 | King Erik |  |
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TO ROBERT BROWNING.
As young Greek athletes hung their votive strigils
Within the temples of the Powers above;
As lovers gave the lamp that lit their vigils
Through sleepless hours of love;
Within the temples of the Powers above;
As lovers gave the lamp that lit their vigils
Through sleepless hours of love;
So I this lyric symbol of my labour,
This antique light that led my dreams so long,
This battered hull of a barbaric tabor,
Beaten to runic song,
This antique light that led my dreams so long,
This battered hull of a barbaric tabor,
Beaten to runic song,
Bear to that shrine where your dear presence lingers,
Where stands your Muse's statue white as snow;
I take my poor gift in my trembling fingers,
And hang it there and go.
Where stands your Muse's statue white as snow;
I take my poor gift in my trembling fingers,
And hang it there and go.
This very day one hundred years are over
Since Landor's godlike spirit came to earth;
Surely the winter air laughed like a lover,
The hour that gave him birth.
Since Landor's godlike spirit came to earth;
Surely the winter air laughed like a lover,
The hour that gave him birth.
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Ah! had he lived to hear our hearts' emotion,
What lyric love had strewn his path to-day!
Yourself had sung; and Swinburne's rapt devotion
Had cleft its sunward way;
What lyric love had strewn his path to-day!
Yourself had sung; and Swinburne's rapt devotion
Had cleft its sunward way;
And I, too, though unknown and unregarded,
Had thrown my violets where you threw your bays,
Had seen my garland, also, not discarded,
Had gloried all my days!
Had thrown my violets where you threw your bays,
Had seen my garland, also, not discarded,
Had gloried all my days!
But since the world his august spirit haunted
Detains him here no more, but mourns him dead,
And other chaplets, in strange airs enchanted,
Girdle his sacred head,
Detains him here no more, but mourns him dead,
And other chaplets, in strange airs enchanted,
Girdle his sacred head,
Take thou my small oblation, yea! receive it!
Laid at thy feet, within thy shrine it stands!
I brought it from my heart, and here I leave it,
The work of reverent hands
Laid at thy feet, within thy shrine it stands!
I brought it from my heart, and here I leave it,
The work of reverent hands
January 30th, 1875.
| King Erik | |