 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE EARL'S DAUGHTER.
I would not care to see thee—thou
Art changed, they tell me—so am I;
More bronzed my visage, somewhat tamed
The spirit once so high.
And if of beauty, less
Than once thou hadst, thou hast,
Let me alone behold
Thy features in the past—
Be as I saw thee last.
Art changed, they tell me—so am I;
More bronzed my visage, somewhat tamed
The spirit once so high.
And if of beauty, less
Than once thou hadst, thou hast,
Let me alone behold
Thy features in the past—
Be as I saw thee last.
589
For as within that past they were,
Thy charms by memory here are limned—
The tremulous nostril, rounded chin,
Bright eye that never dimmed,
And snooded, waving hair
Which ripple-marked a shore
Whose beach was ivory—
Unhappy me forlore,
My barque rides there no more!
Thy charms by memory here are limned—
The tremulous nostril, rounded chin,
Bright eye that never dimmed,
And snooded, waving hair
Which ripple-marked a shore
Whose beach was ivory—
Unhappy me forlore,
My barque rides there no more!
What time we walked by Avon's side,
Our spirits twain combined in one,
And dreamed of lands with Spring eterne,
And never setting sun—
This is no longer ours;
I wander to and fro,
Dejected, blind, and shorn;
The sunlight will not glow;
Hope ever answers—“No!”
Our spirits twain combined in one,
And dreamed of lands with Spring eterne,
And never setting sun—
This is no longer ours;
I wander to and fro,
Dejected, blind, and shorn;
The sunlight will not glow;
Hope ever answers—“No!”
For I am poor. Within that word
How many grievous faults there lay;
Such has been since old Babylon,
And such shall be for aye.
Yet not thy acres broad,
Thy vassals nor thy gold,
Me in such strong control,
Had ever power to hold
As thy charms manifold.
How many grievous faults there lay;
Such has been since old Babylon,
And such shall be for aye.
Yet not thy acres broad,
Thy vassals nor thy gold,
Me in such strong control,
Had ever power to hold
As thy charms manifold.
Thou art the daughter of an earl,
Whose ancestor, at Azincourt,
Fell, fighting by his monarch's side,
When mine was but a boor.
Since then a host of lords,
And dames of high degree,
Gave lustre to thy line,
Till birth and dignity
Rose to their height in thee.
Whose ancestor, at Azincourt,
Fell, fighting by his monarch's side,
When mine was but a boor.
590
And dames of high degree,
Gave lustre to thy line,
Till birth and dignity
Rose to their height in thee.
Yet azure-blooded as thou art,
Whilst I am come of lowlier race,
I did not once thy lineage
Within thy beauty trace.
I scanned no pedigree,
Thy loveliness to prize;
I read no Domesday-Book,
In love to make me wise;
High rank fanned not my sighs.
Whilst I am come of lowlier race,
I did not once thy lineage
Within thy beauty trace.
I scanned no pedigree,
Thy loveliness to prize;
I read no Domesday-Book,
In love to make me wise;
High rank fanned not my sighs.
But thou, whilst sitting in the shade
Of thine old, famous family-tree,
Will scarcely to thy mind recall
One, once so much to thee.
So high thy station now,
Thy vision's careless sweep
Falls not below, to strike
That vastly lower deep,
Wherein I ever creep.
Of thine old, famous family-tree,
Will scarcely to thy mind recall
One, once so much to thee.
So high thy station now,
Thy vision's careless sweep
Falls not below, to strike
That vastly lower deep,
Wherein I ever creep.
Thou wert one time all tenderness,
With passion glowing like a spark—
Sole ember in those ashes grey—
Which flashed, and all grew dark.
The coolness of thy pride
Forbade to rise to fire,
What should have been a flame,
And swelled and mounted higher;—
But I did not expire.
With passion glowing like a spark—
Sole ember in those ashes grey—
Which flashed, and all grew dark.
The coolness of thy pride
Forbade to rise to fire,
What should have been a flame,
And swelled and mounted higher;—
But I did not expire.
591
I lived—I live, if that be life,
To drag these weary moments thus,
Doomed to a lack of loving, when
Of love most covetous.
I am that which I was,
But thou art different grown,
Chilled, petrified by rank,
Thyself a thing of stone,
Emotionless, alone.
To drag these weary moments thus,
Doomed to a lack of loving, when
Of love most covetous.
I am that which I was,
But thou art different grown,
Chilled, petrified by rank,
Thyself a thing of stone,
Emotionless, alone.
They wonder at thy scorn of men,
The trembling vassals of thy nod,
They see not as thy pinions sweep,
Where once thy footsteps trod.
And thou midst flattering peers,
May well, perhaps, forget
How dearer once I was
Than all the jewels set
Thick on thy coronet.
The trembling vassals of thy nod,
They see not as thy pinions sweep,
Where once thy footsteps trod.
And thou midst flattering peers,
May well, perhaps, forget
How dearer once I was
Than all the jewels set
Thick on thy coronet.
But I remember—'tis to me
Fixed as a Median edict; would
The past might verily pass, and I
Forget thee as I should.
Still for thy love I yearn,
Although 'tis not for me;
As well the pond expect
To mingle with the sea,
As I to mate with thee.
Fixed as a Median edict; would
The past might verily pass, and I
Forget thee as I should.
Still for thy love I yearn,
Although 'tis not for me;
As well the pond expect
To mingle with the sea,
As I to mate with thee.
These are my final words to thee—
Years part me from the timid first—
They gushed when came this flood of tears,
Or else this heart had burst.
These uttered, none shall know
Save Him, who knows all things,
How driven to my heart
On barbed arrow's wings,
This hopeless passion stings.
Years part me from the timid first—
They gushed when came this flood of tears,
Or else this heart had burst.
592
Save Him, who knows all things,
How driven to my heart
On barbed arrow's wings,
This hopeless passion stings.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |