 | Griselda |  |
187
OCCASIONAL POEMS.
189
VERNIER.
I. [[Part I.]]
If ever thou shalt follow silver Seine
Through his French vineyards and French villages,
Oh! for the love of pity turn aside
At Vernier, and bear to linger there—
The gentle river doth so—lingering long
Round the dark moorland, and the pool Grand'mer,
And then with slower ripple steals away
Down from his merry Paris. Do thou this;
'Tis kind and piteous to bewail the dead,—
The joyless, sunless dead; and these lie there,
Buried full fifty fathoms in the pool,
Whose rough dark wave is closed above their grave,
Like the black cover of an ancient book
Over a tearful story.
Through his French vineyards and French villages,
Oh! for the love of pity turn aside
At Vernier, and bear to linger there—
The gentle river doth so—lingering long
Round the dark moorland, and the pool Grand'mer,
And then with slower ripple steals away
Down from his merry Paris. Do thou this;
'Tis kind and piteous to bewail the dead,—
The joyless, sunless dead; and these lie there,
Buried full fifty fathoms in the pool,
Whose rough dark wave is closed above their grave,
Like the black cover of an ancient book
Over a tearful story.
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Very lovely
Was Julie de Montargis: even now—
Now that six hundred years are dead with her,
Her village name—the name a stranger hears—
Is, “La plus belle des belles;”—they tell him yet,
The glossy golden lilies of the land
Lost lustre in her hair; and that she owned
The noble Norman eye—the violet eye
Almost—so far and fine its lashes drooped,
Darkened to purple: all the country-folk
Went lightly to their work at sight of her
And all their children learned a grace by heart,
And said it with small lips when she went by,
The Lady of the Castle. Very dear
Was all this beauty and this gentleness
Unto her first love and her playfellow,
Roland le Vavasour.
Was Julie de Montargis: even now—
Now that six hundred years are dead with her,
Her village name—the name a stranger hears—
Is, “La plus belle des belles;”—they tell him yet,
The glossy golden lilies of the land
Lost lustre in her hair; and that she owned
The noble Norman eye—the violet eye
Almost—so far and fine its lashes drooped,
Darkened to purple: all the country-folk
Went lightly to their work at sight of her
And all their children learned a grace by heart,
And said it with small lips when she went by,
The Lady of the Castle. Very dear
Was all this beauty and this gentleness
Unto her first love and her playfellow,
Roland le Vavasour.
Too dear to leave,
Save that his knightly vow to pluck a palm,
And bear the cross broidered above his heart,
To where upon the cross Christ died for him,
Led him away from loving. But a year,
And they shall meet—alas! to those that joy,
It is a pleasant season, all too short,
Made of white winter and of scarlet spring,
With fireside kisses and sweet summer-nights:
But parted lovers count its minutes up,
And see no sunshine. Julie heeded none,
When she had belted on her Roland's sword,
Buckled his breastplate, and upon her lip
Taken his last long kisses.
Save that his knightly vow to pluck a palm,
And bear the cross broidered above his heart,
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Led him away from loving. But a year,
And they shall meet—alas! to those that joy,
It is a pleasant season, all too short,
Made of white winter and of scarlet spring,
With fireside kisses and sweet summer-nights:
But parted lovers count its minutes up,
And see no sunshine. Julie heeded none,
When she had belted on her Roland's sword,
Buckled his breastplate, and upon her lip
Taken his last long kisses.
Listen now!
She was no light-o'-love, to change and change,
And very deeply in her heart she kept
The night and hour St. Ouen's shrine should see
A true-love meeting. Walking by the pool,
Many a time she longed to wear a wing,
As fleet and white as wore the white-winged gull,
That she might hover over Roland's sails,
Follow him to the field, and in the battle
Keep the hot Syrian sun from dazing him:
High on the turret many an autumn-eve,
When the light, merry swallow tried his plumes
For foreign flight, she gave him messages,—
Fond messages of love, for Palestine,
Unto her knight. What wonder, loving so,
She greeted well the brother that he sent
From Ascalon with spoils—Claude Vavasour?
Could she do less?—he had so deft a hand
Upon the mandolin, and sang so well
What Roland did so bravely; nay, in sooth,
She had not heart to frown upon his songs,
Though they sang other love and other deeds
Than Roland's, being brother to her lord.
Yet sometimes was she grave and sad of eye,
For pity of the spell her glance could work
Upon its watcher. Oh! he came to serve,
And stayed to love her; and she knew it now,
Past all concealment. Oftentimes his eyes,
Fastened upon her face, fell suddenly,
For brother-love and shame; but oftener
Julie could see them, through her tender tears,
Fixed on some messenger from Holy Land
With wild significance, the thin white lips
Working for grief, because she smiled again.
She was no light-o'-love, to change and change,
And very deeply in her heart she kept
The night and hour St. Ouen's shrine should see
A true-love meeting. Walking by the pool,
Many a time she longed to wear a wing,
As fleet and white as wore the white-winged gull,
That she might hover over Roland's sails,
Follow him to the field, and in the battle
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High on the turret many an autumn-eve,
When the light, merry swallow tried his plumes
For foreign flight, she gave him messages,—
Fond messages of love, for Palestine,
Unto her knight. What wonder, loving so,
She greeted well the brother that he sent
From Ascalon with spoils—Claude Vavasour?
Could she do less?—he had so deft a hand
Upon the mandolin, and sang so well
What Roland did so bravely; nay, in sooth,
She had not heart to frown upon his songs,
Though they sang other love and other deeds
Than Roland's, being brother to her lord.
Yet sometimes was she grave and sad of eye,
For pity of the spell her glance could work
Upon its watcher. Oh! he came to serve,
And stayed to love her; and she knew it now,
Past all concealment. Oftentimes his eyes,
Fastened upon her face, fell suddenly,
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Julie could see them, through her tender tears,
Fixed on some messenger from Holy Land
With wild significance, the thin white lips
Working for grief, because she smiled again.
He spake no love—he breathed no passionate tale,
Till there came one who told how Roland's sword,
From heel to point, dripped with the Paynim blood;
How Ascalon had seen, and Joppa's list,
And Gaza, and Nicæa's noble fight,
His chivalry; and how, with palm-branch won,
Bringing his honours and his wounds a-front,
His prow was cleaving Genoa's sapphire sea,
Bound homewards. Then, the last day of the year,
Claude brought his unused charger to the gate,
Sprang to the broad strong back, and reined its rage
Into a marble stillness. Ah! more still,
Young Claude le Vavasour, thy visage was,
More marble-white. She stood to see him pass,
And their eyes met; and, ah! but hers were wet
To see his suffering; and she called his name,
And came below the gate; but he bowed down,
And thrust the vizor close over his face,
And so rode on.
Till there came one who told how Roland's sword,
From heel to point, dripped with the Paynim blood;
How Ascalon had seen, and Joppa's list,
And Gaza, and Nicæa's noble fight,
His chivalry; and how, with palm-branch won,
Bringing his honours and his wounds a-front,
His prow was cleaving Genoa's sapphire sea,
Bound homewards. Then, the last day of the year,
Claude brought his unused charger to the gate,
Sprang to the broad strong back, and reined its rage
Into a marble stillness. Ah! more still,
Young Claude le Vavasour, thy visage was,
200
And their eyes met; and, ah! but hers were wet
To see his suffering; and she called his name,
And came below the gate; but he bowed down,
And thrust the vizor close over his face,
And so rode on.
Before St. Ouen's shrine
That night the lady watched—a sombre night,
With no sweet stars to say God heard or saw
Her prayers and tears: the grey stone statues gleamed
Through the gloom ghost-like; the still effigies
Of knight and abbess had a show of life,
Lit by the crimsons and the amethysts
That fell along them from the oriels;
And if she broke the silence with a step,
It seemed the echo lent them speech again
To speak in ghostly whispers; and o'er all,
With a weird paleness midnight might not hide,
Straight from the wall St. Ouen looked upon her,
With his grim granite frown, bidding her hope
No lover's kiss that night—no loving kiss—
None—though there came the whisper of her name,
And a chill sleety blast of midnight wind
Moaning about the tombs, and striking her
For fear down to her knees.
That night the lady watched—a sombre night,
With no sweet stars to say God heard or saw
Her prayers and tears: the grey stone statues gleamed
Through the gloom ghost-like; the still effigies
Of knight and abbess had a show of life,
Lit by the crimsons and the amethysts
That fell along them from the oriels;
And if she broke the silence with a step,
It seemed the echo lent them speech again
To speak in ghostly whispers; and o'er all,
With a weird paleness midnight might not hide,
Straight from the wall St. Ouen looked upon her,
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No lover's kiss that night—no loving kiss—
None—though there came the whisper of her name,
And a chill sleety blast of midnight wind
Moaning about the tombs, and striking her
For fear down to her knees.
That opened porch
Brought more than wind and whisper; there were steps,
And the dim wave of a white gaberdine—
Horribly dim; and then the voice again,
As though the dead called Julie. Was it dead,
The form which, at the holy altar foot,
Stood spectral in the spectral window-lights?
Ah, Holy Mother! dead—and in its hand
The pennon of Sir Roland, and the palm,
Both laid so stilly on the altar front;
A presence like a knight, clad in close mail
From spur to crest, yet from his armed heel
No footfall; a white face, pale as the stones,
Turned upon Julie, long enough to know
How truly tryst was kept; and all was gone,
Leaving the lady on the flags, ice-cold.
Brought more than wind and whisper; there were steps,
And the dim wave of a white gaberdine—
Horribly dim; and then the voice again,
As though the dead called Julie. Was it dead,
The form which, at the holy altar foot,
Stood spectral in the spectral window-lights?
Ah, Holy Mother! dead—and in its hand
The pennon of Sir Roland, and the palm,
Both laid so stilly on the altar front;
A presence like a knight, clad in close mail
From spur to crest, yet from his armed heel
No footfall; a white face, pale as the stones,
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How truly tryst was kept; and all was gone,
Leaving the lady on the flags, ice-cold.
II. Part II.
Oh, gentle River! thou that knowest all,
Tell them how loyally she mourned her love;
How her grief withered all the rose-bloom off,
And wrote its record on her patient cheek;
And say, sweet River! lest they do her wrong,
All the sad story of those twenty moons,
The true-love dead—the true-love that lived on
Her faithful memories, and Claude's generous praise,
Claude's silent service, and her tearful thanks;
And ask them, River, for Saint Charity,
To think no wrong, that at the end she gave,
Her heart being given and gone, her hand to him,
Slight thanks for strong deservings.—
Banish care,
Soothe it with flutings, startle it with drums,
Trick it with gold and velvets, till it glow
Into a seeming pleasure. Ah, vain! vain!
When the bride weeps, what wedding-gear is gay?
And since the dawn she weeps—at orisons
She wept—and while her women clasped the zone,
Among its brilliants fell her brighter tears.
Now at the altar all her answers sigh;
Wilt thou?—Ah! fearful altar-memories—
Ah! spirit-lover—if he saw me now!
Wilt thou?—Oh me! if that he saw me now;
He doth, he doth, beneath St. Ouen there,
As white and still—yon monk whose cowl is back!
Wilt thou?—Ah, dear love, listen and look up.
He doth—ah God! with hollow eyes a-fire.
Wilt thou?—pale quivering lips, pale bloodless lips—
I will not—never—never—Roland—never!
Tell them how loyally she mourned her love;
How her grief withered all the rose-bloom off,
And wrote its record on her patient cheek;
And say, sweet River! lest they do her wrong,
All the sad story of those twenty moons,
The true-love dead—the true-love that lived on
Her faithful memories, and Claude's generous praise,
Claude's silent service, and her tearful thanks;
And ask them, River, for Saint Charity,
To think no wrong, that at the end she gave,
Her heart being given and gone, her hand to him,
Slight thanks for strong deservings.—
Banish care,
Soothe it with flutings, startle it with drums,
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Into a seeming pleasure. Ah, vain! vain!
When the bride weeps, what wedding-gear is gay?
And since the dawn she weeps—at orisons
She wept—and while her women clasped the zone,
Among its brilliants fell her brighter tears.
Now at the altar all her answers sigh;
Wilt thou?—Ah! fearful altar-memories—
Ah! spirit-lover—if he saw me now!
Wilt thou?—Oh me! if that he saw me now;
He doth, he doth, beneath St. Ouen there,
As white and still—yon monk whose cowl is back!
Wilt thou?—Ah, dear love, listen and look up.
He doth—ah God! with hollow eyes a-fire.
Wilt thou?—pale quivering lips, pale bloodless lips—
I will not—never—never—Roland—never!
So went the bride a-swoon to Vernier,
So doffed each guest his silken braveries,
So followed Claude, heart-stricken and amazed,
And left the Chapel. But the monk left last,
And down the hill-side, swift and straight and lone
Sandals and brown serge brushed the yellow broom,
Till to the lake he came and loosed the skiff,
And paddled to the lonely island-cell
Midway over the waters. Long ago
He came at night to dwell there—'twas the night
Of Lady Julie's vigil; ever since
The simple fishers left their silver tithe
Of lake-fish for him on the wave-worn flags,
Wherefrom he wandered not, save when that day
He went unasked, and marred a bridal show,—
Wherefore none knew, nor how,—save two alone,
A lady swooning—and a monk at prayers.
So doffed each guest his silken braveries,
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And left the Chapel. But the monk left last,
And down the hill-side, swift and straight and lone
Sandals and brown serge brushed the yellow broom,
Till to the lake he came and loosed the skiff,
And paddled to the lonely island-cell
Midway over the waters. Long ago
He came at night to dwell there—'twas the night
Of Lady Julie's vigil; ever since
The simple fishers left their silver tithe
Of lake-fish for him on the wave-worn flags,
Wherefrom he wandered not, save when that day
He went unasked, and marred a bridal show,—
Wherefore none knew, nor how,—save two alone,
A lady swooning—and a monk at prayers.
And now not Castle-gates, nor cell nor swoon,
Nor splashing waters, nor the flooded marsh,
Can keep these two apart—the Chapel-bells
Ring Angelus and Even-song, and then
Sleep-like her waiting maidens—only one,
Her foster-sister, lying at the gate
Dreaming of roving spirits—starts at one,
And marvels at the night-gear, poorly hid,
And overdone with pity at her plaint,
Letteth her Lady forth, and watches her
Gleaming from crag to crag—and lost at last,
A white speck on the night.
Nor splashing waters, nor the flooded marsh,
Can keep these two apart—the Chapel-bells
Ring Angelus and Even-song, and then
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Her foster-sister, lying at the gate
Dreaming of roving spirits—starts at one,
And marvels at the night-gear, poorly hid,
And overdone with pity at her plaint,
Letteth her Lady forth, and watches her
Gleaming from crag to crag—and lost at last,
A white speck on the night.
More watchful eyes
Follow her flying—down the water-path,
Mad at the broken bridals, sore amazed
With fear and pain, Claude tracks the wanderer—
Waits while the wild white fingers loose the cord;
But when she drove the shallop through the lake
Straight for the island-cell, he brooked no stay,
But doffed his steel-coat on the reedy rim,
And gave himself to the quick-plashing pool,
And swimming in the foam her fleetness made,
Strove after—sometimes losing his white guide,
Down-sinking in the wild wash of the waves.
Together to the dreary cell they come,
The shallop and the swimmer—she alone
Thrusts at the wicket,—enters wet and wild.
What sees he there under the crucifix?
What holds his eyesight to the ivied loop?
Oh, Claude!—oh loving heart! be still, and break!
The Monk and Julie kneeling, not at prayer.
She kisses him with warm, wild, eager lips—
Weeps on his heart—that woman, nearly wived,
And “Sweetest love,” she saith, “I thought thee dead.”
And he—what is he that he takes and clasps
In his her shaking hands, and bends adown,
Crying, “Ah, my sweet love! it was no ghost
That left the palm-branch; but I saw thee not,
And heard their talk of Claude, and held thee false,
These many erring days.” Oh, gaze no more,
Claude, Claude, for thy soul's peace! She binds the brand
About his gaberdine, with wild caress;
She fondles the thin neck, and clasps thereon
The gorget! then the breast-piece and the helm
Her quick hands fasten. “Come away,” she cries,
“Thou Knight, and take me from them all for thine.
Come, true-love, come.” The pebbles, water-washed,
Grate with the gliding of the shallop's keel,
Scarce bearing up those twain.
Follow her flying—down the water-path,
Mad at the broken bridals, sore amazed
With fear and pain, Claude tracks the wanderer—
Waits while the wild white fingers loose the cord;
But when she drove the shallop through the lake
Straight for the island-cell, he brooked no stay,
But doffed his steel-coat on the reedy rim,
And gave himself to the quick-plashing pool,
And swimming in the foam her fleetness made,
Strove after—sometimes losing his white guide,
Down-sinking in the wild wash of the waves.
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The shallop and the swimmer—she alone
Thrusts at the wicket,—enters wet and wild.
What sees he there under the crucifix?
What holds his eyesight to the ivied loop?
Oh, Claude!—oh loving heart! be still, and break!
The Monk and Julie kneeling, not at prayer.
She kisses him with warm, wild, eager lips—
Weeps on his heart—that woman, nearly wived,
And “Sweetest love,” she saith, “I thought thee dead.”
And he—what is he that he takes and clasps
In his her shaking hands, and bends adown,
Crying, “Ah, my sweet love! it was no ghost
That left the palm-branch; but I saw thee not,
And heard their talk of Claude, and held thee false,
These many erring days.” Oh, gaze no more,
Claude, Claude, for thy soul's peace! She binds the brand
About his gaberdine, with wild caress;
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The gorget! then the breast-piece and the helm
Her quick hands fasten. “Come away,” she cries,
“Thou Knight, and take me from them all for thine.
Come, true-love, come.” The pebbles, water-washed,
Grate with the gliding of the shallop's keel,
Scarce bearing up those twain.
Frail boat, be strong!
Three lives are thine to keep—ah, Lady pale,
Choose of two lovers—for the other comes
With a wild bound that shakes the rotten plank.
Moon! shine out fair for an avenging blow!
She glitters on a quiet face and form
That shuns it not, but stays the lifted death.
“My brother Roland!—Claude, dear brother mine.—
I thought thee dead.—I would that I had died
Ere this had come.—Nay, God! but she is thine!—
He wills her not for either: look, we fill,
The current drifts us, and the oars are gone,
I will leap forth.—Now by the breast we sucked,
So shalt thou not: let the black waters break
Over a broken heart.—Nay, tell him no;
Bid him to save thee, Julie—I will leap!”
So strove they sinking, sinking—Julie bending
Between them; and those brothers over her
With knees and arms close locked for leave to die
Each for the other;—and the Moon shone down,
Silvering their far-off home, and the great wave
That struck, and rose, and floated over them,
Hushing their death-cries, hiding their kind strife,
Ending the earnest love of three great hearts
With silence, and the splash of even waves.
Three lives are thine to keep—ah, Lady pale,
Choose of two lovers—for the other comes
With a wild bound that shakes the rotten plank.
Moon! shine out fair for an avenging blow!
She glitters on a quiet face and form
That shuns it not, but stays the lifted death.
“My brother Roland!—Claude, dear brother mine.—
I thought thee dead.—I would that I had died
Ere this had come.—Nay, God! but she is thine!—
He wills her not for either: look, we fill,
The current drifts us, and the oars are gone,
I will leap forth.—Now by the breast we sucked,
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Over a broken heart.—Nay, tell him no;
Bid him to save thee, Julie—I will leap!”
So strove they sinking, sinking—Julie bending
Between them; and those brothers over her
With knees and arms close locked for leave to die
Each for the other;—and the Moon shone down,
Silvering their far-off home, and the great wave
That struck, and rose, and floated over them,
Hushing their death-cries, hiding their kind strife,
Ending the earnest love of three great hearts
With silence, and the splash of even waves.
So they who died for love, live in love now,
And God in heaven doth keep the gentle souls
Whom Earth hath lost, and one poor Poet mourns.
And God in heaven doth keep the gentle souls
Whom Earth hath lost, and one poor Poet mourns.
Blackwood's Magazine, 1855.
209
“ON THE---th INSTANT, DROWNED WHILST BATHING.”
Ho! ho! do ye tempt me so,
Pale dwellers upon the land;
Seem I to come for love to your home,
Skirting the yellow sand?
When I doff my might and slumber in light
Under the summer skies,
Do ye dream I unfold my purple and gold
To pleasure your dainty eyes?
I mind the day when my dancing spray
Clean over your hills was thrown;
And my waves evermore lash madly the shore
While the great Sea seeketh its own.
Blithely ye play on the edge of my spray,
And dabble your feet in my fords,
But little ye think how the ocean's brink
Is athirst for its mortal lords.
Pale dwellers upon the land;
Seem I to come for love to your home,
Skirting the yellow sand?
When I doff my might and slumber in light
Under the summer skies,
Do ye dream I unfold my purple and gold
To pleasure your dainty eyes?
I mind the day when my dancing spray
Clean over your hills was thrown;
And my waves evermore lash madly the shore
While the great Sea seeketh its own.
Blithely ye play on the edge of my spray,
And dabble your feet in my fords,
But little ye think how the ocean's brink
Is athirst for its mortal lords.
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Ho! ho! how well he could row!
The youth ye sent me to-day;
How bravely his oar drove the shallop from shore
As he came to me out of the bay.—
I watched him come from his cottage-home
Under the high green hill,
I foamed and dashed as the quick stroke splashed,
And he worked his eager will.
