The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton ::

They owned their passion without shame or fear,
And every household duty counted less
Than that one spiritual bond, and men severe
Said they should sorrow for their wilfulness.

And truth the world went ill with them: he knew
That he had broken up her maiden life,
Where only pleasures and affections grew,
And sowed it thick with labour, pain, and strife.

What her unpractis'd weakness was to her
The presence of her suffering was to him;
Thus at Love's feast did Misery minister,
And fill their cups together to the brim.

They asked their kind for hope, but there was none,
Till Death came by and gave them that and more;
Then men lamented,—but the earth rolls on,
And lovers love and perish as before.

II.

They seemed to those who saw them meet
The casual friends of every day,
Her smile was undisturbed and sweet,
His courtesy was free and gay.

But yet if one the other's name
In some unguarded moment heard,
The heart, you thought so calm and tame,
Would struggle like a captured bird:

And letters of mere formal phrase
Were blistered with repeated tears,—
And this was not the work of days,
But had gone on for years and years!

Alas! that Love was not too strong
For maiden shame and manly pride!
Alas! that they delayed so long
The goal of mutual bliss beside.

Yet what no chance could then reveal,
And neither would be first to own,
Let fate and courage now conceal,
When truth could bring remorse alone.

III.

Beneath an Indian palm a girl
Of other blood reposes,
Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl,
Amid that wild of roses.

Beside a northern pine a boy
Is leaning fancy-bound,
Nor listens where with noisy joy
Awaits the impatient hound.

Cool grows the sick and feverish calm,—
Relaxed the frosty twine,—
The pine-tree dreameth of the palm,
The palm-tree of the pine.

As soon shall nature interlace
Those dimly-visioned boughs,
As these young lovers face to face
Renew their early vows!

IV.

She had left all on earth for him,
Her home of wealth, her name of pride,
And now his lamp of love was dim,
And, sad to tell, she had not died.

She watched the crimson sun's decline,
From some lone rock that fronts the sea,—
“I would, O burning heart of mine,
There were an ocean-rest for thee.

“The thoughtful moon awaits her turn,
The stars compose their choral crown,
But those soft lights can never burn,
Till once the fiery sun is down.”

V.

'Twould seem the world were large enough to hold
Both me and thee:
But now I find in space by thee controlled
No room for me.

We portioned all between us, as was fair;
That time is past;
And now I would recover my lost share,
Which still thou hast.

For that old love on which we both did live,—
Keep it who can!
Yet give me back the love I used to give
To God and man.

Give me my young ambition,—my fresh fire
Of high emprize;
Give me the sweet indefinite desire
That lit mine eyes:—

Give me my sense of pleasure;—give me all
My range of dreams;
Give me my power at sunset to recall
The noontide's beams;

If not my smiles, at least give back my tears,
And leave me free
To weep that all which man and nature cheers
Is lost with thee!

VI.

They tell me I have won thy love,—
That if there be
One man most blest all men above,
Then I am he;
I answer not, resolved no more
To linger here,
And they have bitter words in store
To taint thine ear.

Did they not mark me dread to speak
When thou wert by?
Did they not watch my quivering cheek,
My streaming eye?
And can they fable none the less
That I disdain
A gift, whose very preciousness
Is all my pain?

'Tis true, that when that fatal hour
Did first disclose

The mystery of my willess power
O'er thy repose,
I felt it was the ordainèd one
That tie to sever,
That only then it could be done,
For once and ever!

I shall not see thy motive grace
Before me play,
I shall not look upon thy face
One other day!
And yet I swear that I am free
From bond or vow;
What stands betwixt my soul and thee?
Oh! ask not Thou.

Time was, when I too had my part
Of wealth divine,
A simple, free, and plastic heart,
Almost like thine,
When lightened sorrow floated up
And died in tears,
And easy joy o'erflowed the cup
Of eighteen years.

If fate had then let cross our ways,
Thou wouldst have been

The Una of my nights and days,—
My spirit's Queen;—
Thou wouldst have led me glad and pure
As thy white lamb;
How dare I match this portraiture
With what I am?

It seems to me, as if that time,
And I who wore
Its aspect of delight sublime,
Were nothing more
Than visions, which poetic sloth
So oft enjoys,—
As if the Scene and Man were both
Mere Fancy's toys.

It may be that some help may come
To my soul's need,
My pilgrim thoughts may find a home
In some new creed;
But Thou, whose mind has never gone
One dream astray,—
Couldst thou be my companion,
That perilous way?

But I must check my words that flow
Too fast and far;

100

For worlds I would not thou shouldst know
How such things are!
Thou wilt not change, Thou wilt remain
Serene and sure,—
The touch of Time may well refrain
From things so pure.

And now that I have closed the strife,
And view once more
My future of ungenial life
Spread out before,—
To have found favour in thy sight
Will still remain
A river of thought, that full of light
Divides the plain.

My friend Lord Lyttelton has permitted me to insert his Latin translation of these lines.

Olim virgineum perdiderat decus
Et laudem patriæ (jussit amor) domûs:
Jam tædæ periit gratia mutuæ,
Eheu! nec poterat mori!

At solo in scopulo procubuit gemens,
In fluctus roseum dum caderet jubar,
Tunc “Ah! si, tacito sub pelagi sinu,
Cordis flamma quiesceret!

“Sic lenis solitam Luna manet vicem,
Innectuntque chorum sidera lucidum,
Sed nox ut placidas instituat faces,
Sol componitur igneus.”

University of Virginia Library

SHADOWS.

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