flow; Ev'n as the warm gulf-stream of Florida Floats far away into the Northern seas The lavish growths of southern Mexico. IV. ALEXANDER. Warrior of God, whose strong right arm debased The throne of Persia, when her Satrap bled At Issus by the .Syrian gates, or fled Beyond the Memmian naphtha-jiits, disgraced For ever — thee (thy pathway sand- erased) Gliding with equal crowns two ser- pents led Joyful to that palm-planted fountain- fed Ammonian Oasis in the waste. There in a silent shade of laurel brown Apart the Chamian Oracle divine Iter'd his unapproached mysteries : High things were spoken there, unhanded down ; Only they saw thee from the secret th hot cheek and kindled BUONAPARTE. He thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak. Madman ! — to chain with chains, and bind with bands That island queen who sways the floods and lands From Ind to Ind, but in fair daylight woke, When from her wooden walls,— lit by sure hands, — With thunders, and with lightnings, and with smoke, — Peal after peal, the British battle broke. Lulling the brine against the Coptic sands. We taught him lowlier moods, when Elsinore Heard the war moan along the dis- tant sea. Rocking with shatter'd spars, with sudden fires Flamed over : at Trafalgar yet once more We taught him : late he learned humility Perforce, like those whom Gideon school'd with briers. vr. POLAND. HoviT long, O God, shall men be rid- den down. And trampled under by the last and least Of men ? The heart of Poland hath not ceased To quiver, tho' her sacred blood doth drown The fields, and out of every smoulder- Cries to Thee, lest brute Power be increased. Till that o'ergrown Barbarian in the East Transgress his ample bound to some new crown : — Cries to Thee, ' Lord, how long shall these things be ? Early Sonnets. How long this icy-hearted Mu Oppress the region ? ' Us, O Just and Forgive, who smiled when she was torn in three ; Us, who stand now, when we should aid the right — A matter to be wept with tears of blood ! Caress'd or chidden by the slender hand, And singing airy trifles this or that, Ijght Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand. And run thro' every change of sharp and flat ; And Fancy came and at her pillow sat, When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band. And chased away the still-recurring gnat. And woke her with a lay from fairy land. But now they live with Beauty less For Hope is other Hope and wanders far. Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds; And Fancy watches in the wilderness. Poor Fancy sadder than a single star. That sets at twilit-ht in a land of reeds. The form, the form alone is eloquent I A nobler yearning never broke her Than but to dance and sing, be gayly drest. And win all eyes with all accomplish- Yet in the whirling dances as we went, >ry fancy made me for a moment blest To find my heart so near the beau- That once had power to rob it of i A moment came the tenderness of tears, The phantom of a wish that once could move. A ghost of passion that no smiles rc- For ah ! the slight coquette, she can- And if you kiss"d her feet a thousand years, She still would take the praise, and Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast Of those dead lineaments that near thee lie !> O sorrowest thou, pale fainter, for the past, In painting some dead friend from memory ? Weep on : beyond his object Love can last: His object lives : more cause to weep Mv tears, no tear ^of loxe, are flowing fast. No tears of love, but tears that Love Ah pity — hint it not in human tones. But breathe it into earth and close it up With secret death forever, m the pits Which some green Christmas crams with weary bones. Ik I were loved, as I desire to be, What is there in the great sphere of the earth. And range of evil between death and birth. That I should fear, — if I were loved bv thee .> All the' inner, all the outer world of pain Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine, As I have heard' that, sor the THITHF.R FLOCK'D at noon,"— /42i-C 2r/. 