The Dwale Bluth Hebditch's Legacy and Other Literary Remains of Oliver Madox-Brown ... Edited by William M. Rossetti and F. Hueffer: With a Memoir and Two Portraits |
 |
 | TO ALL ETERNITY,
AND
OTHER STANZAS AND VERSES. |
 | The Dwale Bluth |  |
33
TO ALL ETERNITY, AND OTHER STANZAS AND VERSES.
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TO ALL ETERNITY.
Incutiens blandum per pectora amarum.
Ah me!
My own grows chill within me! There's no standard
In heaven above or hell beneath, o'er which
A woman's soul may not predominate—
May not aspire to—or degrade itself!
My own grows chill within me! There's no standard
In heaven above or hell beneath, o'er which
A woman's soul may not predominate—
May not aspire to—or degrade itself!
Once she was almost beautiful. Her eyes
Shone glittering; twin stars plucked from the abyss
Of God's most fathomless soul; twin mysteries,
So deep your drowned brain whirled in them, so bright
That even their colour seemed a mystery—
Whence the emotional keen spirit flashed forth
Its scintillant electricities. Her eyes
Kindled and shone like flames blown in the wind
That day when first we met—For [[OMITTED]] they made
A boy's soul luminous, where now they burn
The grown man's soul to death!
Shone glittering; twin stars plucked from the abyss
Of God's most fathomless soul; twin mysteries,
So deep your drowned brain whirled in them, so bright
That even their colour seemed a mystery—
Whence the emotional keen spirit flashed forth
Its scintillant electricities. Her eyes
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That day when first we met—For [[OMITTED]] they made
A boy's soul luminous, where now they burn
The grown man's soul to death!
Ah love! love! love!
Whose unintelligible promptings lure
Earth's mightiest nerves to thraldom—whose deep magic,
Too swift for timorous afterthought, too deep
For present doubt, makes blind the brain—whose hands
Mould this man's heaven from that man's hell—whose gaze
Infatuates—whose wind-shod feet resume
The joys its hands disperse—whose yearnings storm
Heaven with their high intentions, ere God paves
Hell's wildest depths with them! Oh love! love! love!
My soul and thine were even as one with hers
When first that glance met mine.
Whose unintelligible promptings lure
Earth's mightiest nerves to thraldom—whose deep magic,
Too swift for timorous afterthought, too deep
For present doubt, makes blind the brain—whose hands
Mould this man's heaven from that man's hell—whose gaze
Infatuates—whose wind-shod feet resume
The joys its hands disperse—whose yearnings storm
Heaven with their high intentions, ere God paves
Hell's wildest depths with them! Oh love! love! love!
My soul and thine were even as one with hers
When first that glance met mine.
That day the sun
Smote round our ivy-clad old hall till all
Its redolent green turned grey. The floodland meadows
Sultry and odorous sickened me, and I,
Tired of the sunlight too, with all my brain
Plunged in some nameless ecstasy, sought refuge
Deep in the sheltered hollows of a wood
Full of melodious silence and soft whispers
Of wind-lent life among still boughs, that fringed
The foot of the hills beyond . . .
Smote round our ivy-clad old hall till all
Its redolent green turned grey. The floodland meadows
Sultry and odorous sickened me, and I,
Tired of the sunlight too, with all my brain
Plunged in some nameless ecstasy, sought refuge
Deep in the sheltered hollows of a wood
Full of melodious silence and soft whispers
Of wind-lent life among still boughs, that fringed
The foot of the hills beyond . . .
The stillness grew
So deep at last that I could hear my heart
Throb like an echoing footfall. Once a thrush
Broke through the brambles with wild amorous cries;
And as I marked its startled flight, the trees
Reeled in my sight till all their foliage
Seemed whirling in a dream.
So deep at last that I could hear my heart
Throb like an echoing footfall. Once a thrush
Broke through the brambles with wild amorous cries;
And as I marked its startled flight, the trees
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Seemed whirling in a dream.
How long I wandered
Dreaming my soul out thus, I know not; only
I think a sudden rustle underfoot
Broke up my reverie at last, and I
Stepped back o' the instant. Stretched across my path
Swift-striped and sibilant-fanged a viper crawled
From one stone to another, and disappeared
Even as I watched it.
Dreaming my soul out thus, I know not; only
I think a sudden rustle underfoot
Broke up my reverie at last, and I
Stepped back o' the instant. Stretched across my path
Swift-striped and sibilant-fanged a viper crawled
From one stone to another, and disappeared
Even as I watched it.
Oh my God! had I
Only but known that sign for what it meant!
But that same instant a low tremulous sound
Passed like a sigh in the wind—which faltering
(Like to the first drops of an April shower)
Died quite away: only to recommence,
Until at last its sweetness reached a pitch
So sweet—so incommunicably sweet,
That all my blood turned fire within my veins,
And my heart sank within me. Then I knew
It was a woman's voice that sang.