But ho! ho!—I looked for it so!
He leapt to my green great arm,
And felt how cold was my deep sea fold,
And chilled with a strange alarm,
Did he deem me mild when the blue sky smiled,
Fierce only in stormy strife?
A boat ye sent—and a life ye lent—
Ho! I kept the warm young life!
The youth ye sent me to-day;
How bravely his oar drove the shallop from shore
As he came to me out of the bay.—
I watched him come from his cottage-home
Under the high green hill,
I foamed and dashed as the quick stroke splashed,
And he worked his eager will.
But ho! ho!—I looked for it so!
He leapt to my green great arm,
And felt how cold was my deep sea fold,
And chilled with a strange alarm,
Did he deem me mild when the blue sky smiled,
Fierce only in stormy strife?
A boat ye sent—and a life ye lent—
Ho! I kept the warm young life!
Ho! ho! fond fools would ye know
How I staid the panting breath,
And weighed on the breast of the one ye loved best
And dragged him down to his death:—
Down in the green where no sun could be seen
To a death in the sea-weed and shells:—
Down out of sight of the sweet sunlight,
Out of sound of the clear town bells?
Ho! he struggled sore for the fading shore,
And fought with his failing strength,
But I swore he should die, and I smothered his cry,
And the life was mine at length.
Ho! take the bark back without rent or wrack,
Pale mourners along the strand!
A boatman and boat to the sea came out,
But only a boat to land!
How I staid the panting breath,
And weighed on the breast of the one ye loved best
And dragged him down to his death:—
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To a death in the sea-weed and shells:—
Down out of sight of the sweet sunlight,
Out of sound of the clear town bells?
Ho! he struggled sore for the fading shore,
And fought with his failing strength,
But I swore he should die, and I smothered his cry,
And the life was mine at length.
Ho! take the bark back without rent or wrack,
Pale mourners along the strand!
A boatman and boat to the sea came out,
But only a boat to land!
Bentley's Miscellany, 1855.
212
DREAM-LAND.
Wonderful Life!
So sad with partings, and so sweet with meetings,
Made up of wild farewells, and wilder greetings;
Oh word, with wonder rife!
So sad with partings, and so sweet with meetings,
Made up of wild farewells, and wilder greetings;
Oh word, with wonder rife!
What do we here?
Whence come we with this longing, loving breast?
Why do we live to die? we fear our rest;
And are afraid to fear!
Whence come we with this longing, loving breast?
Why do we live to die? we fear our rest;
And are afraid to fear!
Ah! tell us why,
Why are our pleasures dead within the day,
While pains make nest-homes of our hearts and stay,
Wherefore comes misery?
Why are our pleasures dead within the day,
While pains make nest-homes of our hearts and stay,
Wherefore comes misery?
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And wherefore Pain?
And why on our sad Planet, else so fair,
Dwell Hate, and Cowardice, and pale Despair,
And the hot rage for gain?
And why on our sad Planet, else so fair,
Dwell Hate, and Cowardice, and pale Despair,
And the hot rage for gain?
Moon and sweet Stars!
Hath God cursed us of all his orbs in Heaven?
Drive we alone, rayless and unforgiven,
Bloody with brother-wars?
Hath God cursed us of all his orbs in Heaven?
Drive we alone, rayless and unforgiven,
Bloody with brother-wars?
Speak if ye know!
Why lose we what we love longest and best?
Shine, Sisters! shine upon our dark unrest,
Saying, it is not so!
Why lose we what we love longest and best?
Shine, Sisters! shine upon our dark unrest,
Saying, it is not so!
I miss a face,
A friend, whose love was to my life its heart;
Why are our eyes and hands riven apart?
Why—even for a space?
A friend, whose love was to my life its heart;
Why are our eyes and hands riven apart?
Why—even for a space?
214
Sorrow and Pain!
Hope's silvery whisper saddens when ye speak,
Go to! the settled colour of my cheek
Stirs not for her again:
Hope's silvery whisper saddens when ye speak,
Go to! the settled colour of my cheek
Stirs not for her again:
A cheat Life seems!
We'll laugh it off, Brothers: though we have wept!
Therewith, aweary of my thoughts I slept,
And took them to my dreams:—
We'll laugh it off, Brothers: though we have wept!
Therewith, aweary of my thoughts I slept,
And took them to my dreams:—
Ah mystery!
Nay then! believe it for the sweet dream's sake,
Whether I dreamed asleep, or mused awake,
An Angel spake with me!
Nay then! believe it for the sweet dream's sake,
Whether I dreamed asleep, or mused awake,
An Angel spake with me!
Spake from above,—
I knew her though she floated from the skies,
The noble presence, and the large deep eyes
Of her I loved, and love,
I knew her though she floated from the skies,
The noble presence, and the large deep eyes
Of her I loved, and love,
215
Spake low and clear;
‘Arise! I have an errand unto thee!
The heart that dares to beat as thine does, free,
Heareth, what thou shalt hear.’
‘Arise! I have an errand unto thee!
The heart that dares to beat as thine does, free,
Heareth, what thou shalt hear.’
Thereat I rose,
Wondering to see her balanced pennons spread;
And keeping their white shadow overhead,
Followed her flying close,
Wondering to see her balanced pennons spread;
And keeping their white shadow overhead,
Followed her flying close,
Far, far away;
Till sound of mortal grief, and mortal mirth,
Died from the sky, and far below the Earth
A quiet, bright globe lay:
Till sound of mortal grief, and mortal mirth,
Died from the sky, and far below the Earth
A quiet, bright globe lay:
And I was 'ware
Of solemn breath breathed in that stilly spot;
And that the heart spake, though the lips moved not;
As though its home were there;
Of solemn breath breathed in that stilly spot;
And that the heart spake, though the lips moved not;
As though its home were there;
216
As though its home
Were high among the Angels of God's sky,
Where the wild clouds were wandering;—and I
Waited for what should come;
Were high among the Angels of God's sky,
Where the wild clouds were wandering;—and I
Waited for what should come;
Nor waited long:
For still wherever She and I went winging,
Two voices ever in one key were singing
The measure of one song:
For still wherever She and I went winging,
Two voices ever in one key were singing
The measure of one song:
One chorussed word;
Whereto the soft fan of the silver feather,
Made music as her white wings beat together,
And the blue ether stirred:
Whereto the soft fan of the silver feather,
Made music as her white wings beat together,
And the blue ether stirred:
Then I—‘Oh! whither?’
And She—‘Far past the farthest ken of mortal,
To where the Star-Queen guards the Star-World's portal,
Thither, Love mine!—aye! thither!’
And She—‘Far past the farthest ken of mortal,
To where the Star-Queen guards the Star-World's portal,
Thither, Love mine!—aye! thither!’
217
So when her plumes,
Heretofore high above me gleaming white,
Wore the rich tinting of that Planet's light
In crimson-coloured blooms,
Heretofore high above me gleaming white,
Wore the rich tinting of that Planet's light
In crimson-coloured blooms,
Then from above
Came down the breath of an entrancing pleasure;
Came round the burden of a boundless measure,
A seraph-song of Love,
Came down the breath of an entrancing pleasure;
Came round the burden of a boundless measure,
A seraph-song of Love,
High love—whose strain
Her heart and mine, in solemn symphony,
Beating beyond our wills harmoniously,
Answered, answered again.
Her heart and mine, in solemn symphony,
Beating beyond our wills harmoniously,
Answered, answered again.
How did I bear
The gracious glory of my Lady's eyes?
Save that the bright love in them calmed surprise
And dazzled off my fear;
The gracious glory of my Lady's eyes?
Save that the bright love in them calmed surprise
And dazzled off my fear;
218
Nor only eyes;
Her sweet lips touched me once upon the brow,
And whispered, ‘Love of mine, thou knowest now
The secret of the skies!—
Her sweet lips touched me once upon the brow,
And whispered, ‘Love of mine, thou knowest now
The secret of the skies!—
This land of Wings
Hath rest for thee and me for aye and aye.’
Then I—‘Sweet Saint, for my full comfort say
All that its music sings,
Hath rest for thee and me for aye and aye.’
Then I—‘Sweet Saint, for my full comfort say
All that its music sings,
All—all it sings:—
Know'st thou on Earth the earnest love I have,
Know'st thou that I could love thee in thy grave,
Better than living things?’
Know'st thou on Earth the earnest love I have,
Know'st thou that I could love thee in thy grave,
Better than living things?’
‘Not there’—she said,
Into this Dream-Land I have leave to come,
To cheer thee with the sight of our sweet Home
When Thou and I are dead;
Into this Dream-Land I have leave to come,
To cheer thee with the sight of our sweet Home
When Thou and I are dead;
219
But there the veil
Is over hearts:—I know not if I know
That thou and I shall e'er be telling so
‘On Earth, our true-love tale.’
Is over hearts:—I know not if I know
That thou and I shall e'er be telling so
‘On Earth, our true-love tale.’
‘Sweet! I shall seem
‘Graceless,’ I said! but must there never be
Home-fires—home-faces—and home-loves?—ah me!
Nought of my earthly dream?’
‘Graceless,’ I said! but must there never be
Home-fires—home-faces—and home-loves?—ah me!
Nought of my earthly dream?’
The star-light shone
The brighter for a smile that filled her face:—
No answer! but a quick and kind embrace:
Save her kiss,—answer none!
The brighter for a smile that filled her face:—
No answer! but a quick and kind embrace:
Save her kiss,—answer none!
Then I, ‘Ah me!
The brow should wear a crown that wears thy kiss;
Though I love patiently, I shall lack this,
Not being worthy thee.’
The brow should wear a crown that wears thy kiss;
Though I love patiently, I shall lack this,
Not being worthy thee.’
220
She raised her hand,
And my glance followed it—and I was 'ware
Of a fine spirit floating down the air,
Whose forehead's thought was grand;
And my glance followed it—and I was 'ware
Of a fine spirit floating down the air,
Whose forehead's thought was grand;
Fast, fast and free
He smote the lyre-strings into magic measures,
Whereto a Lady listed, tranced in pleasures,
Lo! it was I and she!
He smote the lyre-strings into magic measures,
Whereto a Lady listed, tranced in pleasures,
Lo! it was I and she!
And all the throng
Of all sweet things I thought of day by day,
The words I would have said and could not say,
Came up into his song!
Of all sweet things I thought of day by day,
The words I would have said and could not say,
Came up into his song!
‘Shall I be thus,
And thou with me?’—She said ‘Be true and brave,
Follow thy Life out, e'en to thy Life's grave,
And such shall be thy bliss.’
And thou with me?’—She said ‘Be true and brave,
Follow thy Life out, e'en to thy Life's grave,
And such shall be thy bliss.’
