 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
50
ISOLINA.
I
O all fair women of my boyish daysWith whom I fell in love in sweet rotation,
I bow my head in humble obligation,
And lift my voice, and loudly sing your praise;
There was an “Isoline” whose memory stays
Yet with me, and “Die Vernon,” I remember
How heartily to her I did surrender
My soul, my reverent open-eyed amaze
At that most fascinating dame; and others
A countless host of many coloured eyes
Whose glances now, alas! forgetfulness smothers,
But which once thrilled me throughly with surprise,
And unto thoughts that tender youth supplies,
All high romantic thoughts, were foster-mothers.
51
II
But, chiefest of them all, sweet IsolinaThe heroine of the ‘War-Trail’ doth remain
In mind of mine, and even now the pain
And mingled pleasure of her high demeanour
In that most perilous time in which I'd seen her
My memory is potent to retain,
And her fierce beauty as of dark-eyed Spain
Is present with me; when a boy to screen her
From those wild Indians what would I have done,
To have been the happy man who brought her back,
A kiss of Isolina's to have won,
To have followed furiously the White Horse track?
Why, I was all the time upon the rack,
I felt upon my lids the fervent sun
52
III
Of Mexico, and through the shadowy wasteOf mezquite bushes and the flowery plains
I followed hard the trail with loosened reins
And made pursuit of her in hottest haste,
All tremulous lest half a tress displaced
By rougher hands might bring to nought our pains;
An echo of the agony yet remains,
A vision of the speed with which we raced
Across these burning prairies, and a throb,
Yea, even now a throb of that long kiss
With which we welcomed back to arms of bliss,
Inviolate, her that fate had tried to rob
Us of; pure ecstasy indeed was this,
The ecstasy that endeth in a sob,
53
IV
Too sweet to tarry dry-eyed; good old tale,I thank thee for the pleasure thou hast given
To hours of boyhood, in that I have striven
Over thy pages, heart a-beat and pale,
To one at least thou hast been of avail,
And of reality his mind hast shriven
For a time, asunder robe of daylight riven,
And filled Imagination's swelling sail
With breezes of romance; farewell my Queen,
My early dark-eyed face-flushed Queen of Hearts,
Tanned with the passion of those Southern parts!
Alas! full many a year has rolled between
Thee and thy boyish knight, and sting of darts
Of Love far fiercer since his soul has seen.
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