The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) ::

“ Swear twice, and thrice, no future hour
Shall ever blight what this hath blest!
Nay, I possess thee by the power
Whereby I am, myself, possest!”

II

Words like to those were said (—or dream'd?—)
How long since! on a night divine,
By lips from which such rapture stream'd,
I cannot think those lips were mine.

III

The dawn creeps, dripping, up the roofs,
All sallow from a night of rain.
The sound of feet, and wheels, and hoofs
In the choked street begins again.

IV

The same dull toil—no end, no aim!
The same vile babble in mine ears:
The same unmeaning smiles: the same
Most miserable dearth of tears:

V

The same sick gaze on the same lack
Of lustre in the level grey:
It seems like yesterday come back
With nothing new, and not today.

108

VI

But, now and then, her name will fall
From careless lips, with little praise,
On life's parcht surface, shattering all
The dry indifference of my days.

VII

The chatterers chatter here and there:
They chatter of they know not what:
They lie, and leer, and sneer, and stare,
Inquire of this, and hint of that.

VIII

On her fair fame, and mine, the spite
Of fools is fed. They know not, they,
(No more than insects when they bite)
The nature of their noble prey.

IX

This curse ensues, when life from life
Hath been disjoin'd,—that things which breed
And buzz in broken rifts their rise
And reeking eggs, 'twixt dust and weed,

X

Hatch in the hollow fractures fast;
And so defile their delicate
Fine fibrous joints that these at last
Can fit and fix no more.
Such fate

XI

Is ours, unless thou sweep from thine,
As I from my life hourly sweep,
The sickening swarm and strangling twine
Of weeds that cling and worms that creep,

109

XII

O thou, so distant and so dear
Half of us One!
But, ah! the worst
Is that I know she cannot hear.
This warning cry. And lips that thirst

XIII

Drink aught that's pour'd: and souls o'erstrung
Are credulous of cause for pain:
And she is left alone among
My slanderers: and a Lie will gain

XIV

The goal, altho' from land to land,
To get there, round the world it run,
White Truth, half-waked, with drowsy hand
Her travelling trim is buckling on.

XV

I know how tender friends of ours
Have sown, 'twixt crafty gape and glance,
The seeds of scandal's choicest flowers,
That seem, like weeds, to spring from chance.

XVI

That small, small, imperceptible
Small talk! that cuts like powder'd glass
Ground in Tophana,—who can tell
Where lurks the power the poison has?

XVII

All treachery could devise hath wrought
Against us—letters robb'd and read,
Snares hid in smiles, betrayal bought,
And lies imputed to the dead.

110

XVIII

And here, where Slander's spawn is spilt,
And gabbling Gossip clucks above
Her fetid eggs, it feels like guilt,
To know that, far away, my love

XIX

Her heart on every heartless hour
Is haply bruising for my sake,
While numb, and dumb, and void of power,
My life sleeps, like a winter snake.

XX

I will arise, and go to her,
And save her, in her own despite.
For in my breast begins to stir
A pulse of its old power and might.

XXI

I may be worse than friends would prove.
Who knows the worst of any man?
But, whatsoe'er it be, my love
Is not what they conceive, or can.

XXII

Nor can they so have slander'd me
But what, I think, if I should call,
And stretch my arms to her, that she
Would rush to meet me, 'spite of all.

University of Virginia Library

ONE MORNING.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII