[Poems from] Ambarvalia :: :: University of Virginia Library

[Poems from] Ambarvalia

Clough, Arthur Hugh (1819-1861)

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[Ah, what is love, our love, she said]

I.

Ah, what is love, our love, she said,
Ah, what is human love?
A fire, of earthly fuel fed,
Full fain to soar above.
With lambent flame the void it lips,
And of the impassive air
Would frame for its ambitious steps
A heaven-attaining stair.
It wrestles and it climbs—Ah me,
Go look in little space,
White ash on blackened earth will be
Sole record of its place.

II.

Ah love, high love, she said and sighed,
She said, the Poet's love!
A star upon a turbid tide,
Reflected from above.
A marvel here, a glory there,
But clouds will intervene,
And garish earthly noon outglare
The purity serene.

[I give thee joy! O worthy word!]

I give thee joy! O worthy word!
Congratulate—A courtier fine,
Transacts, politely shuffling by,
The civil ceremonial lie,
Which, quickly spoken, barely heard,
Can never hope, nor e'en design
To give thee joy!

I give thee joy! O faithful word!
When heart with heart, and mind with mind
Shake-hands; and eyes in outward sign
Of inward vision, rest in thine;
And feelings simply, truly stirred,
Emphatic utterance seek to find,
And give thee joy!

I give thee joy! O word of power!
Believe, though slight the tie in sooth,
When heart to heart its fountain opes
The plant to water that with hopes
Is budding for fruition's flower—
The word, potential made, in truth
Shall give thee joy!

Shall give thee joy! Oh, not in vain,
For erring child the mother's prayer;
The sigh, wherein a martyr's breath
Exhales from ignominious death
For some lost cause! In humbler strain
Shall this poor word a virtue bear,
And give thee joy!

COMMEMORATION SONNETS.

OXFORD, 1844.

I. [Amidst the fleeting many unforgot]

Amidst the fleeting many unforgot,
O Leonina! whether thou wert seen
Singling, upon the Isis' margent green,
From meaner flowers the frail forget-me-not,
Or, as the picture of a saintly queen,
Sitting, uplifting, betwixt fingers small,
A sceptre of the water-iris tall,
With pendent lily crowned of golden sheen;

So, or in gay and gorgeous gallery,
Where, amid splendours, like to those that far
Flame backward from the sun's invisible car,
Thou lookedst forth, as there the evening star;
Oh, Leonina! fair wert thou to see,
And unforgotten shall thine image be.

II. [Thou whom thy danglers have ere this forgot]

Thou whom thy danglers have ere this forgot,
O Leonina! whether thou wert seen
Waiting, upon the Isis' margent green,
The boats that should have passed there and did not;
Or at the ball, admiring crowds between,
To partner academical and slow
Teaching, upon the light Slavonic toe,
Polkas that were not, only should have been;
Or, in the crowded gallery crushed, didst hear
For bonnets white, blue, pink, the ladies' cheer
Multiplied while divided, and endure
(Thyself being seen) to see, not hear, rehearse
The long, long Proses, and the Latin Verse—
O Leonina! thou wert tired, I'm sure.

III. [Not in thy robes of royal rich array]

Not in thy robes of royal rich array,
As when thy state at Dresden thou art keeping;
Nor with the golden epaulettes outpeeping
From under pink and scarlet trappings gay
(Raiment of doctors) through the area led;
While galleries peal applause, and Phillimore
For the supreme superlative cons-o'er
The common-place-book of his classic head;
Uncrowned thou com'st, alone, or with a tribe
Of volant varlets scattering jest and jibe
Almost beside thee. Yet to thee, when rent
Was the Teutonic Cæsar's robe, there went
One portion: and with Julius, thou to-day
Canst boast, I came, I saw, I went away!

[Oh, ask not what is love, she said]

Oh, ask not what is love, she said,
Or ask it not of me;
Or of the heart, or of the head,
Or if at all it be.

Oh, ask it not, she said, she said,
Thou winn'st not word from me!
—Oh, silent as the long long dead,
I, Lady, learn of thee.