'Twere joy, not fear, claspt hand-in- hand with thee, To wait for death — mute— care'ess of all ills, Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge Of some new deluge from a thousand Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge Below us, as far on as eye could see. THE BRIDESMAID. O BRIDESMAID, ere the happy knot was tied, Thine eyes so wept that they could hardly see ; Thy sister sniled and said, ' No tears for me ! de bv A happy bridesmaid ni bride.' And then, the couple si: side, Love lighted down between them full of glee, And over his left shoulder laugh'd at thee. ' O happy bridesmaid, make a happy And all at Once a pleasant truth I learu'd, For while the tender service made thee I loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide. And prest thy nand, and knew the press return'd. And thought, ' My life is sick of sin- gle sleep : O happv bridesmaid, make a happy bride I ' THE PRI NCESS A MEDLEY. PROLOGUE. Up to the people : thither flock'd at noon His tenants, wife and child, and thither half The neighboring borough with their Of which he was the patron. I was there From college, visiting the son, — the son A Walter too, — with others of our set, Five others : we were seven at Vivian- place. .^nd me that morning Walter show'd the house, Greek, set with busts : from vases in Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names. Grew side by side ; and on the pave- ment lay Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, Huge .Ammonites, and the first bones of Time : .And on the tables every clime and age Jumbled together; celts and calumets. Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries. Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, The cursed Malavan crease, and bat- tle-clubs From the isles of palm ; and higher on the walls, Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, His own forefathers' arms and armor The Princess ; A Medley. And ' this ' he said ' was Hugh's at Agincourt ; And that was old Sir Kalph's at As- calon : A good knight he ! we keep a chronicle With all about him'— which he brought, and I Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights. Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings Who laid about them at their wills and died ; And mixt with these, a lady, one that Her, .wn fair head, the gate, beat her foe from her wal! id sallying thro' with slaughter ' O miracle of women,' said the book, 'O noble heart who, being strait-be- sieged By this wild king to force her to his Nor bent, nor broke, soldier's death, l!ut now when all was shunn'd a was lost or seeni'd than mortal in the rm lifted, eyes on Her stature burst Of sunrise, her arm fire— ■ Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate. And, falling on them like a thunder- bolt. She trampled some beneath her horses' heels. And some were whelm'dwith missiles of the wall. And some were push'd with lances from the rock, And part were drown'd within the whirling brook : O miracle of noble womanhood ! ' (I kept the book and in it) Down thro' the park ; strange was the sight to me ; For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown With happy faces and with holiday. There moved the multitude, a thou- sand heads : The patient leaders of their Institute Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stone And drew, from butts of water on the slope. The fountain of the moment, playing, A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls. Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball Danced like a wisp ; and somewhat lower down A man with knobs and wires and vials fired A cannon ; Echo answer'd in her sleep From hollow fields : and here were telescopes For azure views : and there a group of girls In circle waited, whom the electric shock Dislink'd with shrieks and laughter: round the lake A little clock-work steamer paddling plied And shook the lilies : perch'd about the knolls A dozen angry models jetted steam : A petty railway ran : a fire-balloon Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves And dropt a fairy parachute and past : And there thro' twenty posts of tele- graph They flash'd a saucy message to and Between the mir The Princess; A Medley. Pure sport : a herd of boys with clamor bowl'd And stump'd the wicket ; babies roU'd about Like tumbled fruit in grass ; and men and maids Arranged a country dance, and flew thro' light And shadow, while the twangling violin Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty Strange was the sight and smack- ing of the time ; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch"d and ivy-claspt. Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire. Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house ; but all within The sward was trim as any garden And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbor seats : and there was Ralph himself, A broken statue propt against the wall, t As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport. Half child half woman as she was, had wound A scarf of orange rou^ the stony helm. And robed the shoulders in axosy silk. That made the old warriorilfrom his ivied nook Glow like a sunbeam : near his limili a feast Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, .'