221
‘Dear Saint’—I said,
‘Lest I shall faint living a life so lone,
Tell me that absence cannot change the gone,
Nor death estrange the dead,
‘Lest I shall faint living a life so lone,
Tell me that absence cannot change the gone,
Nor death estrange the dead,
They, first and last,
The comfort of whose spirits was to mine
Like Rain to Summer; ah! my heart will pine,
Its friendships seeming past.
The comfort of whose spirits was to mine
Like Rain to Summer; ah! my heart will pine,
Its friendships seeming past.
Say!—is it thus?
Are our hearts lower, weaker than our thinking,
Can leagues divide the subtle spirit-linking,
Whose fine chain fettered us?
Are our hearts lower, weaker than our thinking,
Can leagues divide the subtle spirit-linking,
Whose fine chain fettered us?
Can they? oh Life!
Why at the first or last of thy long day
Loose we the hand we clung to by the way,
And strive alone in the strife?’
Why at the first or last of thy long day
Loose we the hand we clung to by the way,
And strive alone in the strife?’
222
Thereat I wept:—
And she—she touched me with a touch as mild
As a fond mother might her frightened child
Who sighed, and sighing slept.
And she—she touched me with a touch as mild
As a fond mother might her frightened child
Who sighed, and sighing slept.
Saying, ‘Rash one!
Love's strength is perfect in love's utter weakness,
Love's nobleness is noblest in love's meekness,
Love ever! none are gone!
Love's strength is perfect in love's utter weakness,
Love's nobleness is noblest in love's meekness,
Love ever! none are gone!
None go! none ever!
Know! when two hearts are set to one true time,
For aye they make one music, chime one chime,
Look up! and doubt it never!’
Know! when two hearts are set to one true time,
For aye they make one music, chime one chime,
Look up! and doubt it never!’
Our starry torch
Died in a bright white flood of brilliant flame,
Wherein a thousand Angels went and came
Thronging an entrance-Porch
Died in a bright white flood of brilliant flame,
Wherein a thousand Angels went and came
Thronging an entrance-Porch
223
With star-lights groined;
Whence rang a voice that said, ‘Soul! cease thy wonder!
Not Death is strong enough to part asunder,
Whom Life and Love have joined!’
Whence rang a voice that said, ‘Soul! cease thy wonder!
Not Death is strong enough to part asunder,
Whom Life and Love have joined!’
For which word's sake,
Seeing no stars, no Angels but mine own,
I turned to kiss her hands: lo! She was flown!
And I—I was awake!
Seeing no stars, no Angels but mine own,
I turned to kiss her hands: lo! She was flown!
And I—I was awake!
Fraser's Magazine, Sept. 1855.
224
A MA FUTURE.
Where waitest thou,
Lady I am to love? thou comest not;
Thou knowest of my sad and lonely lot;
I looked for thee ere now!
Lady I am to love? thou comest not;
Thou knowest of my sad and lonely lot;
I looked for thee ere now!
It is the May,
And each sweet sister soul hath found its brother,
Only we two seek fondly each the other,
And seeking, still delay.
And each sweet sister soul hath found its brother,
Only we two seek fondly each the other,
And seeking, still delay.
Where art thou, sweet?
I long for thee, as thirsty lips for streams!
Oh, gentle promised Angel of my dreams,
Why do we never meet?
I long for thee, as thirsty lips for streams!
Oh, gentle promised Angel of my dreams,
Why do we never meet?
225
Thou art as I,—
Thy soul doth wait for mine, as mine for thee;
We cannot live apart, must meeting be
Never before we die?
Thy soul doth wait for mine, as mine for thee;
We cannot live apart, must meeting be
Never before we die?
Dear soul, not so!
That time doth keep for us some happy years,
That God hath portioned us our smiles and tears,
Thou knowest, and I know.
That time doth keep for us some happy years,
That God hath portioned us our smiles and tears,
Thou knowest, and I know.
Yes, we shall meet!
And therefore let our searching be the stronger,
Dark ways of life shall not divide us longer,
Nor doubt, nor danger, sweet!
And therefore let our searching be the stronger,
Dark ways of life shall not divide us longer,
Nor doubt, nor danger, sweet!
Therefore I bear
This winter-tide as bravely as I may,
Patiently waiting for the bright spring-day
That cometh with thee, dear.
This winter-tide as bravely as I may,
Patiently waiting for the bright spring-day
That cometh with thee, dear.
226
'Tis the May-light
That crimsons all the quiet college gloom;
May it shine softly in thy sleeping-room:
And so, dear wife, good night!
That crimsons all the quiet college gloom;
May it shine softly in thy sleeping-room:
And so, dear wife, good night!
227
THE CASKET.
This casket with the purple lining,
Though its form be fair,
Hath for all its show and shining
Not a jewel, dear,—
No gems for thy noble beauty,
As if gems were not;
Such a gift were simple duty,
Wherefore then forgot?
Though its form be fair,
Hath for all its show and shining
Not a jewel, dear,—
No gems for thy noble beauty,
As if gems were not;
Such a gift were simple duty,
Wherefore then forgot?
Ah, dear love, this silver casket
Comes not void to thee;
Jewels here, if any ask it,
Lurk invisibly:
Seen not in a common seeming,
By the light of day,
But with glorious splendour gleaming
In Love's rarer ray.
Comes not void to thee;
Jewels here, if any ask it,
Lurk invisibly:
Seen not in a common seeming,
By the light of day,
But with glorious splendour gleaming
In Love's rarer ray.
228
Strong affection, stronger ever,
Honour true and tried,
Trust and courage failing never,
Patience and high pride;
Faith that will not fade or waver,
Love that hath no end,
Jewels fair for thee to wear, love,
And for me to send.
Honour true and tried,
Trust and courage failing never,
Patience and high pride;
Faith that will not fade or waver,
Love that hath no end,
Jewels fair for thee to wear, love,
And for me to send.
229
JANUARY.
Which of the merry months shall I praise?
Meadow birds, say!
Shall the April nights, or the Autumn days,
Have place in my lay?
“Oh the sun of the summer is golden and strong,
And the flowers of the summer shine fairly and long,
Sing thou to the summer the first of thy song,
As we sing on the spray.”
No! no!
Meadow birds, no!
Mine is the month that is born in the snow.
Meadow birds, say!
Shall the April nights, or the Autumn days,
Have place in my lay?
“Oh the sun of the summer is golden and strong,
And the flowers of the summer shine fairly and long,
Sing thou to the summer the first of thy song,
As we sing on the spray.”
No! no!
Meadow birds, no!
Mine is the month that is born in the snow.
Which of the months shall my chaplet crown?
Red rose, speak!
Shall it glitter on August's brow of brown,
Or shade May's cheek?
“Though thy chaplet be silver and almondine,
The finer and fairer it shine, I ween,
'Tis the fitter for May, for the sweet spring queen,
No farther seek!”
Rose, no!
My month, I trow,
Wears the red berries, and stars of snow.
Red rose, speak!
Shall it glitter on August's brow of brown,
Or shade May's cheek?
230
The finer and fairer it shine, I ween,
'Tis the fitter for May, for the sweet spring queen,
No farther seek!”
Rose, no!
My month, I trow,
Wears the red berries, and stars of snow.
Ah! wouldst thou know, rosy blossom of spring,
Why I crown not May?
Askest thou, bird, why I will not sing
To thy summer day?
May hath the bud, and the bee, and the dove,
And the sky of the summer is bluest above,
But the year's first month, she bringeth my love,
And her bridal-day!
Say, is it wrong
To keep crown and song
For the month that leadeth my lady along?
Why I crown not May?
Askest thou, bird, why I will not sing
To thy summer day?
May hath the bud, and the bee, and the dove,
And the sky of the summer is bluest above,
But the year's first month, she bringeth my love,
And her bridal-day!
Say, is it wrong
To keep crown and song
For the month that leadeth my lady along?
December, 1854.
231
LLANGOLLEN.
Green fields and grey, corn-lands and mountainlands,
Beautiful Valley, thou art fair as ever;
On the same hill the same old abbey stands,
And singing the same song goes down Dee river.
Beautiful Valley, thou art fair as ever;
On the same hill the same old abbey stands,
And singing the same song goes down Dee river.
I swear I love thee with mine old hot love,
My vision is not dimmed, nor my heart cold,
Wherefore then, sunny Slopes, can ye not move
My soul to gladness as ye did of old?
My vision is not dimmed, nor my heart cold,
Wherefore then, sunny Slopes, can ye not move
My soul to gladness as ye did of old?
I know it, love,—these winds that fly for home
Take my heart with them to thy tender arms,
And, nestled there, it leaves me here to roam,
Half of myself, amid these wild Welsh farms.
Take my heart with them to thy tender arms,
And, nestled there, it leaves me here to roam,
Half of myself, amid these wild Welsh farms.
October, 1855.
232
THE TWO WREATHS.
When the silver stars were throwing
Soft lines on the silver sea,
Like a shade in the twilight showing,
Came my life unto me.
Soft lines on the silver sea,
Like a shade in the twilight showing,
Came my life unto me.
Two garlands daintily bearing,
Unto me came my life,
When the daylight was disappearing,
Save that in thine eyes, dear wife.
Unto me came my life,
When the daylight was disappearing,
Save that in thine eyes, dear wife.
Glittered her cymar and kirtle,
Her garlands glimmered and shone;
One twined with the laurel and myrtle,
And one with the rose alone.
Her garlands glimmered and shone;
One twined with the laurel and myrtle,
And one with the rose alone.
233
Which crown, she said, shall I leave thee,
The green or the crimson wreath?
Of the chaplets thy fortune weaves thee,
Choose one to deck thee till death.
The green or the crimson wreath?
Of the chaplets thy fortune weaves thee,
Choose one to deck thee till death.
Love comes if the rose-crown rings thee,—
Love endless and ever the same;
And the bright leaf of laurel brings thee
The minstrel's favour and fame.
Love endless and ever the same;
And the bright leaf of laurel brings thee
The minstrel's favour and fame.
But the rose hath an angry briar,
That woundeth wherever 'tis worn,
And, with laurel to lift thee higher,
There are poisonous berries of scorn.
That woundeth wherever 'tis worn,
And, with laurel to lift thee higher,
There are poisonous berries of scorn.
In the silence solemnly speaking,
In the darkness easy to see,
Answer to asking seeking,
Waited my life by me.
In the darkness easy to see,
Answer to asking seeking,
Waited my life by me.
234
Then, with ready fingers upstarted
Beside her, mine own wise wife,
The leaves from the berries parted,
And the thorn from the rose of life.
Beside her, mine own wise wife,
The leaves from the berries parted,
And the thorn from the rose of life.
And twined them, with gentle laughter,
In a new and unharmful wreath:
And the roses and laurels hereafter
Shall crown me for life and death.
In a new and unharmful wreath:
And the roses and laurels hereafter
Shall crown me for life and death.
235
ALMOND BLOSSOM.
