Mopsa the Fairy By Jean Ingelow |
 | I. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | XVI. | CHAPTER XVI.
FAILURE. |
 | CHAPTER XVI.
FAILURE. Mopsa the Fairy |  |
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CHAPTER XVI. FAILURE.
[We are much bound to them that do succeed]
We are much bound to them that do succeed;But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound
To such as fail. They all our loss expound;
They comfort us for work that will not speed,
And life—itself a failure. Ay, his deed,
Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound
Of Hades flooded with entrancing sound,
Music's own tears, was failure. Doth it read
Therefore the worse? Ah, no! So much to dare,
He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.—
So much to do; impetuous even there,
He pours out love's disconsolate sweet moan—
He wins; but few for that his deed recall:
Its power is in the look which costs him all.
232
[‘He had brought them,’ he said, ‘some meat on a bone]
‘He had brought them,’ he said, ‘some meat on a bone:They were welcome to pick it or leave it alone.’
[One morning, oh! so early, my belovèd, my belovèd]
One morning, oh! so early, my belovèd, my belovèd,
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, ‘Hear the story, hear the story!’
And the lark sang, ‘Give us glory!’
And the dove said, ‘Give us peace!’
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, ‘Hear the story, hear the story!’
And the lark sang, ‘Give us glory!’
And the dove said, ‘Give us peace!’
233
Then I listened, oh! so early, my belovèd, my belovèd,
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, ‘Give us fame to sweeten duty!’
When the wren sang, ‘Give us beauty!’
She made answer, ‘Give us love!’
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, ‘Give us fame to sweeten duty!’
When the wren sang, ‘Give us beauty!’
She made answer, ‘Give us love!’
Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my belovèd, my belovèd;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase,
And my prayer goes up, ‘Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
Give for all our life's dear story,
Give us love, and give us peace!’
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase,
And my prayer goes up, ‘Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
Give for all our life's dear story,
Give us love, and give us peace!’
244
[Who pipes upon the long green hill]
I.
Who pipes upon the long green hill,
Where meadow grass is deep?
The white lamb bleats but followeth on—
Follow the clean white sheep.
The dear white lady in yon high tower,
She hearkeneth in her sleep.
Where meadow grass is deep?
The white lamb bleats but followeth on—
Follow the clean white sheep.
The dear white lady in yon high tower,
She hearkeneth in her sleep.
All in long grass the piper stands,
Goodly and grave is he;
Outside the tower, at dawn of day,
The notes of his pipe ring free.
A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:
‘Come down, O lady! to me.’
Goodly and grave is he;
Outside the tower, at dawn of day,
The notes of his pipe ring free.
A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:
‘Come down, O lady! to me.’
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She lifts her head, she dons her gown:
Ah! the lady is fair;
She ties the girdle on her waist,
And binds her flaxen hair,
And down she stealeth, down and down,
Down the turret stair.
Ah! the lady is fair;
She ties the girdle on her waist,
And binds her flaxen hair,
And down she stealeth, down and down,
Down the turret stair.
Behold him! With the flock he wons
Along yon grassy lea.
‘My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,
What wilt thou, then, with me?
My heart is gone out of my breast,
And followeth on to thee.’
Along yon grassy lea.
‘My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,
What wilt thou, then, with me?
My heart is gone out of my breast,
And followeth on to thee.’
II.
‘The white lambs feed in tender grass:
With them and thee to bide,
How good it were,’ she saith at noon;
‘Albeit the meads are wide.
Oh! well is me,’ she saith when day
Draws on to eventide.
With them and thee to bide,
How good it were,’ she saith at noon;
‘Albeit the meads are wide.
Oh! well is me,’ she saith when day
Draws on to eventide.
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Hark! hark! the shepherd's voice. Oh, sweet!
Her tears drop down like rain.
‘Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,
And tend the flock full fain:
Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,
Till I shall come again.’
Her tears drop down like rain.
‘Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,
And tend the flock full fain:
Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,
Till I shall come again.’
Right soft her speech: ‘My will is thine,
And my reward thy grace!’
Gone are his footsteps over the hill,
Withdrawn his goodly face;
The mournful dusk begins to gather,
The daylight wanes apace.
And my reward thy grace!’
Gone are his footsteps over the hill,
Withdrawn his goodly face;
The mournful dusk begins to gather,
The daylight wanes apace.
III.
On sunny slopes, ah! long the lady
Feedeth her flock at noon;
She leads them down to drink at eve
Where the small rivulets croon.
All night her locks are wet with dew,
Her eyes outwatch the moon.
Feedeth her flock at noon;
She leads them down to drink at eve
Where the small rivulets croon.
All night her locks are wet with dew,
Her eyes outwatch the moon.
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Over the hills her voice is heard,
She sings when light doth wane:
‘My longing heart is full of love.
When shall my loss be gain?
My shepherd lord, I see him not,
But he will come again.’
She sings when light doth wane:
‘My longing heart is full of love.
When shall my loss be gain?
My shepherd lord, I see him not,
But he will come again.’
| CHAPTER XVI.
FAILURE. Mopsa the Fairy | |