\nd there we join'd them : then the maiden Aunt Took this fair day for text, and from h'd ■ An universal culture for the crowd. And all things great ; but we, un- worthier, told Of college : he had climb'd across the spikes, And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, And he had breathed the Proctor's dogs ; and one Discuss'd his tutor, rough to common But honeying at the whisper of a lord ; And one the Master, as a rogue in grain Veneer'd with sanctimonious theory. But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad ; which brought My book to mind : and opening this I read Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls. And much 1 praised her nobleness, and ' Where," Ask'd Waller, patting Lilia's head (she lay Beside him) ' lives there such a woman Quick answer'd Lilia ' There are thou.sands now Such women, but convention beats It is but bringing up ; no more than that: You men have done it : how I hate ^ you all ! WlgtfKere I something great I I wish I (^ were Some mighty poetess, I would shame you then, That love to keep us children ! O I That I were some great princess, I would build Far off from men a college like a And I would teach them all that men are taught ; We are twice as quick I ' And here she shook aside The hand tliat plav'd the patron with The Frincess; A Medley Mlg etty were her I And one said s: the sight If our old halls could change their sex, and Haunt With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. \ I think they should not wear our rusty j gowns I But move as rich as Emperor-moths, I or Ralph ! Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear If there were many Lilias in the brood, However deep you might embower the nest, I Some boy would spy it.' At this upon the sward She tapt her tiny silken-sandal'd foot : ' That's your light way ; but I would make it death For any male thing but to peep at us.' herself Petulant she spoke, she laugh'd ; 1 A rosebud set with little wilful thorns. And sweet as English air could make her, she: But Walter hail'd a score of names upon her, And ' petty Ogress,' and ' ungrateful Puss,' And swore he long'd at college, only long'd. All else was well, for she-society. Thev boated and thev cricketed ; thev talk'd At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics ; They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans ; They rode ; they betted ; made a hun- dred friends. And caught the blossom of the flying 'd the mignonette of Vivian- place, The little hearth-flower, Lilia. Thus he spoke. Part banter, part affection. ' True,' she said, ' We doubt not that. O yes, you She held it out : and as a parrot turns Up thro' gilt wires a crafty loving eye. And takes a lady's finger with all care. And bites it for true heart and not for harm, So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shriek'd And wrung it. ' Doubt my word again ! ' he said. ' Come, listen ! here is proof that you were miss'd : We seven stay'd at Christmas up to read ; And there we took one tutor as to read: The hard-grained Muses of the cube and square Were out of season : never man, I think, So nioulder'd in a sinecure as he : For while our cloisters echo'd frosty feet. And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, We did but talk you over, pledge you In wassail ; often, like as many girls — Sick for the hollies and the yews of home — As many little trifling Lilias — ]>lay'd Charades and riddles as at Christmas here. And whafs my thought and when and ■where and how^ And often told a tale from mouth to mouth As here at Christmas.' She remember'd that : A pleasant game, she thought : she liked it more Than magic music, fojfeits, all the rest. But these — what kind of tales didmen tell men. 1 1 /ST^ 1 l-g I \ 1 M >v _ The Princess; A Medley. ii " CJV She wonder'd, by themselves? But something made to suit with Time A half-disdain and place. . rerch'd on the pouted blossom of her And Gothic ruin and a Grecian house, 1 II cAfl iips: A talk of college and of ladies' rights, 0^ And Walter nodded at me ; ' i% began, A feudal knight in silken masquerade, Tlic rest would follow, each in turn ; And, yonder, shrieks and strange and so experiments We forged a sevenfold story. Kind ? For which the good Sir Ralph had what kind? burnt them all— Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas sole- This mvr a medley ! we should have cisms. him back .Seven-headed monsters only made to Who told the " Winter's tale " to do kill it for us. Time by the fire in winter.' No matter : we will say whatever • Kill him now. comes. The tyrant! kill him in the summer And let the ladies sing us, if they