Blossom of the almond-trees,April's gift to April's bees,
Birthday ornament of spring,
Flora's fairest daughterling;—
Coming when no flow'rets dare
Trust the cruel outer air;
When the royal king-cup bold
Dares not don his coat of gold;
And the sturdy blackthorn spray
Keeps his silver for the May;—
Coming when no flow'rets would,
Save thy lowly sisterhood
Early violets, blue and white,
Dying for their love of light.
Almond blossom, sent to teach us
That the spring-days soon will reach us,
236
We die as the violets died.
Blossom, clouding all the tree
With thy crimson broidery,
Long before a leaf of green
On the bravest bough is seen;
Ah! when winter winds are swinging
All thy red bells into ringing,
With a bee in every bell,
Almond bloom, we greet thee well.
237
SONNET.
[Like one, who in the stormy crash of battle]
Like one, who in the stormy crash of battle,With sword and shield too heavy for his hold,
Bleeding, and weak, and deafened with the rattle,
Feels his limbs sinking and his heart a-cold,
Sudden a gentle eye, gentle and bold,—
A friendly look falls on him through the fight,
And once again his tired fingers fold
About the hilt, and strike a stroke aright.—
So has thy gracious look, lady, to-night
Nerved me with courage more than may be told;
So stand and strike I, fighting in thy sight,
Backward or forward be life's battle rolled;
And so I grasp my purpose, and I swear
To win the wreath that I am set to wear.
238
ALL SAINTS' DAY.
Up from earth to heaven's wide regions
Send your prayer and praise to-day,
For the glorious martyr-legions
Hence triumphant passed away.
Send your prayer and praise to-day,
For the glorious martyr-legions
Hence triumphant passed away.
Sigh of doubt or shade of sorrow
Ill beseemeth heart or brow,
Theirs like ours seemed sad to-morrow,
Who smile at our sadness now.
Ill beseemeth heart or brow,
Theirs like ours seemed sad to-morrow,
Who smile at our sadness now.
Let it go, a song of gladness,
Unto brother-angels there:—
We alive in sin and sadness,
They “dead in His faith and fear.”
Unto brother-angels there:—
We alive in sin and sadness,
They “dead in His faith and fear.”
239
Dead, but on dead foreheads wearing
Crowns that make their death a birth,
Won by hope that scorned despairing,
Worn in heaven for wars on earth.
Crowns that make their death a birth,
Won by hope that scorned despairing,
Worn in heaven for wars on earth.
Nay! and name not crowned ones, only
Nobly known for death and life,—
Hero souls, unmoved and lonely,
Fighting in the front of strife.
Nobly known for death and life,—
Hero souls, unmoved and lonely,
Fighting in the front of strife.
But those, too, who freely, gladly,
Uncomplaining fought to die;
Striving, striking all too madly
To find time for battle-cry.
Uncomplaining fought to die;
Striving, striking all too madly
To find time for battle-cry.
Those, the silent ones, who near them
Planted foot, and fought, and fell,
With no clarion praise to cheer them,
No voice crying ill or well.
Planted foot, and fought, and fell,
With no clarion praise to cheer them,
No voice crying ill or well.
240
These we owned not for God's angels,
Shall not own before we die,
Though their lives were men's evangels,
And their deaths our victory.
Shall not own before we die,
Though their lives were men's evangels,
And their deaths our victory.
Those whose lives, unknown to others,
Silent went to silent ends;
Some to some of us own brothers,
All to all of us high friends.
Silent went to silent ends;
Some to some of us own brothers,
All to all of us high friends.
All saints now, all now abiding
In glad homes beyond the sky,
Wearing, where salt tears were tiding
Smiles of set felicity.
In glad homes beyond the sky,
Wearing, where salt tears were tiding
Smiles of set felicity.
Smiles that call us to sky portals,
Saying, “On! brave heart and brow;”
Fail not, faint not, we were mortals
That are perfect spirits now.
Saying, “On! brave heart and brow;”
Fail not, faint not, we were mortals
That are perfect spirits now.
241
Thank God for them meekly bending,
That such soldiers lived and died,
Ask that thine be such an ending,
Such a death on such a side.
That such soldiers lived and died,
Ask that thine be such an ending,
Such a death on such a side.
242
ANDRÈ CHENIER.
Andrè Chenier, a young French poet of great promise, died by the guillotine July 27th, 1794. On his way to the scaffold he struck his forehead and said, “To die so very soon, and all this here too!”
Axe and headsman, all things ready,
While, with quiet step and steady,
Wearing front which no fear showeth,
Onward to his death he goeth;
Once there faltered from his tongue
One word,—“Ah, to die so young!”
Once he smote his forehead fair,
Sighing, “Ah, what things were here!”
While, with quiet step and steady,
Wearing front which no fear showeth,
Onward to his death he goeth;
Once there faltered from his tongue
One word,—“Ah, to die so young!”
Once he smote his forehead fair,
Sighing, “Ah, what things were here!”
But about him bright ones winging,
Sang more sweetly than his singing,—
“Whom the gods love well die early,
Thou hast earned thy quittance dearly;
All too fine and free for mortals,
Lift thy lay to heaven's portals.
Die! those golden dreams were given
All to bring thee back to heaven;
Home! where angels wait to hear thee!
Home! where one swift stroke shall bear thee!
Sang more sweetly than his singing,—
243
Thou hast earned thy quittance dearly;
All too fine and free for mortals,
Lift thy lay to heaven's portals.
Die! those golden dreams were given
All to bring thee back to heaven;
Home! where angels wait to hear thee!
Home! where one swift stroke shall bear thee!
244
THE POOR SCHOLAR TO HIS POUND STERLING.
Gold! as I'm a starving sinner!
Saint Cecilia! what a chink!—
I'll ordain a regal dinner,—
Gods! I'll eat and drink.
Saint Cecilia! what a chink!—
I'll ordain a regal dinner,—
Gods! I'll eat and drink.
Counter in the game of living,
Buying deuce, knave, queen, and king,
Bartered, borrowed, given, giving,
Potent yellow thing!
Buying deuce, knave, queen, and king,
Bartered, borrowed, given, giving,
Potent yellow thing!
Now I feel, I see thy story,
Grecian, gold-won Danae;—
If one comes with grace and glory,
What must a shower be?
Grecian, gold-won Danae;—
If one comes with grace and glory,
What must a shower be?
246
Oh, Fortuna! and this morning
Thou mightest have spared me my Catullus,
And stilled my landlady's shrill warning,
Instead of sweet Tibullus.
Thou mightest have spared me my Catullus,
And stilled my landlady's shrill warning,
Instead of sweet Tibullus.
Too late! I dined on old Homerus,
And Plautus paid my washing bill;
Well! “carus,” stranger, “tamen serus,”
Thou'rt most welcome still.
And Plautus paid my washing bill;
Well! “carus,” stranger, “tamen serus,”
Thou'rt most welcome still.
Nay, but stay! it can't be really
All a solemn sterling pound,
I've seen so few—I'll ring it fairly:
Mammon! there's a sound!
All a solemn sterling pound,
I've seen so few—I'll ring it fairly:
Mammon! there's a sound!
Yea! by all the sands of Hermus,
By Apollo's golden bow,
See, my soul! these signs confirm us,
'Tis—where shall we go?
By Apollo's golden bow,
See, my soul! these signs confirm us,
'Tis—where shall we go?
247
Venison's in, and at the Sceptre
Splendidly I know they dress it,
Had I two!—ah! sage preceptor,
“Amor nummi crescit.”
Splendidly I know they dress it,
Had I two!—ah! sage preceptor,
“Amor nummi crescit.”
For the potent charm that binds thee,
Shillings twenty! to my heart,
Is—whoever after finds thee,
Thou and I must part.
Shillings twenty! to my heart,
Is—whoever after finds thee,
Thou and I must part.
Lo! mine inn!—Hence, cares! in “mare
Creticum,”—or down to Greenwich.
Creticum,”—or down to Greenwich.
Is this after all but fairy
Land,—or lamb and spinach?
Land,—or lamb and spinach?
Waiter, ho! “vinum deprome,—”
Bring an amphora, I say—
Dost thou better seek to know me?
Doubtest thou I'll pay?
Bring an amphora, I say—
Dost thou better seek to know me?
Doubtest thou I'll pay?
248
Lo! the coin! quick, varlet, quicker!
Napkined knave! mistrustful churl!—
Cleopatra-like, in liquor
Thus I melt my pearl.
Napkined knave! mistrustful churl!—
Cleopatra-like, in liquor
Thus I melt my pearl.
249
WAIT YET.
Among the flowers stood at spring,
A lowly plant and bare;
The snowdrop by so base a thing
Was proud—the briar fair:
But the golden days adorned it
With blossoms of the best;
And though fickle April scorned it,
May bore it in her breast.
A lowly plant and bare;
The snowdrop by so base a thing
Was proud—the briar fair:
But the golden days adorned it
With blossoms of the best;
And though fickle April scorned it,
May bore it in her breast.
Ah, soul! with hope and watching worn,
Mourn not thy leafless spring!
The joyless days of life were born
The joyful ones to bring;
Patience makes mirth as buds make bloom,
Past loss is present treasure,
To-day's remembered grief and gloom
Will be to-morrow's pleasure.
Mourn not thy leafless spring!
The joyless days of life were born
The joyful ones to bring;
Patience makes mirth as buds make bloom,
Past loss is present treasure,
To-day's remembered grief and gloom
Will be to-morrow's pleasure.
250
THE EMIGRANT.
It may be that the savage sea is foaming
And wild winds roaming where thy ship goes free;
Yet still as dearly, brother, and sincerely,
As if more nearly, we will cling to thee.
And wild winds roaming where thy ship goes free;
Yet still as dearly, brother, and sincerely,
As if more nearly, we will cling to thee.
The white sails wing thee fast hrough Biscay billows,
Past English willows we are whirling on;
Though wider never did drear waste dissever,
Better than ever we will love thee gone.
Past English willows we are whirling on;
Though wider never did drear waste dissever,
Better than ever we will love thee gone.
We shall not know by what sweet isles of blossom,
Thy bark's broad bosom ploughs the rippled blue;
What storms are chiding, what soft winds are gliding,
No longed-for tiding—yet our hearts are true.
Thy bark's broad bosom ploughs the rippled blue;
What storms are chiding, what soft winds are gliding,
No longed-for tiding—yet our hearts are true.
251
For seeking still to know where thou art, Rover,
We but discover that our love is there;
Far, far behind thee we are strong to find thee,
Oh then remind thee of the love left here.
We but discover that our love is there;
Far, far behind thee we are strong to find thee,
Oh then remind thee of the love left here.
August, 1854.
252
THE THREE STUDENTS.
There came three students from over the Rhine,
To a certain good hostel they turned them for wine.
To a certain good hostel they turned them for wine.
Ho! Landlady, have you strong wine and beer?
How fareth the Fraulein, your daughter dear?
How fareth the Fraulein, your daughter dear?