Only but known that sign for what it meant!
But that same instant a low tremulous sound
Passed like a sigh in the wind—which faltering
(Like to the first drops of an April shower)
Died quite away: only to recommence,
Until at last its sweetness reached a pitch
So sweet—so incommunicably sweet,
That all my blood turned fire within my veins,
And my heart sank within me. Then I knew
It was a woman's voice that sang.
The wood
Grew thinner thereabouts—for presently
I broke into a glade where the warm sun
Pierced through at random, and, just slipping round
The weather-beaten trunk of a huge oak,
Stepped out into the light. How shall I tell
What happened there? For first I stood half dazed
In one great blaze of sunlight. Then there came
A sharp stroke on my side, and I reeled back
Breathless and stupefied; whilst a shrill scream
Rang in mine ears. Just hovering past my face
I saw the suspended figure of a girl
Nigh grown to womanhood mount high i' the air
Some moments yet ere she could stay herself.
She had been swinging as she sang, her rope
Fast to the boughs o'erhead; and I it seemed
Had stepped before her unawares, her song
Still on her lips low-lingering; till it changed
Into that frightened scream.
Grew thinner thereabouts—for presently
I broke into a glade where the warm sun
Pierced through at random, and, just slipping round
The weather-beaten trunk of a huge oak,
Stepped out into the light. How shall I tell
What happened there? For first I stood half dazed
In one great blaze of sunlight. Then there came
A sharp stroke on my side, and I reeled back
Breathless and stupefied; whilst a shrill scream
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I saw the suspended figure of a girl
Nigh grown to womanhood mount high i' the air
Some moments yet ere she could stay herself.
She had been swinging as she sang, her rope
Fast to the boughs o'erhead; and I it seemed
Had stepped before her unawares, her song
Still on her lips low-lingering; till it changed
Into that frightened scream.
And now she stopped,
Sprang to the earth, and disappeared ere I
Could gain my feet again; I only caught
One brief glance of her face—then she was gone.
Sprang to the earth, and disappeared ere I
Could gain my feet again; I only caught
One brief glance of her face—then she was gone.
285
SONNET
No more these passion-worn faces shall men's eyesBehold in life. Death leaves no trace behind
Of their wild hate and wilder love, grown blind
In desperate longing, more than the foam which lies
Splashed up awhile where the showered spray descries
The waves whereto their cold limbs were resign'd;
Yet ever doth the sea-wind's undefin'd
Vague wailing shudder with their dying sighs.
For all men's souls 'twixt sorrow and love are cast
As on the earth each lingers his brief space,
While surely nightfall comes where each man's face
In death's obliteration sinks at last
As a deserted wind-tossed sea's foam-trace—
Life's chilled boughs emptied by death's autumn blast.
286
SONNET WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF THIRTEEN FOR A PICTURE BY MRS. STILLMAN.
Leaning against the window, rapt in thought,Of what sweet past do thy soft brown eyes dream
That so expressionlessly sweet they seem?
Or what great image hath thy fancy wrought
To wonder round and gaze at? or doth aught
Of legend move thee, o'er which eyes oft stream,
Telling of some sweet saint who rose supreme
From martyrdom to God, with glory fraught?
Or art thou listening to the gondolier,
Whose song is dying o'er the waters wide,
Trying the faintly-sounding tune to hear
Before it mixes with the rippling tide?
Or dost thou think of one that comes not near,
And whose false heart, in thine, thine own doth chide?
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GIPSY SONG.
“I love very well
The first blossoming
(I love well I ween)
That blooms in the spring;
Its purple and green
Seem meet for some queen,
To bind in her hair's loosening.
The first blossoming
(I love well I ween)
That blooms in the spring;
Its purple and green
Seem meet for some queen,
To bind in her hair's loosening.
“I should love well to match me!
(The light of high heaven
Burns in my eyes!)
And I love well,” she cries,
“The young men to watch me,—
But ah! who can catch me?
For I run with feet fleeter than wind through the skies.”
(The light of high heaven
Burns in my eyes!)
And I love well,” she cries,
“The young men to watch me,—
But ah! who can catch me?
For I run with feet fleeter than wind through the skies.”
288
DEVONSHIRE CHILDREN'S SONG.
A dwalling drumble-drone ie' th' ruets,
An apple-dreane aboo,
Th' yapple-dreane sturtled and stugged ie' th' fruits,
Th' drone ie' th' yavil flew.
An apple-dreane aboo,
Th' yapple-dreane sturtled and stugged ie' th' fruits,
Th' drone ie' th' yavil flew.
T'ould coo cuddled agin th' colt,
Th' puss-cat scrudled a-vigging her claw,
For th' yangles wert just beginning ter moult
Sae the yearth wert laden wi' snaw.