will. From time to time, some ballad or a too,' Said Lilia; 'Why not now.'' the song maiden Aunt! To give us breathing-space.' ' Why not a summer's as a winter's So I began. tale? And the rest foUow'd : and the women A tale for summer as befits the time, sang 1 And something it should be to suit Between the rougher voices of the the place. men. Heroic, for a hero lies beneath. Like linnets in the pauses of the wind : Grave, solemn ! ' And here I give the story and the Walter warp'd his mouth at this songs. To something so mock-solenm, that I laugh'd ' And Lilia woke with sudden- shrilling A prince I was. bhie-eved, and fair in mirth face. An echo like a ghostly woodpecker, Of temper amorous, as the first of Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Mav, Aunt With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a 1 (A little sense of wrong had touch'd girl, j her face For on my cradle shone the Northern With color) turn'd to me with 'As star. you will ; Heroic if you will, or what vou will, There lived an ancient legend in Or be yourself your hero if you will.' our house. Some sorcerer, whom a far-off grand- 'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' sire burnt clamor'd he. Because he cast no shadow, had fore- ' And make her some i^reat Princess, told. si.x fett high. Dying, that none of all our blood Cxrand. epic, homicidal ; and be vou should know The Prince to win her ! ' The shadow from the substance, and ^ ' Then follow me, the Prince," that one <^ I answer'd, ' each be hero in his turn ! Should come to fight with shadows Seven and yet one, like shadows in a and to fall. ' dream. — For so, my mother said, the storv ran Heroic seems our Princess as And, truly, waking dreams were, niore K, ', - or less, ] Bl I.-3 !- I 1 Lijy The Princess; A Medley. An old and strange affection of the Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what : On a sudden in the midst of men and day, And while I walk'd and talk'd as here- tofore. I seem'c among world of ghost: And feel myself the shadow of a dream. Our great court-Galen poised his gilt- head cane. And paw'd his beard, and mutter'd 'catalepsy.' My mother pitying made a thousand prayers ; My mother was as mild as any saint, Half-canonized by all that look'd on her, So gracious was her tact and tender- ness : Hut mv good father thought a kine; a king; He cared not for the affe. n of the pedant's house ; He held his sceptre like To lash offence, and with long arms and hands Reach'd out, and pick'd offenders from the mass For judgment. No been chanced that I had yet in bud and blade. When life was betroth'd To one, a neighboring Princess : she :dded th a bootless .nd still from W as pro.xy- calf At eight years old time to time Came murmurs of her beauty from the South, And of her brethren, youths of puis- sance ; And still I wore her picture by my heart. And one dark tress ; and all around them both Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees But when the days drew nigh that I should wed, My father sent ambassadors with furs And jewels, gifts, to fetch her: these brought back A present, a great labor of the loom ; And therewithal an answer vague as wind : Kesides, they saw the king ; he took the gifts ; He said there was a compact; that was true : But then she had a will; was he to blame .' And maiden fancies; loved to live That morning in the presence rooni I stood With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends : The first a gentleman of broken means (His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts Of revel ; and the last, my other heart. And almost my halt-self, for still we moved Together, twinn'd as horse's ear and eye. Now, while thev spake, I saw mv father's face Grow long and troubled like a rising Inflamed with wrath : he started on his feet. Tore the king's letter, snow'd it down, and rent The wonder of the loom thro' warp and woof From skirt to skirt ; and at the last he sware That he would send a hundred thou- sand men, .And bring her in a whirlwind : then he chew'd The thrice-turn'd cud of wrath, and cook'd his spleen. Communing with his captains of the war. I'lu Frincess ; A Medley. spoke : ' My father, let me go. cannot be but some gross error lies this report, this answer of a king, \V honi all men rate as kind and hospit- able : t)r, maybe, 1 myself, my bride once seen, Whate'er my grief to find her less than fame, May rne the bargain made.' And Florian said : • I have a sister at the foreign court. . Who moves about the Princess; she, you know, Who wedded with a nobleman from thence : He, dying lately, left her, as I hear. The lady of three castles in