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281

BALLADS AND TALES.

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.

Dear little wanderer, dancing along,
Now with a silver laugh, now with a song;
Little that loving heart, guileless and gay,
Dream'd of the evils that darken'd thy way!
Soft from the crimson hood floated her hair,
Changing to gold in the sun-lighted air;
Blue as the hare-bell that, as she tripp'd by,
Kiss'd her light feet in love, shone her young eye—
Bright as yon rivulet glanced to the day,
Dimpled her cheek in her smile's sunny play.
Oh, 'tis a fable 'twere sin to believe!
How could the wolf such a darling deceive?
Say that she met him there! that may be so—
Innocence walks not unperill'd below—
282

But, on the faith of a poet, the rest
Is but a libel and should be suppress'd.
Say that she met him there, face unto face!
Soft o'er the savage, the magic of grace,
Sweetness and purity, beauty and love,
Stole to his heart like the coo of a dove.
One earnest look of those eloquent eyes—
One music-tone of her childish surprise—
Melted the iron of evil design
Into soft homage for grace so divine;
And if he spoke to her—so goes the tale—
These must have been the words growl'd on the gale:
“Flower of the spring-tide, graceful and wild,
Never come harm to thee, beautiful child!
Speed on thine errand, unconscious of art,
Bloom on thy young cheek, and love in thy heart!
Bare to the sunset those soft waving curls,
Fearless and frolicsome, fairest of girls!
See how yon changing sky fades with the day!
Little Red Riding-Hood, haste on thy way!”
283

THE LIFE-VOYAGE.

Once in the olden time there dwelt,
Beside the sounding sea,
A little maid—her garb was coarse,
Her spirit pure and free.
Her parents were an humble twain,
And poor as poor could be;
Yet gayly sang the guileless child,
Beside the sounding sea.
The hut was bare, and scant the fare,
And hard her little bed;
But she was rich! A single gem
Its beauty round her shed.
She walk'd in light!—'twas all her wealth—
That pearl, whose lustrous glow
Made her white forehead dazzling fair,
And pure as sunlit snow.
284

Her parents died! With tears she cried,
“God will my father be!”
Then launch'd alone her shallop light,
And bravely put to sea.
The sail she set was virgin-white,
As inmost lily leaf,
And angels whisper'd her from heaven,
To loose it or to reef.
And ever on the dancing prow
One glorious brilliant burn'd,
By whose clear ray she read her way,
And every danger learn'd:
For she had hung her treasure there,
Her heaven-illumined pearl!
And so she steer'd her lonely bark,
That fair and guileless girl!
The wind was fresh, the sails were free,
High dash'd the diamond spray,
And merrily leaping o'er the sea,
The light skiff left the bay!
285

But soon false, evil spirits came,
And strove, with costly lure,
To bribe her maiden heart to shame,
And win her jewel pure.
They swarm'd around the fragile boat,
They brought her diamonds rare,
To glisten on her graceful throat,
And bind her flowing hair!
They brought her gold from Afric-land,
And from the sea-king's throne
They pilfer'd gems, to grace her hand
And clasp her virgin zone.
But still she shook the silken curl
Back from her beaming eyes,
And cried—“I bear my spotless pearl
Home, home to yonder skies!
“Now shame ye not your ocean gems
And Eastern gold to show?
Behold! how mine outburns them all!
God's smile is in its glow!”
286

Fair blows the wind, the sail swells free,
High shoots the diamond spray,
And merrily o'er the murmuring sea
The light boat leaps away!
They swarm'd around the fragile bark,
They strove with costlier lure
To bribe her maiden heart to shame,
And win her jewel pure.
“We bring thee rank—we bring thee power—
We bring thee pleasures free—
No empress, in her silk-hung bower,
May queen her realm like thee!
“Now yield us up the one white pearl!
'Tis but a star, whose ray
Will fail thee, rash, devoted girl,
When tempests cloud thy way.”
But still she smiled a loftier smile,
And raised her frank, bright eyes,
And cried—“I bear my vestal star
Home, home to yonder skies!”
287