My beer is fresh, and my wine is bright;
My child will be shrouded and buried to-night.
My child will be shrouded and buried to-night.
They drew the door of her death-room back,
There slumbered she in her coffin black:—
There slumbered she in her coffin black:—
The first he lifted the veil from the dead,
And bared his curls, and bended, and said,
And bared his curls, and bended, and said,
“Ah! could'st thou but live again, maiden, here
From this day forth I would love thee dear!”
From this day forth I would love thee dear!”
253
The second spread softly the face-cloth again,
And his tears fell fast as the midsummer rain:
And his tears fell fast as the midsummer rain:
“Dead! art thou, Lisbeth? cold, lip and brow?
Ah God! I learn how I loved thee now!”
Ah God! I learn how I loved thee now!”
But the third in his hand did the little hand take,
And kissed the white forehead, and smiled and spake,
And kissed the white forehead, and smiled and spake,
“I love thee to-day as I loved thee before,
I shall love thee as truly for evermore.”
I shall love thee as truly for evermore.”
254
NEW YEAR'S EVE,
1852-53.
Come! for all the gifts he brought ye; come, for all the good he taught ye;
For the many a brightened blessing, for the many a lightened woe;
Leave your ingles warm and cheery, gaze into the midnight dreary,
Where the old year lies a-dying,—dying in the frost and snow;
Gaze, and while his heavy breathing rises like the mists a-wreathing;
While the far stars shake and shudder at the passing of his soul;
When the death draws ever nearer, and the drear night waxes drearer,
Chaunt your “miserere mei” solemnly, and toll the toll,
Toll a funeral toll on the bell,
Strike the strings to a farewell song;
Dying is he we have known so well,
Dead the friend we have loved so long.
For the many a brightened blessing, for the many a lightened woe;
Leave your ingles warm and cheery, gaze into the midnight dreary,
Where the old year lies a-dying,—dying in the frost and snow;
Gaze, and while his heavy breathing rises like the mists a-wreathing;
While the far stars shake and shudder at the passing of his soul;
When the death draws ever nearer, and the drear night waxes drearer,
Chaunt your “miserere mei” solemnly, and toll the toll,
255
Strike the strings to a farewell song;
Dying is he we have known so well,
Dead the friend we have loved so long.
Dead, but when the song is ending let a sudden eager blending
Sweep away the sound of mourning from the silver bells and strings;
Over town and hamlet ringing, let the merry song go singing
Welcome to the Young Year's beauty, and the blessed gifts she brings;
Greet her for the apple-blossoms wreathed about her budding bosoms,
Love her for the sunny days her barley-braided hair foretells,
Bless her for the pleasant plenty,—grape and grain that God hath sent ye;
Laud her! though we live to lose her in the snow, and chime the bells.
Chime the bells to a marriage chime,
Strike the strings to a birthday song,
For the fairest daughter of father Time,
For the lady who cometh to live with us long.
Sweep away the sound of mourning from the silver bells and strings;
Over town and hamlet ringing, let the merry song go singing
Welcome to the Young Year's beauty, and the blessed gifts she brings;
Greet her for the apple-blossoms wreathed about her budding bosoms,
Love her for the sunny days her barley-braided hair foretells,
Bless her for the pleasant plenty,—grape and grain that God hath sent ye;
Laud her! though we live to lose her in the snow, and chime the bells.
256
Strike the strings to a birthday song,
For the fairest daughter of father Time,
For the lady who cometh to live with us long.
257
ARISTIPPUS.
Let be,—let be!
These idle follies are not for the wise,
A scholar's loves are fair philosophies;
I prithee leave me free!
These idle follies are not for the wise,
A scholar's loves are fair philosophies;
I prithee leave me free!
Nay, Lady, nay!
I read Greek legends sweeter than thy song,—
Uncourteous! thou tarriest overlong;
I marvel at thy stay.
I read Greek legends sweeter than thy song,—
Uncourteous! thou tarriest overlong;
I marvel at thy stay.
What! the tears glisten?
Indeed I would not wound thy little heart;
We'll be good friends, and kiss; but we must part,
In sooth,—I may not listen.
Indeed I would not wound thy little heart;
We'll be good friends, and kiss; but we must part,
In sooth,—I may not listen.
260
Once then, and twice,—
Ai, Cytherea! are lips like to these?
Get thee away! thy mouth hath witcheries
Strange for what is not wise.
Ai, Cytherea! are lips like to these?
Get thee away! thy mouth hath witcheries
Strange for what is not wise.
Well,—yet again;
By Pan! it hath a soft and coral curl,
I sorrow that I angered at thee, girl!
Dis pardon me thy pain!
By Pan! it hath a soft and coral curl,
I sorrow that I angered at thee, girl!
Dis pardon me thy pain!
But thou'lt go now,—
Take hence the tresses of thy hyacinth hair.—
Nay, nay! unbind them not,—'tis over fair,—
Keep the band on thy brow;
Take hence the tresses of thy hyacinth hair.—
Nay, nay! unbind them not,—'tis over fair,—
Keep the band on thy brow;
I like it well!
Its jewels, making quaint and equal strife
With red and blue, mock lips and eyes to life;
There let them ever dwell.
Its jewels, making quaint and equal strife
With red and blue, mock lips and eyes to life;
There let them ever dwell.
261
Shamed of their glow,—
Now, by Athene! but I trifle long,
If thou must stay, sweet lady, sing a song,—
Doric, and grave, and slow.
Now, by Athene! but I trifle long,
If thou must stay, sweet lady, sing a song,—
Doric, and grave, and slow.
One melody,—
Soft music to sage musing lends relief.—
Nay, draw not near,thou wilt not turn the leaf
Of old philosophy!
Soft music to sage musing lends relief.—
Nay, draw not near,thou wilt not turn the leaf
Of old philosophy!
Well, an' thou'lt learn,
See how it saith,“That in the ancient date
Priam of Troy—” Ah! but thou must not wait
To kiss before we turn.
See how it saith,“That in the ancient date
Priam of Troy—” Ah! but thou must not wait
To kiss before we turn.
Thy broad braids fell,
Sweeping the pages, Lady; let me lay
On this white neck the glossy veil away,
Now we shall study well.
Sweeping the pages, Lady; let me lay
On this white neck the glossy veil away,
Now we shall study well.
262
Oh me! thou'rt ill,—
The vermeil of thy cheek is fever-warm,
Dear one, thy heart beats ever on my arm,
And mine is never still.
The vermeil of thy cheek is fever-warm,
Dear one, thy heart beats ever on my arm,
And mine is never still.
What aileth me?
They fade,—the dim dull characters of Greek,
My lips lack all but kisses, if I speak
'Twill be to worship thee!
They fade,—the dim dull characters of Greek,
My lips lack all but kisses, if I speak
'Twill be to worship thee!
Unlock thine arms,—
Thy touch,—ai, ai! thy sweet breath is a spell,
Hide, Circe! hide thy deep breasts' ivory swell!
Oh, white witch, spare thy charms!
Thy touch,—ai, ai! thy sweet breath is a spell,
Hide, Circe! hide thy deep breasts' ivory swell!
Oh, white witch, spare thy charms!
Nay, spare not now!
Hence, grey-beard sage! I love thee, Life of mine;
Kiss freer, faster,—I am all, all thine,
Kiss me on lip and brow.
Hence, grey-beard sage! I love thee, Life of mine;
Kiss freer, faster,—I am all, all thine,
Kiss me on lip and brow.
263
EFFIE.
Weary, weary, the lang hours wear,
They stap to keek at me, and winna gae;
I count ilk ane o' their ticks wi' a tear,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
They stap to keek at me, and winna gae;
I count ilk ane o' their ticks wi' a tear,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
Aince I kenned na which was the fairest,
The shimmer o' moonlight or morning's ray;
Noo I wist na which hours be the sairest,
Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
The shimmer o' moonlight or morning's ray;
Noo I wist na which hours be the sairest,
Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
He's aff, wha's ever was months twa three,
Wi' his false fair mou', an' his steed o' the grey,
He's left me to wale what time I'll dee,
Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
Wi' his false fair mou', an' his steed o' the grey,
He's left me to wale what time I'll dee,
Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
264
Bonnie he was whan he fleeched my heart,—
I hadna the heart to gie' him the nay;
There wasna an hour then that saw us apart,
Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
I hadna the heart to gie' him the nay;
There wasna an hour then that saw us apart,
Twalve o' the night, or twalve o' the day.
I'd love him again an' it were to do,
Aiblins I greet that I lo'ed him sae;
There wasna time to love him enoo,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
Aiblins I greet that I lo'ed him sae;
There wasna time to love him enoo,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
They tauld me the bee wi' his braw gold coat
Flits fair to the flower, but he winna stay:
I've muckle room noo to remind me o't,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
Flits fair to the flower, but he winna stay:
I've muckle room noo to remind me o't,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
Whisht! puir bairnie! thou'lt madden thy mammie
If thou'rt life-weary, why I am sae;
We'se gang to the grey sea, an' sleep there, my lammie,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
If thou'rt life-weary, why I am sae;
We'se gang to the grey sea, an' sleep there, my lammie,
Twalve o' the night, an' twalve o' the day.
265
TO F. C. H.
We stood at the white gate and looked o'er the lea
In September, Fred!
We saw the great river grow broad into sea;
Dost remember, Fred?
We watched grey sails while they faded away
In the grey weather, Fred;
And we asked to see whither went that seaway,
Close together, Fred!
In September, Fred!
We saw the great river grow broad into sea;
Dost remember, Fred?
We watched grey sails while they faded away
In the grey weather, Fred;
And we asked to see whither went that seaway,
Close together, Fred!
Half was heard as it rose from the spot
With the blue smoke, Fred;
Half the Collector of Clouds heard not
That we then spoke, Fred;
By Necessity, fisher of men, caught now
Like a halibut, Fred;
Christians I teach here, and Mussulmen thou,
Close by Calicut, Fred!
With the blue smoke, Fred;
Half the Collector of Clouds heard not
That we then spoke, Fred;
By Necessity, fisher of men, caught now
Like a halibut, Fred;
Christians I teach here, and Mussulmen thou,
Close by Calicut, Fred!
266
Come back, and take the things that are th
In the old land, Fred:
A warm corner, welcome, some old Rhine wine,
And a true hand, Fred;
And, in token that these await thee, Fred,
Ere we ferry the Styx,
I give thee,—'tis paper currency,—Fred,
Page two-sixty-six.
In the old land, Fred:
A warm corner, welcome, some old Rhine wine,
And a true hand, Fred;
And, in token that these await thee, Fred,
Ere we ferry the Styx,
I give thee,—'tis paper currency,—Fred,
Page two-sixty-six.
Birmingham, 1855.
267
HEART OF MINE.
When we both are very weary,
Heart of mine,
And all before is dreary,
Heart of mine,
With never a friend to love us,
And life's sky black above us,
Shall we faint because they prove us,
Heart of mine?
