A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings Edited by Edward Harston |
 | I. | PART I.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. |
 |
| II. |
| III. |
 | A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings |  |
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I. PART I. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
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THE TRADITION OF THE GOLDEN SPURS.
Listen to me,—
I heard a story once, a legend old,
Calmly and simply told
By a young child; who, if her words might be
Fraught with past sighs and mournful imagery,
Knew not the touching nature of her tale,
Nor felt her young heart fail—
Recounting troubles she could nothing know,
With ancient battles almost out of mind,
Warriors on History's page but half defin'd,
And Saxon times, and manners left behind,
Ages ago.
I heard a story once, a legend old,
Calmly and simply told
By a young child; who, if her words might be
Fraught with past sighs and mournful imagery,
Knew not the touching nature of her tale,
Nor felt her young heart fail—
Recounting troubles she could nothing know,
With ancient battles almost out of mind,
Warriors on History's page but half defin'd,
And Saxon times, and manners left behind,
Ages ago.
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Listen to me,—
There is a little river, fed by rills,
That winds among the hills,
And turns and suns itself unceasingly,
And wanders through the corn-fields wooingly,
For it has nothing else to do but play
Along its cheery way;
Not like great rivers that in locks are bound,
On whom hard man doth heavy burdens lay,
And fret their waters into foam and spray.
This river's life is one long holiday
All the year round.
There is a little river, fed by rills,
That winds among the hills,
And turns and suns itself unceasingly,
And wanders through the corn-fields wooingly,
For it has nothing else to do but play
Along its cheery way;
Not like great rivers that in locks are bound,
On whom hard man doth heavy burdens lay,
And fret their waters into foam and spray.
This river's life is one long holiday
All the year round.
Listen and long!—
It hears the bells of many churches chime,
It has a pleasant time:
The trees that bow to it their branches strong,
Hide many birds that make its spring one song,
And orchard boughs let fall their flowery wealth,
To float away by stealth,
And land in tiny coves a mile below,
Or round and round the stems of rushes veer
Like snowy foam, but truly none is here,
So calmly gurgle on the waters clear
With endless flow.
It hears the bells of many churches chime,
It has a pleasant time:
The trees that bow to it their branches strong,
Hide many birds that make its spring one song,
And orchard boughs let fall their flowery wealth,
To float away by stealth,
And land in tiny coves a mile below,
Or round and round the stems of rushes veer
Like snowy foam, but truly none is here,
So calmly gurgle on the waters clear
With endless flow.
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What means this boat?
And why across the stream as smooth as glass
So calmly does it pass?
There is a weighty reason, one of note,
And all the country knows it well by rote;
I saw, this morning, by the river's side,
A fair and blue-ey'd bride;
She pass'd the bridge nor turn'd her foot that way,
Though in her path towards the church it stood;
She came across the fields, and through the wood,
And by the ferry boat her way made good,
This very day.
And why across the stream as smooth as glass
So calmly does it pass?
There is a weighty reason, one of note,
And all the country knows it well by rote;
I saw, this morning, by the river's side,
A fair and blue-ey'd bride;
She pass'd the bridge nor turn'd her foot that way,
Though in her path towards the church it stood;
She came across the fields, and through the wood,
And by the ferry boat her way made good,
This very day.
Now the stream sings
Through the wide common, gay with furze and broom,
Sweet musk, and heather bloom;
Through pastures white with fieldfare's fluttering wings,
Freckled with fern, and dropp'd with fairy rings;
Prattling, and telling ever, night and day,
To all that pass that way
The self-same tale that it has always done.
What then? the tale, if ancient, is most true,
Sure as the steadfast hills; why vainly sue
For that which is not? “There is nothing new
Under the sun.”
Through the wide common, gay with furze and broom,
Sweet musk, and heather bloom;
Through pastures white with fieldfare's fluttering wings,
Freckled with fern, and dropp'd with fairy rings;
Prattling, and telling ever, night and day,
To all that pass that way
The self-same tale that it has always done.
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Sure as the steadfast hills; why vainly sue
For that which is not? “There is nothing new
Under the sun.”
No more of this,—
I cannot bind its murmurs in my line,
And into words confine
The story of its wanderings and its bliss,
Nor tell how its sweet waves the margin kiss;
Through the grey walls of the old Saxon town
Let it come gently down,
Let it come dancing brightly into view
From under the old bridge, and gurgling swell
Past the green bed of reeds where Edmund fell;
The Saxon Prince, of whom this tale they tell,
I tell to you.
I cannot bind its murmurs in my line,
And into words confine
The story of its wanderings and its bliss,
Nor tell how its sweet waves the margin kiss;
Through the grey walls of the old Saxon town
Let it come gently down,
Let it come dancing brightly into view
From under the old bridge, and gurgling swell
Past the green bed of reeds where Edmund fell;
The Saxon Prince, of whom this tale they tell,
I tell to you.
The heathen Dane was in the land, he spread his tokens wide,
Like running fire on moorlands dry he swept the country side;
The south fled down before his face, he left the north forlorn,
He tore the bridges from their banks, and burn'd the standing corn.
Like running fire on moorlands dry he swept the country side;
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He tore the bridges from their banks, and burn'd the standing corn.
The herbs were green before his face, they waver'd in the wind,
But with his foot he drank their lives, and left them black behind.
As if his breath was poison's seed, his curse had blasting power,
The grass along his pathway droop'd, and wither'd bud and flower.
But with his foot he drank their lives, and left them black behind.
As if his breath was poison's seed, his curse had blasting power,
The grass along his pathway droop'd, and wither'd bud and flower.
Like troops of demons from beneath, let loose awhile from chains,
His thousands swarm'd upon the strand, and spread upon the plains.
Upon a quiet Sabbath morn, they reach'd our fenny shore,
And they that rang the church bells then, did never ring them more.
His thousands swarm'd upon the strand, and spread upon the plains.
Upon a quiet Sabbath morn, they reach'd our fenny shore,
And they that rang the church bells then, did never ring them more.
They came across yon dewy slope, where scatter'd alders grow,
And there a bloody field was fought, that long, long time ago.
The summer sun arose betimes on murder, din, and rout,
And setting late, was all too soon to see that battle out.
And there a bloody field was fought, that long, long time ago.
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And setting late, was all too soon to see that battle out.
It was upon the longest day the Danes and Saxons met,
And echoes as of clashing swords, 'tis said, are heard here yet;
Heard often on a summer noon, when all the land is still,
With passing footsteps on the grass, and whispers from the hill.
And echoes as of clashing swords, 'tis said, are heard here yet;
Heard often on a summer noon, when all the land is still,
With passing footsteps on the grass, and whispers from the hill.
There lie, shut out from light and change, crush'd in their crowded beds,
With spear and lance corroded deep and rusted arrow heads,—
There lie the bones of those who fell, where now with heedless feet
Upon the barrow on the hill the rustic lovers meet.
With spear and lance corroded deep and rusted arrow heads,—
There lie the bones of those who fell, where now with heedless feet
Upon the barrow on the hill the rustic lovers meet.
It was upon the longest day (as learned men divine),
And ere the sun was fairly down, the moon began to shine,
She cast abroad her waxen rays, and was a lovely sight,
So pale she look'd while all the west with ruddy red was bright.
And ere the sun was fairly down, the moon began to shine,
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So pale she look'd while all the west with ruddy red was bright.
She shone without a cloud to shade her wan reproachful face,
Till, near her time of going down, the sky grew black apace:
Up from the south came driving mists, and fast before her fled,
Heavy and black, as evil dreams about a murderer's bed.
Till, near her time of going down, the sky grew black apace:
Up from the south came driving mists, and fast before her fled,
Heavy and black, as evil dreams about a murderer's bed.
Then many a soul in darkness deep pass'd upward from the plain,
And many a curse on his false gods pour'd forth the heathen Dane;
And many a sigh from Saxon lips was breath'd for coming day,
Breath'd vainly—as the life-blood fail'd, that ebb'd so fast away.
And many a curse on his false gods pour'd forth the heathen Dane;
And many a sigh from Saxon lips was breath'd for coming day,
Breath'd vainly—as the life-blood fail'd, that ebb'd so fast away.
Where was the Saxon Prince that night? his scatter'd force had fled;
But he was not with them—nor laid at rest among the dead—
The little river in his ears had sung that night, to guide
His footsteps to the bridge that spann'd its broad but shallow tide.
But he was not with them—nor laid at rest among the dead—
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His footsteps to the bridge that spann'd its broad but shallow tide.
The bridge was wider than the stream, and on its western bank,
Beneath the arch, a bed of reeds and sedge and rushes dank,
And waterflags in thick array and broad-leav'd mallows grew,
As still along the water's edge in that same place they do.
Beneath the arch, a bed of reeds and sedge and rushes dank,
And waterflags in thick array and broad-leav'd mallows grew,
As still along the water's edge in that same place they do.
There did he rest his wearied head, and bathe his stiffen'd hands,
While, closely all around, the reeds uprear'd their sheltering bands:
There, spent with toil, his eyelids dropt in darkness blank and dun,
Till through the guardian sedges peer'd the soon returning sun.
While, closely all around, the reeds uprear'd their sheltering bands:
There, spent with toil, his eyelids dropt in darkness blank and dun,
Till through the guardian sedges peer'd the soon returning sun.
Among the yellow flags declin'd, he sank into a dream,
Again beheld his castle burn, and heard his infants scream—
Saw at their mother's breast the sword, and heard her heart-sick cry—
Awoke—the river's face was sweet, and red the cloudy sky.
Again beheld his castle burn, and heard his infants scream—
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Awoke—the river's face was sweet, and red the cloudy sky.
Stirr'd in the morning air, the reeds bent down and touch'd his brow,
A sweet and silent welcoming to his lone spirit now;
A tree beside the bridge uprose, a crimson-tassel'd larch,
And past him flow'd with silver feet the river through the arch.
A sweet and silent welcoming to his lone spirit now;
A tree beside the bridge uprose, a crimson-tassel'd larch,
And past him flow'd with silver feet the river through the arch.
O sweetly talk'd the river then, as if an angel sung,
And whisper'd to the tassel'd larch that near its margin hung;
And softly spoke the morning breeze, that lightly rais'd his hair,
As if to seek the golden crown, which was no longer there.
And whisper'd to the tassel'd larch that near its margin hung;
And softly spoke the morning breeze, that lightly rais'd his hair,
As if to seek the golden crown, which was no longer there.
It came in dreamy, dreamy tones, half trouble, half surprise,
It mourn'd his lot, but mourning soothed with its long-heaving sighs:
It question'd much, and answer'd not to its own doubts and fears,
But shook the reeds, till on his head they dropt their morning tears.
It mourn'd his lot, but mourning soothed with its long-heaving sighs:
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But shook the reeds, till on his head they dropt their morning tears.
“Where was it gone that golden crown?” (the sweet voice seem'd to say)
“The Dane would wear it ne'er so well, nor with so mild a sway;
Why had yon shadowing larch grown old, nourish'd with sun and dew,
While human blessings prov'd so frail, so fleeting, and so few?
“The Dane would wear it ne'er so well, nor with so mild a sway;
Why had yon shadowing larch grown old, nourish'd with sun and dew,
While human blessings prov'd so frail, so fleeting, and so few?
“Rivers of water took their course between the self-same hills,
And knew no change from age to age, nor touch of human ills.
But change was come to him,” it sigh'd, as still with mournful tone
It question'd with the Saxon Prince reclining there alone.
And knew no change from age to age, nor touch of human ills.
But change was come to him,” it sigh'd, as still with mournful tone
It question'd with the Saxon Prince reclining there alone.
“Where were they now, his fair-hair'd boys?” (in whispers faint it sigh'd
With soft complainings at his feet, diffus'd upon the tide.)
“The river's life was better far, that long ago began,
More to be envied than the fate reserv'd for mortal man.”
With soft complainings at his feet, diffus'd upon the tide.)
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More to be envied than the fate reserv'd for mortal man.”
Ah! then, the river found a voice, and for herself she spoke;
In liquid cadences her song the morning silence broke,
Divided with soft murmurs fraught, with comfort came the lay,
Condoling tones, of pity born, and thus she seem'd to say—
In liquid cadences her song the morning silence broke,
Divided with soft murmurs fraught, with comfort came the lay,
Condoling tones, of pity born, and thus she seem'd to say—
“Listen to me,—
My waters in the upland pastures rise,
Fed by the earth and skies;
Thence tend and set to the wide-flowing sea;
And not a hill that lies
Along my course but seeth her green sides,
Far down my glassy tides.
Oh, long—aye, long, these scatter'd trees have stood,
And long this stretching wood.—
But I was old
Ere they did first their budding germs unfold,
Or the green acorns fell,
That into their great parent oaks did swell.
I was a river when the earth was young,
And from my source I sprung,
And danc'd with joyous cadence, clear and strong,
My lonely paths along;
Sweet melodies I sung
Ere there was ear of man to hearken to my song.
My waters in the upland pastures rise,
Fed by the earth and skies;
Thence tend and set to the wide-flowing sea;
And not a hill that lies
Along my course but seeth her green sides,
Far down my glassy tides.
Oh, long—aye, long, these scatter'd trees have stood,
And long this stretching wood.—
But I was old
Ere they did first their budding germs unfold,
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That into their great parent oaks did swell.
I was a river when the earth was young,
And from my source I sprung,
And danc'd with joyous cadence, clear and strong,
My lonely paths along;
Sweet melodies I sung
Ere there was ear of man to hearken to my song.
“On my untrodden brink
From age to age the willows lean'd to drink;
Thick forests grew, the upland tracks to crown,
And crept like sunbeams down,
Through lapse of moving centuries gone by,
To me drawn slowly nigh!
I was a river then, and things from far
Conspir'd to give me beauty; clouds as white
As wings of swans across me took their flight.
I wore the image of the morning star
Upon my bosom! Yet to thee I sing
Of change and desolation—Time shall bring
A day of doom, a last, a closing strain
To all my music—hear it once again,
That, like a bird, must soon or late take wing,
O Saxon King!
From age to age the willows lean'd to drink;
Thick forests grew, the upland tracks to crown,
And crept like sunbeams down,
Through lapse of moving centuries gone by,
To me drawn slowly nigh!
I was a river then, and things from far
Conspir'd to give me beauty; clouds as white
As wings of swans across me took their flight.
I wore the image of the morning star
Upon my bosom! Yet to thee I sing
Of change and desolation—Time shall bring
A day of doom, a last, a closing strain
To all my music—hear it once again,
That, like a bird, must soon or late take wing,
O Saxon King!
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“Listen to me!
There is a river—” (Oh, how soothing sad
A voice its murmurs had!)
There is a river, sighing tenderly,
The ‘streams whereof make glad
The city of our God.’ Though spring-tide rain,
Though early dews, no longer should maintain
The rivers of this world;
E'en though great mountains from their places hurl'd,
Should fall, uprooted, in the boiling sea,
And earth be mov'd from her stability—
There is a river that on high doth flow,
Nor ebb nor changing know.
There is a tree, that of its wave receives,
Yielding twelve manner of immortal fruits—
The tree of life, whose leaves
Are for the healing of the nations—lo!
She spreadeth forth her roots,
And by that river's margin she doth grow,
And long shall grow when I have ceas'd to sing,
O Saxon King!
There is a river—” (Oh, how soothing sad
A voice its murmurs had!)
There is a river, sighing tenderly,
The ‘streams whereof make glad
The city of our God.’ Though spring-tide rain,
Though early dews, no longer should maintain
The rivers of this world;
E'en though great mountains from their places hurl'd,
Should fall, uprooted, in the boiling sea,
And earth be mov'd from her stability—
There is a river that on high doth flow,
Nor ebb nor changing know.
There is a tree, that of its wave receives,
Yielding twelve manner of immortal fruits—
The tree of life, whose leaves
Are for the healing of the nations—lo!
She spreadeth forth her roots,
And by that river's margin she doth grow,
And long shall grow when I have ceas'd to sing,
O Saxon King!
“Woe unto thee!
The crown of gold is fallen from thy head;
And all thy hopes lie low with the unburied dead!
Woe to the land” (it pin'd) “and woe to me!”
In murmur'd tones,
Long sobs, and dirge-like moans,
Lost in the rustling of the wavy sedge
Crowding its dimpled edge.
After a while, returning to his ear
With more of comfort in its plaintive cheer,
It tried a closing strain,
And told of that sweet river once again—
Of infant spirits, blissful dwellers there,
Amid pavilions fair.
Then sigh'd, “Lament no more
Thy weary sojourn on my lonely shore!
When I, with all my waves shall cease to be,
And lose my waters in the whelming sea,
Thy soul with comfort fraught
Shall grieve no more for aught
Of all her bitterness, of all her care!
There is a river by whose margins fair,
Thou shalt remember me,
And this, thy day of grief, where grief no more may be!”
Then, bubbling on her way,
She seem'd to tell of some not distant day,
Some bright hereafter hailing,
When, blest inheritor of joy unfailing,
Upon his head should rest
Another crown of gold;
Where guardian angels their bright wings unfold
In crystal streets, on hallow'd errands blest;
Where, to and fro,
The mission'd spirits go —
Dwellers in light on the immortal shore,
And from the throne celestial waters flow
For evermore!
The crown of gold is fallen from thy head;
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Woe to the land” (it pin'd) “and woe to me!”
In murmur'd tones,
Long sobs, and dirge-like moans,
Lost in the rustling of the wavy sedge
Crowding its dimpled edge.
After a while, returning to his ear
With more of comfort in its plaintive cheer,
It tried a closing strain,
And told of that sweet river once again—
Of infant spirits, blissful dwellers there,
Amid pavilions fair.
Then sigh'd, “Lament no more
Thy weary sojourn on my lonely shore!
When I, with all my waves shall cease to be,
And lose my waters in the whelming sea,
Thy soul with comfort fraught
Shall grieve no more for aught
Of all her bitterness, of all her care!
There is a river by whose margins fair,
Thou shalt remember me,
And this, thy day of grief, where grief no more may be!”
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She seem'd to tell of some not distant day,
Some bright hereafter hailing,
When, blest inheritor of joy unfailing,
Upon his head should rest
Another crown of gold;
Where guardian angels their bright wings unfold
In crystal streets, on hallow'd errands blest;
Where, to and fro,
The mission'd spirits go —
Dwellers in light on the immortal shore,
And from the throne celestial waters flow
For evermore!
So talk'd she on that far-off day, while reeds were rustling nigh,
And told her story to a heart too weary for reply;
Too utterly with grief bow'd down, too sorely press'd with care,
To think it other than a dream, or heed, if such it were.
And told her story to a heart too weary for reply;
Too utterly with grief bow'd down, too sorely press'd with care,
To think it other than a dream, or heed, if such it were.
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The morning ripen'd into noon, while there conceal'd he slept,
While Danish scouts the country rode, and Saxon mothers wept;
They sought, but breeding swallows knew, and mark'd the reedy place,
And, from their nests beneath the arch, they watch'd his silent face.
While Danish scouts the country rode, and Saxon mothers wept;
They sought, but breeding swallows knew, and mark'd the reedy place,
And, from their nests beneath the arch, they watch'd his silent face.
Before the dew began to fall, about the turn of day,
The careless herd-boy led his kine, upon their homeward way.
He brought them to the water's edge, where stooping down to drink
With large meek eyes they saw the king, and started from the brink.
The careless herd-boy led his kine, upon their homeward way.
He brought them to the water's edge, where stooping down to drink
With large meek eyes they saw the king, and started from the brink.
They saw, though dull of ear and eye the herd-boy might not know:
“Back, back,” he cried, and back they turn'd, with cautions steps and slow.
And never from those gazing eyes one moment took their own,
But peer'd at him, that lay as still, and silent as a stone.
“Back, back,” he cried, and back they turn'd, with cautions steps and slow.
And never from those gazing eyes one moment took their own,
But peer'd at him, that lay as still, and silent as a stone.
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Upon the ridge of yonder hill, which heaves toward the sky,
Two storm-struck elms their wither'd arms held stiffly up on high.
Between them dipp'd the blood-red sun, and gaz'd upon the stream,
'Till, like a flood of molten ore, she glow'd beneath his beam.
Two storm-struck elms their wither'd arms held stiffly up on high.
Between them dipp'd the blood-red sun, and gaz'd upon the stream,
'Till, like a flood of molten ore, she glow'd beneath his beam.
And the moon rose from her repose, as pale as pale could be,
Just where the river rounds the hill, behind the church came she.
Adown its length she dropp'd her light, a winding wavering ray,
Bright, “as the pathway of the just,” that shines “'till perfect day.”
Just where the river rounds the hill, behind the church came she.