The wind is fresh—the sail swells free—
High shoots the diamond spray!
And merrily o'er the moaning sea
The light boat leaps away!
Suddenly, stillness broods around,
A stillness as of death,
Above, below—no motion, sound!
Hardly a struggling breath!
Then wild and fierce the tempest came,
The dark wind-demons clash'd
Their weapons swift—the air was flame!
The waves in madness dash'd!
They swarm'd around the tossing boat—
“Wilt yield thy jewel now?
Look! look! already drench'd in spray,
It trembles at the prow.
“Be ours the gem! and safely launch'd
Upon a summer sea,
Where never cloud may frown in heaven,
Thy pinnace light shall be!”
288

But still she smiles a fearless smile,
And raised her trusting eyes,
And cried—“I bear my talisman
Home, home to yonder skies!”
And safe through all that blinding storm
The true bark floated on,
And soft its pearl-illumined prow
Through all the tumult shone!
An angel, guided through the clouds
By that most precious light,
Flew down the fairy helm to take,
And steer the boat aright.
Then died the storm upon the sea!
High dash'd the diamond spray,
And merrily leaping, light and free,
The shallop sail'd away.
And meekly, when at eve her bark
Its destined port had found,
She moor'd it by the mellow spark
Her jewel shed around!
289

Wouldst know the name the maiden wore?
'Twas Innocence—like thine!
Wouldst know the pearl she nobly bore?
'Twas Truth—a gem divine!
Thou hast the jewel—keep it bright,
Undimm'd by mortal fear,
And bathe each stain upon its light
With Grief's repentant tear!
Still shrink from falsehood's fairest guise,
By flattery unbeguiled!
Still let thy heart speak from thine eyes,
My pure and simple child!
290

DREAM-MUSIC; OR, THE SPIRIT-LUTE.

There—Pearl of Beauty! lightly press,
With yielding form, the yielding sand;
And while you sift the rosy shells,
Within your dear and dainty hand,
Or toss them to the heedless waves,
That reck not how your treasures shine,
As oft you waste on careless hearts
Your fancies, touch'd with light divine,
I'll sing a lay—more wild than gay—
The story of a magic lute;
And as I sing, the waves shall play
An order'd tune, the song to suit.
In silence flow'd our grand old Rhine;
For on his breast a picture burn'd,
The loveliest of all scenes that shine
Where'er his glorious course has turn'd.
291

That radiant morn the peasants saw
A wondrous vision rise in light,
They gazed, with blended joy and awe—
A castle crown'd the beetling height!
Far up amid the amber mist,
That softly wreathes each mountain-spire,
The sky its cluster'd columns kiss'd,
And touch'd their snow with golden fire;
The vapour parts—against the skies,
In delicate tracery on the blue,
Those graceful turrets lightly rise,
As if to music there they grew!
And issuing from its portal fair,
A youth descends the dizzy steps;
The sunrise gilds his waving hair,
From rock to rock he lightly leaps—
He comes—the radiant, angel-boy!
He moves with more than human grace;
His eyes are fill'd with earnest joy,
And heaven is in his beauteous face.
292

And whether bred the stars among,
Or in that luminous palace born,
Around his airy footsteps hung
The light of an immortal morn.
From steep to steep he fearless springs,
And now he glides the throng amid,
So light, as if still play'd the wings
That 'neath his tunic sure are hid!
A fairy lute is in his hand—
He parts his bright, disorder'd hair,
And smiles upon the wondering band,
A strange, sweet smile, with tranquil air.
Anon, his blue, celestial eyes
He bent upon a youthful maid,
Whose looks met his in still surprise,
The while a low, glad tune he play'd—
Her heart beat wildly—in her face
The lovely rose-light went and came;
She clasp'd her hands with timid grace,
In mute appeal, in joy and shame!
293

Then slow he turn'd—more wildly breathed
The pleading lute, and by the sound
Through all the throng her steps she wreathed,
As if a chain were o'er her wound.
All mute and still the group remain'd,
And watch'd the charm, with lips apart,
While in those linkéd notes enchain'd,
The girl was led, with listening heart:—
The youth ascends the rocks again,
And in his steps the maiden stole,
While softer, holier grew the strain,
Till rapture thrill'd her yearning soul!
And fainter fell that fairy tune;
Its low, melodious cadence wound,
Most like a rippling rill at noon,
Through delicate lights and shades of sound:
And with the music, gliding slow,
Far up the steep, their garments gleam;
Now through the palace gate they go;
And now—it vanish'd like a dream!
294

Still frowns above thy waves, O Rhine!
The mountain's wild terrific height,
But where has fled the work divine,
That lent its brow a halo-light?
Ah! springing arch and pillar pale
Had melted in the azure air!
And she—the darling of the dale—
She too had gone—but how—and where?
Long years roll'd by—and lo! one morn,
Again o'er regal Rhine it came,
That picture from the dream-land borne,
That palace built of frost and flame.
Behold! within its portal gleams
A heavenly shape—oh! rapturous sight!
For lovely as the light of dreams
She glides adown the mountain-height!
She comes! the loved, the long-lost maid!
And in her hand the charméd lute;;
But ere its mystic tune was play'd
She spake—the peasants listen'd mute—
295

She told how in that instrument
Was chain'd a world of wingéd dreams;
And how the notes that from it went
Revealed them as with lightning gleams;
And how its music's magic braid
O'er the unwary heart it threw,
Till he or she whose dream it play'd
Was forced to follow where it drew.
She told how on that marvellous day
Within its changing tune she heard
A forest-fountain's plaintive play,
A silver trill from far-off bird;
And how the sweet tones, in her heart,
Had changed to promises as sweet,
That if she dared with them depart,
Each lovely hope its heaven should meet.
And then she play'd a joyous lay,
And to her side a fair child springs,
And wildly cries—“Oh! where are they!
Those singing-birds, with diamond wings?”
296

Anon a loftier strain is heard,
A princely youth beholds his dream;
And by the thrilling cadence stirr'd,
Would follow where its wonders gleam.
Still play'd the maid—and from the throng—
Receding slow—the music drew
A choice and lovely band along—
The brave—the beautiful—the true!
The sordid—worldly—cold—remain'd,
To watch that radiant troop ascend;
To hear the fading fairy strain;
To see with heaven the vision blend!
And ne'er again, o'er glorious Rhine,
That sculptured dream rose calm and mute;
Ah! would that now once more 'twould shine,
And I could play the fairy lute!
I'd play, Marié, the dream I see,
Deep in those changeful eyes of thine,
And thou perforce should'st follow me,
Up—up where life is all divine!
297

LUCY'S GEM.

“You've read, my pet, in olden story,
That oft o'er royal infant's bed,
Some mystic gift of grace or glory
By fairy hands was shed.
“I know a child in modern days,
Who, when a baby, thus was bless'd;
But 'twas by One of rarer skill
Than fays of old possess'd.
“This Being, kind as powerful, lent
The child two wondrous living gems,
More precious than the costliest stone
In Eastern diadems.”
“Mamma! and were they all her own?
And might she always with them play?
What colour were the toys, mamma?
What kind of stones were they?”
298

“Two beaming sapphires! Heaven's own light
And colour shone within them soft;
But clouds would o'er them flit at times,
And dew would dim them oft.
“Each in an ivory casket kept,
Whose lid was moved on viewless hinge,
With azure scroll-work all inlaid,
And trimm'd with silken fringe.
“Sometimes the child the caskets lock'd,
And kept them closed for many an hour;
And none could lift the little lids,
Save the kind Giver's power.
“But then, when He commanded her
To ope each tiny oval case,
The gems within, by some strange charm,
Had gain'd new light and grace.
“And fair they shone from morn till night,
Those treasures, 'neath the lifted lid;
But when the gems of heaven came out,
The gems of earth were hid;
299

“For oh! so delicately wrought,
So dainty, and so pure were they,
The lamp-light and the evening air
Would dim their azure ray.
“In each white case a magic well,
A little, fairy, charméd thing,
At times, to bathe the jewels, pour'd
Its never-failing spring.
“But more amazing gifts than these,
Each tiny talisman possess'd;
Now was she not a favour'd child,
To be so richly bless'd?
“No sooner did she raise the lid,
Than suddenly, in each gem of light,
A perfect little picture came,
In colours pure and bright!
“'Twas painted with consummate art,
'Twas copied with a skill divine,
From whatsoever chanced, just then,
Before the gem to shine.
300