that land : Thro' her this matter might be sifted clean.' And Cyril whisper'd : ' Take me with vhat, if these weird whisper'd : you too.' Than laughing seizures come Upon you in those lands, and no one near To point you out the shadow from the truth ! ' Take me : I'll serve you better in a strait ; I grate on rustv hinges here : ' but ' No ! ■ ' Roar'd the rough king, ' you shall not ; we ourself Will crush her pretty maiden fancies dead In iron gauntlets : break the council Hut when the council broke, I rose and past Thro' the wild woods that hung about the town : Found a still place, and pluck'd her likeness out ; Laid it on flowers, and watch'd it ly- ing bathed In the green gleam of dewy-tassell'd trees : What were those fancies ? wherefore break her troth ? Proud look'd the lips : but while I meditated e wild woods together ; and a with it, ' Follow, follow, thou Then, ere the silver sickle of that month Became her golden shield, I stole from With Cyril and with Floriau, unper- ceived, Cat-footed thro' the town and half in dread To hear my father's clamor at our backs With Ho! from some bay-window shake the night ; But all was quiet : from the bastion'd walls Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt. And Hying reach'd the frontier : then To: nd ; and sobv tilth and And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness. We gain'd the mother-city thick with towers. And in the imperial palace found the king. Hi : was Gama; crack'd and ink- But bland the smile that like ing wind On glassy water drove his cheek in lines; A little dry old man, without a star. Not like a king : three days he feasted us, And on the fourth I spake of why we came, And mv betroth'd. ' You do us, Prince,' he said, Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, 'All honor. We remember love our- selves In our sweet youth : there did a com- pact pass 2'he Princess; A Medley. Long summers back, a kind o£ cere- mony — I think the year in which our olives I would you had her, Prince, with all mv heart, With my full heart : but there were 'I'wo widows. Lady rsvche, Ladv Blanche ; They fed her theories, in and out of place Maintaining that with equal hus- bandry The woman were an equal to the man. They harp'd on this ; with this our banquets rang; Our dances broke and buzz'd in knots of talk; Nothing but this ; my very ears were hot To hear them : knowledge, so my daughter held, Was all in all : they had but been, she thought. As children ; they must lose the child, assume The woman : then, .Sir, awful odes she Too vful, sure, for what thev treated But all she is and does is awful ; odes About this losing of the child ; and rhymes And dismal lyrics, prophesying change Beyond all reason : these the women sang ; And they that know such things — I sought but peace ; No critic I — would call them master- pieces: They master'd me. At last she begg'd a boon, .'\ certain summer-palace which I have Hard by your father's frontier : I said no. Yet being an All wild to found an University naidens, on the spur she fled ; and more We know not, — only this : they see no 1 gave and Not ev'n her brother Ar; twins Her brethren, tho' they look upon her As on a kind of paragon ; and I (Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed Dispute betwixt myself and mine : but since (And I confess with right) you think me bound Jn some sort, I can give you letters to her; And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance Almost at naked nothing.' Thus the king; And I, tho' nettled that lie seem'd to slur With garrulous ease and oily cour- Our formal compact, yet, not less (all frets But chafing me on fire to find my bride) Went forth again with both my friends. We rode Many a long league back to the North. At last From hills, that look'd across a land of hope. We dropt with evening on a rustic Set in a gleaming river's crescent- curve. Close at the boundary of the liber- ties; There, enter'd an old hostel, call'd mine host To council, plied him with his richest And show'd the I ; letters of the .Averring it was clear against all rules For any man to go : but a.s his brain Began to mellow, ' If the king,' he j said, ' Had given us letters, was he bound to speak .