University of Virginia Library

There, where eternal Summer lingers,
The Isle lay golden 'neath the blue,
Save when the Rain's soft tremulous fingers
Just touch'd its eyes with cool dark dew,—
Or when with sudden thunderous cry
The chariots of the clouds went by,
And trembling for a little space,
The Isle lay down with darken'd face
Under the vials of the Storm,
Then shook the sparkling drops away
And looking upward felt the warm
New sunlight gladdening thro' the grey!
Like a child's heart that beats so gladly,
So full of joy for Life's own sake,
Did not the sudden tears flow madly
A moment's space, 'twould surely break,—
So did that Land of Summer capture
Just now and then surcease from rapture!
But after storms, the bliss grew finer,
And storms indeed were far between,—
The days divine, the nights diviner,
With peace celestial and serene.

From dawn to dark the golden Light
Dwelt on green cape and gleaming height,
On yellow sands where the blue Sea
Pencil'd in silvern filagree
Frail flowers and leaves of frost-white spray
That ever came and flash'd away.
Then, the deep nights! great nights of calm,
Full of ambrosial bliss and balm!
Smooth sun-stain'd waves as daylight fled
Broke on the reef to foam blood-red,
Till the white Moon arose, and lo!
The foam was powdery silver snow,
And slowly, softly, down the night,
O'er the smooth black and glistering Sea,
The starry urns of crystal Light
Were fill'd and emptied momently!
Then in the centre of the glimmer
The round Moon ripen'd as she rose,
And cover'd with the milk-white shimmer
The glassy Waters took repose;
And round the Isle a murmur deep
Of troubled surges half asleep
Broke faintlier and faintlier
As Midnight took her shadowy throne;
In heaven, on earth, no breath, no stir,
No sound, save that deep slumb'rous tone!
Wonder of Darkness!—'neath its wing
All living things sank slumbering,
Save those glad lovers in delight
Clinging and gazing at the sky,
While phosphorescent thro' the night
Portents of Nature glimmer'd by!
In such dark hours of stillness Love
Reaches her apogee of bliss;
The fountains of the spirit move
Upward, and cresting to a kiss
Sink earthward sighing—then we seem
Creatures of passion and of dream,
Ethereal shadowy things whose breath
May touch the cheeks of happy Death,
Who smile, and sigh for joy, and fall
Into deep rest celestial!

Such joy I've had on autumn eves
When the Moon shines on slanted sheaves,
And thro' the distant farmhouse pane
The lighted candle flashes red,
And darker over field and lane
The gloaming of the night is shed.
Then, pillow'd on a warm white breast,
And gazing into happy eyes,
While the faint flush of radiance blest
Still came and went on the dark skies,
I've felt the dim Earth softly spinning
On its smooth axle, while above
The bright stars as at Time's beginning
Turn'd in their spheres of Light and Love;—
O joy of Youth! O adumbration
Of Hope and ecstasy intense!
When Life's faint stir, Love's first pulsation,
Turn to a splendour dazzling sense!
One night like that were more to me,
Now I am weary with Earth's ways,
Than all a long Eternity
Of strident, garish, gladsome days!
Ah, to be young! ah, once again
To drink Youth's wild and wondrous wine!
To quit the pathos and the pain
For passionate hours of joy divine!
To feel the breast that comes and goes
While fond white arms around me twine,
To feel the ripe mouth like a rose
Prest close, with kiss on kiss, to mine!
To feel all Nature thus fulfil
Her gladness in that touch of lips,
Which cling and cling and cling and thrill
One Soul to the soft finger-tips,—
All this, which I can ne'er express,
This flush of Youth and Happiness,
Methinks, is infinitely nicer
Than being counted good or clever—
Than growing every day preciser
And finding Love has flown for ever!
For ever? No!—Thank God, the power
Of Love can move me to this hour;
And tho' my moonlight pranks are over,
And those old sheaves are shed like sleet,
I'll be a Poet and a Lover
Until my heart doth cease to beat!

Yet there are nobler things than pleasure,
Diviner things than Flesh can gain,—
Insight too deep for joy to measure
Comes with supremacy of pain!—
When kneeling by the Dead and seeing
That still white Lily with shut eyes,
We feel, stirred to the depths of Being,
The pathos of poor human ties.
If in that awful trysting place,
We watch, thro' tears that blindly roll,
Pale Love and shadowy Death embrace
And blend to one eternal Soul,
How feeble, of how little worth,
Seem all those ecstasies of Earth!
Out of corruption and decay
Spring flowers that cannot pass away—
Out of a grief transcending tears
Springs radiance that redeems our lot,
While faintly on our listening ears
Rings the soft music of the spheres,
‘Forget me not! forget me not!’
Shall we forget? Shall Death not be
The gauge of our Humanity?
Shall Love and Death, one Soul, one Thought,
Not waft us upward as on wings?
Almighty God, our life were naught,
Were this dark Miracle ne'er wrought
To prove us spiritual things.
Dust to the dust—there let it lie!
Soul to the Soul—which cannot die!
The dim white Dove of Death is winging
O'er Life's great flood in lonely flight,
That sad black leaf of olive bringing
To prove a hidden Land of Light!
God, who created Earth and Heaven,
Lord of the Dead Thy love can save,
Thy Bow still comforts the bereaven
While Death wings on from wave to wave!
Standing 'neath Sorrow's sunless pall
We hail a symbol bright and blest,
And by that sign know one and all
That when these troubled Waters fall
Our Ark on Ararat shall rest! . . . .