“Was it a friend's belovéd face?
Not Raphael's self the breathing form
With such celestial truth could trace,
So life-like, bright, and warm!
“Was it a landscape? Lo! within
Her jewels waved the foliage green,—
Hill, river, cot, and cloud were there,
And heaven o'erarch'd the scene.
“All day, the great, good sun for them
New pictures of delight would weave,
‘The crimson coming of the morn,
The funeral pomp of eve.’
“The tiniest flower that deck'd the bower,
Was imaged in each azure gem;
For them the rainbow smiled from heaven;
The stars came out for them!
“But oh! most wonderful of all!
These faithful friends to none betray'd
The shifting pageant, as it pass'd,
Save to the little maid.
301

“When others gazed, they only saw
A deep blue light, that softly smiled,
Untroubled, save at times by tears,
Shed o'er them by the child.
“Though deep within, e'en while they look'd,
The mimic diorama play'd,
The gazers could but guess at it,
It smiled but on the maid.”
“Mamma! mamma! who was the child?”
“Her name, my love, was Lucy Grey.”
“Why! that's my name! you know, mamma,
I've no such toys as they!”
“Indeed you have! This very hour,
There is a portrait in them drawn
Of one you love. Go now, my child,
And shut them till the dawn.”
“O sweet mamma! I've caught you now;
You needn't try to look demure;
You've made a cunning story out;
But I am right, I'm sure.
302

“Yours is the portrait painted there,
In colours beautiful and bright;
I'll shut you up, and keep you in,
To dream about! Good-night!”
“Stay, Lucy, love; you'll not forget,
When you repeat your nightly prayer,
To thank the Giver of all good
For gifts so rich, so fair?”
“No, dear mamma! and I will try
To keep my spirit pure and true,
That so the costly gems He gave
Lose not their heavenly hue.”
303

THE LUTIN-STEED.

Old Margaret's wither'd features
Gleam in the red firelight:
“Now stay with me, my grandsons three;
Why wend ye forth to-night?
“The Mistral's mighty wing—
Hark! how it shakes the roof!
This eve the fairy Sabbath is,
And souls should keep aloof.
“The Lutins are abroad,
In thousand forms of might,
To mock the feeble faith of man;—
Ye shall not forth to-night!”
Out spake the eldest proudly,
And toss'd his cluster'd curls,—
“I go to meet my Jacqueline,
My blue-eyed girl of girls!”
304

Out spake the second loudly,
“Nor Lutin, elf, or fay,
Shall keep me from the beach to-night,
Where foams the flashing spray!”
“And thou, my fair-hair'd darling,
My beautiful and bright!
Of stories fine, great store have I,—
Thou wilt not forth to-night?”
“Nay, grandam!” lisp'd the loved one,
With playful, pleading look,
“Thy legends keep till I come back
With blossoms from the brook!”
[OMITTED]
“They're gone!” old Margaret murmur'd,
And fierce the Mistral blew,
And spirit voices echo'd round,
“Gone! gone!” the long night through.
[OMITTED]
305

“She talk'd of wind and tempest,”
The careless wanderers cried,—
“Now never walk'd the moon in heaven
With more resplendent pride.
“Ha! there's old Caspar's horse,
His mane like midnight flows;
Mount! mount! away, my little steed!
How gallantly he goes!
“He'll bear us to the fountain;
We'll have a glorious ride!”
“Oh! brothers dear—I fear—I fear!”
The youthful Adolphe cried,—
“He goes not to the fountain;
I hear the sea-waves roar;
And hark! the tempest raves above;
And see! the rain doth pour!
“Oh! turn him!—turn him homeward!
How wild—how fast he flies!
It is—it is—a Lutin-steed!
And he who rides him—dies!”
306

They strove in vain to turn him,
They strove to check his speed;
The lightning glares—the thunder howls
Around the demon-steed!
The ocean heaves before him—
He neighs with fiendish joy;
His flaming hoofs have touch'd the beach—
Heaven save that hapless boy!
The cold waves kiss their white lips,
And deeper yet they go;
The cold waves close above their heads,—
And drown that shriek of wo!—
[OMITTED]
The maiden at her lattice,—
The grandam at her door,—
And morning on the misty hills!—
But they come never more!
307

THE LOVER'S LIST.

