 | Plays and poems |  |
317
THE RIVER AND THE MAIDEN.
From the sunset flows the river,
Melting all its waves in one;
Not a ripple, not a quiver,
On the flaming water, ever
Poured from the descending sun.
Melting all its waves in one;
Not a ripple, not a quiver,
On the flaming water, ever
Poured from the descending sun.
Seeming like a pathway lately
Radiant with an angel's tread;
And yon vessel, moving stately,
Is the heavenly one sedately
Walking with his wings outspread.
Radiant with an angel's tread;
And yon vessel, moving stately,
Is the heavenly one sedately
Walking with his wings outspread.
What a quiet! Through the branches,
Silently the orioles skip;
Not again the fish-hawk launches,
Silently his plumes he stanches,
Silently the sedges drip.
Silently the orioles skip;
Not again the fish-hawk launches,
Silently his plumes he stanches,
Silently the sedges drip.
Other sights, and loud commotion,
Fill this tranquil stream by day;
With a solemn swaying motion,
Wave-worn ships forsake the ocean,
Bound from countries leagues away;
Fill this tranquil stream by day;
With a solemn swaying motion,
Wave-worn ships forsake the ocean,
Bound from countries leagues away;
Odorous with their eastern spices,
Rich with gems of the Brazils,
Persian silks of quaint devices,
Nameless things of wondrous prices,
Luscious wines from Spanish hills;
Rich with gems of the Brazils,
318
Nameless things of wondrous prices,
Luscious wines from Spanish hills;
Furs from the shy ermine riven,
Ingots of Peruvian mould,
Where the deadly tropic levin
Crashes from the blazing heaven,
Piercing earth with veins of gold.
Ingots of Peruvian mould,
Where the deadly tropic levin
Crashes from the blazing heaven,
Piercing earth with veins of gold.
But amid the sacred quiet
Of this gentle evening-time,
Toil and sin have ceased their riot;
One might judge the awful fiat
Were removed from Adam's crime.
Of this gentle evening-time,
Toil and sin have ceased their riot;
One might judge the awful fiat
Were removed from Adam's crime.
Holiest eve, thy light discloses
Holiest things; for through the shades
Mark I where my love reposes,
Sitting there, amid the roses,
Like a queen amid her maids.
Holiest things; for through the shades
Mark I where my love reposes,
Sitting there, amid the roses,
Like a queen amid her maids.
Through the foliage, green and golden,
Round her head the sunbeams dart,
Haloing her like some saint olden;
And a chapel calm is holden
In the stillness of her heart.
Round her head the sunbeams dart,
Haloing her like some saint olden;
And a chapel calm is holden
In the stillness of her heart.
Distant, yet I guess her singing;
Haply, some poor lay of mine,
Loud with drum and trumpet ringing,
Or of shameless goblets swinging
In the tumult of the wine.
Haply, some poor lay of mine,
Loud with drum and trumpet ringing,
Or of shameless goblets swinging
In the tumult of the wine.
319
Wicked ballad! all unsuited
To the genial season's calm,
Harsh, discordant, sin-polluted;—
Yet by her sweet voice transmuted
Almost to a vesper psalm.
To the genial season's calm,
Harsh, discordant, sin-polluted;—
Yet by her sweet voice transmuted
Almost to a vesper psalm.
See, her steps are hither bending;
This, our trysting-place, she seeks:
All her wealth is with her wending,
In the lights and shadows blending
Round the dimples of her cheeks;
This, our trysting-place, she seeks:
All her wealth is with her wending,
In the lights and shadows blending
Round the dimples of her cheeks;
In the eyes that melt at sorrow,
In the wisdom without wiles,
In the faith that will not borrow
From to-day fear of to-morrow,
In a countless store of smiles;
In the wisdom without wiles,
In the faith that will not borrow
From to-day fear of to-morrow,
In a countless store of smiles;
In the heart that cannot flutter
For a breath of flattery,
In the mouth that cannot utter
Halting lie or envious mutter—
In her simple love for me.
For a breath of flattery,
In the mouth that cannot utter
Halting lie or envious mutter—
In her simple love for me.
Crowd yon river with your barges—
All the navies of the main—
Till the loaded tide enlarges,
Till it bursts its wonted marges,
Deluging the pleasant plain;
All the navies of the main—
Till the loaded tide enlarges,
Till it bursts its wonted marges,
Deluging the pleasant plain;
Freight them with the precious plunder
Of the lands beyond the sea—
Pearls that make the diver wonder,
All the virgin silver under
The great hills of Potosi;
Of the lands beyond the sea—
Pearls that make the diver wonder,
All the virgin silver under
The great hills of Potosi;
320
All the real and fabled riches
Of the haughty Persian Khan,
All the gold that so bewitches,
All the gorgeous broidered stitches
Of the girls of Hindostan;
Of the haughty Persian Khan,
All the gold that so bewitches,
All the gorgeous broidered stitches
Of the girls of Hindostan;
All the furs, the wines, the treasures,
Were they at my bidding laid,
Ten times doubled in their measures,
Ten times doubled in their pleasures,
I would rather have the maid!
Were they at my bidding laid,
Ten times doubled in their measures,
Ten times doubled in their pleasures,
I would rather have the maid!
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