So the sweet days stole on, and still
The Outcast wandered at his will
From dream to dream, from bliss to bliss,
Glad and unconscious of his doom;
His thought, a smile—his life, a kiss—
His breath and being, one perfume!

But even as the Snake once stole
Unseen, unguess'd, to Eden's Bowers,
Ennui, the Serpent of the Soul,
Crept in deep-hid 'neath fruit and flowers!
Slowly the ecstasy intense
Fever'd the life of Soul and Sense,
And certain of delight the eyes
Grew weary of the happy Skies,
And looking up into his face,
Her only Heaven, the Maid could trace,
Ere he himself was yet aware,
The filmy clouds of nameless care!
Sometimes he'd sit wrapt deep in thought,
His gaze upon the glassy Sea;
Sometimes from sleep his passion-fraught
Spirit would wake him suddenly!
Sometimes, on days of summer rain,
When gentle storms swept round the land,
He paced the shores, and seemed again
Upon the wave-tost deck to stand!
And wistful as a hound, that lies
Watching its master's face, and tries
To share his sorrow or delight,
The Maiden mark'd him day and night!

‘This is the worst of Joy—the more
We bask’ (he writes) ‘beneath its ray,
The sooner is the magic o'er,
The quicklier doth it fade away!
Sunshine without a cloud at all
Of its own peace begins to pall,
And calm too tropic and intense
Soon fevers to indifference!
Whence little rain-clouds, tempests even,
Keep Hymen's garden green and growing,
And lovers weary of a Heaven
Where no rain falls, no wind is blowing!
One sickens of fine weather, tires
Of ever-gratified desires,
Is bored, although at first enchanted,
By having every fancy granted.
And ah! my little Maid, unskill'd
In any art of the coquette,
All love, all rapture, sweetly filled
With the warm wine her soul distilled,
Incapable of fear or fret,
Ne'er knew what women more capricious
Learn, with long culture for a guide,—
That joy is render'd more delicious
By being now and then denied.
How could a Passion-Flower, all scent,
All bloom, and all abandonment,
Appreciate the subtle ways
Which wiser modern women show forth?
Such dainty tricks came in with stays,
Flounces, and pantalettes, and so forth,—
Whence we our Modern Venus see,
Not in immortal nudity,
But veil'd in beauteous mystery!
But Love in that bright Land abode
Almost in mother-nakedness,
Pure Nature all her beauties showed
Indifferent to the arts of Dress:
No Milliner had wander'd thither,
Bearing Parisian magic with her:—
The skirt's sly folds, the robe's disguises,
The pruderies of silken hose,
The roguish petticoat's surprises,
The thousand spells that Art devises
To veil the secrets of the Rose!
That Child of Sunlight never guess'd
How winsome and how fair may be
A modern Maiden bravely drest
In opalescent modesty!
The scented form that shrinks away
At the first look of tenderness,
The faltering tongue that murmurs “nay,”
Belying eyes that answer “yes,”
The flying feet a lover chases,
The half-withdrawn, half lingering hand,
The breast that heaves 'neath creamy laces
Craving yet shrinking from embraces,
Were all unknown in that sweet Land!’

And so, already, as I've told,
The fabled Snake was crawling there,
Since he who trod those shores of gold
Had brought it with him unaware!—
For worldly knowledge and its pride
Tainted the man's dark nature thro',
And as they wandered side by side,
Lonely as Adam and his bride,
Under those skies of Eden's blue,
He often watched her in the mood
Of modern Bards and Heroes, saying:
‘True, she is beautiful and good,
As fine a thing of flesh and blood
As ever loved or went a-Maying.
She recognises, too, completely
The privilege of her master Man,
And, ever fond and smiling sweetly,
Supplies his needs, as Woman can.
She is the instrument placed by me
To calm, perhaps to purify, me!
And I, of course, in this affair,
Fit object of her daily prayer,
Am the one person whose salvation
God takes into consideration!
I am the Hero—I am clearly
The object of His circumspection,
And she, although I love her dearly,
Is but a means to my perfection.’
And so, like other cultivated
Dunces by Folly sublimated,
He took that angel's fond and true
Homage as if it were his due!
A Hero!—he! Now God confound him,
And all such Heroes great or small—
The crown of pride with which Love crown'd him
Was but a Fool's cap after all!