“Come, sit on this bank so shady,
Sweet Evelyn, sit with me;
And count me your loves, fair lady—
How many may they be?”
The maiden smiled on her lover,
And traced, with her dimpled hand,
Of names a dozen and over
Down in the shining sand.
“And now,” said Evelyn, rising,
“Sir Knight! your own, if you please;
And if there be no disguising,
The list will outnumber these.
“Then count me them truly, rover!”
And the noble knight obey'd;
And of names a dozen and over
He traced within the shade.
308

Fair Evelyn pouted proudly;
She sigh'd, “Will he never have done?”
And at last she murmur'd loudly,
“I thought he would write but one!”
“Now read,” said the gay youth rising;
“The scroll—it is fair and free;
In truth, there is no disguising
That list is the world to me!”
She read it with joy and wonder,
For the first was her own sweet name;
And again and again written under,
It was still—it was still the same!
It began with—“My Evelyn fairest!”
It ended with—“Evelyn best!”
And epithets fondest and dearest
Were lavish'd between on the rest.
There were tears in the eyes of the lady
As she swept, with her delicate hand,
On the river-bank cool and shady,
The list she had traced in the sand.
309

There were smiles on the lip of the maiden
As she turn'd to her knight once more,
And the heart was with joy o'erladen
That was heavy with doubt before!

DE WARRENNE BEFORE KING EDWARD.

“Now what our laggard Earl befalls,
In woodland, wold, or pleasaunce,
When royal Edward's edict calls
His nobles to the presence?”
From casque to spur his armour shone,
With princely tread he enter'd;
Straight to the throne he stalk'd alone,
All eyes upon him centred.
With clank of spur and clang of sword,
Right martial was his bearing,
And in the face of his liege lord
He look'd with dauntless daring.
310

So calm his glance, so grand his mien,
No whisper dared deride him;
But dark the monarch lower'd, I ween,
On him who thus defied him.
Then knelt the Earl, but on his knee
Outking'd the king before him;
And less a subject seem'd than he,
So royally he bore him.
The gathering storm in Edward's soul
Flash'd out his bent brows under,
And sudden burst from all control
His voice's startling thunder.
“What traitor braves us thus?” he cried;
“What means this martial clangour?”
The courtier circle drew more wide,
To shun his savage anger:—
“What ho, Sir Earl! thy vaunted right
To every rood thou claimest
Make clear as light, or in our sight
Thy name and fame thou shamest!”
311

Updrew the Earl his stalwart frame,
And calm his sword unsheathing,
Match'd gleam of steel with word of flame
His haughty spirit breathing.
“When courage was the king, my liege,
Of lands, my sires, to gain them,
With this sword wrote their title-deeds;
This sword shall still maintain them!”
He won the day! From heart to heart
The electric fire was flying!
A hundred weapons round him start,
The tyrant's power defying!
So one great will all else commands;
By right and might well shielded,
De Warrenne nobly kept his lands,
Nor theirs the barons yielded.
312

ZARIFA.

SUGGESTED BY A SPANISH STORY.

I cannot keep the tears back;
The tears, that should not flow
For one who wantonly could grieve
A heart that loved him so.
I cannot keep the tears back;
The bitter, bitter tears,
For the sweet memories of the past,
The fond, fond love of years.
For many days I doubted—
Would God it still were so!
Would God there were a gleam of doubt
O'er all that now I know!
For many days I doubted;
But when he soothed my grief
With fond assurances of truth,
Could I deny belief?
313

It is not that another lures
His loyal love from me;
Though well I know she's lovelier far
Than ever I could be.
And well I know the little grace
That won his passion brief,
Is worn from my frail form and face,
By sickness and by grief.
No thought like this could make them flow,
These bitter, bitter tears,
O'er the dear memories of the past,
The fond, fond love of years.
Not this—though it has blighted
The one sweet hope I knew,
That if a world beside were false,
His generous heart was true.
It is the unexplain'd distrust,
The studied, strange neglect;
Ah! only for a lover lost,
My pride these tears had check'd!
314

But with his love, his friendship fled,
And that I scarce can bear;
For I would be a friend to him,
Through every joy and care.
And oh! I pine to see his face,
And hear his gentle tone;
And he is near—yet comes not here,—
And I must weep alone.
I would not blame him by a look;
For if I e'er had met
A more heroic heart than his,
I also might forget!
But I cannot keep the tears back,
The bitter, bitter tears,
O'er all the memories of the past,
The fond, fond love of years.
I cannot keep the tears back,
And yet they should not flow
For one who wantonly could wound
A heart that loved him so.
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