Heart of mine,
And all before is dreary,
Heart of mine,
With never a friend to love us,
And life's sky black above us,
Shall we faint because they prove us,
Heart of mine?
Nay, rather, bear it longer,
Than complain,
The bold resolve is stronger
Than the pain;
Though thou and I do sever,
We will yield our weapons never,
But try the brave endeavour
Yet again.
Than complain,
The bold resolve is stronger
Than the pain;
Though thou and I do sever,
We will yield our weapons never,
But try the brave endeavour
Yet again.
268
For the worst that comes to-morrow
Will but mend;
We can bear the deepest sorrow
It can send:
The sun we thought declining,
Behind the cloud is shining,
We can wait without repining
For the end.
Will but mend;
We can bear the deepest sorrow
It can send:
The sun we thought declining,
Behind the cloud is shining,
We can wait without repining
For the end.
269
THE LOST PLEIAD;
A STORY OF THE STARS.
At the noon of a May night,
When the stars are all alight,
And the white moon wanders through the grey;
And slowly over all
God's gentle hand doth fall,
To shield tired eyes from the day;—
When the stars are all alight,
And the white moon wanders through the grey;
And slowly over all
God's gentle hand doth fall,
To shield tired eyes from the day;—
At such a night's noon,
I watched the stars and moon,
Till they and I alone did seem to be;
Till in that silver throng,
Sorely my soul did long
To rove at will, and many wonders see.
I watched the stars and moon,
Till they and I alone did seem to be;
Till in that silver throng,
Sorely my soul did long
To rove at will, and many wonders see.
270
Wherefore I let it large,
And up from Earth's dim marge
It bounded like a horse from broken rein;
From the Dragon's flaming crest
To Orion's star-bound breast,
It roamed upon that Planet-studded plain.
And up from Earth's dim marge
It bounded like a horse from broken rein;
From the Dragon's flaming crest
To Orion's star-bound breast,
It roamed upon that Planet-studded plain.
On the broad flank of the Bear,
Dubhè flashed fierce and clear,
Lighting his glancing eyes and gleaming tusk;
And the Lion shook his mane,
And the great star-feathered Crane
Was up among his brothers of the dusk.
Dubhè flashed fierce and clear,
Lighting his glancing eyes and gleaming tusk;
And the Lion shook his mane,
And the great star-feathered Crane
Was up among his brothers of the dusk.
In the Northern Bull's bright van
I saw dread Aldebaran,
Andromeda's wild hair I saw a-flame,
By the Lyre's glittering strings,
Down through the Swan's white wings,
Unto a lovely, lonely light I came.
I saw dread Aldebaran,
Andromeda's wild hair I saw a-flame,
By the Lyre's glittering strings,
Down through the Swan's white wings,
Unto a lovely, lonely light I came.
271
A cloud of splendour sent
Out on the firmament,
As 't were the breath of each light-laden star,
A stream of splendour seen,
Broad in that sea of sheen,
Like Indian rivers flowing seaward far.
Out on the firmament,
As 't were the breath of each light-laden star,
A stream of splendour seen,
Broad in that sea of sheen,
Like Indian rivers flowing seaward far.
None other orbs did move
For such sweet show of love,
None shone like these in the sky companies;
I knew the Sisters Seven
Were the light-bearers of Heaven,
Whom men do name the tearful Pleiades.
For such sweet show of love,
None shone like these in the sky companies;
I knew the Sisters Seven
Were the light-bearers of Heaven,
Whom men do name the tearful Pleiades.
On each broad Planet's rim
Each held an urn at brim,
And poured its molten silver down her world;
In which fair gift of light
It's live things took delight,
And she in them:—one orb alone was furled
Each held an urn at brim,
And poured its molten silver down her world;
In which fair gift of light
It's live things took delight,
And she in them:—one orb alone was furled
272
In gloom; nor ray did send,
Save when the Six did bend
Their sister glances on the lonely one;
Whereat I could descry
A sad, mild majesty,
Sitting unlighted on a lightless sun.
Save when the Six did bend
Their sister glances on the lonely one;
Whereat I could descry
A sad, mild majesty,
Sitting unlighted on a lightless sun.
Why she alone of Seven,
Nor gave nor took in Heaven
Heaven's gift and gladness—Heaven-filling light—
Wherefore God's awful wrath
Sent her that lampless path,
And dimmed her crown among the Queens of Night.
Nor gave nor took in Heaven
Heaven's gift and gladness—Heaven-filling light—
Wherefore God's awful wrath
Sent her that lampless path,
And dimmed her crown among the Queens of Night.
I longed and sought to hear,—
Oh! gather round and near,—
I know that starless angel's story through;
It was not all a dream,
It did not wholly seem,—
Listen! I strike low strings! and tell it true.
Oh! gather round and near,—
I know that starless angel's story through;
It was not all a dream,
It did not wholly seem,—
Listen! I strike low strings! and tell it true.
273
Oh! Sisters Six, lead my dark star and me,
For I am Merope—blind Merope,
And I go shorn of light who lighted all.
Oh, splendent Sister Stars! gleam on my path,
And show me where it winds among the worlds,
Nor turn your glances hence, because I sit
And moan upon the story of my sin,
For I am Merope—blind Merope,—
Merope—light-abandoned Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
For I am Merope—blind Merope,
And I go shorn of light who lighted all.
Oh, splendent Sister Stars! gleam on my path,
And show me where it winds among the worlds,
Nor turn your glances hence, because I sit
And moan upon the story of my sin,
For I am Merope—blind Merope,—
Merope—light-abandoned Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
Oh, thrice twain Sisters! lead my world along.
In the beginning when none was save He,
God flung from both great hands His star-seed forth
Over the endless meadows of the air;
Wherein, as in the grain the broad green blade,
Life lay, and life's high loves and happy ends;
And unto each He gave fit ministrant,
And faithful warder. Some were kings of suns,
And dipped their cressets in the molten gold
That rippled round His throne; and other some
Fed on their borrowed glory, and were glad,
Frail spirits, shunning the full glance of God;
Some with the vaporous wreaths they did bestride,
Faded or were illumed; and some at speed
Rode errant angels, singing thorough space,
Curbing the Comets to their headlong course;
And unto some He gave a gentler gift,
To tend the lower worlds, and shine for them;
And unto us, His youngest-born, the Earth,
An ever-needing, never-ceasing care:
And chief He charged our Seven Sister-lights
To wax and wane above her, keeping aye
Mid station: and at noon and night, and ever,
To listen open-eared, and bear above
Unto His feet its children's cries and tears,—
For all tears that do fall, fall for God's ear.
Ai, ai! it was our charge—a gracious charge,
Ai, ai! I lost love's task unlovingly,
or I am Merope—blind Merope,—
Merope,—light-abandoned Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
In the beginning when none was save He,
God flung from both great hands His star-seed forth
Over the endless meadows of the air;
Wherein, as in the grain the broad green blade,
Life lay, and life's high loves and happy ends;
And unto each He gave fit ministrant,
And faithful warder. Some were kings of suns,
And dipped their cressets in the molten gold
274
Fed on their borrowed glory, and were glad,
Frail spirits, shunning the full glance of God;
Some with the vaporous wreaths they did bestride,
Faded or were illumed; and some at speed
Rode errant angels, singing thorough space,
Curbing the Comets to their headlong course;
And unto some He gave a gentler gift,
To tend the lower worlds, and shine for them;
And unto us, His youngest-born, the Earth,
An ever-needing, never-ceasing care:
And chief He charged our Seven Sister-lights
To wax and wane above her, keeping aye
Mid station: and at noon and night, and ever,
To listen open-eared, and bear above
Unto His feet its children's cries and tears,—
For all tears that do fall, fall for God's ear.
Ai, ai! it was our charge—a gracious charge,
Ai, ai! I lost love's task unlovingly,
275
Merope,—light-abandoned Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
Oh, Sisters Six! I follow plainingly,—
For I am Merope; and on my brow
God, at the giving of the silver worlds,
Laying His hand, left splendour. None of all,
Sisters—not one of all your gleaming band,
Wore whiter glory, or stood nearer God.
First of the seven lights I came and went,
And unto me Electra bent her beams,
And Maia bowed her brightness—and ye three,
Alcyone, Celæno, Taygete,
And silver Sterope, next me in place,
Took light from me, and tended me with love.
I was a perfect Angel of pure ray,
Chosen a chief of Planets. Woe is me!
I am a wildered thing in well-known paths,
For I am Merope,—lorn Merope,—
She that was great in Heaven become the least,
Standing between God's lowest and God's love.
For I am Merope; and on my brow
God, at the giving of the silver worlds,
Laying His hand, left splendour. None of all,
Sisters—not one of all your gleaming band,
Wore whiter glory, or stood nearer God.
First of the seven lights I came and went,
And unto me Electra bent her beams,
And Maia bowed her brightness—and ye three,
Alcyone, Celæno, Taygete,
And silver Sterope, next me in place,
Took light from me, and tended me with love.
I was a perfect Angel of pure ray,
Chosen a chief of Planets. Woe is me!
I am a wildered thing in well-known paths,
276
She that was great in Heaven become the least,
Standing between God's lowest and God's love.
Oh, Sisters! lead me with the sound of song,
Sweep solemn music forth from balanced wings,
And leave it cloudlike in the fluttered sky,
That I may feel and follow. Ah! my light,
My vanished lovely light! I sate in place
With wakeful eyes and kept the earth in ken;
And ye around me waited for my word.
Far down below the cone of shadow erept
Whereunder was Earth's night, and from its gloom
Prayers, and the sound of tears, and other sounds
Which unto angel ears are strange, came up
Like smoke from peaked volcano, and our vans
Fanned them fresh breath to take them on to God.
Sisters! amid the myriad cries that rose
From lips that Night's nepenthe could not calm,
Came a long prayer for mercy, growing loud
As it waxed hopeless—she who uttered it,
A sad stained woman, with a fair fierce cheek,
Kneeling beside the black rim of a river,
The rim of a black river, surging out
From a great city's glare into the gloom.
I saw her—and ye saw her, Sisters mine,
Plucking the mother's bosom from her babe
Ere the waves took them—one starved dead of love,
And one of life—both crying one heart-cry
That asked God's pity in pain's common tongue;
And ye said, “Sister, let it go to God;”
And I, who knowing all things knew her sin,
And what deed stained the raiment of her soul,
Answered, “It goeth not, her grief is just;”
And struck it down the sky. Woe! woe! her cry
Fell, and then rose, and grew up from a groan
Into a voice,—a voice that struck the Stars
And bounded from their brilliant capes, and rolled
Louder than living thunder, crash on crash,
Thrilling the Planets, till each Angel knew
The very voice of God, saying, “Thou Star!
Thou, Merope! go earthward.” Ah, my light!