Adown its length she dropp'd her light, a winding wavering ray,
Bright, “as the pathway of the just,” that shines “'till perfect day.”
The land was silent as the moon, and peaceful as her light;
A headlong stream far westward roll'd, the current of the fight.
Beneath the bridge the Saxon Prince beheld the fading West,
And saw the last returning bird descend into her nest.
A headlong stream far westward roll'd, the current of the fight.
Beneath the bridge the Saxon Prince beheld the fading West,
And saw the last returning bird descend into her nest.
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Softly! the sleeping echoes, rous'd on pasture, wood, and lea,
Repeating, sent along the stream clear notes of mirth and glee.
Along the river's winding brink the bridegroom at her side,
In the moonlight, on palfrey white, rode down a silent bride.
Repeating, sent along the stream clear notes of mirth and glee.
Along the river's winding brink the bridegroom at her side,
In the moonlight, on palfrey white, rode down a silent bride.
With joyance meet, and music sweet, her Danish followers came,
And laudits shower'd on her blue eyes, the young and fair-hair'd dame.
With veil thrown back, and bridle slack, along the river's side,
Oft glancing at her Danish lord, she rode, the Saxon bride.
And laudits shower'd on her blue eyes, the young and fair-hair'd dame.
With veil thrown back, and bridle slack, along the river's side,
Oft glancing at her Danish lord, she rode, the Saxon bride.
Towards the bridge, this ancient bridge, where sleeps the moonlight now,
She came, with music in her train and jewels on her brow;
While, glittering on the river's breast, the stars like diamonds lay;
Among the sedge, at its green edge, she took her homeward way.
She came, with music in her train and jewels on her brow;
While, glittering on the river's breast, the stars like diamonds lay;
Among the sedge, at its green edge, she took her homeward way.
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All beautiful with silv'ry light the bride drew in the rein,
Across, into the bed of reeds, she gaz'd, and gaz'd again,—
And suddenly, the maiden blush died out from her fair cheek,
Her flashing eyes forgot full soon their glances soft and meek!
Across, into the bed of reeds, she gaz'd, and gaz'd again,—
And suddenly, the maiden blush died out from her fair cheek,
Her flashing eyes forgot full soon their glances soft and meek!
A face,—a form, one instant seen, had wrought that potent spell;
Ah, treachery! Alas, she knew that silent face too well—
“Methinks upon the river's brink, that somewhat gleams and stirs,
Methinks I see beneath the arch, the flash of golden spurs.”
Ah, treachery! Alas, she knew that silent face too well—
“Methinks upon the river's brink, that somewhat gleams and stirs,
Methinks I see beneath the arch, the flash of golden spurs.”
A start, — a cry, — the crash of swords, the warcry of the Dane;
The heathen warriors bound his hands with that white palfrey's rein.
Upon his brow, so stern and pale, the gentle moonlight play'd;
He stood erect upon the bridge, the man she had betray'd.
The heathen warriors bound his hands with that white palfrey's rein.
Upon his brow, so stern and pale, the gentle moonlight play'd;
He stood erect upon the bridge, the man she had betray'd.
22
Bound and begirt with glittering spears, 'twas but a moment's space,
He turn'd him to the Saxon bride, and look'd her in the face;
And Danish lord, and Danish slave, fell back with muttering tone;
The bridegroom started from her side, and left her there alone.
He turn'd him to the Saxon bride, and look'd her in the face;
And Danish lord, and Danish slave, fell back with muttering tone;
The bridegroom started from her side, and left her there alone.
And there was silence on the bridge, a deep pause and a long—
Alone she stood, her fair lips clos'd, mute as her marriage song.
Alone, unveil'd, till, surely aim'd, came from the river's side
An arrow from a Danish bow, and struck the Saxon bride.
Alone she stood, her fair lips clos'd, mute as her marriage song.
Alone, unveil'd, till, surely aim'd, came from the river's side
An arrow from a Danish bow, and struck the Saxon bride.
Lament, O river! and be sad; her face was fair and sweet;
Before the king she bow'd her head, and perish'd at his feet!
Lament; for near thee lingers yet his memory, not in vain;
A witness grey to that night's work, the bridge doth still remain.
Before the king she bow'd her head, and perish'd at his feet!
Lament; for near thee lingers yet his memory, not in vain;
A witness grey to that night's work, the bridge doth still remain.
23
Fast, headlong, as returning tides, that sweep some rocky strand,
With heathen yells and savage cries rush'd back the murderous band;
And bridal weeds and marriage veil, down trampling, fiercely sped,
And rear'd the battle-axe on high above the Saxon's head.
With heathen yells and savage cries rush'd back the murderous band;
And bridal weeds and marriage veil, down trampling, fiercely sped,
And rear'd the battle-axe on high above the Saxon's head.
“Now curse,” they cried, “this new, new name, whereon thy people call:
Else, by the rites of Odin's cave! thou this same night shalt fall.
Or let thy new god shield thee from the old gods if he will.”
But he stood firm upon the bridge,—unheeding, cold, and still.
Else, by the rites of Odin's cave! thou this same night shalt fall.
Or let thy new god shield thee from the old gods if he will.”
But he stood firm upon the bridge,—unheeding, cold, and still.
Against these time-worn stones he lean'd, when back his captors came—
There scorn'd the life that must be bought by loss of Christian name.
Tempted;—but what were life, and land, and proffer'd crown to him?
The murderous fire, o'er wife and child, had scarcely yet grown dim!
There scorn'd the life that must be bought by loss of Christian name.
24
The murderous fire, o'er wife and child, had scarcely yet grown dim!
O Martyr blest! Confessor firm! true to thy meed of light!
'Mid savage taunts and heathen cries “thy lamp went out by night.”
Merged is thy realm, thy nation changed, that still reveres thee dead,
And cherishes the latest words that Saxon Edmund said.
'Mid savage taunts and heathen cries “thy lamp went out by night.”
Merged is thy realm, thy nation changed, that still reveres thee dead,
And cherishes the latest words that Saxon Edmund said.
Upon the bridge he struck his hand, tradition keeps the tale,
Prophetic warning strange he gave ere fleeting life did fail.
“Woe worth the maid, whose marriage train by thee shall cross the tide,—
Ill fare the foot, by thee to pass, of bridegroom or of bride!” . . . .
Prophetic warning strange he gave ere fleeting life did fail.
“Woe worth the maid, whose marriage train by thee shall cross the tide,—
Ill fare the foot, by thee to pass, of bridegroom or of bride!” . . . .
Grey arch, bedeck'd with mosses fair, the swallows crowd thine eaves;
And homage from the constant sun thine aged front receives;
The moon adorns thee there—the wind plays hollow music sweet;
And wantons in the feathery reeds, that flourish at thy feet.
And homage from the constant sun thine aged front receives;
25
And wantons in the feathery reeds, that flourish at thy feet.
To thee the market girl comes down, with basket on her arm,
By thee, with thoughtful face, returns the matron to the farm;
A tinkling sweet, beneath his feet, the blind old beggar hears;
The school-boy with his satchel leans, half dreaming on thy piers.
By thee, with thoughtful face, returns the matron to the farm;
A tinkling sweet, beneath his feet, the blind old beggar hears;
The school-boy with his satchel leans, half dreaming on thy piers.
Across the bridge, in gay attire, to fair or statute bound,
The rustic people fearless pass, from all the country round.
Across the bridge, in sable clad, comes on the funeral train;
When evening, like a mourner, dons her own dark suit again.
The rustic people fearless pass, from all the country round.
Across the bridge, in sable clad, comes on the funeral train;
When evening, like a mourner, dons her own dark suit again.
Across the bridge, grown old and hoar, since that far-distant day,
Hath nothing pass'd that spell to break, to bear that charm away;
And still it spans the silvery flood, for all the vale beside,
But never since, hath known the foot of Bridegroom or of Bride!
Hath nothing pass'd that spell to break, to bear that charm away;
26
But never since, hath known the foot of Bridegroom or of Bride!
Note.
About the year 870, the Danes under Hingvar invaded East Anglia, which was then governed by Edmund, a king of singular virtue and piety.
After defending his people with great valour, Edmund was at last defeated in a battle fought near Hoxne in Suffolk. Being hotly pursued, he concealed himself under a bridge called Gold-bridge. The glittering of his golden spurs discovered him to a newly-married couple who were returning home by moonlight, and the bride betrayed him to his enemies.
The heathen Danes offered him his crown and his life if he would deny the Christian faith; but he continued steadfast, and when he was dragged on to the bridge, he pronounced a malediction (or warning) on all who should afterwards pass over it on their way to be married: the dread of which is still so strong in the neighbourhood, that it is said no bride or bridegroom has ever been known to pass over it to this day.
27
THE TWO MARGARETS.
No. I.—MARGARET IN THE XEBEC.
“Now, concerning this man (Robert del Angelo) little further is known, than that he served in the King's army, and was wounded in the battle of Marston Moor.
“After the battle of Naseby, finding himself a marked man, he quitted the country, taking with him the child whom he had adopted, she being then about three years of age; and he made many voyages between the different parts of the Mediterranean and Levant.”
Resting within his tent at close of day
A wailing voice his scanty sleep beset:
He started up—it did not flee away—
'Twas no part of his dream, but still did fret
And pine into his heart “Ah me—ah me!”
Broken with heaving sobs most mournfully.
A wailing voice his scanty sleep beset:
He started up—it did not flee away—
'Twas no part of his dream, but still did fret
And pine into his heart “Ah me—ah me!”
Broken with heaving sobs most mournfully.
Then he arose, and greatly wondering,
All wearily towards the sound he went,
Much doubting whence those grieving sobs might spring,—
Shortly he came before a soldier's tent,
Where, the tears falling through her hands, he found
A little maiden weeping on the ground.
All wearily towards the sound he went,
28
Shortly he came before a soldier's tent,
Where, the tears falling through her hands, he found
A little maiden weeping on the ground.
And backward in the tent, an aged crone
Upbraided her unkindly more and more,
But sunk her chiding to an undertone
When she beheld who stood before the door,
And calm'd her voice, and dropp'd her lifted hand,
And answer'd him with accent soft and bland.
Upbraided her unkindly more and more,
But sunk her chiding to an undertone
When she beheld who stood before the door,
And calm'd her voice, and dropp'd her lifted hand,
And answer'd him with accent soft and bland.
No, the young child was none of hers, she said,
But she had found her near the ashes white
Of a yet smouldering tent, her infant head
All shelterless, she through the dewy night
Had slumber'd on the field—ungentle fate
For a lone child, so soft and delicate!
But she had found her near the ashes white
Of a yet smouldering tent, her infant head
All shelterless, she through the dewy night
Had slumber'd on the field—ungentle fate
For a lone child, so soft and delicate!
“And I,” quoth she, “have tended her with care,
And thought to be rewarded of her kin,
For by her rich attire and features fair
I know her birth is gentle; yet within
The tent unclaim'd she rests, to pine and weep,
A burden I would fain no longer keep.”
And thought to be rewarded of her kin,
29
I know her birth is gentle; yet within
The tent unclaim'd she rests, to pine and weep,
A burden I would fain no longer keep.”
Still, while she spoke the little creature wept;
Till yearning pity touch'd him for the flow
Of those sad tears, and to his heart there crept
A wish to have her for his own, and so
He, his kind arms outstretching tenderly
Said—“Little Madam, wilt thou come with me?”
Till yearning pity touch'd him for the flow
Of those sad tears, and to his heart there crept
A wish to have her for his own, and so
He, his kind arms outstretching tenderly
Said—“Little Madam, wilt thou come with me?”
Then she left off her crying, and a look
Of doubtful wonder stole into her eyes;
The sullen frown her dimpled face forsook;
She let him take her, and forgot her sighs,
Contented in the stranger's arms to rest,
And lay her baby head upon his breast.
Of doubtful wonder stole into her eyes;
The sullen frown her dimpled face forsook;
She let him take her, and forgot her sighs,
Contented in the stranger's arms to rest,
And lay her baby head upon his breast.
And thus he took her for his own, and brought
Into his tent the orphan to remain;
But surely stranger plaything ne'er was sought
By roving bachelor on battle-plain
Than his, the prattling child that on the floor
Play'd at his feet within the tented door.
Into his tent the orphan to remain;
But surely stranger plaything ne'er was sought
By roving bachelor on battle-plain
30
Play'd at his feet within the tented door.
Of race, of country, or of parentage,
Her lisping accents nothing could unfold;—
No questioning could win to read the page
Of her short life—she left her tale untold,
And home and kin thus early to forget,
She only knew,—her name was—Margaret.
Her lisping accents nothing could unfold;—
No questioning could win to read the page
Of her short life—she left her tale untold,
And home and kin thus early to forget,
She only knew,—her name was—Margaret.
Then in the dusk upon his arm it chanc'd
That night that suddenly she fell asleep;
And he look'd down on her like one entranc'd,
And listen'd to her breathing still and deep,
As if a little child, when daylight clos'd,
With half-shut lids had ne'er before repos'd.
That night that suddenly she fell asleep;
And he look'd down on her like one entranc'd,
And listen'd to her breathing still and deep,
As if a little child, when daylight clos'd,
With half-shut lids had ne'er before repos'd.
Softly he laid her down from off his arm,
With earnest care and new-born tenderness:
Her infancy, like wonder-working charm,
Laid hold upon his love; he staid to bless
Her slumbering head; and going forth that night,
He sought a nurse to tend his young delight.
With earnest care and new-born tenderness:
Her infancy, like wonder-working charm,
Laid hold upon his love; he staid to bless
Her slumbering head; and going forth that night,
He sought a nurse to tend his young delight.
31
And day by day his heart she wrought upon,
And won her way into its inmost fold—
A heart which, but for lack of that whereon
To fix itself, would never have been cold;
And opening wide, now let her come to dwell
Within its strong unguarded citadel.
And won her way into its inmost fold—
A heart which, but for lack of that whereon
To fix itself, would never have been cold;
And opening wide, now let her come to dwell
Within its strong unguarded citadel.
She, like a dream, unlock'd the hidden springs
Of his past life, and set their current free
To talk with him of long-forgotten things,
Wrought in his childhood and his infancy;
Yet inly to repeat with mournful tone,
“Hopes of my childhood, whither have ye flown?”
Of his past life, and set their current free
To talk with him of long-forgotten things,
Wrought in his childhood and his infancy;
Yet inly to repeat with mournful tone,
“Hopes of my childhood, whither have ye flown?”
Long may thy childhood last, and late depart,
Long dwell with thee, young blue-ey'd Margaret!
Thou baby mistress of a soldier's heart
That wonders it should love thee so—and yet
Pondering thy friendless state, is well content
To deem thee solely for his solace sent.
Long dwell with thee, young blue-ey'd Margaret!
Thou baby mistress of a soldier's heart
That wonders it should love thee so—and yet
Pondering thy friendless state, is well content
To deem thee solely for his solace sent.
A gleam of light upon a rainy day,
A new-tied knot that must be sever'd soon;
At sunrise brought within his tent to play,
And hurried from the battle-field at noon;
While face to face in hostile ranks they stood,
Who should have dwelt in peace and brotherhood.
A new-tied knot that must be sever'd soon;
32
And hurried from the battle-field at noon;
While face to face in hostile ranks they stood,
Who should have dwelt in peace and brotherhood.
But in the morning e'er the fight began,
While yet were distant far the rebel bands,
She heard at intervals a booming gun;
And she was pleas'd, and, laughing, clapp'd her hands,
Till he came in with troubled look and tone,
Who chose her desolate to be his own.
While yet were distant far the rebel bands,
She heard at intervals a booming gun;
And she was pleas'd, and, laughing, clapp'd her hands,
Till he came in with troubled look and tone,
Who chose her desolate to be his own.
And he said, “Little Madam, now farewell,
For there will be a battle fought ere night.
God be thy shield, for He alone can tell,
Which way may fall the fortune of the fight.
To fitter hands the care of thee pertain,
My dear, if we two never meet again.”
For there will be a battle fought ere night.
God be thy shield, for He alone can tell,
Which way may fall the fortune of the fight.
To fitter hands the care of thee pertain,
My dear, if we two never meet again.”
Then he gave money shortly to her nurse,
And charg'd her that she should depart in haste,
And leave the plain, whereon the deadly curse
Of war should light with ruin, death, and waste,
And all the ills that must its presence blight,
E'en if proud victory should bless the right.
And charg'd her that she should depart in haste,
And leave the plain, whereon the deadly curse
Of war should light with ruin, death, and waste,
33
E'en if proud victory should bless the right.
“But if the rebel cause should prosper, then
It were not good among the hills to wend;
But journey through to Boston in the fen,
And wait for peace, if peace our God shall send;
And if my life is spared, I will essay,”
Quoth he, “to join you there as best I may.”
It were not good among the hills to wend;
But journey through to Boston in the fen,
And wait for peace, if peace our God shall send;
And if my life is spared, I will essay,”
Quoth he, “to join you there as best I may.”
So then he kiss'd the child, and went his way;
But many troubles roll'd above his head;
The sun arose on many an evil day,
And cruel deeds were done, and tears were shed;
And hope was lost, and loyal hearts were fain
In dust to hide,—ere they two met again.
But many troubles roll'd above his head;
The sun arose on many an evil day,
And cruel deeds were done, and tears were shed;
And hope was lost, and loyal hearts were fain
In dust to hide,—ere they two met again.
He found her after many days, when care
And grief had been at work upon his soul,
And for a while half dispossess'd her there,
With their exacting sway and stern control—
And with her dimples was again beguil'd,
As on her nurse's knee she sat and smil'd.
And grief had been at work upon his soul,
And for a while half dispossess'd her there,
With their exacting sway and stern control—
And with her dimples was again beguil'd,
As on her nurse's knee she sat and smil'd.
34
And he became a voyager by sea,
And took the child to share his wandering state;
Since from his native land compell'd to flee,
And hopeless to avert her monarch's fate;
For all was lost that might have made him pause,
And, past a soldier's help, the royal cause.
And took the child to share his wandering state;
Since from his native land compell'd to flee,
And hopeless to avert her monarch's fate;
For all was lost that might have made him pause,
And, past a soldier's help, the royal cause.
And thus roll'd on long days, and months, and years,
And Margaret within the Xebec sail'd;
The lulling winds made music to her ears,
The bright sea hues her gentle eyes regal'd,
And much she lov'd to see the dolphin spring,
Where deep the water bows were glittering.
And Margaret within the Xebec sail'd;
The lulling winds made music to her ears,
The bright sea hues her gentle eyes regal'd,
And much she lov'd to see the dolphin spring,
Where deep the water bows were glittering.
The gay sea plants familiar were to her,
As daisies to the children of the land;
Red wavy dulse the sunburnt mariner
Rais'd from its bed to glisten in her hand;
The vessel and the sea were her life's stage—
Her house, her garden, and her hermitage.
As daisies to the children of the land;
Red wavy dulse the sunburnt mariner
Rais'd from its bed to glisten in her hand;
The vessel and the sea were her life's stage—
Her house, her garden, and her hermitage.
And there she had a cabin of her own,
For beauty like an elfin palace bright,
Adorn'd with Venice glass, like crystal stone,
That cast around a many-colour'd light;
And there with two caged ringdoves she did play,
And feed them carefully from day to day.
For beauty like an elfin palace bright,
35
That cast around a many-colour'd light;
And there with two caged ringdoves she did play,
And feed them carefully from day to day.
Her bed with silken curtains was enclos'd,
White as the snowy rose of Guelderland;
On Turkish pillows her young head repos'd,
And love had gather'd with a careful hand
Fair playthings to the little maiden's side,
From distant ports, and cities parted wide.
White as the snowy rose of Guelderland;
On Turkish pillows her young head repos'd,
And love had gather'd with a careful hand
Fair playthings to the little maiden's side,
From distant ports, and cities parted wide.
She had two myrtle plants that she did tend,
And think all trees were like to them that grew;
For things on land she did confuse and blend,
And chiefly from the deck the land she knew,
And in her heart she pitied more and more
The stedfast dwellers on the changeless shore.
And think all trees were like to them that grew;
For things on land she did confuse and blend,
And chiefly from the deck the land she knew,
And in her heart she pitied more and more
The stedfast dwellers on the changeless shore.
Green fields and inland meadows faded out
Of mind, or with sea images were link'd;
And yet she had her childish thoughts about
The country she had left—though indistinct
And faint as mist the mountain head that shrouds,
Dim in the distance, as Magellan's clouds.
Of mind, or with sea images were link'd;
And yet she had her childish thoughts about
The country she had left—though indistinct
36
Dim in the distance, as Magellan's clouds.