> The Princess: A Medley all hi; ' No di)ubt that we might make it worth his while. She once had past that way ; he heard her speak ; She scared him; life! he never saw the like ; She look'd as grand as doomsday and as grave : And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there; He always made a point to post with mares ; His daughter and his housemaid were the boys : The land, he understood, for miles about Was till'd by women; all the swine were sows, And all the dogs ' — But while he jested thus, A thought flash'd thro' me which I clothed in act, Remembering how we three presented Maid Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast. In masque or pageant at my father's to purchase female himself, a sight to gear; He brought shake The midriff of despair with laugiiter, holp To lace us Qp, till, each, in maiden plumes We rustled : him we gave a costly bribe To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds, ^ And boldly ventured on the liberties. We foUow'd up the river as we rode. And rode till midnight when the college lights Hegan to glitter (irefly-like in co])se ,\nd linden alley: then we past an arch. Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings And some inscription ran along the front, But deep in shadow : further on we gain'd A little street half garden and half house ; But scarce could hear each other speak for noise Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling On silver anvils, and the splash and stir rid shower- In meshes of the jasmine and the rose : And all about us peai'd the nightin- There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign, By two sphere lamps blazon'd like Heaven and Earth With constellation and with continent. Above an entry ; riding in, we call'd ; A plump-arm'd Ostlercss and a stable wench Came running at the call, and help'd us down. Then slept a buxom hostess forth, and sail'd. Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave Upon a pillar'd porch, the bases lost In laurel : her we ask'd of that and And who were tut she said. Lady Blanche • Which wa. ' And Lady Psyche prettiest, Best-iiatured ? ' ' Lady Psyche.' 'Hers are we,' One voice, we cried ; and I sat down and wrote. In such a hand as when afield of corn Bows all its ears before the roaring The Princess : A Medley. Your Higliiies.s wuuld enroll them with As Lady I'sychc's pupils.' And o'er Ins head Uraniau Venus And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes : I gave the letter to be sent with dawn ; And then to bed, where half in doie I secm'd To float about a glimmering night, and watch A full sea glazed with muffled moon- light, swell On some dark shore just seen that it was rich. .^nd pluck'd ihe ripen'd ears. We fell out. my wife and I, O we fell out I know not why, And kiss'd again with tears, .^nd blessings on the falling out Th.1t all the more endears. When we fall out with those we love For when we came where lies the child We lost in olher years. There above the little grave, O there above the little grave. We kiss'd ag,iin with tears. At break of day the College Portress came: She brought us Academic silks, in hue The lilac, with a silken hood to each, And zoned with gold; and now when these were on. And we as rich as moths from dust cocoons, She, curtseying her obeisance, let us The Princess Ida waited : out we paced, I first, and following thro' the porch Compact of lucid marbles, boss'd with lengths Of classic frieze, with ; betwixt 'the pillars, and with great urns of flowers. The Muses and the Graces, group'd in threes, Enring'd a billowing fountain in the midst ; And here and there on lattice edges lav Ur book or lute ; but hastily we pasti And up a flight of stairs into the hall. There at a board by t I pai)( With two tame leopards couch'd beside her throne All beauty c6mpass'd in a female form. The Princess ; liker to the inhabitant Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, Than our man's earth ; such eyes were in her head, And so much grace and power, breath- ing down From over her arch'd brows, with Lived thro' her to the tips of her long hands. And to her feet. She rose her height. ' We give you welcome : not without redound Of use and glory to yourselves ye The first fruits of the stranger : after- And that full voice which circles round the g^ave. Will rank you nobly, mingled up with What ! are the ladies of your land so tall? ' ' We of the court ' said Cyril. ' From the court ' She answer'd, 'then ye know the Prince .' ' and he : ' The climax of his age ! as Iho' ther^ were One rose in all the world, your ness that. i ^v all that's Said Cvril. ' O hush. lUsh ! ' and she began. ' This world was on ce a fluid haze o£ l.ght. Till toward the centre set the starry tides. And eddied into suns that wheeling The planets : then the monster, then the man ; Tattoo'd or woaded, winter-clad in the prime, and crushing ind in barbarous isles, and Raw froi do As yet we fi here Among tlie lowest.' Thereupon she took A bird's-eve-viewof all the Glanced at the legendary Amazon As emblematic of a nobler age ; .Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of those That lay at wine with Lar and Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Ro- man lines Of empire, and the woman's state in each. How far from just ; till warming with her theme She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique And little-footed China, touch'd on Mahomet With much contempt, and came to chivalry: When some respect, however slight, was paid To woman, superstition all awry: However then commenced the dawn : a beam Had slanted forward, falling in a land i)i promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed. Their debt of thanks to her who first A McaVc-v. To leap the rotten pales of prejudice. Uisyoke their necks from custom, aiul assert None lordlier than themselves but that which made Woman and man. She had founded ; they must build Here might they learn whatever men were taught : Let them not fear : some said their heads were less : Some men's were small ; not they the For often fineness compensated size : Besides the brain was like the hand, and grew With using ; thence the man's, il more was more ; He took advantage of his strength to be First in the field : some ages had been lost; But woman ripen'd earlier, and her life Was longer ; and albeit their glorious names Were fewer, scatter'd stars, yet since in truth The highest is the measure of the And not the Kaffir, Hottentot. Malav, Nor those horn-handed breakers ui the glebe. But Homer, Plato, Verulam ; even so With woman: and in arts of govern- ment Elizabeth and others; arts of war The peasant Joan and others; arts of grace Sappho and others vied with any man : And, last not least, she who had left her place. And bow'd her state to them, that they might grow To use and power on this Oasis, lapt In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight Of ancient influence and scorn. At last -She rose upon a wind of prophecy Dilating on the future; 'everywhere Two heads in council, two beside the hearth, The Princess; A Medley. Two in the tangled business of the world, Two ill the liberal offices of life, Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss Of science, and the secrets of the mind ; Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more : And everywhere the broad and boun- teo'us Earth Should bear a double growth of those Ills, She ended here, and beckon'd us : the rest Parted ; and, glowing full-faced wel- come, she Began to address us, and was moving In gratulation, till as when a boat Tacks, and the slacken'd sail flaps, all her voice Faltering, and fluttering in her throat, she cried ' My brother ! ' • Well, my sister.' ' O," she said, ' What do you here .' and in this dress ? and'these.> Whv who are these ? a wolf within the fold ! A pack of wolves ! the Lord be gra- cious to me ! .■\ plot, a plot, a plot, to ruin all ! ' ' No plot, no plot,' he answer'd. ' Wretched boy, How saw you not the inscription on the gate, Let no man enter in on pain OF DEAl'H .> ' ' And if I had,' he answer'd, ' who could think The softer Adams of your Academe O sister, Sirens tho' they be, were such As chanted on the blanching bones of men .' ' ' "ijut you will find it otherwise,' she said. ' You jest : ill jesting with edge-tools! Hinds me to speak, and O that iron will 'I'hat axelike edge unturnable, our Head, The Princess.' ■ Well then. Psyche, take my life. And nail me like a weasel on a grange For warning: bury me beside the gate. And cut this epitaph above my bones: Hc-re lies ti brother by a sister slain^ All for the common good of wotnan- ' Let me die loo,' said Cyril, ' having seen And heard the Lady Psyche.' 1 struck in : ' Albeit so mask'd. Madam, I love the truth; Receive it ; and in me behold the Prince Your countryman, affianced years ago To the Lady Ida : here, tor here she was. And thus (what other way was left) I came.' ' O Sir, O Prince, I have no country ; none ; If any, this ; but none. Whate'er I was Disrooted, what I am is grafted here. Affianced, Sir.' love-whispers may not- breathe Within this vestal limit, and how should I, Who am not mine, say, live : the thunder-bolt Hangs silent ; but prepare : I speak ; it falls.' ' Yet pause,' I said : ' for that inscrip- ther: think no i Df deadly lurks ihere- Than in a clapper clapping in a garth. To scare the fowl from fruit : if more there be. If more and acted on, what follows ? Your own work marr'd : for this your .■\cademe. Whichever side be Victor, in the halloo Will top|)le to the trumpet down, and pass I shuddei at the sequel, but I go.' ' Are you that Lady Psyche,* I re- join'd, 'The fifth in line from that old Florian, Yet hangs his portrait in inv father's hall (The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) As he bestrode uiy Grandsire, when he fell And all else fled ? we point to it, and we say, The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold. Hut branches current yet in kindred veins.' ' Are you that Psvche,' Florian added ; 'she With whom I sani; about the morning hills, Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly. And snared the squirrel of the glen > That Psyche, wont to bind my throb- bing brow. To smoothe niv pillow, mix the foam- ing draught Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read My sickness down to happy dreams .' are you That brother-sister Psyche, both in You were that Psyche, but what are you now ? ' ' You are that Psyche,' Cyril said, * for whom I would be that for ever which I Woman, if I might sit beside your feet. And glean vour scatter'd sapience.' Then once more, ' That on her bridal morn before she past From all her old companions, when the king Kiss'd her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties Would still be dear beyond the south- ern hills; That were there any of our ])eople In wan h And help them r these and I.' 'A re you that Psyche,' Floric In gentler days, your arrow- peril, there was one to for such are sk'd, iided Came flying while vou sat beside the well } The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, And sobb'd, and you sobb'd with it, and the blood Was sprinkled on your kirlle, and you wept. That was fawn's blood, not brother s, yet you wept. O bv the bright head of my little ! that Psyche, and what are ' Cyril said veetest little ' You are that Psyc again, 'The mother of the maid. That ever crow'd for kisses.' ' Out upon it I ' She answer'd, ' jieace ! and why should I not play The Spartan Moth( be of mv The Lucius Junius kind ? Him you call great: he for the com- mon weal. The fading politics of mortal Rome, As I might slay this child if good need were. Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom ^ ? \ 1 rvi y^ Z— : K The Princess ■ )4 ; A Medley. 43 \ The secular emancipation turns ' I brought a message here from Lady 0£ half this world, be swerved from IJIanche. . right to save Back started she, and turning round r t^ A prince, a brother ? a little will I we saw «AJ yield. The Lady Blanche's daughter where Best so, perchance, for us, and well she stood. Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, O hard, when love and duty clash ! I A rosy blonde, and in a college gown. fear That clad her like an April daffodilly My conscience will not count me (Her mother's color) with her lips fleckless; vet- apart. Hear my conditions : promise (other- And all her thoughts as fair within wise her eves. You perish) as you came, to slip away As bottom 'agates seen to wave and To-day, to-morrow, soon : it shall be float said. In crystal currents of clear morning These women were too barbarous, ' seas. would not learn; They fled, who might have shamed So stood that same fair creature at us: promise, all.' the door. Then Lady Psyche, 'Ah— Melissa— "What could we else, we promised you! each ; and she, You heard us.'' and Melissa, ' O par- Like some wild creature newly-caged, don me commenced I heard, I could not help it, did not A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused wish : 1 Hv Klorian ; holding out her lily arms But, dearest Ladv, prav you fear me Took both his hands, and smiling not. faintlv, said: Nor think I bear that heart within my • [ knew you at the first : tlio' you breast. have grown To give three gallant gentlemen to You scarce have alter'd: I am sad death.' and glad ' I trust you,' said the other, ' for we To see you, Florian. / give thee to two death Were always friends, none closer, Mv brother! it was duty spoke, not I. elm and vine : M'v needful seeming harshness, par- But yet your mother's jealous temper- don it. ament- Our mother, is she well ? ' Let not your prudence, dearest. With that she kiss'd drowse, or prove His forehead, then, a moment after. The Dan aid of a leaky vase, for fear clung This whole foundation ruin, and I .\bout him, and betwixt them blos- lose som'd up My honor, these their lives.' 'Ah, From out a common vein of memory fear me not,' Sweet household talk, and phrases of Replied Melissa; ' no— I would not „ the hearth, tell, ^ '^ And far allusion, till the gracious No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness. dews No, not to answer. Madam, all those ISegan to glisten and to fall: and hard things while That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came • Be it so,' the other, ' that we still 1 V; K, ,' may lead ^