The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) Selected and revised by the author. Copyright edition. In two volumes |
 | I. |
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LITTLE ELLA. |
| II. |
 | The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) |  |
205
LITTLE ELLA.
I
I know now, little Ella, what the flowersSaid to you then, to make your cheek so pale;
And why the blackbird in our laurel bowers
Spake to you only, and the timorous snail
Fear'd less your steps than those of the May shower.
It is not strange these creatures loved you so,
And told you all. 'Twas not so long ago
You were yourself a bird, or else a flower.
II
And, little Ella, you were pale becauseSo soon you were to die. I know that now.
And why there ever seem'd a sort of gauze
Over your deep blue eyes, and sad young brow.
You were too good to grow up, Ella, you,
And be a woman, such as I have known!
And so upon your heart they put a stone,
And left you, child, among the flowers and dew.
206
III
O thou, the morning star of my sad soul!My little elfin friend from Faëry Land!
Whose memory is yet innocent of the whole
Of that which makes me doubly need thy hand,
Thy guiding hand from mine so soon withdrawn!
Here, where I find so little like to thee,
For thou wert as the breath of dawn to me,
Starry, and pure, and brief, as is the dawn.
IV
Thy knight was I, and thou my Faëry Queen.('Twas in the days of love and chivalry!)
And thou did'st hide thee in a bower of green.
But then so well hast hidden thee, that I
Have never found thee since. And thou did'st set
Many a task, and quest, and high emprize,
Ere I should win from thine approving eyes
My guerdon,—ah! so many, that not yet
V
My tasks are ended, nor my wanderings o'er.But some day there will come across the main
A magic barque, and I shall quit this shore
Of care, and find thee, in thy bower, again;
And thou wilt say, “My brother, hast thou found
Our home at last?” . . . Whilst I, in answer, sweet,
Shall heap my life's last booty at thy feet,
And bare my breast with many a bleeding wound.
207
VI
The spoils of time! the trophies of a world!The keys of conquer'd towns, and captived kings,
And many a broken sword, and banner furl'd,
The heads of giants, and swart soldan's rings,
And many a maiden's scarf, and many a wand
Of baffled wizard, many an amulet,
And many a shield with mine own heart's blood wet,
And jewels rare from many a distant land!
VII
How sweet with thee, my sister to renew,The happy search for those ethereal birds
Which back to their own climes thou did'st pursue,—
Ah, heedless! thou, in all whose deeds and words
Unkindness never was till then, nor lack
Of care for others' pain! Could'st thou but see
How woeful weary is my want of thee,
Methinks that even now thou would'st come back;
VIII
Leaving thy heavenly playmates, for my sake,To let me lean my head upon thy breast,
And weep away those worst of griefs that ache
And scorch, but cannot turn to tears. Or, best,
The way that leads where thou art gone, contrive
O child, to whisper to me! Ope the gate,
And help me thro'. Else, I shall die too late
Even for thy consoling to revive.
208
IX
She pass'd out of my youth at the still timeO' the early light, when all was green and husht.
She pass'd, and pass'd away. Like broken rhyme
Her sweet short life's few relics are. This crusht
And scatter'd rose, she dropp'd: that page, she turn'd,
And finish'd not: this curl, her gift: this knot
That flutter'd from her . . . Hard world, harm them not!
My right to keep them hath been sorely earn'd.
| The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) | |