Th' puss-cat scrudled a-vigging her claw,
For th' yangles wert just beginning ter moult
Sae the yearth wert laden wi' snaw.
An apple-dreane an' a drumble-drone
Wert aw' ther' wert to zee,
Th' drumble-drone lay deed ie' th' snaw,
And ter yapple-dreane i' th' dree!
Wert aw' ther' wert to zee,
Th' drumble-drone lay deed ie' th' snaw,
And ter yapple-dreane i' th' dree!
289
GIPSY SONG.
The growth of love's fruit is
Most meet to eat;
Yet a snare where the root is
Entangles the feet.
Most meet to eat;
Yet a snare where the root is
Entangles the feet.
To passion no stop is
When true love hath sinned;
But the flower that love's crop is
Droops dead i' the wind.
When true love hath sinned;
But the flower that love's crop is
Droops dead i' the wind.
290
FRAGMENT OF BALLAD.
Woe to the unborn sons of the Tracies!(Say what redemption is left through all time)
O could they reach to the land where God's grace is,
Baffled and faint with the storm-wind's embraces,
(The wind that wails for their forefather's crime
With ever the wind and rain in their faces,—
Never again till the end of time.
ZINGALI SONG.
La chenda di claisAnd re mi claise
Camela Camela
La bastarda broh jugi
Di brotomuchi
Clonel a badnoi.
291
SONG.
[Lady, we are growing tired!]
Lady, we are growing tired!
Lo! our faltering breath,
Once with new-born love inspired,
Holds the love we once desired, as weary unto death.
Lo! our faltering breath,
Once with new-born love inspired,
Holds the love we once desired, as weary unto death.
Lady, Love is very fleet,
All too fleet for sorrow:
But if we part in time, my sweet,
We'll overtake Love's flying feet,—
If we part to-day, my love, we'll find new love to-morrow.
All too fleet for sorrow:
But if we part in time, my sweet,
We'll overtake Love's flying feet,—
If we part to-day, my love, we'll find new love to-morrow.
292
SONG.
[Sing away, Oh sing away!]
Sing away, Oh sing away!
My father's ship sails swiftly home:
O'er the wind-blown waves a-foam
What gifts will be bring away?
My father's ship sails swiftly home:
O'er the wind-blown waves a-foam
What gifts will be bring away?
A golden coif to bind my locks—
Sing away, Oh sing away!—
Or else two white-and-silver smocks.
But if he drift on the sea's rocks
What gifts will he bring away?
Sing away, Oh sing away!—
Or else two white-and-silver smocks.
But if he drift on the sea's rocks
What gifts will he bring away?
293
SONG.
[Love is a desultory fire]
Love is a desultory fire,
Blown by a wind made musical with sighs,
A void and wonderfully vague desire,
Which comes and flies.
Blown by a wind made musical with sighs,
A void and wonderfully vague desire,
Which comes and flies.
Of once-sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?
Alas! my love, Love's eyes are very blind!
What would they have us do? sun-flowers and poppies
Stoop to the wind.
Alas! my love, Love's eyes are very blind!
What would they have us do? sun-flowers and poppies
Stoop to the wind.
294
STANZAS.
[What sweet lips are reddening]
What sweet lips are reddening
In the void beyond to-morrow?
Ah! what cause for joy or sorrow
May the coming seasons bring?
Nay! they're all too sweet, those days, for our imagining.
In the void beyond to-morrow?
Ah! what cause for joy or sorrow
May the coming seasons bring?
Nay! they're all too sweet, those days, for our imagining.
Many a youth is fain for love,
Many a maiden's heart is yearning:
Oh hasten while you can to prove
The thoughts wherewith your souls are burning.
Life is all too short for sorrow,
Yesterday died beckoning the unreluctant morrow.
Many a maiden's heart is yearning:
Oh hasten while you can to prove
The thoughts wherewith your souls are burning.
Life is all too short for sorrow,
Yesterday died beckoning the unreluctant morrow.
295
LAURA'S SONG.
[Alas! who knows or cares, my love]
Alas! who knows or cares, my love,
If our love live or die,—
If thou thy frailty, sweet, shouldst prove,
Or my soul thine deny?
Yet merging sorrow in delight,
Love's dream disputes our devious night.
If our love live or die,—
If thou thy frailty, sweet, shouldst prove,
Or my soul thine deny?
Yet merging sorrow in delight,
Love's dream disputes our devious night.
None know, sweet love, nor care a thought
For our heart's vague desire,
Nor if our longing come to nought,
Or burn in aimless fire;
Let them alone, we'll waste no sighs:
Cling closer, love, and close thine eyes!
For our heart's vague desire,
Nor if our longing come to nought,
Or burn in aimless fire;
Let them alone, we'll waste no sighs:
Cling closer, love, and close thine eyes!
| The Dwale Bluth | |