I ask,—thou speakest not,—and still
I ask, and look to thee;
And lo, without or with a will,
The answer is in me.

Without thy will it came to me?
Ah, with it let it stay;
Ah, with it, yes, abide in me,
Nor only for to-day!

Thou claim'st it? nay, the deed is done;
Ah, leave it with thy leave;
And thou a thousand loves for one
Shalt day on day receive!

[With graceful seat and skilful hand]

With graceful seat and skilful hand,
Upon the fiery steed,
Prompt at a moment to command,
As fittest, or concede,

O Lady! happy he whose will
Shall manliest homage pay
To that which yielding ever, still
Shall in its yielding sway:

Yea, happy he, whose willing soul
In perfect love combined
With thine shall form one perfect whole,
One happy heart and mind!

Fair, fair on fleeting steed to see,
Boon Nature's child, nor less,
In gorgeous rooms, serene and free,
'Midst etiquette and dress!

Thrice happy who, amidst the form
And folly that must be,
Existence fresh, and true, and warm,
Shall, Lady, own in thee!

Such dreams, in gay saloon, of days
That shall be, 'midst the dance
And music, while I hear and gaze,
My silent soul entrance.

As here the harp thy fingers wake
To sounds melodious, he
To thy soul's touch shall music make,
And his enstrengthen thee.

The notes, diverse in time and tone,
The hearts shall image true,
That still, in some sweet ways unknown,
Their harmonies renew.

The mazy dance, an emblem meet,
Shall changeful life pourtray,
Whose changes all love's music sweet
Expressively obey.

Then shall to waltz, though unexiled,
And polka sometimes heard,
To songs capricious, wayward, wild,
Be other strains preferred.

The heart that 'midst the petty strife,
Whose ferment, day by day,
To strange realities of life
Converts its trifling play,—

The heart, that here pursued the right,
Shall then, in freer air,
Expand its wings, and drink the light
Of life and reason there:

And quickening truth and living law,
And large affections clear
Shall it to heights on heights updraw,
To holiest hope and fear.

—Ah, moralizing premature!
And yet words half-supprest
May find some secret thoughts ensure
Acceptance half-confest.

Full oft concealed high meanings work;
And, scorning observation,
In gay unthinking guise will lurk
A saintly aspiration;

No sickly thing to sit and sun
Its puny worth, to pause
And list, ere half the deed be done,
Its echo—self-applause:

No idler, who its kindly cares
To every gossip mentions,
And at its breast a posy wears
Of laudable intentions.

As of itself, of others so
Unrecognised to seek
Its aim content, and in the flow
Of life and spirits meek.

[Look you, my simple friend, 'tis one of those]

Look you, my simple friend, 'tis one of those,
(Alack, a common weed of our ill time),
Who, do whate'er they may, go where they will,
Must needs still carry about the looking-glass
Of vain philosophy. And if so be
That some small natural gesture shall escape them,
(Nature will out) straightway about they turn,
And con it duly there, and note it down,
With inward glee and much complacent chuckling,
Part in conceit of their superior science,

Part in forevison of the attentive look
And laughing glance that may one time reward them,
When the fresh ore, this day dug up, at last
Shall, thrice refined and purified, from the mint
Of conversation intellectual
Into the golden currency of wit
Issue—satirical or pointed sentence,
Impromptu, epigram, or it may be sonnet,
Heir undisputed to the pinkiest page
In the album of a literary lady.

And can it be, you ask me, that a man,
With the strong arm, the cunning faculties,
And keenest forethought gifted, and, within,
Longings unspeakable, the lingering echoes
Responsive to the still-still-calling voice
Of God Most High,—should disregard all these,
And half-employ all those for such an aim
As the light sympathy of successful wit,
Vain titillation of a moment's praise?
Why, so is good no longer good, but crime
Our truest, best advantage, since it lifts us
Out of the stifling gas of men's opinion
Into the vital atmosphere of Truth,
Where He again is visible, tho' in anger.