And when to frame a forest scene she tried,
The ever-present sea would still intrude,
And all her towns were by the water's side,
The background of all scenes that memory view'd;
And rocks and yellow sand would intervene,
And waves surround her fancied village green.
The ever-present sea would still intrude,
And all her towns were by the water's side,
The background of all scenes that memory view'd;
And rocks and yellow sand would intervene,
And waves surround her fancied village green.
And she would dream and ponder more and more,
When the land sounds reach'd her in dying swells;
And when in harbour, lying off the shore,
She heard the chiming of cathedral bells,
She lov'd to think them Angels' hymns, although
Deep in her inmost heart she knew it was not so.
When the land sounds reach'd her in dying swells;
And when in harbour, lying off the shore,
She heard the chiming of cathedral bells,
She lov'd to think them Angels' hymns, although
Deep in her inmost heart she knew it was not so.
Her soul was like unto an ocean shell,
That ever yields the key-note of its home;
Whether her fancy to a shaded dell,
Or quiet slope, or leafy glade, would roam,
Or sun itself upon an upland hill,
The voices of the sea would haunt her still.
That ever yields the key-note of its home;
Whether her fancy to a shaded dell,
Or quiet slope, or leafy glade, would roam,
Or sun itself upon an upland hill,
The voices of the sea would haunt her still.
37
So she grew on, the idol of one heart,
And the delight of many—and her face,
Thus dwelling chiefly from her sex apart,
Was touch'd with a most deep and tender grace—
A look that never aught but nature gave,
Artless, yet thoughtful; innocent, yet grave.
And the delight of many—and her face,
Thus dwelling chiefly from her sex apart,
Was touch'd with a most deep and tender grace—
A look that never aught but nature gave,
Artless, yet thoughtful; innocent, yet grave.
Strange her adornings were, and strangely blent:
A golden net confin'd her nut-brown hair;
Quaint were the robes that divers lands had lent,
And quaint her aged nurse's skill and care;
Yet did they well on the sea-maiden meet,
Circle her neck, and grace her dimpled feet.
A golden net confin'd her nut-brown hair;
Quaint were the robes that divers lands had lent,
And quaint her aged nurse's skill and care;
Yet did they well on the sea-maiden meet,
Circle her neck, and grace her dimpled feet.
She, like a queen among her vassals seem'd,
Who thought good fortune follow'd in her wake;
And, counting her their guardian angel, deem'd
That prospering winds were sent them for her sake;
And strange, rough prayers and vows they nightly made
For the fair child that in the Xebec stay'd.
Who thought good fortune follow'd in her wake;
And, counting her their guardian angel, deem'd
That prospering winds were sent them for her sake;
And strange, rough prayers and vows they nightly made
For the fair child that in the Xebec stay'd.
Clear were her eyes, that daughter of the sea,
Sweet, when uplifted to her ancient nurse,
She sat, and commun'd what the world could be;
And rambling stories caus'd her to rehearse,
How yule was kept, how maidens toss'd the hay,
And how bells rang upon a wedding day.
Sweet, when uplifted to her ancient nurse,
38
And rambling stories caus'd her to rehearse,
How yule was kept, how maidens toss'd the hay,
And how bells rang upon a wedding day.
But they grew brighter when the evening star,
First trembled over the still glowing wave,
That bath'd in ruddy light, mast, sail, and spar;
For then, reclin'd in rest that twilight gave,
With him who served for father, friend, and guide,
She sat upon the deck at evening tide.
First trembled over the still glowing wave,
That bath'd in ruddy light, mast, sail, and spar;
For then, reclin'd in rest that twilight gave,
With him who served for father, friend, and guide,
She sat upon the deck at evening tide.
Then turn'd towards the west that on her hair
And her young cheek shed down its tender glow,
He taught her many things with earnest care,
That he thought fitting a young maid should know,
Till stars came out, and rais'd in twilight dim,
Fell on the sea, the sailors' vesper hymn.
And her young cheek shed down its tender glow,
He taught her many things with earnest care,
That he thought fitting a young maid should know,
Till stars came out, and rais'd in twilight dim,
Fell on the sea, the sailors' vesper hymn.
Then many psalms he caus'd her to repeat,
And sing them at his knees, reclin'd the while,
And told her of the sabbath evenings sweet,
And the pure worship of her native Isle:
Told of the good deeds of the worthy dead,
With prayers devout by holy martyrs said.
And sing them at his knees, reclin'd the while,
And told her of the sabbath evenings sweet,
And the pure worship of her native Isle:
39
With prayers devout by holy martyrs said.
Withdrawn, and heedless of the passing time,
She heard the story of her native land,
With many a legend grac'd and ancient rhyme
Of wild adventures on a hostile strand;
Till at the end he made her tears to flow,
With telling of his royal master's woe.
She heard the story of her native land,
With many a legend grac'd and ancient rhyme
Of wild adventures on a hostile strand;
Till at the end he made her tears to flow,
With telling of his royal master's woe.
And of the stars he taught her, and their names,
And how the chartless mariner they guide;
Of quivering light that in the zenith plays,
Of monsters in the deep sea caves that hide;
Then chang'd the theme to fairy records wild,
Enchanted moor, elf dame, or changeling child.
And how the chartless mariner they guide;
Of quivering light that in the zenith plays,
Of monsters in the deep sea caves that hide;
Then chang'd the theme to fairy records wild,
Enchanted moor, elf dame, or changeling child.
But blooming childhood will not always last,
And storms will rise e'en on the tideless sea:
His guardian love took fright, she grew so fast,
And he began to think how sad 'twould be
If he should die, and pirate hordes should get,
By sword or shipwreck his fair Margaret.
And storms will rise e'en on the tideless sea:
His guardian love took fright, she grew so fast,
And he began to think how sad 'twould be
If he should die, and pirate hordes should get,
By sword or shipwreck his fair Margaret.
40
It was a sudden thought; but he gave way,
For it assail'd him with unwonted force;
And with no more than one short week's delay,
For English shores he shap'd the vessel's course;
And ten years absent saw her landed now,
With thirteen summers on her maiden brow.
For it assail'd him with unwonted force;
And with no more than one short week's delay,
For English shores he shap'd the vessel's course;
And ten years absent saw her landed now,
With thirteen summers on her maiden brow.
And so he journey'd with her, far inland,
Down quiet lanes, by hedges gemm'd with dew,
Where wonders met her eye on every hand,
And all was strange and beautiful and new—
All, from the forest trees in stately ranks,
To yellow cowslips trembling on the banks.
Down quiet lanes, by hedges gemm'd with dew,
Where wonders met her eye on every hand,
And all was strange and beautiful and new—
All, from the forest trees in stately ranks,
To yellow cowslips trembling on the banks.
All new,—the clear still heat, the evening shades,
The ruddy glow through cottage casement bright,
The white-hair'd children, and the rustic maids,
The hinds returning in the failing light,
The streamlet dimly in the dusk espied,
And gipsies camping on the broad road-side.
The ruddy glow through cottage casement bright,
The white-hair'd children, and the rustic maids,
The hinds returning in the failing light,
The streamlet dimly in the dusk espied,
And gipsies camping on the broad road-side.
And far he took them on, and farther still,
The maiden and her nurse; till journeying,
They saw an ancient city on a hill,
And heard at intervals its clear bells ring:
And its tall spires stood out against the sky,
With mossy walls enclos'd, and portals high.
The maiden and her nurse; till journeying,
41
And heard at intervals its clear bells ring:
And its tall spires stood out against the sky,
With mossy walls enclos'd, and portals high.
There, dwelt a worthy matron whom he knew,
To whom he did good service in the war;
Shielding her household from the plundering crew,
When neither worth could save, nor age nor law;
And to her house he brought his care and pride,
Aweary with the way, and dull and sleepy-ey'd.
To whom he did good service in the war;
Shielding her household from the plundering crew,
When neither worth could save, nor age nor law;
And to her house he brought his care and pride,
Aweary with the way, and dull and sleepy-ey'd.
And he, the man whom she was fain to serve,
Delay'd not shortly his request to make,
Which was, if aught of her he did deserve,
To take the maid, and rear her for his sake,
To guard her youth, and let her breeding be
In womanly reserve and modesty.
Delay'd not shortly his request to make,
Which was, if aught of her he did deserve,
To take the maid, and rear her for his sake,
To guard her youth, and let her breeding be
In womanly reserve and modesty.
And that same night into the house he brought
The costly fruits of all his voyages—
Rich gleaming stones, by wandering merchants bought
In Turkish mosques and Persian palaces,
With ingots pure, and coins of Venice mould,
And silver bars, and bags of Spanish gold;
The costly fruits of all his voyages—
Rich gleaming stones, by wandering merchants bought
In Turkish mosques and Persian palaces,
42
And silver bars, and bags of Spanish gold;
And costly merchandize of foreign lands,
With golden stuffs, and shawls of Eastern dye;
He gave them over to the matron's hands,
With jewell'd gauds, and toys of ivory,
To be her dower on whom his love was set,—
His dearest child, fair Madam Margaret.
With golden stuffs, and shawls of Eastern dye;
He gave them over to the matron's hands,
With jewell'd gauds, and toys of ivory,
To be her dower on whom his love was set,—
His dearest child, fair Madam Margaret.
Then he entreated, that if he should die,
She would not cease her guardian mission mild.
Awhile, as undecided, linger'd nigh,
Beside the pillow of the sleeping child,
Sever'd one wandering lock of wavy hair,
Took horse that night, and left her unaware.
She would not cease her guardian mission mild.
Awhile, as undecided, linger'd nigh,
Beside the pillow of the sleeping child,
Sever'd one wandering lock of wavy hair,
Took horse that night, and left her unaware.
And it was long before he came again—
So long that Margaret was woman grown;
And oft she wish'd for his return in vain,
Calling him softly in an undertone;
Repeating words that he had said the while,
And striving to recal his look and smile.
So long that Margaret was woman grown;
And oft she wish'd for his return in vain,
Calling him softly in an undertone;
Repeating words that he had said the while,
And striving to recal his look and smile.
43
If she had known—Oh, if she could have known—
The toils, the hardships of those absent years—
How bitter thraldom forc'd the unwilling groan—
How slavery wrung out subduing tears,
Not calmly had she pass'd her years away,
Chiding half pettishly the long delay.
The toils, the hardships of those absent years—
How bitter thraldom forc'd the unwilling groan—
How slavery wrung out subduing tears,
Not calmly had she pass'd her years away,
Chiding half pettishly the long delay.
But she was spar'd that knowledge; she was calm,
While the red flames ascended from the deck;
Saw not the pirate band the crew disarm;
Mourn'd not the scatter'd spars, the blacken'd wreck:
She did not dream, and there was none to tell
That fetters bound the hands she lov'd so well.
While the red flames ascended from the deck;
Saw not the pirate band the crew disarm;
Mourn'd not the scatter'd spars, the blacken'd wreck:
She did not dream, and there was none to tell
That fetters bound the hands she lov'd so well.
Sweet Margaret—withdrawn from human view,
She spent long hours beneath the lime-tree's shade,
The stately trees that in the garden grew,
And overtwin'd, a towering shelter made;
She mus'd among the flowers, and birds, and bees,
In winding walks, and bowering canopies.
She spent long hours beneath the lime-tree's shade,
The stately trees that in the garden grew,
And overtwin'd, a towering shelter made;
She mus'd among the flowers, and birds, and bees,
In winding walks, and bowering canopies.
Or wander'd slowly through the ancient rooms,
Where oriel windows shed their rainbow gleams;
Where tapestried hangings, work'd in Flemish looms,
Display'd the story of king Pharaoh's dreams;
Of tedious robe by Grecian matron wrought,
Of clustering grapes the spies from Eshcol brought.
Where oriel windows shed their rainbow gleams;
44
Display'd the story of king Pharaoh's dreams;
Of tedious robe by Grecian matron wrought,
Of clustering grapes the spies from Eshcol brought.
At last she reach'd the bloom of womanhood,
After five summers spent in growing fair;
Her face betoken'd all things dear and good,
And softly floated her descending hair;
Young feeling gave her eyes their glances meek,
And richness of musk roses to her cheek.
After five summers spent in growing fair;
Her face betoken'd all things dear and good,
And softly floated her descending hair;
Young feeling gave her eyes their glances meek,
And richness of musk roses to her cheek.
Be not too hasty in your flow, ye rhymes,
For Margaret is in her garden bower;
Delay to ring, ye soft cathedral chimes,
And tell not out too soon the noonday hour;
For one is drawing near the portals wide
Of the old city by the green hill's side.
For Margaret is in her garden bower;
Delay to ring, ye soft cathedral chimes,
And tell not out too soon the noonday hour;
For one is drawing near the portals wide
Of the old city by the green hill's side.
He journey'd on, and as he near'd the gate,
He met with one to whom he nam'd the maid,
Inquiring of her welfare, and her state,
And of the matron in whose house she stay'd.
“The maiden dwelt there still,” the townsman said;
“But, for the ancient lady,—she was dead.”
He met with one to whom he nam'd the maid,
Inquiring of her welfare, and her state,
And of the matron in whose house she stay'd.
45
“But, for the ancient lady,—she was dead.”
He further said, she was but little known,
Although reputed to be very fair,
And little seen (so much she dwelt alone)
But with her nurse at stated evening prayer;
So seldom pass'd her sheltering garden wall,
Or left the gate at quiet evening fall.
Although reputed to be very fair,
And little seen (so much she dwelt alone)
But with her nurse at stated evening prayer;
So seldom pass'd her sheltering garden wall,
Or left the gate at quiet evening fall.
Flow softly, rhymes—his hand is on the door;
Ring out, ye noonday bells, his welcoming—
“He went out rich, but he returneth poor;”
And strong—now something bow'd with suffering.
And on his brow are trac'd long furrow'd lines,
Earn'd in the fight with pirate Algerines.
Ring out, ye noonday bells, his welcoming—
“He went out rich, but he returneth poor;”
And strong—now something bow'd with suffering.
And on his brow are trac'd long furrow'd lines,
Earn'd in the fight with pirate Algerines.
Her aged nurse comes hobbling at his call;
Lifts up her wither'd hand in dull surprise,
And, tottering, leads him through the pillar'd hall;
“What! come at last, to bless my lady's eyes!
Dear heart, sweet heart, she's grown a likesome maid—
Go, seek her where she sitteth in the shade.”
Lifts up her wither'd hand in dull surprise,
And, tottering, leads him through the pillar'd hall;
“What! come at last, to bless my lady's eyes!
Dear heart, sweet heart, she's grown a likesome maid—
Go, seek her where she sitteth in the shade.”
46
The noonday chime had ceas'd—she did not know
Who watch'd her, while her ringdoves flutter'd near;
While, under the green boughs in accents low,
She sang unto herself, she did not hear
His footstep till she turn'd, then rose to meet
Her guest, with guileless blush and wonder sweet.
Who watch'd her, while her ringdoves flutter'd near;
While, under the green boughs in accents low,
She sang unto herself, she did not hear
His footstep till she turn'd, then rose to meet
Her guest, with guileless blush and wonder sweet.
But soon she knew him,—ran with quicken'd pace,
And threw her gentle arms around his neck,
Leaning her fair cheek to his sunburnt face,
As long ago upon the vessel's deck;
As long ago she did in twilight deep,
While heaving waters lull'd her infant sleep.
And threw her gentle arms around his neck,
Leaning her fair cheek to his sunburnt face,
As long ago upon the vessel's deck;
As long ago she did in twilight deep,
While heaving waters lull'd her infant sleep.
So then he kiss'd her, and in fondest tone,
While proudly parting her unbraided hair,
He said: “I did not think to see thee grown
So fair a woman,”—but a touch of care
The deep-ton'd voice through its caressing kept,
And, hearing it, she turn'd away and wept.
While proudly parting her unbraided hair,
He said: “I did not think to see thee grown
So fair a woman,”—but a touch of care
The deep-ton'd voice through its caressing kept,
And, hearing it, she turn'd away and wept.
Wept,—for an impress on the face she view'd—
The stamp of feelings she remember'd not;
His voice was calmer far, but more subdued,
Not like the voice long lov'd and unforgot!
She felt strange sorrow and delightful pain—
Grief for the change, joy that he came again.
The stamp of feelings she remember'd not;
47
Not like the voice long lov'd and unforgot!
She felt strange sorrow and delightful pain—
Grief for the change, joy that he came again.
O pleasant days, that follow'd his return,
That made his captive years pass out of mind;
But Margaret, a scholar apt to learn,
He taught one lesson more than he design'd.
And two full weeks he stay'd with her; content
To find her beautiful and innocent.
That made his captive years pass out of mind;
But Margaret, a scholar apt to learn,
He taught one lesson more than he design'd.
And two full weeks he stay'd with her; content
To find her beautiful and innocent.
And then, he told her that he must depart
Upon the morrow with the earliest light;
And it displeas'd and pain'd her at the heart:
And she went out, to hide her from his sight.
And in a garden alley shelter'd deep
She threw herself among dusk leaves to weep.
Upon the morrow with the earliest light;
And it displeas'd and pain'd her at the heart:
And she went out, to hide her from his sight.
And in a garden alley shelter'd deep
She threw herself among dusk leaves to weep.
And she bemoan'd herself,—till suddenly
She heard a step, and, starting up to flee,
She met him face to face,—and tenderly
He question'd with her what her grief could be?
Till at the last, all blushing red for shame,
She said it was because she had no name.
She heard a step, and, starting up to flee,
She met him face to face,—and tenderly
He question'd with her what her grief could be?
48
She said it was because she had no name.
And he replied, “Dear child, I do not know
Thy father's race, but none thy tears can blame.
Wouldst thou possess the thing for which they flow?
Get thee an husband then, and bear his name.
Is there none here who thy kind thoughts hath won?”
And, faltering, she answer'd, “Truly none.”
Thy father's race, but none thy tears can blame.
Wouldst thou possess the thing for which they flow?
Get thee an husband then, and bear his name.
Is there none here who thy kind thoughts hath won?”
And, faltering, she answer'd, “Truly none.”
But he, in fatherly and kindly mood,
Said, “Lady, daughter, it would please me well
To see thee wed; for know, it is not good
That a fair woman thus alone should dwell.”
She said, “I am content it should be so,
If when you journey, I may with you go.”
Said, “Lady, daughter, it would please me well
To see thee wed; for know, it is not good
That a fair woman thus alone should dwell.”
She said, “I am content it should be so,
If when you journey, I may with you go.”
And when he heard, he fell into a pause,
A long, half-doubting pause of deep content;
Then thought he—“It were wronging nature's laws
That this should be.” In troubled wonderment,
He stood. He ne'er had ask'd a boon so high;
Though offer'd, it was hard to put it by.
A long, half-doubting pause of deep content;
Then thought he—“It were wronging nature's laws
That this should be.” In troubled wonderment,
49
Though offer'd, it was hard to put it by.
Then he said, “Lady, look into my face;
Consider well this scar upon my brow;
I have had all misfortunes but disgrace,
And shall I seek so great a blessing now?
Be not of gratitude deceiv'd—I know
Thou think'st it is thy duty—I will go.
Consider well this scar upon my brow;
I have had all misfortunes but disgrace,
And shall I seek so great a blessing now?
Be not of gratitude deceiv'd—I know
Thou think'st it is thy duty—I will go.
I read thy meaning, and I go from hence,
Skill'd in thy reasons, though my heart be rude;
I will not wrong thy gentle innocence,
Nor take advantage of thy gratitude.”
Then she said, “Go, but few of womankind
Shall be more sad than she you leave behind.”
Skill'd in thy reasons, though my heart be rude;
I will not wrong thy gentle innocence,
Nor take advantage of thy gratitude.”
Then she said, “Go, but few of womankind
Shall be more sad than she you leave behind.”
“Still wouldst thou speak? Ah, lady, thou art young;
Shall this rough voice, this face, thy bright dreams dim?
Some fairy over me a spell hath flung,
And it beguiles thee.” But she answer'd him—
“The face is fair to me, without a spell;
And for the voice, I love its accents well.”
Shall this rough voice, this face, thy bright dreams dim?
Some fairy over me a spell hath flung,
And it beguiles thee.” But she answer'd him—
50
And for the voice, I love its accents well.”
So softly she drew nearer to his side,
Beseeching him, and saying, “Do not go;”
Till, but in tones that falter'd, he replied,
“Truly, I love thee well; but dost thou know
That I shall soon grow old?” She said, “In truth,
Your age will better shield my helpless youth.”
Beseeching him, and saying, “Do not go;”
Till, but in tones that falter'd, he replied,
“Truly, I love thee well; but dost thou know
That I shall soon grow old?” She said, “In truth,
Your age will better shield my helpless youth.”
