In My Lady's Praise Being Poems, Old and New: Written to the Honour of Fanny, Lady Arnold and Now Collected for her Memory: By Sir Edwin Arnold |
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117
E.
[Euclase! and Essonite! the last and rarest—]
Euclase! and Essonite! the last and rarest—
With Evening Emerald, surnamed Peridot!
Now will fair ladies envy you, my Dearest,
For this full Jewel-Casket you have got!
With Evening Emerald, surnamed Peridot!
Now will fair ladies envy you, my Dearest,
For this full Jewel-Casket you have got!
Euclase! Not many an eye hath viewed the wonder!
A secret of Brazilian streams, which bring
Once in twelve moons to sight—the schist-drifts under—
The tender glories of this subtle thing.
A secret of Brazilian streams, which bring
Once in twelve moons to sight—the schist-drifts under—
The tender glories of this subtle thing.
Sometimes a honey-yellow, sometimes green
As leaves against the light, then shot with flakes
Of pale sea-blue, but all three Colours seen
As Nature wills; for the keen crystal takes
As leaves against the light, then shot with flakes
Of pale sea-blue, but all three Colours seen
As Nature wills; for the keen crystal takes
No touch of wheel. Its fragile charms forbid
A goldsmith's labour; when the Maker made
Euclase, “Let there lie, in My Rivers hid,
One perfect thing man shall not mar!” He said.
A goldsmith's labour; when the Maker made
Euclase, “Let there lie, in My Rivers hid,
One perfect thing man shall not mar!” He said.
118
And Essonite—styled “stone of Cinnamon”—
The garnet Greek and Tuscan used to grave
With beauty, best and sweetest under sun,
Faces of Gods, and Heroes great and brave!
The garnet Greek and Tuscan used to grave
With beauty, best and sweetest under sun,
Faces of Gods, and Heroes great and brave!
Gold, fired with crimson beams, so glows this gem,
Cut to a beetle's shape, the sacred Scarab
Of dead Egyptians. Note the signs of them
Quaint hieroglyphs! Some Œthiop or Arab
Cut to a beetle's shape, the sacred Scarab
Of dead Egyptians. Note the signs of them
Quaint hieroglyphs! Some Œthiop or Arab
Wore this in life and death; and no man knows
His name or deeds! But your name men shall know
Reading these jewelled letters which compose
Its gentle music; for my verse will go—
His name or deeds! But your name men shall know
Reading these jewelled letters which compose
Its gentle music; for my verse will go—
Glad with the light of Love and you—to days
When better poets live, and Life,—made strong
By sheaves of our sad sowing-time—shall praise
Ladies we sang, and graces of our song.
When better poets live, and Life,—made strong
By sheaves of our sad sowing-time—shall praise
Ladies we sang, and graces of our song.
Last comes my Peridot, the stone of Eve,
Tinted as evening skies are when their blue
Blends with the gold and grey, till we believe
Asphodel valleys open, and 'tis true
Tinted as evening skies are when their blue
Blends with the gold and grey, till we believe
Asphodel valleys open, and 'tis true
119
That blessëd spirits tread green meads in Heaven.
This is the “precious olivine” men trace
In cliffs of Nile; and sometimes it is riven
From those black massy bolts hurled out of space
This is the “precious olivine” men trace
In cliffs of Nile; and sometimes it is riven
From those black massy bolts hurled out of space
Upon our Earth. Whence come they? Birds of wonder,
Flying on fearful pinions from the Vast
Wherein all swims; lighting, mid flame and thunder,
In the scorched fields. The Indian blacksmith's blast
Flying on fearful pinions from the Vast
Wherein all swims; lighting, mid flame and thunder,
In the scorched fields. The Indian blacksmith's blast
Forges a sword therefrom of splendid water:
I pluck a jewel, Dear! for Love can bring
Gladness from grief, high hope from death and slaughter,
Light out of Darkness, good from everything!
I pluck a jewel, Dear! for Love can bring
Gladness from grief, high hope from death and slaughter,
Light out of Darkness, good from everything!
| In My Lady's Praise | |