Oh, Sisters, lead my world on while I weep,
For I am Merope,—blind Merope,
Merope,—light-abandoned Merope,
Who heard unmoved God's lowest ask His love.
Sweep solemn music forth from balanced wings,
And leave it cloudlike in the fluttered sky,
That I may feel and follow. Ah! my light,
My vanished lovely light! I sate in place
With wakeful eyes and kept the earth in ken;
And ye around me waited for my word.
Far down below the cone of shadow erept
Whereunder was Earth's night, and from its gloom
Prayers, and the sound of tears, and other sounds
Which unto angel ears are strange, came up
Like smoke from peaked volcano, and our vans
Fanned them fresh breath to take them on to God.
Sisters! amid the myriad cries that rose
From lips that Night's nepenthe could not calm,
Came a long prayer for mercy, growing loud
277
A sad stained woman, with a fair fierce cheek,
Kneeling beside the black rim of a river,
The rim of a black river, surging out
From a great city's glare into the gloom.
I saw her—and ye saw her, Sisters mine,
Plucking the mother's bosom from her babe
Ere the waves took them—one starved dead of love,
And one of life—both crying one heart-cry
That asked God's pity in pain's common tongue;
And ye said, “Sister, let it go to God;”
And I, who knowing all things knew her sin,
And what deed stained the raiment of her soul,
Answered, “It goeth not, her grief is just;”
And struck it down the sky. Woe! woe! her cry
Fell, and then rose, and grew up from a groan
Into a voice,—a voice that struck the Stars
And bounded from their brilliant capes, and rolled
Louder than living thunder, crash on crash,
Thrilling the Planets, till each Angel knew
278
Thou, Merope! go earthward.” Ah, my light!
Oh, Sisters, lead my world on while I weep,
For I am Merope,—blind Merope,
Merope,—light-abandoned Merope,
Who heard unmoved God's lowest ask His love.
Hear no more, holy Sisters, hear no more!
Bar the white porch of each unshamèd ear
With double-folded wing, for I must speak
Of things that enter not at that high gate,—
The mournful matter of a mortal life,
Whereto I went—hence,—but I know not how!
Fairer are homes of heaven, yet very fair
Thy fields and fountains were, my prison-house,
Caverns and woods, valleys and veiny brooks;
And thou, too, mountain-cradled Indian stream,
By whose green rim my feet new from the clouds
Touched the hard earth, and stood: in whose great towns
My spirit breathed harsh air of earth,—and lived:
Within the temple of that country's God
Amid the Indian maids I moved as one,
And took the manner of their mood and tongue,
And wore their vest and veil, and bore the name
An earthly father gave, and called his boy
A gentle human boy, loving and brave,
My brother!—Oh, woe! woe! light me along!
For I am Merope,—shamed Merope,
She that was made God's lowest on the earth,
Standing between God's lowest and His love.
Bar the white porch of each unshamèd ear
With double-folded wing, for I must speak
Of things that enter not at that high gate,—
The mournful matter of a mortal life,
Whereto I went—hence,—but I know not how!
Fairer are homes of heaven, yet very fair
Thy fields and fountains were, my prison-house,
Caverns and woods, valleys and veiny brooks;
And thou, too, mountain-cradled Indian stream,
By whose green rim my feet new from the clouds
Touched the hard earth, and stood: in whose great towns
279
Within the temple of that country's God
Amid the Indian maids I moved as one,
And took the manner of their mood and tongue,
And wore their vest and veil, and bore the name
An earthly father gave, and called his boy
A gentle human boy, loving and brave,
My brother!—Oh, woe! woe! light me along!
For I am Merope,—shamed Merope,
She that was made God's lowest on the earth,
Standing between God's lowest and His love.
Oh! Stars,—I say not Sisters, saying this:—
War rose in that our home, spears fringed the walls
Where corn bristled before; an old fierce king
Sought us for slaves, and men laid down their lives
That others might live free: my brother fought
A-front in all the battles, for these hands
Buckled the steel that kept his heart from harm,
And fed his quiver. Sinless human love
Touched me, and on the battlements by night,
Gazing unknowingly upon mine own,
I charged Star-Angels to shine fair for him,
And send him loving light. At such a time,
The captain of the chariots of the king,
Watching our wall, cast eyes of earnest love
On me, and lit my soul up with a flame
Wherein all maiden meekness, fear and faith,
Courage to strive and purity to pray,
And the last little wrack of glory lost,
Melted as May snow melts under the sun,
And left a bare bad heart. Oh! hear me not,
High Stars! a cursed thing is loveless love,—
Accursed of God, I knew it, and I fell.
Am I not Merope?—dark Merope,
That Merope whom God's wrath did cast down,
Standing between God's lowest and God's love.
War rose in that our home, spears fringed the walls
Where corn bristled before; an old fierce king
Sought us for slaves, and men laid down their lives
That others might live free: my brother fought
A-front in all the battles, for these hands
Buckled the steel that kept his heart from harm,
And fed his quiver. Sinless human love
Touched me, and on the battlements by night,
280
I charged Star-Angels to shine fair for him,
And send him loving light. At such a time,
The captain of the chariots of the king,
Watching our wall, cast eyes of earnest love
On me, and lit my soul up with a flame
Wherein all maiden meekness, fear and faith,
Courage to strive and purity to pray,
And the last little wrack of glory lost,
Melted as May snow melts under the sun,
And left a bare bad heart. Oh! hear me not,
High Stars! a cursed thing is loveless love,—
Accursed of God, I knew it, and I fell.
Am I not Merope?—dark Merope,
That Merope whom God's wrath did cast down,
Standing between God's lowest and God's love.
Sisters! lead me along. The Planets pale,
The powers of Heaven are pale to hear in Heaven
The story of my shame. Ai, ai! light on!
I hurry to the ending. Many an eve,—
Oh, silver worlds, ye saw it!—we did meet,
And drank the burning cup of Passion dry,
Nor slacked the draught, nor stayed, though we might see
The dreggy poison through the purple wine.
Oh, a strong thing is Love!—strong as a fiend
To drag the soul to Hell,—strong as a saint
To lift it to sweet Heaven! I swore to him
To yield the city open-gated up
Unto his thirsty swords, for pity went,
And faith, and fair thoughts,—all but headlong love,
At his strong breath. My brother kept the guard
I' the eastern gate: I took him food, and tried
The buckles of his breastplate,—one I loosed,
And drew his battle-knife, and laughingly
Struck on the tempered scales, whereat he smiled,
And bade me strike amain: good sooth! I did,—
Down through the stolen passage past his heart,
That the life left him ere the bright blood came;
Then I flung back the portals, and let in
A sea of stormy plumes,—it swept along
One little breath-time, soon a rock-like band
Met it—and stayed—and turned, and scattered it,
Ten to a hundred, fighting for the right,
And scored the backs of the fliers, for all fled
Save one; and him, under my wringing hands,
The savage lances stabbed through greave and groin:
Then mine eyes swam in blood; some angry gripe
Somewhither haled the reeking corse and me
Past howling citizens. Oh, let me end!
Oh! light sad Merope, and let her end!
Merope,—hope-abandoned Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love!
The powers of Heaven are pale to hear in Heaven
The story of my shame. Ai, ai! light on!
281
Oh, silver worlds, ye saw it!—we did meet,
And drank the burning cup of Passion dry,
Nor slacked the draught, nor stayed, though we might see
The dreggy poison through the purple wine.
Oh, a strong thing is Love!—strong as a fiend
To drag the soul to Hell,—strong as a saint
To lift it to sweet Heaven! I swore to him
To yield the city open-gated up
Unto his thirsty swords, for pity went,
And faith, and fair thoughts,—all but headlong love,
At his strong breath. My brother kept the guard
I' the eastern gate: I took him food, and tried
The buckles of his breastplate,—one I loosed,
And drew his battle-knife, and laughingly
Struck on the tempered scales, whereat he smiled,
And bade me strike amain: good sooth! I did,—
Down through the stolen passage past his heart,
That the life left him ere the bright blood came;
282
A sea of stormy plumes,—it swept along
One little breath-time, soon a rock-like band
Met it—and stayed—and turned, and scattered it,
Ten to a hundred, fighting for the right,
And scored the backs of the fliers, for all fled
Save one; and him, under my wringing hands,
The savage lances stabbed through greave and groin:
Then mine eyes swam in blood; some angry gripe
Somewhither haled the reeking corse and me
Past howling citizens. Oh, let me end!
Oh! light sad Merope, and let her end!
Merope,—hope-abandoned Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love!
Oh, sapphire-vested Sisters! oh, crowned Lights!
Bear with my moan a little; I must tell
How human life did leave me. It was when
The stream whereby we lived did slowly rise
To flood his rushy banks. I, gaining sight,
Waking in fetters by the dark stream-side,
Saw under me the swelling tide, and knew
Cold Death was creeping upward. Oh! I shrieked,
And strained the links that held me to the slime,
And sank soul-stricken on the bloody breast
Of what I loved,—he lay there, and on mine
My child, poor fool! I tore him off, and then,
Mad, bleeding, passion-poisoned, wild with woe,
Kneeling beside the black rim of the river,—
The rim of the black river, surging out
From the great city's glare into the gloom,
I cried aloud to God.The cry came back,
As I had spurned it! Yea, I knew it all!
As I had spurned it, sitting on my Star!
Yea, yea! I knew it all, and one wild space
God's anger scathed me, then the kind quick waves
Lapped o'er my lip and washed the foul life out;
And then I know not what,—and then I sat,
Dark on my darkling star. Oh, holy God!
I do adore Thee, Mighty, Merciful,
Pitying all things, Thou didst pity me,
Who pitied not; for I am Merope,—
Ai, ai! Light-bearers, I am Merope,
Merope,—Heaven-exiled Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
Bear with my moan a little; I must tell
How human life did leave me. It was when
The stream whereby we lived did slowly rise
To flood his rushy banks. I, gaining sight,
283
Saw under me the swelling tide, and knew
Cold Death was creeping upward. Oh! I shrieked,
And strained the links that held me to the slime,
And sank soul-stricken on the bloody breast
Of what I loved,—he lay there, and on mine
My child, poor fool! I tore him off, and then,
Mad, bleeding, passion-poisoned, wild with woe,
Kneeling beside the black rim of the river,—
The rim of the black river, surging out
From the great city's glare into the gloom,
I cried aloud to God.The cry came back,
As I had spurned it! Yea, I knew it all!
As I had spurned it, sitting on my Star!
Yea, yea! I knew it all, and one wild space
God's anger scathed me, then the kind quick waves
Lapped o'er my lip and washed the foul life out;
And then I know not what,—and then I sat,
Dark on my darkling star. Oh, holy God!
I do adore Thee, Mighty, Merciful,
284
Who pitied not; for I am Merope,—
Ai, ai! Light-bearers, I am Merope,
Merope,—Heaven-exiled Merope,
Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
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