Then, from her earnest words her heart he knew,
And lean'd towards her in the dusky shade;
Saying, “Forgive me, if it seem'd untrue;
It was so like a dream, beloved maid—
A flattering dream, with morning light to flee—
A dream of happiness not meant for me.”
And lean'd towards her in the dusky shade;
Saying, “Forgive me, if it seem'd untrue;
It was so like a dream, beloved maid—
A flattering dream, with morning light to flee—
A dream of happiness not meant for me.”
And soft, as ringdoves cooing with spread wings,
She murmur'd to him, underneath the trees,
“And do you think there are no other things
Than morning dreams that go by contraries?
'Twas surely strange to doubt the voice that woo'd,
And call a young maid's love cold gratitude.”
She murmur'd to him, underneath the trees,
“And do you think there are no other things
Than morning dreams that go by contraries?
'Twas surely strange to doubt the voice that woo'd,
And call a young maid's love cold gratitude.”
51
And so she won a name that eventide,
Which he gave gladly, but would ne'er bespeak,
And she became the rough sea-captain's bride,
Matching her dimples to his sunburnt cheek;
And chasing from his voice the touch of care,
That made her weep when first she heard it there.
Which he gave gladly, but would ne'er bespeak,
And she became the rough sea-captain's bride,
Matching her dimples to his sunburnt cheek;
And chasing from his voice the touch of care,
That made her weep when first she heard it there.
One year—one long, bright year of happiness,
That glided like a quiet stream away—
Then came her hour of trouble and distress:
It was the evening of a sultry day:
There was not air the thread-hung flowers to stir;
Or float abroad the filmy gossamer.
That glided like a quiet stream away—
Then came her hour of trouble and distress:
It was the evening of a sultry day:
There was not air the thread-hung flowers to stir;
Or float abroad the filmy gossamer.
Towards the trees his steps, her husband bent;
Pacing the grassy walks with restless feet:
And he recall'd, and ponder'd as he went,
All her most duteous love and converse sweet,
Till summer darkness settled deep and dim;
And dew from bending leaves dropt down on him.
Pacing the grassy walks with restless feet:
And he recall'd, and ponder'd as he went,
All her most duteous love and converse sweet,
Till summer darkness settled deep and dim;
And dew from bending leaves dropt down on him.
The flowers sent forth their nightly odours faint—
Thick leaves shut out the starlight overhead;
While he told over, as by strong constraint
Drawn on, her childish life on shipboard led,
And beauteous youth, since first low kneeling there,
With folded hands, she lisp'd her evening prayer.
Thick leaves shut out the starlight overhead;
52
Drawn on, her childish life on shipboard led,
And beauteous youth, since first low kneeling there,
With folded hands, she lisp'd her evening prayer.
Then he remember'd how, beneath the shade,
She woo'd him to her with her lovely words,
While flowers were closing, leaves in moonlight play'd,
And in dark nooks withdrew the silent birds.
So ponder'd he that night in twilight dim;
While dew from bending leaves dropt down on him.
She woo'd him to her with her lovely words,
While flowers were closing, leaves in moonlight play'd,
And in dark nooks withdrew the silent birds.
So ponder'd he that night in twilight dim;
While dew from bending leaves dropt down on him.
The flowers sent forth their nightly odours faint—
When, in the darkness waiting, he saw one
To whom he said—“How fareth my sweet saint?”
Who answer'd—“She hath borne to you a son;”
Then, turning, left him,—and the father said,
“God rain down blessings on his welcome head!”
When, in the darkness waiting, he saw one
To whom he said—“How fareth my sweet saint?”
Who answer'd—“She hath borne to you a son;”
Then, turning, left him,—and the father said,
“God rain down blessings on his welcome head!”
But Margaret!—she never saw the child;
Nor heard about her bed love's mournful wails;
But to the last, with ocean dreams beguil'd,
Murmur'd of troubled seas and swelling sails—
Of weary voyages, and rocks unseen,
And distant hills in sight, all calm and green. . . .
Nor heard about her bed love's mournful wails;
But to the last, with ocean dreams beguil'd,
Murmur'd of troubled seas and swelling sails—
53
And distant hills in sight, all calm and green. . . .
Woe and alas!—the times of sorrow come,
And make us doubt if we were ever glad!
So utterly that inner voice is dumb,
Whose music through our happy days we had!
So, at the touch of grief, without our will,
The deep heart's melody is mute and still.
And make us doubt if we were ever glad!
So utterly that inner voice is dumb,
Whose music through our happy days we had!
So, at the touch of grief, without our will,
The deep heart's melody is mute and still.
Woe and alas! for the sea-captain's wife—
That Margaret who in the Xebec play'd—
She spent upon his knee her baby life;
Her slumbering head upon his breast she laid.
How shall he learn alone his years to pass?
How in the empty house?—woe and alas!
That Margaret who in the Xebec play'd—
She spent upon his knee her baby life;
Her slumbering head upon his breast she laid.
How shall he learn alone his years to pass?
How in the empty house?—woe and alas!
She died.—And in the dim Cathedral aisle
They made her grave,—and there, with fond intent,
Her husband rais'd, his sorrow to beguile,
A very fair and stately monument—
A tomb that still the careless vergers show—
The tomb of—Margaret Del Angelo.
They made her grave,—and there, with fond intent,
Her husband rais'd, his sorrow to beguile,
A very fair and stately monument—
A tomb that still the careless vergers show—
The tomb of—Margaret Del Angelo.
54
A woman's figure, with the eyelids clos'd,
And the calm head declin'd in slumber sweet—
One hand upon a sculptur'd ship repos'd,
An anchor and an ensign at her feet.
And, carv'd upon the borders of her vest,
The motto of her house,—“He giveth rest.”
And the calm head declin'd in slumber sweet—
One hand upon a sculptur'd ship repos'd,
An anchor and an ensign at her feet.
And, carv'd upon the borders of her vest,
The motto of her house,—“He giveth rest.”
There is an ancient window, richly fraught,
And fretted with all hues, most deep and bright;
And in its upper tracery is wrought
An olive branch, and dove with feathers white—
An emblem meet for her, the tender dove,—
Her heavenly peace and duteous earthly love.
And fretted with all hues, most deep and bright;
And in its upper tracery is wrought
An olive branch, and dove with feathers white—
An emblem meet for her, the tender dove,—
Her heavenly peace and duteous earthly love.
Crimson, and green, and gold, and violet,
In twisted knots, and wildly tangled bands,
Amid heraldic shields and banners set,
Fall softly on the snowy, sculptur'd hands;
And, ev'ry sunny day reflected, rest
The dove and olive branch upon her breast.
In twisted knots, and wildly tangled bands,
Amid heraldic shields and banners set,
Fall softly on the snowy, sculptur'd hands;
And, ev'ry sunny day reflected, rest
The dove and olive branch upon her breast.
55
No. II.—MARGARET BY THE MERESIDE.
Lying imbedded in the green champaign
That gives no shadows to thy silvery face,
Set in the middle of a verdant plain,
Only the clouds their forms upon thee trace;
No steadfast hills on thee reflected rest,
Nor waver with the dimpling of thy breast.
That gives no shadows to thy silvery face,
Set in the middle of a verdant plain,
Only the clouds their forms upon thee trace;
No steadfast hills on thee reflected rest,
Nor waver with the dimpling of thy breast.
O, silent Mere! about whose marges spring
Thick bulrushes, to hide the reed-bird's nest;
Where the shy ousel dips her glossy wing,
And, balanc'd in the water, takes her rest:
While, under bending leaves, all gem-array'd,
Bright dragon-flies lie panting in the shade.
Thick bulrushes, to hide the reed-bird's nest;
Where the shy ousel dips her glossy wing,
And, balanc'd in the water, takes her rest:
While, under bending leaves, all gem-array'd,
Bright dragon-flies lie panting in the shade.
Warm, stilly place,—the sun-dew loves thee well,
And the green sward comes creeping to thy brink;
And poor-man's-weather-glass, and pimpernel,
Lean down to thee their perfum'd heads, to drink;
And heavy with the weight of bees doth bend
White clover, and beneath thy wave descend.
And the green sward comes creeping to thy brink;
And poor-man's-weather-glass, and pimpernel,
Lean down to thee their perfum'd heads, to drink;
56
White clover, and beneath thy wave descend.
Where does the scent of beanfields float so wide,
At intervals returning on the air,
As over mead and fen to thy lone side,
To lose itself among thy zephyrs rare,
With scents from hawthorn copse, and new-cut hay,
And blooming orchards lying far away?
At intervals returning on the air,
As over mead and fen to thy lone side,
To lose itself among thy zephyrs rare,
With scents from hawthorn copse, and new-cut hay,
And blooming orchards lying far away?
Thou hast thy sabbaths, when a deeper calm
Descends upon thee, quiet Mere! and then
The sound of ringing bells, thy peace to charm,
From grey church towers comes far across the fen:
And the light sigh, where grass and waters meet,
Seems thy meek welcome to their visits sweet.
Descends upon thee, quiet Mere! and then
The sound of ringing bells, thy peace to charm,
From grey church towers comes far across the fen:
And the light sigh, where grass and waters meet,
Seems thy meek welcome to their visits sweet.
Thou hast thy lovers, though the angler's rod
Dimples thy surface seldom; and the oar
Fills not with silvery globes thy fringing sod,
Nor sends long ripples to thine osier'd shore;
And few would care with mimic art to trace
The lights and shadows on thy changing face.
Dimples thy surface seldom; and the oar
Fills not with silvery globes thy fringing sod,
Nor sends long ripples to thine osier'd shore;
And few would care with mimic art to trace
The lights and shadows on thy changing face.
57
Thou hast thy lovers truly; 'mid the cold
Of northern tarns the wild-fowl dream of thee,
And, keeping thee in mind, their wings unfold,
And shape their course, high soaring, till they see
Down in the world, like molten silver, rest
Their goal; and, screaming, plunge them in thy breast.
Of northern tarns the wild-fowl dream of thee,
And, keeping thee in mind, their wings unfold,
And shape their course, high soaring, till they see
Down in the world, like molten silver, rest
Their goal; and, screaming, plunge them in thy breast.
Fair Margaret,—who sittest all day long
On the grey stone beneath the sycamore,
The bowering tree with branches lithe and strong,
The only one to grace the level shore—
Why dost thou wait? for whom, with patient cheer,
Gaze yet so wistfully adown the Mere?
On the grey stone beneath the sycamore,
The bowering tree with branches lithe and strong,
The only one to grace the level shore—
Why dost thou wait? for whom, with patient cheer,
Gaze yet so wistfully adown the Mere?
Thou canst not tell—thou dost not know—alas!
Long watchings leave behind them little trace;
And yet, how sweetly must the mornings pass
That bring that dreamy calmness to thy face;
How quickly must the evenings come, that find
Thee still regret, to leave the Mere behind.
Long watchings leave behind them little trace;
And yet, how sweetly must the mornings pass
That bring that dreamy calmness to thy face;
How quickly must the evenings come, that find
Thee still regret, to leave the Mere behind.
Thy cheek is resting on thy hand;—thine eyes
Are like twin violets, but half unclos'd;
Calm as the azure stillness of the skies:
Never more peacefully in love repos'd
A mother's gaze upon her offspring dear,
Than thine, upon the long, far-stretching Mere.
Are like twin violets, but half unclos'd;
58
Never more peacefully in love repos'd
A mother's gaze upon her offspring dear,
Than thine, upon the long, far-stretching Mere.
Sweet innocent! Thy yellow hair floats low
In rippling undulations on thy breast;
Then stealing down, the parted love-locks flow,
Bath'd in the sunbeams, on thy knees to rest;
And touch those idle hands, that folded lie,
Having, from toil and sport, alike immunity.
In rippling undulations on thy breast;
Then stealing down, the parted love-locks flow,
Bath'd in the sunbeams, on thy knees to rest;
And touch those idle hands, that folded lie,
Having, from toil and sport, alike immunity.
O silent Being! with what touching grace
Childhood attends thee, nearly woman grown;
Her dimples linger yet upon thy face,
Like dew upon a rose, but newly blown;
And thy long tender sighs, upheaving, seem
Calm as an infant's sighing in a dream.
Childhood attends thee, nearly woman grown;
Her dimples linger yet upon thy face,
Like dew upon a rose, but newly blown;
And thy long tender sighs, upheaving, seem
Calm as an infant's sighing in a dream.
What are thy thoughts made up of? Do they stray
Abroad with wand'ring swallows in the air,
Or sport themselves with circling flies, that play
Under thy sycamore;—then here and there,
Float idly, turn'd aside by roving bee,
Or by a wand'ring cloud led easily?
Abroad with wand'ring swallows in the air,
Or sport themselves with circling flies, that play
Under thy sycamore;—then here and there,
59
Or by a wand'ring cloud led easily?
No, down the Mere, as far as eye can see,
Where its long reaches fade into the sky,
Thy constant gaze, fair child, rests lovingly;
But neither thou, nor any, can descry
Aught but the osier banks and rustling sedge,
And flocks of wild-fowl splashing at their edge.
Where its long reaches fade into the sky,
Thy constant gaze, fair child, rests lovingly;
But neither thou, nor any, can descry
Aught but the osier banks and rustling sedge,
And flocks of wild-fowl splashing at their edge.
And yet 'tis not in expectation hush'd,
That thy mute rosy lips, half-pouting, close;
No flutt'ring hope to thy young heart e'er rush'd,
Nor disappointment troubled its repose—
All satisfied with gazing evermore
Along the open Mere and reedy shore.
That thy mute rosy lips, half-pouting, close;
No flutt'ring hope to thy young heart e'er rush'd,
Nor disappointment troubled its repose—
All satisfied with gazing evermore
Along the open Mere and reedy shore.
The brooding wren flies pertly near thy seat;
Thou wilt not move, to mark her glancing wing.
The timid sheep browse close before thy feet;
And heedless at thy side the thrushes sing;—
So long among them thou hast spent thy days,
They know that harmless hand thou wilt not raise.
Thou wilt not move, to mark her glancing wing.
The timid sheep browse close before thy feet;
And heedless at thy side the thrushes sing;—
So long among them thou hast spent thy days,
They know that harmless hand thou wilt not raise.
60
Thou wilt not lift it up—not e'en to take
The foxglove bells that flourish in the shade,
And put them in thy bosom; not to make
A posy of wild hyacinths, inlaid
Like bright mosaic in the mossy grass,
With freckled orchis, and pale sassafras.
The foxglove bells that flourish in the shade,
And put them in thy bosom; not to make
A posy of wild hyacinths, inlaid
Like bright mosaic in the mossy grass,
With freckled orchis, and pale sassafras.
Gaze on;—take in, the voices of the Mere,—
The break of shallow water at thy feet,
Its splash among long weeds, and grasses sere,
And its low sobbing;—hollow music, meet
For ears like thine; listen and take thy fill,
And dream of it by night, when all is still.
The break of shallow water at thy feet,
Its splash among long weeds, and grasses sere,
And its low sobbing;—hollow music, meet
For ears like thine; listen and take thy fill,
And dream of it by night, when all is still.
Full sixteen years have slowly pass'd away,
Young Margaret, since thy fond mother here
Came down, a six months' wife, one April day,
To see her husband's boat go down the Mere,
And track its course, till, lost in distance blue,
In mellow light it faded from her view.
Young Margaret, since thy fond mother here
Came down, a six months' wife, one April day,
To see her husband's boat go down the Mere,
And track its course, till, lost in distance blue,
In mellow light it faded from her view.
It faded, and she never saw it more;—
Nor any human eye;—oh, grief! oh, woe!
It faded,—and return'd not to the shore;
But far above it still the waters flow—
And none beheld it sink, and none could tell
Where coldly slept the form she lov'd so well!
Nor any human eye;—oh, grief! oh, woe!
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But far above it still the waters flow—
And none beheld it sink, and none could tell
Where coldly slept the form she lov'd so well!
But that sad day, unknowing of her fate,
She homeward turn'd her still reluctant feet;
And at her wheel she spun, till dark and late,
The evening fell;—the time when they should meet;—
Till the stars pal'd that at deep midnight burn'd—
And morning dawn'd, and he was not return'd.
She homeward turn'd her still reluctant feet;
And at her wheel she spun, till dark and late,
The evening fell;—the time when they should meet;—
Till the stars pal'd that at deep midnight burn'd—
And morning dawn'd, and he was not return'd.
And the bright sun came up—she thought too soon,
And shed his ruddy light along the Mere;
And day wore on too quickly, and at noon
She came, and wept beside the waters clear.
“How could he be so late?”—and then hope fled;
And disappointment darken'd into dread.
And shed his ruddy light along the Mere;
And day wore on too quickly, and at noon
She came, and wept beside the waters clear.
“How could he be so late?”—and then hope fled;
And disappointment darken'd into dread.
He never came; and she, with weeping sore,
Peer'd in the water-flags unceasingly,
Through all the undulations of the shore,
Searching for that which most she fear'd to see,
At length she took home sorrow to her heart;
And brooded over its cold, cruel smart!
Peer'd in the water-flags unceasingly,
Through all the undulations of the shore,
Searching for that which most she fear'd to see,
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And brooded over its cold, cruel smart!
And then all hopelessly she sat alone,
And mourn'd, refusing to be comforted,
On the grey stone—the moss-embroider'd stone,
With the tall sycamore above her head.
Till, after many days, a broken oar,
Hard by her seat, was left upon the shore.
And mourn'd, refusing to be comforted,
On the grey stone—the moss-embroider'd stone,
With the tall sycamore above her head.
Till, after many days, a broken oar,
Hard by her seat, was left upon the shore.
It came, a token of his fate—the whole,
The sum of her misfortunes, to reveal—
As if sent up in pity to her soul,
The tidings of her widowhood to seal;
And put away the pining hope forlorn,
That made her grief more bitter to be borne.
The sum of her misfortunes, to reveal—
As if sent up in pity to her soul,
The tidings of her widowhood to seal;
And put away the pining hope forlorn,
That made her grief more bitter to be borne.
And she was patient,—through the weary day
She toil'd, though none was there her work to bless;
And did not wear the sullen months away,
Nor call on Death to end her wretchedness;
But, lest her grief should overflow her breast,
She toil'd as heretofore, and would not rest.
She toil'd, though none was there her work to bless;
And did not wear the sullen months away,
Nor call on Death to end her wretchedness;
But, lest her grief should overflow her breast,
She toil'd as heretofore, and would not rest.
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But her work done, what time the evening star
Rose over the cool water, then she came
To the grey stone, and saw its light from far,
Drop down the misty Mere white lengths of flame;
And wonder'd whether there might be the place
Where the soft ripple wander'd o'er his face.
Rose over the cool water, then she came
To the grey stone, and saw its light from far,
Drop down the misty Mere white lengths of flame;
And wonder'd whether there might be the place
Where the soft ripple wander'd o'er his face.
Unfortunate—in solitude forlorn
She dwelt, and thought upon her husband's grave;
Till, when the days grew short, a child was born
To the dead father underneath the wave:
And it brought back a remnant of delight—
A little sunshine to its mother's sight. . . .
She dwelt, and thought upon her husband's grave;
Till, when the days grew short, a child was born
To the dead father underneath the wave:
And it brought back a remnant of delight—
A little sunshine to its mother's sight. . . .
Across the pastur'd lea, across the wold,
There stands a mansion grey. At early dawn,
Beneath its lofty roof, its turrets old,
On that same day another child was born;
And, with a father's welcome, laid to rest,
Cradled in down, from its young mother's breast.
There stands a mansion grey. At early dawn,
Beneath its lofty roof, its turrets old,
On that same day another child was born;
And, with a father's welcome, laid to rest,
Cradled in down, from its young mother's breast.
Cradled in down, and canopied with plumes,
As helpless as the orphan babe he slept,
Though rob'd in lace, and lull'd in stately rooms,
While hireling nurses watch about him kept.
And on the new-born heir his father's eyes
Dwelt often, with a strange and sweet surprise.
As helpless as the orphan babe he slept,
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While hireling nurses watch about him kept.
And on the new-born heir his father's eyes
Dwelt often, with a strange and sweet surprise.
Far different was their birth, and such should be
The tenor of their lives. The early years
Of one pass'd on with laughter, and with glee;
The other, nurtur'd amid sighs and tears,
Grew, like a young plant in a quiet glade,
Nourish'd with dew, and budding in the shade.
The tenor of their lives. The early years
Of one pass'd on with laughter, and with glee;
The other, nurtur'd amid sighs and tears,
Grew, like a young plant in a quiet glade,
Nourish'd with dew, and budding in the shade.
But not like careless childhood's were her ways,
Deep quiet dwelt upon her forehead fair:
And oft abroad she fix'd her tender gaze,
As if she saw a face that was not there—
Would turn, as if a voice had touch'd her ear,
A tone that other mortals could not hear.
Deep quiet dwelt upon her forehead fair:
And oft abroad she fix'd her tender gaze,
As if she saw a face that was not there—
Would turn, as if a voice had touch'd her ear,
A tone that other mortals could not hear.
And years flew on —and she was still the same;
Nor human language she had learn'd to speak;
Her lips were mute; but seasons went and came,
And brought fresh beauties to her maiden cheek.
And all the day upon the sunny shore
She sat and mus'd beneath the sycamore.
Nor human language she had learn'd to speak;
Her lips were mute; but seasons went and came,
And brought fresh beauties to her maiden cheek.
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She sat and mus'd beneath the sycamore.
Strange sympathy! she watch'd and wearied not;
Haply unconscious what it was she sought:
Her mother's tale she easily forgot;
And if she listen'd, no warm tears it brought.
Though surely in the yearnings of her heart
The unknown voyager must have had his part.
Haply unconscious what it was she sought:
Her mother's tale she easily forgot;
And if she listen'd, no warm tears it brought.
Though surely in the yearnings of her heart
The unknown voyager must have had his part.
Unknown to her;—like all she saw, unknown;
All sights were fresh, as when they first began;
All sounds were new, each murmur, and each tone,
And cause and consequence she could not scan:
Forgot that night brought darkness in its train,
Nor reason'd that the day would come again. . . .
All sights were fresh, as when they first began;
All sounds were new, each murmur, and each tone,
And cause and consequence she could not scan:
Forgot that night brought darkness in its train,
Nor reason'd that the day would come again. . . .
There is a happiness in past regret,
As echoes of the harshest sounds are sweet.
The mother's soul was struck with grief, and yet,
Repeated in the child's, 'twas not unmeet,
That echo-like, that grief a tone should take,
Painless, but always pensive, for her sake.
As echoes of the harshest sounds are sweet.
The mother's soul was struck with grief, and yet,
Repeated in the child's, 'twas not unmeet,
That echo-like, that grief a tone should take,
Painless, but always pensive, for her sake.
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For her dear sake, whose patient soul was link'd
By ties so many to the babe unborn—
Whose hope, by slow degrees become extinct,
For evermore had left her child forlorn,
Yet left no consciousness of want or woe;
Nor vague regret that these things should be so.
By ties so many to the babe unborn—
Whose hope, by slow degrees become extinct,
For evermore had left her child forlorn,
Yet left no consciousness of want or woe;
Nor vague regret that these things should be so.
It was a dream, this world—an endless dream,
To which all sounds and senses minister'd;
Mingling things true with things that did but seem,—
She held mute converse, without sign or word,
With sighs of whispering grass, wind-lifted flowers,
Slight voices that pass by dull ears like ours.
To which all sounds and senses minister'd;
Mingling things true with things that did but seem,—
She held mute converse, without sign or word,
With sighs of whispering grass, wind-lifted flowers,
Slight voices that pass by dull ears like ours.
Truly her joys were limited and few;
She watch'd in shade the summer day glide on;
She had fond thoughts about the glittering dew,
And saw fantastic shapes at even-song—
Unreal delights! the restless spirit deems;
Pity her not.—Her griefs?—they too were dreams!
She watch'd in shade the summer day glide on;
She had fond thoughts about the glittering dew,
And saw fantastic shapes at even-song—
Unreal delights! the restless spirit deems;
Pity her not.—Her griefs?—they too were dreams!
So sat she always underneath her tree,
The fairest thing the country round had seen,
With her small hand dropp'd idly on her knee,
Clad in her russet-hat and gown of green—
Through the spring mornings, gemm'd with melted rime,
All through hay-harvest, and through gleaning time.
The fairest thing the country round had seen,
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Clad in her russet-hat and gown of green—
Through the spring mornings, gemm'd with melted rime,
All through hay-harvest, and through gleaning time.
And oft the lady from the mansion old,
With her young son, the silent child would seek,
Teach him his arms around her to enfold,
With prattling words to kiss her dimpled cheek;
Till from her side he lightly broke away,
Busied with floating straws or leaves at play.
With her young son, the silent child would seek,
Teach him his arms around her to enfold,
With prattling words to kiss her dimpled cheek;
Till from her side he lightly broke away,
Busied with floating straws or leaves at play.
And oft, grown older, to the Mere he stray'd,
And sported on its shores the whole day long;
When that kind lady in her grave was laid,
With all her tender thoughts so deep and strong—
Having pass'd lightly from her husband's mind;
Lost there,—but for the child she left behind.
And sported on its shores the whole day long;
When that kind lady in her grave was laid,
With all her tender thoughts so deep and strong—
Having pass'd lightly from her husband's mind;
Lost there,—but for the child she left behind.
Oh, pleasure for itself that boyhood makes!
Oh, happiness about the fields to roam!
He watch'd, down crouching in the hawthorn brakes,
While the small white-throats built their hanging home;
Follow'd with cautious oar the wild duck's track,
And trac'd the landrail to her nestlings back.
Oh, happiness about the fields to roam!
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While the small white-throats built their hanging home;
Follow'd with cautious oar the wild duck's track,
And trac'd the landrail to her nestlings back.
And yet they took him from his fenny wold,
The reedy Mere, and all his pastimes there—
The place where he was born, and should grow old,
If God his life so many years should spare—
From the lov'd haunts of childhood, and the plain,
And pasture lands of his own broad domain.
The reedy Mere, and all his pastimes there—
The place where he was born, and should grow old,
If God his life so many years should spare—
From the lov'd haunts of childhood, and the plain,
And pasture lands of his own broad domain.
And so he came when wheat was in the sheaf;
And ripen'd hazel nuts were dropping down;
While whirling slowly, fell the yellow leaf;
And standing beans were turning sere and brown;
He came from his grey turrets to the shore,
And sought the maid beneath the sycamore.
And ripen'd hazel nuts were dropping down;
While whirling slowly, fell the yellow leaf;
And standing beans were turning sere and brown;
He came from his grey turrets to the shore,
And sought the maid beneath the sycamore.
He sought her, not because her tender eyes
Would brighten at his coming; for he knew
No thought of him within her heart would rise,
When once he had departed from her view;
Though he had link'd affections pure and mild
With the sweet image of the silent child.
Would brighten at his coming; for he knew
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When once he had departed from her view;
Though he had link'd affections pure and mild
With the sweet image of the silent child.
For boyhood, like maturity, is prone
To reverence what it cannot understand;
And he had thought, while thus she mus'd alone,
Some saintly reason kept her on the strand.
Some dream of heaven within her heart must glow,
Who took so little heed of aught below.
To reverence what it cannot understand;
And he had thought, while thus she mus'd alone,
Some saintly reason kept her on the strand.
Some dream of heaven within her heart must glow,
Who took so little heed of aught below.
A fishing wallet from his shoulders slung,
With bounding foot he reach'd the mossy place;
A little moment gently o'er her hung,
Put back her hair, and look'd into her face;
Heav'd a short boyish sigh of kind regret,
And call'd her “Margaret, sweet Margaret.”
With bounding foot he reach'd the mossy place;
A little moment gently o'er her hung,
Put back her hair, and look'd into her face;
Heav'd a short boyish sigh of kind regret,
And call'd her “Margaret, sweet Margaret.”
And he said “Listen,—hear what I shall say;
Only this once thy dreamy eyes withdraw;
To-morrow I am going far away,—
Ah! look at me before I leave the shore.
But why should I say this? You'll soon forget:
Farewell, till I return, sweet Margaret!”
Only this once thy dreamy eyes withdraw;
To-morrow I am going far away,—
Ah! look at me before I leave the shore.
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Farewell, till I return, sweet Margaret!”
And wilt thou think on him when he is gone?
No—thou wilt gaze, though thy young eyes grow dim,
And thy soft cheek become all pale and wan;
Still thou wilt gaze; and spend no thought on him:
There is no sweetness in his voice for thee,
Nor beauty in his young heart's gaiety!
No—thou wilt gaze, though thy young eyes grow dim,
And thy soft cheek become all pale and wan;
Still thou wilt gaze; and spend no thought on him:
There is no sweetness in his voice for thee,
Nor beauty in his young heart's gaiety!
But wherefore linger in deserted haunts?
Why of the past, as if yet present, sing?
The yellow Iris on the margin flaunts,
The shore is gay with Hyacinths in spring,
And dappled skies are mirror'd in the wave,
Where stooping swallows dip their wings to lave.
Why of the past, as if yet present, sing?
The yellow Iris on the margin flaunts,
The shore is gay with Hyacinths in spring,
And dappled skies are mirror'd in the wave,
Where stooping swallows dip their wings to lave.
But, Margaret—Ah! thou art there no more—
And thick dank moss creeps over thy grey stone;
Thy path is lost, that skirted the low shore
With willow grass, and speedwell overgrown;
Thine eye has closed for ever, and thine ear
Drinks in no more the music of the Mere!
And thick dank moss creeps over thy grey stone;
Thy path is lost, that skirted the low shore
With willow grass, and speedwell overgrown;
Thine eye has closed for ever, and thine ear
Drinks in no more the music of the Mere!
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The Baron's son shall come again in Spring,
Well pleas'd to angle in the waters clear;
And some kind offering in his hand will bring,
To cast into thy lap, O maiden dear!
Some silver brooch, some clasp to bind thy vest,
And heave and glimmer on thy guileless breast.
Well pleas'd to angle in the waters clear;
And some kind offering in his hand will bring,
To cast into thy lap, O maiden dear!
Some silver brooch, some clasp to bind thy vest,
And heave and glimmer on thy guileless breast.
And he shall wonder why thou art not here,
The solitude “with smiles to entertain;”
And gaze along the reaches of the Mere;
But he shall never see thy face again;
Shall never see upon the reedy shore
Pale Margaret beneath her sycamore!
The solitude “with smiles to entertain;”
And gaze along the reaches of the Mere;
But he shall never see thy face again;
Shall never see upon the reedy shore
Pale Margaret beneath her sycamore!
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FAMILY PICTURES.
Heavy drops of rain are falling,
Murky clouds float out to sea;
While alone I stand for shelter
Underneath the lofty tree—
Under the broad tree that shadows
Half the roof above our heads,
Where beside the threshold growing,
Like a tow'ring tent it spreads.
Murky clouds float out to sea;
While alone I stand for shelter
Underneath the lofty tree—
Under the broad tree that shadows
Half the roof above our heads,
Where beside the threshold growing,
Like a tow'ring tent it spreads.
It is tide-time, and the shower
Passes over like a frown:
Yellow sunbeams through the branches
To my feet come trembling down.
Light air wand'ring through the garden
Shakes the rain from leaf and bell,
From the bending Persian lily,
And the foxglove's laden cell.
Passes over like a frown:
Yellow sunbeams through the branches
To my feet come trembling down.
Light air wand'ring through the garden
Shakes the rain from leaf and bell,
From the bending Persian lily,
And the foxglove's laden cell.
Looking in at open windows,
Many thoughts my spirit pain,
Rooms long dwelt in, I shall seldom
Wander through their lengths again.
To their walls the sunbeams creeping,
Rows of quiv'ring gems have strung;
Little rainbows, struck from mirrors,
All about the cornice flung.
Many thoughts my spirit pain,
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Wander through their lengths again.
To their walls the sunbeams creeping,
Rows of quiv'ring gems have strung;
Little rainbows, struck from mirrors,
All about the cornice flung.
Round upon the walls are hanging
Pictures in their moulded frames,—
From my childhood I have lov'd them—
Taught to call them by their names.
Household treasures—we shall take them
With us when we journey on;
Forms of those who went before us,
Records of the dead and gone!
Pictures in their moulded frames,—
From my childhood I have lov'd them—
Taught to call them by their names.
Household treasures—we shall take them
With us when we journey on;
Forms of those who went before us,
Records of the dead and gone!
Ah! I see that one, which chiefly
To my childish thoughts was fair;
In a high alcove she sitteth,
With a white rose in her hair.
Climbing woodbines round her growing
Fling their trailing tendrils wide,—
And her meek eyes seem to follow,
As we move from side to side.
To my childish thoughts was fair;
In a high alcove she sitteth,
With a white rose in her hair.
Climbing woodbines round her growing
Fling their trailing tendrils wide,—
And her meek eyes seem to follow,
As we move from side to side.
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Hollyhocks about her planted
Proudly rear their spiral heads,
And one primrose-tinted blossom
On her feet its petals sheds.
Rang'd upon the steps are standing
Flow'ring Balsams in a row,
Hanging bunches of Laburnum
Train'd upon the trellis grow.
Proudly rear their spiral heads,
And one primrose-tinted blossom
On her feet its petals sheds.
Rang'd upon the steps are standing
Flow'ring Balsams in a row,
Hanging bunches of Laburnum
Train'd upon the trellis grow.
From her side her little daughter
Looks up sweetly in her face,
With a boddice like her mother's,
And a cap of shadowing lace.
Smiling through her flaxen ringlets,
Primly, prettily, she stands—
Two young ringdoves in a basket
Holding in her dimpled hands.
Looks up sweetly in her face,
With a boddice like her mother's,
And a cap of shadowing lace.
Smiling through her flaxen ringlets,
Primly, prettily, she stands—
Two young ringdoves in a basket
Holding in her dimpled hands.
Lady, with the placid forehead,
Holy in its deep repose—
With a shuttle in thy fingers,
Twisted in thy hair a rose—
Did no oft-return'd vexations
Baffling, in thy pathway rise?
If they did, no trace they've left us
In the summer of thine eyes!
Holy in its deep repose—
With a shuttle in thy fingers,
Twisted in thy hair a rose—
Did no oft-return'd vexations
Baffling, in thy pathway rise?
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In the summer of thine eyes!
What?—did nothing come to ruffle
Or disturb thy quiet mood?—
Was thy kindness always valued,
And thy meaning understood?—
Hadst thou never days of trouble,—
Fretful moments such as these?
Where thy children ne'er unruly,
Nor thy husband hard to please?
Or disturb thy quiet mood?—
Was thy kindness always valued,
And thy meaning understood?—
Hadst thou never days of trouble,—
Fretful moments such as these?
Where thy children ne'er unruly,
Nor thy husband hard to please?
I have stood and look'd upon thee
Often when I was a child—
Thinking that when I grew older
I would be as calm and mild:
Thinking it would be no trouble
Such a quiet to maintain—
Once escap'd from irksome lessons—
Oh! delusion deep and vain!
Often when I was a child—
Thinking that when I grew older
I would be as calm and mild:
Thinking it would be no trouble
Such a quiet to maintain—
Once escap'd from irksome lessons—
Oh! delusion deep and vain!
For alas! As years roll'd onward,
Reason grew—and feeling came;
Thou wert farther off than ever,
Though my longings were the same.
Then I wish'd that I had liv'd in
Such a time as gave thee birth;
Ere the “blessing of our Fathers,”
Peace, had vanish'd from the earth.
Reason grew—and feeling came;
Thou wert farther off than ever,
Though my longings were the same.
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Such a time as gave thee birth;
Ere the “blessing of our Fathers,”
Peace, had vanish'd from the earth.
Strange, that when we long for something
Which can never be obtain'd,
In our hearts we turn to others
Who we deem the boon have gain'd.
But we always think they sojourn
In some very distant clime,
Or are far divided from us
By the silent lapse of time.
Which can never be obtain'd,
In our hearts we turn to others
Who we deem the boon have gain'd.
But we always think they sojourn
In some very distant clime,
Or are far divided from us
By the silent lapse of time.
Far away,—or dead before us,—
Time and distance are the same;
For uncertain lights and shadows
In the space between they frame.
I have thought if far-off manners,
Or the old-world life were mine,
Free from restless throbbings, Lady,
I had felt a peace like thine!
Time and distance are the same;
For uncertain lights and shadows
In the space between they frame.
I have thought if far-off manners,
Or the old-world life were mine,
Free from restless throbbings, Lady,
I had felt a peace like thine!
Now I know 'tis but illusion;
There is silence in my heart;
Murmurous thoughts, like stars at morning,
Shrink within me and depart.
No! the past was not more happy,
'Tis the present that mistakes;
These the types of favour'd moments
We have lengthen'd for their sakes,
There is silence in my heart;
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Shrink within me and depart.
No! the past was not more happy,
'Tis the present that mistakes;
These the types of favour'd moments
We have lengthen'd for their sakes,
Who have run their course before us,
Having left their forms behind,
Till in dreaming their forms behind,
To our own we are unkind.
Human cares and human passions
In ourselves we feel and see,
Not upon their quiet faces—
Thus we think that they were free.
Having left their forms behind,
Till in dreaming their forms behind,
To our own we are unkind.
Human cares and human passions
In ourselves we feel and see,
Not upon their quiet faces—
Thus we think that they were free.
Simple thoughts they were to harbour:
Truly life had changes then—
Working days as well as Sabbaths,—
Was it e'er without them? When?
Never! Endless, shifting changes
Swift as waves each other chase,
Come upon God's men and women,
Fit them for a changeless place.
Truly life had changes then—
Working days as well as Sabbaths,—
Was it e'er without them? When?
Never! Endless, shifting changes
Swift as waves each other chase,
Come upon God's men and women,
Fit them for a changeless place.
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Yet there are some resting-places—
Life's untroubled interludes—
Times when neither past nor future
On the soul's deep calm intrudes.
For such hour the painter waited—
Fix'd the look that still they wear,
And their children's children gazing,
Think that they were free from care!
Life's untroubled interludes—
Times when neither past nor future
On the soul's deep calm intrudes.
For such hour the painter waited—
Fix'd the look that still they wear,
And their children's children gazing,
Think that they were free from care!
But it seems, when all is spoken,
That a quiet so serene
Never in our stillest moments
Us and change can come between.
For though all we love be round us,
Growing kinder day by day,
Still our hearts will mutely ponder:
“Shortly these may flee away.”
That a quiet so serene
Never in our stillest moments
Us and change can come between.
For though all we love be round us,
Growing kinder day by day,
Still our hearts will mutely ponder:
“Shortly these may flee away.”
Or if in our happy bosoms
All such anxious fears be laid,
Tender feelings for another
On the brow will cast a shade—
Work within the “little chamber,”
Dark and silent, of the heart,
Pitying the slighted stranger,
Taking the oppressed's part.
All such anxious fears be laid,
Tender feelings for another
On the brow will cast a shade—
Work within the “little chamber,”
Dark and silent, of the heart,
79
Taking the oppressed's part.
Dwellers near the restless ocean,
Though they hear the blackbird sing,
And the bearded barley rustle,
And the young lambs bleat in spring;
Though Cathedral bells may reach them,
Clear and sweet across the lea,
Yet for ever in the background,
Looms the murmur of the sea!
Though they hear the blackbird sing,
And the bearded barley rustle,
And the young lambs bleat in spring;
Though Cathedral bells may reach them,
Clear and sweet across the lea,
Yet for ever in the background,
Looms the murmur of the sea!
So it is with human feeling,
Even in our summer days,
When our hearts are light with laughter,
And our ears are fill'd with praise;
There are thoughts for ever present,
Held at distance though they be,
Always heard—though unobtrusive,
Like the murmur of the sea.
Even in our summer days,
When our hearts are light with laughter,
And our ears are fill'd with praise;
There are thoughts for ever present,
Held at distance though they be,
Always heard—though unobtrusive,
Like the murmur of the sea.
What are they repeating always?
From their tones the mind receives
Chast'ning in the brightest mornings,
Counsel in the clearest eves.
Do not give them form and language,
Look them seldom in the face,
Lest they start into the foreground,
Take and keep the foremost place.
From their tones the mind receives
Chast'ning in the brightest mornings,
Counsel in the clearest eves.
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Look them seldom in the face,
Lest they start into the foreground,
Take and keep the foremost place.
Yet we must have been ungrateful:
Evil blinds us to the good;
Paradise is taken from us—
Who shall tell us where it stood?
Dreaming of the four-leav'd shamrock
Never given to mortal lot,
We awake, and in our folly
Weep, because we have it not!
Evil blinds us to the good;
Paradise is taken from us—
Who shall tell us where it stood?
Dreaming of the four-leav'd shamrock
Never given to mortal lot,
We awake, and in our folly
Weep, because we have it not!
In the early days of childhood
When we spoke our mother tongue,
So that few could understand us
But our nurses kind and young;
Folded in their arms at even,
While they press'd our baby heads,
Some sweet lullaby to sing us,
Ere they laid us in our beds;—
When we spoke our mother tongue,
So that few could understand us
But our nurses kind and young;
Folded in their arms at even,
While they press'd our baby heads,
Some sweet lullaby to sing us,
Ere they laid us in our beds;—
We would lift a tiny finger,
And unclose our sleepy eyes,
Pointing at the stars that twinkling
Glimmer'd in the shady skies;
Babbling to our loving nurses
That we wish'd the stars would fall,
For, among our nursery playthings,
They would be the best of all.
And unclose our sleepy eyes,
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Glimmer'd in the shady skies;
Babbling to our loving nurses
That we wish'd the stars would fall,
For, among our nursery playthings,
They would be the best of all.
And full lovingly they answer'd,
“That if we were always good,
Some fine night they should not wonder
If they dropp'd into the wood:
If they dropp'd among the dock leaves
Where the willow wort was sown;
Then, as soon as it was morning,
We should have them for our own!”
“That if we were always good,
Some fine night they should not wonder
If they dropp'd into the wood:
If they dropp'd among the dock leaves
Where the willow wort was sown;
Then, as soon as it was morning,
We should have them for our own!”
So they sooth'd us, and, contented,
In their arms we fell asleep:
While they pray'd the holy angels
Watch around our beds to keep.
So they pleas'd and so beguil'd us
With their promises of good;
But the little stars we found not
Down among the underwood!
In their arms we fell asleep:
While they pray'd the holy angels
Watch around our beds to keep.
So they pleas'd and so beguil'd us
With their promises of good;
But the little stars we found not
Down among the underwood!
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We should think it strange if children
We were reckon'd, still the same
Even in the wayward wishes
That in them we fondly blame:
Very strange, though still we long for
Things that Reason still debars,
And although we all our lifetime
Have been longing for the stars.
We were reckon'd, still the same
Even in the wayward wishes
That in them we fondly blame:
Very strange, though still we long for
Things that Reason still debars,
And although we all our lifetime
Have been longing for the stars.
We must gaze on them no longer,
Leave them to their high estates,
Heaven's pavement lies above them—
Think upon the golden gates:
Let them shine, as when beforetime
The Most High his might unfurl'd,
Bright as when they sang together
On the birthday of the world.
Leave them to their high estates,
Heaven's pavement lies above them—
Think upon the golden gates:
Let them shine, as when beforetime
The Most High his might unfurl'd,
Bright as when they sang together
On the birthday of the world.
And when Time shall bring her doomsday,
Will a dirge be sung on high?
Will they miss the one departed
From the myriads of the sky?
Matters not, so we inherit,
Borne beyond their fiery cars
Ancient homes appointed for us,
Mansions older than the stars.
Will a dirge be sung on high?
Will they miss the one departed
From the myriads of the sky?
Matters not, so we inherit,
Borne beyond their fiery cars
83
Mansions older than the stars.
So that we may hear, and marvel
When our ears shall catch a tone,
As it were the voice of harpers
Harping round about the throne—
So our feet may reach that country
Lov'd and long'd for from afar,
And our eyes may see the beauty
Of the Bright and Morning Star!
When our ears shall catch a tone,
As it were the voice of harpers
Harping round about the throne—
So our feet may reach that country
Lov'd and long'd for from afar,
And our eyes may see the beauty
Of the Bright and Morning Star!
84
KATHERINE OF ARRAGON TO HENRY VIII.
ON HEARING OF HIS INTENTION TO DIVORCE HER.
Prince, I have heard—it ill beseems
That thou the tale repeat;
Still less that I should bend my knee
To plead or to entreat.
Reproaches! No! thou need'st no fear
That I such words should use;
E'en could'st thou stoop to sue me back,
My heart must now refuse.
That thou the tale repeat;
Still less that I should bend my knee
To plead or to entreat.
Reproaches! No! thou need'st no fear
That I such words should use;
E'en could'st thou stoop to sue me back,
My heart must now refuse.
Far in my own, my native land,
Beneath its sunny skies,
Are dwelling those by thee estrang'd,
Who would have dried mine eyes:
But no! I would not have them back
My bitter tears to see:
I would not have them meanly think
Or proudly speak of thee!
Beneath its sunny skies,
Are dwelling those by thee estrang'd,
Who would have dried mine eyes:
But no! I would not have them back
My bitter tears to see:
I would not have them meanly think
Or proudly speak of thee!
85
Prince, in the upper fields of air
(If sages deem aright),
A planet compass'd in a ring
Speeds on its ceaseless flight;
For evermore encircled thus
It tracks yon desert blue,
And onward as the planet rolls
The ring rolls onward too.
(If sages deem aright),
A planet compass'd in a ring
Speeds on its ceaseless flight;
For evermore encircled thus
It tracks yon desert blue,
And onward as the planet rolls
The ring rolls onward too.
Go, like the planet, wander forth
On passion's stormy sea;
Like the bright ring, my faithful love
Must still encircle thee!
Thou canst not check, shalt not escape,
Its tribute deep and free,
An offering of the only grace
That still remains to me!
On passion's stormy sea;
Like the bright ring, my faithful love
Must still encircle thee!
Thou canst not check, shalt not escape,
Its tribute deep and free,
An offering of the only grace
That still remains to me!
Take back thy gifts—I heed them not,
Since of thyself bereft;
Take my young daughter from my arms,
The only solace left:
Bring the fair rival in thy love
My sad estate to view;
But hope not to estrange my heart,
For that thou canst not do!
Since of thyself bereft;
Take my young daughter from my arms,
The only solace left:
Bring the fair rival in thy love
My sad estate to view;
86
For that thou canst not do!
Oh, bring not up the beauteous past,
Kind memory! let it rest
For ever shrouded far from sight
Deep in my bleeding breast:
Forbear to mock with past delight
A grief beyond control:
Look back no more, since all is lost—
Forget—forget, my soul!
Kind memory! let it rest
For ever shrouded far from sight
Deep in my bleeding breast:
Forbear to mock with past delight
A grief beyond control:
Look back no more, since all is lost—
Forget—forget, my soul!
87
MIMIE'S GRASS-NEST.
In the quiet of the garden,
While beside the nut-trees walking,
Came our little sister to us.—“Pardon,”
Said she, “if I interrupt your talking,
I have got a grass nest to display you,
O do come and sit in it, I pray you:
By myself I made it: there will be
Room enough within for you and me.”
While beside the nut-trees walking,
Came our little sister to us.—“Pardon,”
Said she, “if I interrupt your talking,
I have got a grass nest to display you,
O do come and sit in it, I pray you:
By myself I made it: there will be
Room enough within for you and me.”
Merrily before us dancing
She look'd up into our faces;
Then again towards her grass nest glancing,
Made, returning to it, a few paces.
“I'll go make it ready. Will you follow?
O it's like a bird's nest, round and hollow.
Gardener says, those linnets in the vine
Have not got a better nest than mine.”
She look'd up into our faces;
Then again towards her grass nest glancing,
Made, returning to it, a few paces.
“I'll go make it ready. Will you follow?
O it's like a bird's nest, round and hollow.
Gardener says, those linnets in the vine
Have not got a better nest than mine.”
“We would come,” we said, she flitting
On before us, to make ready,
When we reach'd the lawn, we found her sitting,
With all state, and aspect grave and steady,
In her nest. “Sit down,” she said: “I made it
Of the new-mown grass, with trees to shade it,
And then set it round with this white May,
And red Peonies, to make it gay.”
On before us, to make ready,
88
With all state, and aspect grave and steady,
In her nest. “Sit down,” she said: “I made it
Of the new-mown grass, with trees to shade it,
And then set it round with this white May,
And red Peonies, to make it gay.”
On the beauty of the dwelling
Gave we plenteous gratulation;
Then said, “Madam, we await your telling
Of what wing'd sweet-throated tribe or nation
You may be.” “Bird's life,” in accents musing,
“Would not suit with such as I for choosing,”
Said she; “but a Fairy I will be,
And you in this house shall live with me.”
Gave we plenteous gratulation;
Then said, “Madam, we await your telling
Of what wing'd sweet-throated tribe or nation
You may be.” “Bird's life,” in accents musing,
“Would not suit with such as I for choosing,”
Said she; “but a Fairy I will be,
And you in this house shall live with me.”
Oh! yes, this shall be my Palace,
Or my fairy ring the rather,
This gold tulip I will have for chalice,
And this branch for sceptre, which my father
Who rules six enchanted castles bravely,
Sent me!” “Cry you mercy!” said I gravely,
“What mistakes we mortals make at best—
I had thought this palace was a nest!
Or my fairy ring the rather,
This gold tulip I will have for chalice,
And this branch for sceptre, which my father
Who rules six enchanted castles bravely,
Sent me!” “Cry you mercy!” said I gravely,
“What mistakes we mortals make at best—
I had thought this palace was a nest!
89
“Now I see, with eyes compliant,
'Tis a palace, and enchanted—
That which seem'd an oak tree is a giant,
These which I thought Sumachs near it planted
Are two dragons, ragged-tooth'd and spiteful,
Set to guard us, and these songs delightful
Come from fairies, who can, when they please,
Change to birds, and sing upon the trees!”
'Tis a palace, and enchanted—
That which seem'd an oak tree is a giant,
These which I thought Sumachs near it planted
Are two dragons, ragged-tooth'd and spiteful,
Set to guard us, and these songs delightful
Come from fairies, who can, when they please,
Change to birds, and sing upon the trees!”
“Yes, it is so,” said she gaily;
“And you two shall be Princesses;
You must know that knights and damsels daily
Come to me for aid in their distresses.
Now I sit in state, and pray your Graces,
Tell me, wherefore have you left your places?
In all fairy learning I am vers'd:
I will hear the youngest Princess first!”
“And you two shall be Princesses;
You must know that knights and damsels daily
Come to me for aid in their distresses.
Now I sit in state, and pray your Graces,
Tell me, wherefore have you left your places?
In all fairy learning I am vers'd:
I will hear the youngest Princess first!”
Then the youngest Princess, pausing,
Look'd around to aid invention,
Smiles which hover'd round her red lips causing
Me, who watch'd, to fathom her intention.
She look'd much like one who had no sorrow
Worth the telling, so one needs must borrow,
Meet to reach the blue-ey'd Fairy's ear,
Who sat scepter'd on the grass to hear.
Look'd around to aid invention,
Smiles which hover'd round her red lips causing
Me, who watch'd, to fathom her intention.
She look'd much like one who had no sorrow
Worth the telling, so one needs must borrow,
90
Who sat scepter'd on the grass to hear.
“In a forest, Fairy Dame,
Stands my Father's Palace:
Well he loves me; and my name
Is the Princess Alice.
Stands my Father's Palace:
Well he loves me; and my name
Is the Princess Alice.
Trees of right great age and girth
Thickly round it planted,
Scare the sons of outer earth
From its glades enchanted.
Thickly round it planted,
Scare the sons of outer earth
From its glades enchanted.
Few of mortal race that dare
Those deep woods to enter,
Fewer far that reach the fair
Palace in the centre.
Those deep woods to enter,
Fewer far that reach the fair
Palace in the centre.
Yet of mortal race are we,
Though we look undaunted
On its shadow'd mystery,
And its sunlight haunted.
Though we look undaunted
On its shadow'd mystery,
And its sunlight haunted.
There the dwarfish people fell
Have their habitations,
There thy elfin kindred dwell
By their tribes and nations:
Have their habitations,
91
By their tribes and nations:
There the ripen'd citron breaks
From the branch untasted;—
Let the man beware who takes
Of that banquet wasted!
From the branch untasted;—
Let the man beware who takes
Of that banquet wasted!
Hands invisible shall snatch
Sword or staff for payment;
Things unseen shall deftly catch
At his flutt'ring raiment.
Sword or staff for payment;
Things unseen shall deftly catch
At his flutt'ring raiment.
There do smiling faces peep
Out from beeches hollow,
Beckoning on to defiles deep—
Woe to all that follow!
Out from beeches hollow,
Beckoning on to defiles deep—
Woe to all that follow!
There the white-rob'd phantoms glide,
With their hands behind them,
Crying out—“O, cease to ride—
Take these hands and bind them!”
With their hands behind them,
Crying out—“O, cease to ride—
Take these hands and bind them!”
Let him 'ware to slack his rein,
Or regard their faces,
Lest to serve them he be fain
In their desert places.
Or regard their faces,
92
In their desert places.
There, above-ground flits and roams
The wisp-light before us;
And beneath, the toiling gnomes
Sing their evil chorus:
The wisp-light before us;
And beneath, the toiling gnomes
Sing their evil chorus:
When the clouded sun goes in—
“Waiting for the thunder”—
We can hear their revel-din
The moss'd greensward under:
“Waiting for the thunder”—
We can hear their revel-din
The moss'd greensward under:
And, I tell you, all the birds,
On the branches singing,
Utter to us human words,
Like a silver ringing.
On the branches singing,
Utter to us human words,
Like a silver ringing.
Oh! my father hath in truth
Bearing high and stately;
And my mother's face in youth
Might be lauded greatly.
Bearing high and stately;
And my mother's face in youth
Might be lauded greatly.
Long time were they wed—but child
Had not—son nor daughter—
Till my sainted mother mild,
Near some running water,
Had not—son nor daughter—
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Near some running water,
Spinning once in mossy glade
With her Maids of honour,
And the ash-tree's greenest shade
Softly cast upon her—
With her Maids of honour,
And the ash-tree's greenest shade
Softly cast upon her—
She was 'ware of fingers four,
With impassion'd gesture,
(One small hand and nothing more)
Plucking at her vesture.
With impassion'd gesture,
(One small hand and nothing more)
Plucking at her vesture.
“Sit ye still, my maids,” she cried,
Rising up serenely;
“I would walk this rill beside
Over-arch'd so greenly.”
Rising up serenely;
“I would walk this rill beside
Over-arch'd so greenly.”
Fast the little hand took hold,
By the stream it drew her;
Red rays through the fir-trees old
Trembled down unto her:
By the stream it drew her;
Red rays through the fir-trees old
Trembled down unto her:
She could hear two small feet pace
Closely on beside her,
But to see the spirit face
(Saith she) was denied her;
And she follow'd to a place
Where the stream grew wider.
Closely on beside her,
94
(Saith she) was denied her;
And she follow'd to a place
Where the stream grew wider.
There were stepping-stones, and green
Grew the cresses round them;
Bright the waters were between,
Where the sun-rays found them.
Grew the cresses round them;
Bright the waters were between,
Where the sun-rays found them.
She look'd up, and nought could see
But some grey doves dozing,
In a noontide reverie
Their red eyelids closing.
But some grey doves dozing,
In a noontide reverie
Their red eyelids closing.
In the heat the fir trees thick
Never mov'd asunder,
And albeit her heart beat quick,
It was but with wonder.
Never mov'd asunder,
And albeit her heart beat quick,
It was but with wonder.
She look'd down, was nought below
Save the shallow water,
And the little hand let go,
Thus far having brought her!
Save the shallow water,
And the little hand let go,
Thus far having brought her!
95
Quoth she then (with no more dread
Than by silence made is),
“Wherefore, little hand, hast led
Me from my fair ladies?”
Than by silence made is),
“Wherefore, little hand, hast led
Me from my fair ladies?”
She could hear a rustling sound
As of doves descending,
And soft voices near the ground
With the stream's voice blending.
As of doves descending,
And soft voices near the ground
With the stream's voice blending.
Natheless, doves were none, and grave
Words came sweet before her—
“Is this, sooth, that woman brave,
That fair queen, Eudora?
Words came sweet before her—
“Is this, sooth, that woman brave,
That fair queen, Eudora?
Will she bear us by her aid
Safe across the water,
With our grey wings shut?” It sayde,
“Hast thou yet besought her?”
Safe across the water,
With our grey wings shut?” It sayde,
“Hast thou yet besought her?”
“Nay!” the answ'ring voice replied,
Scantly to her reaching;
“But her human heart is wide,
And needs no beseeching!”
Scantly to her reaching;
“But her human heart is wide,
And needs no beseeching!”
96
“Ay,” quoth she, “'tis even so;
Voice, thou speakest truly!
Let the things I see not, know
I will bear them duly!”
Voice, thou speakest truly!
Let the things I see not, know
I will bear them duly!”
As a snowflake falling white,
One the other follows,
Fast they settled, soft and light,
As a flight of swallows,
One the other follows,
Fast they settled, soft and light,
As a flight of swallows,
On her vest and on her arms—
“Thanks, King Meroc's daughter,”—
So she bore them safe from harms
Straight across the water.
“Thanks, King Meroc's daughter,”—
So she bore them safe from harms
Straight across the water.
Scarce her foot had touch'd the bank
With the wondrous burden,
Than she saw them, rank by rank—
Sooth, an ample guerdon—
With the wondrous burden,
Than she saw them, rank by rank—
Sooth, an ample guerdon—
Creatures beautiful and rare,
Turn'd they all to greet her—
Somewhat more than human fair,
And with voices sweeter.
Turn'd they all to greet her—
Somewhat more than human fair,
And with voices sweeter.
97
Sprang they down to earth, and trod
Each with bearing knightly:
“Rise up straightway from the sod,—
Horses!” cried they, lightly.
Each with bearing knightly:
“Rise up straightway from the sod,—
Horses!” cried they, lightly.
And the horses, from the ground,
Rose up at their calling;
Rose up with a snorting sound,
And with bridles falling.
Rose up at their calling;
Rose up with a snorting sound,
And with bridles falling.
Spake the foremost, set in selle,
Safe across the water,
“Madam, queen, I wish thee well,
Thee, thy prince, and daughter!”
Safe across the water,
“Madam, queen, I wish thee well,
Thee, thy prince, and daughter!”
Quoth my mother, “Mock me not
With thy words unkindly,
Daughter, Knight, I have not got;”
But she answer'd blindly.
With thy words unkindly,
Daughter, Knight, I have not got;”
But she answer'd blindly.
Loud he laugh'd, and tall he grew,
Sitting straight before her,
“My good wishes aye come true,
Oh! fair queen Eudora!
Sitting straight before her,
“My good wishes aye come true,
Oh! fair queen Eudora!
98
“Farewell, stream! My foe's deep hate
Keeps us not asunder,
Madam Queen, thy ladies wait,
Wait for thee, and wonder!
Keeps us not asunder,
Madam Queen, thy ladies wait,
Wait for thee, and wonder!
Spells upon the margin laid—
Charms upon the water—
Hast thou broken by thine aid,
Good king Meroc's daughter!”
Charms upon the water—
Hast thou broken by thine aid,
Good king Meroc's daughter!”
On the self-same day at noon,
One short twelvemonth after,
Of my birth the tidings soon
Fill'd the place with laughter.
One short twelvemonth after,
Of my birth the tidings soon
Fill'd the place with laughter.
On that day sweet voices rang
In my father's palace,
And the birds, I tell you, sang—
“Welcome, Princess Alice!”
In my father's palace,
And the birds, I tell you, sang—
“Welcome, Princess Alice!”
Then the small tree-people came
With their gratulations,
And each matron fairy-dame
Of the green-clad nations,
With their gratulations,
And each matron fairy-dame
Of the green-clad nations,
99
Gliding to my mother's bed,
Gave her low-voic'd greeting,
Wishing on my infant head
For all good things meeting.
Gave her low-voic'd greeting,
Wishing on my infant head
For all good things meeting.
Up by thousands blithe and small
Came they in the gloaming,—
“Wish ye joy,” they cried to all
Whom they met in roaming.
Came they in the gloaming,—
“Wish ye joy,” they cried to all
Whom they met in roaming.
Here and there in silken sheen,
Soft their garments flutter'd;
Here and there for babe and queen
Their good wishes utter'd.
Soft their garments flutter'd;
Here and there for babe and queen
Their good wishes utter'd.
“Thanks, fair Dames!” My father cried,
“Here, Sir Page, my chalice!
Happy seasons ye betide,
And the sweet maid Alice:
“Here, Sir Page, my chalice!
Happy seasons ye betide,
And the sweet maid Alice:
This I drink to your good health,
As my bounden duty;
The dear saints increase your wealth,
And prolong your beauty!”
As my bounden duty;
The dear saints increase your wealth,
And prolong your beauty!”
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Ere the word was utter'd, they
Crowded to the portals,
And with laughter keen did say—
“Oh! these dull immortals!”
Crowded to the portals,
And with laughter keen did say—
“Oh! these dull immortals!”
On the day that I was wean'd,
One came to my chamber,
On a golden stick she lean'd,
With a head of amber.
One came to my chamber,
On a golden stick she lean'd,
With a head of amber.
She was aged, swart, and bent,
But her speech was cheery,
And she totter'd as she went,
As with travel weary.
But her speech was cheery,
And she totter'd as she went,
As with travel weary.
“Mother! for thine infant dear,”
Quoth she, tartly speaking,
“Have I got a present here
Worthy of her seeking.”
Quoth she, tartly speaking,
“Have I got a present here
Worthy of her seeking.”
Straightway, beautiful as light,
Fair in limb and feature,
From her bosom sprang a Sprite,
A winged childlike creature.
Fair in limb and feature,
From her bosom sprang a Sprite,
A winged childlike creature.
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Oh! to me, to me she fled
Ere the words were spoken;
And the ancient Fairy said—
“Know, by this same token,
Ere the words were spoken;
And the ancient Fairy said—
“Know, by this same token,
That she nestles at thy heart,
Loth from thee to sever—
If she one day shall depart,
Best it be for ever!
Loth from thee to sever—
If she one day shall depart,
Best it be for ever!
Little Princess, hold her dear,
Know, for all her dimples,
Potent Sprite she is, as e'er
Work'd with wand or simples.”
Know, for all her dimples,
Potent Sprite she is, as e'er
Work'd with wand or simples.”
We were playmates the year round
In a change of pleasure,
With her glamour spells she found
Heaps of unus'd treasure.
In a change of pleasure,
With her glamour spells she found
Heaps of unus'd treasure.
When we feasted in the fern
Growing round the palace,
Easy 'twas for her to turn
Acorn cup to chalice,
Growing round the palace,
Easy 'twas for her to turn
Acorn cup to chalice,
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And to call up elfins gay
With us there to revel,
When the ruddy King of Day
Peer'd in broad and level.
With us there to revel,
When the ruddy King of Day
Peer'd in broad and level.
Me she endlessly beguil'd—
Fairy, who can blame her?
Look'd up in my face and smil'd,
Well those smiles became her!
Fairy, who can blame her?
Look'd up in my face and smil'd,
Well those smiles became her!
In my bosom she did sleep,
With my dreams she blended,
Visions such as make me weep
Now, to feel them ended!
With my dreams she blended,
Visions such as make me weep
Now, to feel them ended!
Aye, indeed! and sooth to say,
Birds did sing at dawning,
“Play on, little Princess, play—
Merry go the morning.”
Birds did sing at dawning,
“Play on, little Princess, play—
Merry go the morning.”
It was she who made them sing,
With her chain she bound them;
Like a garment she did fling
Glamour light around them:
With her chain she bound them;
Like a garment she did fling
Glamour light around them:
103
And within the magic hall
Of my Father's palace,
Bid the prankish elves to call,
“Welcome, Princess Alice!”
Of my Father's palace,
Bid the prankish elves to call,
“Welcome, Princess Alice!”
When we look'd into the night
Through the wicket peering,
Wondrous things there were for sight,
Wondrous things for hearing.
Through the wicket peering,
Wondrous things there were for sight,
Wondrous things for hearing.
Then the shadows of the trees
Stretch'd their long arms nigher,
And the spirit of the breeze
Touch'd for us her lyre;
Stretch'd their long arms nigher,
And the spirit of the breeze
Touch'd for us her lyre;
Came and whisper'd at our eaves
Melodies entrancing,
With a train of yellow leaves
In her pathway dancing:
Melodies entrancing,
With a train of yellow leaves
In her pathway dancing:
While the sleeping birds she rock'd
Through the forest flying,
And the minstrel's cadence mock'd,
In the turrets sighing.
Through the forest flying,
And the minstrel's cadence mock'd,
In the turrets sighing.
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Ah! methinks I still behold,
While I tell the story,
Springing arches, portals bold,
Stretch out gaunt and hoary.
While I tell the story,
Springing arches, portals bold,
Stretch out gaunt and hoary.
In a vision fair and clear,
Truly still I see them;
Fairy!—I have held them dear—
Wherefore did I flee them?
Truly still I see them;
Fairy!—I have held them dear—
Wherefore did I flee them?
Silver white the moonbeams sleep
On the almond thicket,
Red as rust the sunbeams creep,
Through the palace wicket.
On the almond thicket,
Red as rust the sunbeams creep,
Through the palace wicket.
While the stork upon the roof
Keeps unmov'd his station,
And the swallow sits aloof
From his habitation:
Keeps unmov'd his station,
And the swallow sits aloof
From his habitation:
And the linnet's throat is sweet,
With his peers conferring,
While at noonday in the heat
Not a leaf is stirring:
With his peers conferring,
While at noonday in the heat
Not a leaf is stirring:
105
And the waters on their way
Eddy round the cresses,
And the whisp'ring reeds at play
Bend to their caresses:
Eddy round the cresses,
And the whisp'ring reeds at play
Bend to their caresses:
Turrets bright with sunny air—
Hills above them swelling—
Forest-girdled stands the fair
Spirit-haunted dwelling.
Hills above them swelling—
Forest-girdled stands the fair
Spirit-haunted dwelling.
But one lot must come to all
Holding mortal station
In the year is spring and fall,
Changing and mutation!
Holding mortal station
In the year is spring and fall,
Changing and mutation!
I awoke at dawn of day
Once, and, round me glancing,
I beheld the ancient Fay
To my couch advancing.
Once, and, round me glancing,
I beheld the ancient Fay
To my couch advancing.
At my feet awhile she stood,
Then, her mantle raising,
Peer'd at me beneath her hood
With a keen-ey'd gazing.
Then, her mantle raising,
Peer'd at me beneath her hood
With a keen-ey'd gazing.
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Quoth she then, “Behold, I come
On a thankless mission;”
Nothing answer'd I, struck dumb
By the wrinkled vision.
On a thankless mission;”
Nothing answer'd I, struck dumb
By the wrinkled vision.
“Come thou here, my dainty Sprite,”
Quoth the ancient Fairy;
And it fled on wings of light,
Meteor-like and airy—
Quoth the ancient Fairy;
And it fled on wings of light,
Meteor-like and airy—
Flew to her — “Give back, give back,”
Cried I, “stern despoiler!”
Vainly might I pray, Alack!
How could mortal foil her?
Cried I, “stern despoiler!”
Vainly might I pray, Alack!
How could mortal foil her?
Coldly did she turn away,
Bearing off my treasure,
Answer'd mine entreaties, “Nay,
Get thee to thy pleasure.
Bearing off my treasure,
Answer'd mine entreaties, “Nay,
Get thee to thy pleasure.
There is sunshine on the grass,
Check'd with light that quivers,
There's a fountain smooth as glass
Where the aspen shivers:
Check'd with light that quivers,
There's a fountain smooth as glass
Where the aspen shivers:
107
Let the shadow of thy face
Drop upon it, daughter,
'Tis a picture fair to trace
On the dimpling water.
Drop upon it, daughter,
'Tis a picture fair to trace
On the dimpling water.
“Nay, be still, fond fool! good sooth!
Vain is thine imploring,
She who goes, must go! in truth
There is no restoring:
Vain is thine imploring,
She who goes, must go! in truth
There is no restoring:
That I tell thee, lay to heart—
Better loss and dangers—
Troubled rest and aching heart
Ne'er to thee be strangers;
Better loss and dangers—
Troubled rest and aching heart
Ne'er to thee be strangers;
Better truly grief and pain
In thy soul be swelling,
Than (sweet Spirit!) she again
Make with thee her dwelling!
In thy soul be swelling,
Than (sweet Spirit!) she again
Make with thee her dwelling!
Oh! a second time, Princess!
Ask not that, I pray thee!
Alter'd form and chang'd caress
Then might well affray thee!”
Ask not that, I pray thee!
Alter'd form and chang'd caress
Then might well affray thee!”
108
From my chamber she did pass,
Pass, and left me lonely;
I look'd out, and on the grass
Play'd bright sunbeams only:
Pass, and left me lonely;
I look'd out, and on the grass
Play'd bright sunbeams only:
I went forth, but ne'er a bird
Round about the palace
Singing in the trees I heard,
“Welcome, Princess Alice!”
Round about the palace
Singing in the trees I heard,
“Welcome, Princess Alice!”
Oh! they sang at their “sweet will,”
Goldfinch, thrush, and linnet—
Somewhat miss'd I natheless still,
And I ne'er could win it.
Goldfinch, thrush, and linnet—
Somewhat miss'd I natheless still,
And I ne'er could win it.
For some cadence sure was mute,
Or had died and faded,
That erewhile as woodland flute
All the glens pervaded.
Or had died and faded,
That erewhile as woodland flute
All the glens pervaded.
The green people all the day
Of their forms were chary,
I heard not their laughter gay,
Elf or prankish fairy:
Of their forms were chary,
I heard not their laughter gay,
Elf or prankish fairy:
109
Prattling tongues and busy feet,
They had all departed,
Ne'er a straggler, me to greet,
In the pathway started.
They had all departed,
Ne'er a straggler, me to greet,
In the pathway started.
Green the fern about me grew,
In familiar places;
And the cowslips, wet with dew,
Bow'd their modest faces.
In familiar places;
And the cowslips, wet with dew,
Bow'd their modest faces.
From the palace of my birth,
From each forest vista,
Pass'd a somewhat of their worth
With my heart's lost sister!
From each forest vista,
Pass'd a somewhat of their worth
With my heart's lost sister!
In the wing'd and blue-ey'd Fay,
Sweet enchantment centred;
With her flight they fled away,
And much sadness enter'd.
Sweet enchantment centred;
With her flight they fled away,
And much sadness enter'd.
In the sultriness of noon,
And when shadows lengthen'd,
In the broad light of the moon,
Still my sorrow strengthen'd.
And when shadows lengthen'd,
In the broad light of the moon,
Still my sorrow strengthen'd.
110
In the hills where we did play
Round each marble column,
While—the night to wile away—
Music sweet and solemn
Round each marble column,
While—the night to wile away—
Music sweet and solemn
Floated over all the place;
And each burning eresset,
Casting light on every face,
Told that joy did bless it:
And each burning eresset,
Casting light on every face,
Told that joy did bless it:
When the lamp-flames many-hued
Gleam'd throughout the palace,
And with rainbow tints embued
Silver cup and chalice,
Gleam'd throughout the palace,
And with rainbow tints embued
Silver cup and chalice,
Marble walls and marble floor,
Snowy waving curtain
Shedding on them, white before,
Gorgeous hues uncertain:
Snowy waving curtain
Shedding on them, white before,
Gorgeous hues uncertain:
And on glowing plants which, rang'd
By the pillars, flourish'd,
Dropp'd carnation tints that chang'd
With the flame that nourish'd—
By the pillars, flourish'd,
Dropp'd carnation tints that chang'd
With the flame that nourish'd—
111
Opal shades, as movements light
Of a robe might fan it,
To descend on myrtle white,
Balsam or pomegranate:
Of a robe might fan it,
To descend on myrtle white,
Balsam or pomegranate:
When the moonbeams, pure and blue,
With their rich light blended,
And the high arch, gliding through,
To the roof ascended,—
With their rich light blended,
And the high arch, gliding through,
To the roof ascended,—
Then lay sore at my heart's door
Thoughts of her departed—
At the bitter words, “No more,”
Tears of sorrow started:
Thoughts of her departed—
At the bitter words, “No more,”
Tears of sorrow started:
Then, ah! then the blue-ey'd Sprite,
And her winsome feigning,
Being fled—fled laughter light—
Frolic chang'd to plaining!
And her winsome feigning,
Being fled—fled laughter light—
Frolic chang'd to plaining!
“Fairy of the snowy weeds,
And the azure cincture,
Hadst thou of red Foxglove seeds
Seeth'd a magic tincture,
And the azure cincture,
Hadst thou of red Foxglove seeds
Seeth'd a magic tincture,
112
As 'tis said thy folk of old
Made for eyes of mortals,
Wherewith touch'd they might behold
Of your world the portals:
Made for eyes of mortals,
Wherewith touch'd they might behold
Of your world the portals:
Hadst thou in the mid-earth been,
Felt the earthquakes heaving,
And the fatal Sisters seen
At their endless weaving:
Felt the earthquakes heaving,
And the fatal Sisters seen
At their endless weaving:
Heard the sad tale that, once told,
Maketh dumb for pity—
Read the secrets of the old
Hundred-gated city:
Maketh dumb for pity—
Read the secrets of the old
Hundred-gated city:
Look'd upon the Sybil's page,
Ere the flame she lighted,
And beheld Medea's rage,
By false Jason slighted:
Ere the flame she lighted,
And beheld Medea's rage,
By false Jason slighted:
Heard by night fell Circe raise
Magic songs of feigning,
Threaded through the Cretan maze,
Its black centre gaining:
Magic songs of feigning,
Threaded through the Cretan maze,
Its black centre gaining:
113
Nothing could thy lore avail
To the utmost lavish'd;
And thy magic arts must fail,
To restore the Ravish'd!
To the utmost lavish'd;
And thy magic arts must fail,
To restore the Ravish'd!
Yet—to gaze on her again
(As my tale hath taught thee),
Potent Fairy, I am fain,
Therefore have I sought thee—
(As my tale hath taught thee),
Potent Fairy, I am fain,
Therefore have I sought thee—
Through the forest, through the lea,
Through the tangled wild-wood,
For I know she dwells with thee,
And her name is—Childhood!”
Through the tangled wild-wood,
For I know she dwells with thee,
And her name is—Childhood!”
So she ceas'd! Our little sister,
Wond'ring, look'd her in the face,
As her own she lifted up, and kiss'd her;
Then resum'd her state with childish grace;
Said more gravely than the case might merit—
“No, she ne'er had seen the little Spirit:
Never! never!” thus did she aver,
“Came that fairy Sprite to dwell with her!”
Wond'ring, look'd her in the face,
As her own she lifted up, and kiss'd her;
Then resum'd her state with childish grace;
Said more gravely than the case might merit—
“No, she ne'er had seen the little Spirit:
114
“Came that fairy Sprite to dwell with her!”
All her play-time (mournful saying!)
She was left to sport alone,
For the very bees were gone a-Maying,—
The green linnets from the nest were flown.
“So in my old castles and my bower,
Each by turn, I live, and tend a flower,
Such as in the “talking forest” grew,
Which I water with enchanted dew!”
She was left to sport alone,
For the very bees were gone a-Maying,—
The green linnets from the nest were flown.
“So in my old castles and my bower,
Each by turn, I live, and tend a flower,
Such as in the “talking forest” grew,
Which I water with enchanted dew!”
“The grass walks are my dominions—
Moats to keep my foes away;
But that little Sprite, with downy pinions,
Flutter'd ne'er across with me to play.”
This she utter'd, as if half forgetful
That it was but fabling:—or regretful
So to think:—then said, and clear'd her brow,
“I will hear the elder Princess now.”
Moats to keep my foes away;
But that little Sprite, with downy pinions,
Flutter'd ne'er across with me to play.”
This she utter'd, as if half forgetful
That it was but fabling:—or regretful
So to think:—then said, and clear'd her brow,
“I will hear the elder Princess now.”
Then I answer'd—“My condition
Potent Fairy, you mis-state,
I no Princess am, though by permission
Of your grace, a rede I will relate—
Errant Minstrel, oft in minstrel fashion
Sing I songs of warfare, love and passion,
But you see, no glitt'ring crown I bear
Such as true Princesses always wear.
Potent Fairy, you mis-state,
I no Princess am, though by permission
Of your grace, a rede I will relate—
115
Sing I songs of warfare, love and passion,
But you see, no glitt'ring crown I bear
Such as true Princesses always wear.
“Come back,—days of ancient glory,
Toilsome strife, then listless ease—
Feudal forests mingle with my story,
The deep rushing noise of wind-rock'd trees.
If my rhymes be rude, the clang of armour
Takes their sweetness from them, Fairy charmer!
Sway the sceptre well, and list my lays,
I will tell a tale of ancient days.”
Toilsome strife, then listless ease—
Feudal forests mingle with my story,
The deep rushing noise of wind-rock'd trees.
If my rhymes be rude, the clang of armour
Takes their sweetness from them, Fairy charmer!
Sway the sceptre well, and list my lays,
I will tell a tale of ancient days.”
I.
A gentle Maiden walk'd alone within the deep green wood,
And there she spied a fair white dove by savage hawks pursued;
“Now come to me, thou hunted dove,” the gentle maiden said,
“And find a shelter in my arms, to hide thy beauteous head.”
The yellow belted bee
Was at work beneath the tree,
And the woodruffe nodded lightly on the bed!
And there she spied a fair white dove by savage hawks pursued;
“Now come to me, thou hunted dove,” the gentle maiden said,
“And find a shelter in my arms, to hide thy beauteous head.”
116
Was at work beneath the tree,
And the woodruffe nodded lightly on the bed!
Then spake the Prince, where low he lay beneath the beechen tree,
“The maid that fain would save a bird will surely succour me.”
He slowly turn'd his fainting limbs, and spake with mickle pain,
And from his wounds the crimson blood came welling forth amain.
And the cuckoo's note was clear,
With the belling of the deer,
And the cushats sang their madrigals again.
“The maid that fain would save a bird will surely succour me.”
He slowly turn'd his fainting limbs, and spake with mickle pain,
And from his wounds the crimson blood came welling forth amain.
And the cuckoo's note was clear,
With the belling of the deer,
And the cushats sang their madrigals again.
“Oh! for thy gentle pity's sake, I pray thee to me bring
A draught to quench my raging thirst from yonder forest spring—
For truly I was here waylaid, and wounded, as ye see,
All by his treachery that is my deadly enemy!”
In the castle far away
Shone the mellow evening ray,
And the milky corn was green upon the lea.
A draught to quench my raging thirst from yonder forest spring—
For truly I was here waylaid, and wounded, as ye see,
All by his treachery that is my deadly enemy!”
In the castle far away
Shone the mellow evening ray,
And the milky corn was green upon the lea.
117
She brought him water from the burn, and held it to his lips,
She led him down to the hollow tree that in the deep well dips;
She hied her away to her forest-home, and brought of her wheaten bread,
She spread him a couch of the tufted heath, to pillow his weary head.
In the twilight beetles flew
Up against him—and the dew
Dimm'd the stars that watch'd by night above his bed.
She led him down to the hollow tree that in the deep well dips;
She hied her away to her forest-home, and brought of her wheaten bread,
She spread him a couch of the tufted heath, to pillow his weary head.
In the twilight beetles flew
Up against him—and the dew
Dimm'd the stars that watch'd by night above his bed.
“Now who be ye, so rudely lodg'd, with face so fair and mild?”
“My father is ranger of all the wild wood, and I am his only child!”
She tended him so patiently, ten summer weeks and three,
Till the leaves were thick beneath her feet, when she came to the beechen tree.
By the castle far away
Did the lifted banner play,
And the russet corn was ripe upon the lea!
“My father is ranger of all the wild wood, and I am his only child!”
She tended him so patiently, ten summer weeks and three,
Till the leaves were thick beneath her feet, when she came to the beechen tree.
By the castle far away
Did the lifted banner play,
And the russet corn was ripe upon the lea!
118
“Now heed me well, thou luckless youth—so hie thee hence away,
The hunters will come when the leaves are down, and peril 'twere to stay.
I have but got one silver crown, my father gave it me—
And half I'll keep to be my own, and half I'll give to thee!”
And the shallow trickling burn
Wander'd on beneath the fern,
And the leaves they made a murmur like the sea!
The hunters will come when the leaves are down, and peril 'twere to stay.
I have but got one silver crown, my father gave it me—
And half I'll keep to be my own, and half I'll give to thee!”
And the shallow trickling burn
Wander'd on beneath the fern,
And the leaves they made a murmur like the sea!
Then up he rose on a harvest night, in moonlight broad and clear,
While the mushroom sprung from the cold damp earth in forest pathways drear:
“O Maid, this voice to faltering takes, a-praising of thy care,
This heart can only leave behind a blessing and a prayer.”
There was mourning far away,
In the castle stern and grey,
And a bitter sound of wailing and despair.
While the mushroom sprung from the cold damp earth in forest pathways drear:
“O Maid, this voice to faltering takes, a-praising of thy care,
This heart can only leave behind a blessing and a prayer.”
There was mourning far away,
In the castle stern and grey,
And a bitter sound of wailing and despair.
119
Red berries on the thorn were ripe, and glisten'd wet with dew,
Young lev'rets chas'd the falling leaves that down the hollows flew;
The hay and the clover were not cut when low on the earth lay he,
When he hied him away, the hazel nut was dropping from the tree!
And the autumn wind's low strain,
Sighing up through my refrain,
Mourn'd the dreary days of winter yet to be!
Young lev'rets chas'd the falling leaves that down the hollows flew;
The hay and the clover were not cut when low on the earth lay he,
When he hied him away, the hazel nut was dropping from the tree!
And the autumn wind's low strain,
Sighing up through my refrain,
Mourn'd the dreary days of winter yet to be!
II.
The prayers were said, the grave was made, the mourners wept the dead,
But where was the prince to wear the crown, and reign in his father's stead?
When the requiem notes down the long aisle swept, when the singer's voices were clear,
There came a mourner with bended brow, and stood by the stately bier!
Why so pale, my Ladye Queen?
“Ah!” she saith, “the blows were keen,
From the son of my dead lord is nought to fear!”
But where was the prince to wear the crown, and reign in his father's stead?
When the requiem notes down the long aisle swept, when the singer's voices were clear,
There came a mourner with bended brow, and stood by the stately bier!
Why so pale, my Ladye Queen?
“Ah!” she saith, “the blows were keen,
From the son of my dead lord is nought to fear!”
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“And who be ye?” quoth the Barons bold,—“this foremost place to win?
For none may stand at the king's right hand, but he that is next of kin!”
He lifts his beaver—a welcome runs through the crowds that round him kneel,
A long low murmur that mingles well with the prayer for the dead man's weal.
Wherefore shrink, thou fair stepdame?
Little dreameth he her name,
Who with jewell'd fingers brib'd the dastard steel!
For none may stand at the king's right hand, but he that is next of kin!”
He lifts his beaver—a welcome runs through the crowds that round him kneel,
A long low murmur that mingles well with the prayer for the dead man's weal.
Wherefore shrink, thou fair stepdame?
Little dreameth he her name,
Who with jewell'd fingers brib'd the dastard steel!
“To-morrow's sun,” quoth the knights, “at eve shall light thy crowning day,
But where from thy father's alter'd face didst hide so long away?”
Short answer then made the princely youth—to priest and peer spake he,—
“The quarry shelters in forest-brakes, and I trow they might shelter me!
Didst thou tell the false, false tale,
That made love, fair queen, to fail?
Did they part, who never met again—through thee?
But where from thy father's alter'd face didst hide so long away?”
Short answer then made the princely youth—to priest and peer spake he,—
“The quarry shelters in forest-brakes, and I trow they might shelter me!
Didst thou tell the false, false tale,
That made love, fair queen, to fail?
Did they part, who never met again—through thee?
121
In the Minster aisle, at dark midnight, they mourn'd the old king dead;
They set the crown, at noonday bright, upon the young king's head!
“Hearken to me, my page,” quoth he, “take horse without delay,
Fly to the forest wherein I was hid, and speed as best you may.”
With a wine cup in thy hand,
Why, O widow'd queen, dost stand?
Is it deadly?—wherefore cry, “alas, the day?”
They set the crown, at noonday bright, upon the young king's head!
“Hearken to me, my page,” quoth he, “take horse without delay,
Fly to the forest wherein I was hid, and speed as best you may.”
With a wine cup in thy hand,
Why, O widow'd queen, dost stand?
Is it deadly?—wherefore cry, “alas, the day?”
“There shalt thou find in the deep, deep wood, a maiden fair to see,
I charge thee, by the crown I bear on my head, to bring that maid to me!”
On his courser good fast sped the page, adown the forest dell,
Till he spied a maid, set in flick'ring shade, at the brink of the forest well!
O she lifted up her face
With a bashful woodland grace,
As at sight of her he lighted from the selle.
I charge thee, by the crown I bear on my head, to bring that maid to me!”
On his courser good fast sped the page, adown the forest dell,
Till he spied a maid, set in flick'ring shade, at the brink of the forest well!
O she lifted up her face
With a bashful woodland grace,
As at sight of her he lighted from the selle.
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“And I greet thee well,” the young page said, “for certes thou art she—
And thou must come with me, fair maid,—the prince hath sent for thee.”
Fair Edla blush'd in gath'ring fear and wonder at that rede,
“Young sir,” quoth she, “the prince I ne'er have seen in truth and deed.”
Saith he, kneeling on his knee,
“Yet thou needst must come with me.”
And she weeping, he up-rais'd her on his steed.
And thou must come with me, fair maid,—the prince hath sent for thee.”
Fair Edla blush'd in gath'ring fear and wonder at that rede,
“Young sir,” quoth she, “the prince I ne'er have seen in truth and deed.”
Saith he, kneeling on his knee,
“Yet thou needst must come with me.”
And she weeping, he up-rais'd her on his steed.
So fast he sped, and led the maid within the castle hall,
And much she blush'd the guests to see, and lords and ladies all.
“How fair she is,” quoth the Barons brave: “in sooth the fairest here,
Though never a pearl her bosom deck, nor robe of minivere.”
In the castle old and grey
How the merry minstrels play!
Yet from either eye she drops a glistening tear.
And much she blush'd the guests to see, and lords and ladies all.
“How fair she is,” quoth the Barons brave: “in sooth the fairest here,
Though never a pearl her bosom deck, nor robe of minivere.”
In the castle old and grey
How the merry minstrels play!
Yet from either eye she drops a glistening tear.
123
Sweet Edla sigh'd, sweet Edla wept, and knelt upon her knee,
And the high dames wonder'd her beauty bright and trembling mood to see:
When as she knelt before the prince, she rais'd not her drooping eyes—
O had she done, I wot it would have wrought her much surprise.
Through the many-tinted glass
Doth a narrow sunbeam pass,
Like a rainbow on her golden hair it lies.
And the high dames wonder'd her beauty bright and trembling mood to see:
When as she knelt before the prince, she rais'd not her drooping eyes—
O had she done, I wot it would have wrought her much surprise.
Through the many-tinted glass
Doth a narrow sunbeam pass,
Like a rainbow on her golden hair it lies.
“O come to me, thou hunted dove,” the new-made monarch said,
“And find a shelter in my arms, to hide thy beauteous head:
And since thou once didst share thine all, a silver crown with me,
I fain would share—'tis all I have,—a golden one with thee!”
Through the forest far away
How the wild wind swept that day,
And the yellow leaves they danc'd beneath the tree.
“And find a shelter in my arms, to hide thy beauteous head:
And since thou once didst share thine all, a silver crown with me,
I fain would share—'tis all I have,—a golden one with thee!”
Through the forest far away
How the wild wind swept that day,
And the yellow leaves they danc'd beneath the tree.
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“Is that all?” our little sister
Throned in her nest, replied;
Like an echo still methinks I list her
Baby accents, though division wide
Parts us from that garden—Railway thunder,
Rushing engines rave the tall trees under,
And the grass is trampled now, and brown,
And the Elms are dead—the Sumachs down!
Throned in her nest, replied;
Like an echo still methinks I list her
Baby accents, though division wide
Parts us from that garden—Railway thunder,
Rushing engines rave the tall trees under,
And the grass is trampled now, and brown,
And the Elms are dead—the Sumachs down!
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DEPARTING.
We were twins, and orphans too,
And side by side we play'd—
Our pleasures for ourselves we made,
And truly they were few.
They who gave us clothes and meat,
Alas! no love bestow'd,
Thus ours for each other flow'd,
A narrow stream, but sweet!
And side by side we play'd—
Our pleasures for ourselves we made,
And truly they were few.
They who gave us clothes and meat,
Alas! no love bestow'd,
Thus ours for each other flow'd,
A narrow stream, but sweet!
As double stars reveal'd by night
Seem a far distant sun,
So closely join'd their mingled light,
On earth they are but one—
And none can say—“here this doth end,
Or here the next begins,”—
So did our mingled spirits blend,
Our double souls were twins.
Seem a far distant sun,
So closely join'd their mingled light,
On earth they are but one—
And none can say—“here this doth end,
Or here the next begins,”—
So did our mingled spirits blend,
Our double souls were twins.
They said that there was gold to get
Beyond the restless sea,
And while we were but children yet,
They parted thee and me.
They talk'd of life but just begun,
Of wealth and merchant's gain,—
And we, in soul who were but one,
For this they made us twain.
Beyond the restless sea,
And while we were but children yet,
They parted thee and me.
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Of wealth and merchant's gain,—
And we, in soul who were but one,
For this they made us twain.
We gaz'd into each other's eyes,
But not a tear we shed:
Touch'd with a cruel, chill surprise,
Our hearts were dry and dead.
A look half frighten'd, half forlorn,
Her troubled eyes express'd;
She took the ribbon she had worn,
And hid it in my breast.
But not a tear we shed:
Touch'd with a cruel, chill surprise,
Our hearts were dry and dead.
A look half frighten'd, half forlorn,
Her troubled eyes express'd;
She took the ribbon she had worn,
And hid it in my breast.
A pledge of love, that simple dower,
So frail is left me yet;
Perhaps in that last bitter hour
She thought I might forget.
She stood among the grass and sedge,
The light waves touch'd her feet,
The boat came to the water's edge,
I turn'd thine eyes to meet,
And give thee one last kiss, my sweet
Katharina!
So frail is left me yet;
Perhaps in that last bitter hour
She thought I might forget.
She stood among the grass and sedge,
The light waves touch'd her feet,
The boat came to the water's edge,
I turn'd thine eyes to meet,
And give thee one last kiss, my sweet
Katharina!
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RETURNING.
Doves were cooing on the thatch,
And, as I onward press'd,
I found a little mossy nest
Built on the wooden latch.
Woodbines twin'd the window o'er,
And on its rustic frame
I saw the letters of her name
That I carv'd long before.
And, as I onward press'd,
I found a little mossy nest
Built on the wooden latch.
Woodbines twin'd the window o'er,
And on its rustic frame
I saw the letters of her name
That I carv'd long before.
I look'd within—she was not there
The narrow room to grace—
Her wheel was silent, and her chair
Stood empty in its place.
I wonder'd why thou didst not meet
Thy wand'rer on his way:—
But daisies in the grass were sweet
Above thy head that day.
The narrow room to grace—
Her wheel was silent, and her chair
Stood empty in its place.
I wonder'd why thou didst not meet
Thy wand'rer on his way:—
But daisies in the grass were sweet
Above thy head that day.
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Thy love was like a linked chain
That reach'd across the sea,
But snapt asunder, when I fain
Had drawn its end to me:—
A sunbeam that at distance cheer'd
That cold and dreary shore,
But faded as my footsteps near'd
The threshold of thy door!
That reach'd across the sea,
But snapt asunder, when I fain
Had drawn its end to me:—
A sunbeam that at distance cheer'd
That cold and dreary shore,
But faded as my footsteps near'd
The threshold of thy door!
Asleep, asleep, then take thy rest,
And since it needs must be,
'Tis well it troubleth not thy breast,
That all is lost to me.
Yes! all is lost, for who can tell
How chang'd are moor and lake,
For truly, though I lov'd them well,
'Twas only for thy sake.
And since it needs must be,
'Tis well it troubleth not thy breast,
That all is lost to me.
Yes! all is lost, for who can tell
How chang'd are moor and lake,
For truly, though I lov'd them well,
'Twas only for thy sake.
And what to me is English air,
Or this mild autumn sun,
Since the twin spirit is not there?
Here am I still undone,
For in the world I had but one
Katharina!
Or this mild autumn sun,
Since the twin spirit is not there?
Here am I still undone,
For in the world I had but one
Katharina!
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THE INDIAN CHIEF.
[_]
The following circumstance is said to have taken place at the commencement of the American War:—
A Red Indian, having found a young English officer wounded in the forest, took care of him and adopted him for his own. Afterwards finding, that though hopeless of return, the young man's thoughts were always with his father, he undertook a long and dangerous journey through the forest, following in the track of the retreating British troops; and having brought his young charge to within sight of their tents, took leave of him as related below.
I
“Son of the Stranger! hear my voice, eight moons their light have shed,Since in the chase I found thy trail, and follow'd where it led:
I saw thee wounded on the earth with none to tend thee nigh,
Where on a fallen tree thy head thou hadst laid down to die!
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II
I found thee, e'er the tender grass had sprouted in the field,When chesnut leaves lay folded yet, each in its crimson shield:
And now the Sumach rob'd in red flaunts in the autumn sun,
And yellow leaves upon the lake float by us one by one.
III
If the chill night had sooner clos'd, or I had come too late,The pining wind through naked boughs alone had wail'd thy fate:
And when the tardy leaves at length came forth to deck the place,
Then carrion birds had lighted down on thy uncover'd face.
IV
Son of the Stranger! 'tis enough—the Red man boasteth not,Far hast thou wander'd with my tribe, like ours has been thy lot.
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As strength return'd, we chas'd the deer through all the summer tide.
V
O sure of hand, I lov'd thee well—I love thee yet the same,I envied not thy rifle's shot that never miss'd its aim:
'Twas not for this that through the wood, so far thy steps I led,
Where matted leaves shut out this sun that shineth over-head.
VI
'Twas not because my people said—“When was a white man true!”For well thy friendship I had prov'd, and well thy faith I knew;
But that I saw that thou wert sad, when the Red chiefs were gay,
For thinking of thy father's tent a thousand miles away.
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VII
Hear me!—In happier seasons past I had a warrior son,But now he hunts in other fields, and I must dwell alone:
For thou whose presence on my grief a soft'ning veil had flung,
Thou dost not choose the Red man's life, nor love the Red man's tongue.
VIII
When the round moon at dead of night shines on the frozen snow,My warrior leaves his spirit-home and seeks his place below:
In troubled dreams I hear the sound of restless footsteps nigh:
Idly they wander round my tent—faintly in distance die.
IX
I start from slumber when I hear that sound remember'd well,But, ah! his spirit-footsteps leave no traces where they fell:
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I fain would follow—he hath fled! Ask of the night winds where.
X
Now when the sun shines warm and bright, I rise at dawn of day,When birds rejoice, and tender flowers bask in his cheering ray:
But not the voice of singing birds to Me can gladness bring,
When snow hath melted from the earth, and leaves break forth in spring.
XI
Lift up thine eyes across the lake, and scan the woods that lie,Heaving their rounded bulk to meet the pure transparent sky:
Look well—to them the setting sun his brightest hues hath lent,
And yonder is thy people's camp, and there thy father's tent.
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XII
Perhaps thy warriors round their fire but seldom talk of thee,And think not, coming through the wood thy long-lost form to see:
Another now thy place may fill, and in the red field shine,
Thy dog have learn'd to take his food from other hands than thine.
XIII
But there is One who coldly looks at yon departing sun,Who deems all beauty lost to earth, since thou, young Chief, art gone:
Can find no balsam in the woods, though far his foot may roam,
To heal the pain that in his heart hath made itself a home.
XIV
What though with visions of thy face thy Father's sleep is sweet,When morning dreams bring back the sound of thy returning feet:
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Delusive echoes of the note that vibrates in his heart.
XV
Go—dry those tears the pale-fac'd chief hath not disdain'd to shed,And let him lay his hand again in blessing on thy head:
Go—that his heart may yet rejoice when birds at morning sing,
When snow hath melted from the earth, and leaves break forth in spring.
136
THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.
In olden times a castle uprais'd its front of pride,
Seen far across the country, e'en to the ocean's side:
A garden bloom'd around it, a perfum'd garland bright,
Wherein sprang silver fountains in glitt'ring sheets of light.
Seen far across the country, e'en to the ocean's side:
A garden bloom'd around it, a perfum'd garland bright,
Wherein sprang silver fountains in glitt'ring sheets of light.
There, rich in lands and conquests, once reign'd, in haughty state,
A king on whose dark forehead were rul'd the lines of hate;
And what he thought was fury, and what he look'd a blow,
And what he spoke was scourging, and what he wrote was woe.
A king on whose dark forehead were rul'd the lines of hate;
And what he thought was fury, and what he look'd a blow,
And what he spoke was scourging, and what he wrote was woe.
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Once to this castle journey'd an honour'd minstrel pair,
The one with golden ringlets, the other white of hair;
And with his harp the old man sat on the barbed steed,
Which, lightly by him walking, did his young comrade lead.
The one with golden ringlets, the other white of hair;
And with his harp the old man sat on the barbed steed,
Which, lightly by him walking, did his young comrade lead.
Spake the elder to the younger—“Be well prepar'd, my son,
Think on thy sweetest ballads, sing with thy richest tone:
For pleasing and for paining, try all thy deepest art,
For it to-day behoves us to move the king's hard heart.
Think on thy sweetest ballads, sing with thy richest tone:
For pleasing and for paining, try all thy deepest art,
For it to-day behoves us to move the king's hard heart.
Already the two minstrels in those high halls are seen,
On his throne sits the monarch, and at his side the queen:
The king in fearful glory, like fiery Northern Lights,
And mild the queen beside him, as moon of summer nights.
On his throne sits the monarch, and at his side the queen:
The king in fearful glory, like fiery Northern Lights,
And mild the queen beside him, as moon of summer nights.
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He strikes his harp, the minstrel—he strikes it wond'rous well,
That richer, ever richer, the echoing measures swell:
Then forth with heav'n-like sweetness the youth's clear voice out floats,
Pure as if choral spirits were mingling in the notes.
That richer, ever richer, the echoing measures swell:
Then forth with heav'n-like sweetness the youth's clear voice out floats,
Pure as if choral spirits were mingling in the notes.
They sing of love and springtide, the golden age of youth,
Of holiness and freedom, of manhood's worth and truth:
Sing of each sweet emotion through human heart that strays,
Sing of each lofty passion that human heart can raise.
Of holiness and freedom, of manhood's worth and truth:
Sing of each sweet emotion through human heart that strays,
Sing of each lofty passion that human heart can raise.
The circling crowd of courtiers forebore the scornful jest,
Some thought of grace unwonted surpris'd each warrior's breast:
The queen drew forth, impassion'd with grief and joy so sweet,
The rose-bud from her bosom, and threw it to his feet.
Some thought of grace unwonted surpris'd each warrior's breast:
The queen drew forth, impassion'd with grief and joy so sweet,
The rose-bud from her bosom, and threw it to his feet.
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The king cried out in fury, and shook with passion's strife—
“Your spells seduc'd my people—and dare they touch my wife?”
He seiz'd his sword and hurl'd it against the stripling's side,
In lieu of song the life-blood stream'd forth, a ruddy tide.
“Your spells seduc'd my people—and dare they touch my wife?”
He seiz'd his sword and hurl'd it against the stripling's side,
In lieu of song the life-blood stream'd forth, a ruddy tide.
As by a tempest scatter'd, the list'ners backward press'd,
The youth breath'd out his spirit upon his master's breast:
He flung his mantle round him, upright in dreary state,
Upon his horse he set him, and left with him the gate.
The youth breath'd out his spirit upon his master's breast:
He flung his mantle round him, upright in dreary state,
Upon his horse he set him, and left with him the gate.
But back towards the portal he turn'd, that minstrel grey,
He seiz'd his harp whose echoes had scarcely died away:
Against a marble column the priceless shell he flung,
Then cried, till through the castle his fearful warning rung—
He seiz'd his harp whose echoes had scarcely died away:
Against a marble column the priceless shell he flung,
Then cried, till through the castle his fearful warning rung—
140
“Woe unto you, proud portals, no more shall tuneful string
Sound sweetly through those chambers, nor minstrel in them sing,
No sounds be there but mourning, while clanging feet shall fly,
Till crush'd by vengeful spirits in ruin'd heaps they lie!—
Sound sweetly through those chambers, nor minstrel in them sing,
No sounds be there but mourning, while clanging feet shall fly,
Till crush'd by vengeful spirits in ruin'd heaps they lie!—
“Woe to thee, perfum'd garden, fair in the light of May—
Here by this face death-pallid, I swear to thee today
That for this cause must vanish thy fountain's ceaseless flow,
And thee a stony desert shall future seasons know.
Here by this face death-pallid, I swear to thee today
That for this cause must vanish thy fountain's ceaseless flow,
And thee a stony desert shall future seasons know.
“Woe to thee, vile assassin! Accursèd be thy name,
In vain is all thy striving for crowns of bloody fame:
Thy name shall be forgotten, in endless darkness veil'd,
Be like the last death-rattle, to empty night exhal'd!”—
In vain is all thy striving for crowns of bloody fame:
Thy name shall be forgotten, in endless darkness veil'd,
Be like the last death-rattle, to empty night exhal'd!”—
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This hath the minstrel spoken—and this the heavens have heard,
The walls lie low, the pillars fall ruin'd at his word:
To tell of vanish'd splendour one column decks the plain,
But sorely rent and shatter'd, it shall not long remain.
The walls lie low, the pillars fall ruin'd at his word:
To tell of vanish'd splendour one column decks the plain,
But sorely rent and shatter'd, it shall not long remain.
Where stood the blooming garden, lies waste deserted land,
For there no tree drops shadow, no fount springs through the sand:
The name of that king liveth in neither book nor verse,
All sunken, all forgotten—This was the Minstrel's Curse!
For there no tree drops shadow, no fount springs through the sand:
The name of that king liveth in neither book nor verse,
All sunken, all forgotten—This was the Minstrel's Curse!
| A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings | |