 | Poems |  |
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AN EVENING AT HOME.
To-day a chief was buried—let him rest.
His country's bards are up like larks, and fill
With singing the wide heavens of his fame.
To-night I sit within my lonely room,
The atmosphere is full of misty rain,
Wretched the earth and heaven. Yesterday
The streets and squares were choked with yellow fogs,
To-morrow we may all be drenched in sleet!
Stretched like a homeless beggar on the ground,
The city sleeps amid the misty rain.
Though Rain hath pitched his tent above my head,
'Tis but a speck upon the happy world.
Since I've begun to trace these lines, Sunrise
Has struck a land and woke its bleating hills:
Afar upon some black and silent moor
The crystal stars are shaking in the wind;
An ocean gurgles, for the stooping moon
Hath kissed him into peace, and now she smooths
The well-pleased monster with her silver hand.
Come, naked, gleaming Spring! great crowds of larks
Fluttering above thy head, thy happy ears
Loud with their ringing songs, Bright Saviour, come!
And kill old Winter with thy glorious look,
And turn his corse to flowers!
His country's bards are up like larks, and fill
With singing the wide heavens of his fame.
To-night I sit within my lonely room,
The atmosphere is full of misty rain,
Wretched the earth and heaven. Yesterday
The streets and squares were choked with yellow fogs,
To-morrow we may all be drenched in sleet!
Stretched like a homeless beggar on the ground,
The city sleeps amid the misty rain.
Though Rain hath pitched his tent above my head,
'Tis but a speck upon the happy world.
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Has struck a land and woke its bleating hills:
Afar upon some black and silent moor
The crystal stars are shaking in the wind;
An ocean gurgles, for the stooping moon
Hath kissed him into peace, and now she smooths
The well-pleased monster with her silver hand.
Come, naked, gleaming Spring! great crowds of larks
Fluttering above thy head, thy happy ears
Loud with their ringing songs, Bright Saviour, come!
And kill old Winter with thy glorious look,
And turn his corse to flowers!
I sit to-night
As dreary as the pale, deserted East,
That sees the Sun, the Sun that once was hers,
Forgetful of her, flattering his new love,
The happy-blushing West. In these long streets
Of traffic and of noise, the human hearts
Are hard and loveless as a wreck-strewn coast.
Eternity doth wear upon her face
The veil of Time. They only see the veil,
And thus they know not what they stand so near.
Oh, rich in gold! Beggars in heart and soul!
Poor as the empty void! Why, even I,
Sitting in this bare chamber with my thoughts,
Am richer than ye all, despite your bales,
Your streets of warehouses, your mighty mills,
Each booming like a world faint heard in space:
Your ships; unwilling fires, that day and night
Writhe in your service seven years, then die
Without one taste of peace. Do ye believe
A simple primrose on a grassy bank
Forth-peeping to the sun, a wild bird's nest,
The great orb dying in a ring of clouds,
Like hoary Jacob 'mong his waiting sons;
The rising moon, and the young stars of God,
Are things to love? With these my soul is brimmed;
With a diviner and serener joy
Than all thy heaven of money-bags can bring
Thy dry heart, Worldling!
As dreary as the pale, deserted East,
That sees the Sun, the Sun that once was hers,
Forgetful of her, flattering his new love,
The happy-blushing West. In these long streets
Of traffic and of noise, the human hearts
Are hard and loveless as a wreck-strewn coast.
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The veil of Time. They only see the veil,
And thus they know not what they stand so near.
Oh, rich in gold! Beggars in heart and soul!
Poor as the empty void! Why, even I,
Sitting in this bare chamber with my thoughts,
Am richer than ye all, despite your bales,
Your streets of warehouses, your mighty mills,
Each booming like a world faint heard in space:
Your ships; unwilling fires, that day and night
Writhe in your service seven years, then die
Without one taste of peace. Do ye believe
A simple primrose on a grassy bank
Forth-peeping to the sun, a wild bird's nest,
The great orb dying in a ring of clouds,
Like hoary Jacob 'mong his waiting sons;
The rising moon, and the young stars of God,
Are things to love? With these my soul is brimmed;
With a diviner and serener joy
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Thy dry heart, Worldling!
The terror-stricken rain
Flings itself wildly on the window-panes,
Imploring shelter from the chasing wind.
Alas! to-night in this wide waste of streets
It beats on human limbs as well as walls!
God led Eve forth into the empty world
From Paradise. Could our great Mother come
And see her children now, what sight were worst;
A worker woke by cruel Day, the while
A kind dream feeds with sweetest phantom-bread,
Him, and his famished ones; or when the wind,
With shuddering fingers, draws the veil of smoke,
And scares her with a battle's bleeding face?
Flings itself wildly on the window-panes,
Imploring shelter from the chasing wind.
Alas! to-night in this wide waste of streets
It beats on human limbs as well as walls!
God led Eve forth into the empty world
From Paradise. Could our great Mother come
And see her children now, what sight were worst;
A worker woke by cruel Day, the while
A kind dream feeds with sweetest phantom-bread,
Him, and his famished ones; or when the wind,
With shuddering fingers, draws the veil of smoke,
And scares her with a battle's bleeding face?
Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time
Is England. England! Oh, I know a tale
Of those far summers when she lay in the sun,
Listening to her own larks, with growing limbs,
And mighty hands, which since have tamed the world,
Dreaming about their tasks. This dreary night
I'll tell the story to my listening heart.
I sang 't to thee, O unforgotten Friend!
(Who dwellest now on breezy English downs,
While I am drowning in the hateful smoke)
Beside the river which I long have loved.
O happy Days! O happy, happy Past!
O Friend! I am a lone benighted ship;
Before me hangs the vast untravelled gloom,
Behind, a wake of splendour, fading fast
Into the hungry gloom from whence it came.
Is England. England! Oh, I know a tale
Of those far summers when she lay in the sun,
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And mighty hands, which since have tamed the world,
Dreaming about their tasks. This dreary night
I'll tell the story to my listening heart.
I sang 't to thee, O unforgotten Friend!
(Who dwellest now on breezy English downs,
While I am drowning in the hateful smoke)
Beside the river which I long have loved.
O happy Days! O happy, happy Past!
O Friend! I am a lone benighted ship;
Before me hangs the vast untravelled gloom,
Behind, a wake of splendour, fading fast
Into the hungry gloom from whence it came.
Two days the Lady gazed toward the west,
The way that he had gone; and when the third
From its high noon sloped to a rosy close,
Upon the western margin of the isle,
Feeding her petted swans by tossing bread
Among the clumps of water-lilies white,
She stood. The fond Day pressed against her face;
His am'rous, airy fingers, with her robe
Fluttered and played, and trembling, touched her throat,
And toying with her ringlets, could have died
Upon her sweet lips and her happy cheeks!
With a long rippling sigh she turned away,
And wished the sun was underneath the hills.
Anon she sang; and ignorant Solitude,
Astonished at the marvel of her voice,
Stood tranced and mute as savage at the door
Of rich cathedral when the organ rolls,
And all the answering choirs awake at once.
Then she sat down and thought upon her love;
Fed on the various wonders of his face
To make his absence rich. “'Tis but three days
Since he went from me in his light canoe,
And all the world went with him, and to-night
He will be back again. Oh, when he comes,
And when my head is laid upon his breast,
And in the pauses of the sweetest storm
Of kisses that e'er beat upon a face,
I'll tell him how I've pined, and sighed, and wept,
And thought of those sweet days and nights that flew
O'er us unheeded as a string of swans,
That wavers down the sky toward the sea,—
And he will chide me into blissful tears,
Then kiss the tears away.” Quick leapt she up,
“He comes! he comes!” She laughed, and clapt her hands,
A light canoe came dancing o'er the lake,
And he within it gave a cry of joy.
She sent an answer back that drew him on.
The swans are scared,—the lilies rippled—now
Her happy face is hidden in his breast,
And words are lost in joy. “My Bertha! let
Me see myself again in those dear orbs.
Have you been lonely, love?” She raised her head,
“You surely will not leave me so again!
I'll grow as pale's the moon, and my praised cheeks
Will be as wet as April's if you do.”
As when the moon hath sleeked the blissful sea,
A light wind wrinkles it and passes off,
So ran a transient trouble o'er his face.
“My Bertha! we must leave this isle to-night.
Thy shining face is blanked! We will return
Ere thrice the day, like a great bird of light
Flees 'cross the dark, and hides it with his wings.”
“Ah, wherefore?” “Listen, I will tell you why.
The way that he had gone; and when the third
From its high noon sloped to a rosy close,
Upon the western margin of the isle,
Feeding her petted swans by tossing bread
Among the clumps of water-lilies white,
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His am'rous, airy fingers, with her robe
Fluttered and played, and trembling, touched her throat,
And toying with her ringlets, could have died
Upon her sweet lips and her happy cheeks!
With a long rippling sigh she turned away,
And wished the sun was underneath the hills.
Anon she sang; and ignorant Solitude,
Astonished at the marvel of her voice,
Stood tranced and mute as savage at the door
Of rich cathedral when the organ rolls,
And all the answering choirs awake at once.
Then she sat down and thought upon her love;
Fed on the various wonders of his face
To make his absence rich. “'Tis but three days
Since he went from me in his light canoe,
And all the world went with him, and to-night
He will be back again. Oh, when he comes,
And when my head is laid upon his breast,
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Of kisses that e'er beat upon a face,
I'll tell him how I've pined, and sighed, and wept,
And thought of those sweet days and nights that flew
O'er us unheeded as a string of swans,
That wavers down the sky toward the sea,—
And he will chide me into blissful tears,
Then kiss the tears away.” Quick leapt she up,
“He comes! he comes!” She laughed, and clapt her hands,
A light canoe came dancing o'er the lake,
And he within it gave a cry of joy.
She sent an answer back that drew him on.
The swans are scared,—the lilies rippled—now
Her happy face is hidden in his breast,
And words are lost in joy. “My Bertha! let
Me see myself again in those dear orbs.
Have you been lonely, love?” She raised her head,
“You surely will not leave me so again!
I'll grow as pale's the moon, and my praised cheeks
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As when the moon hath sleeked the blissful sea,
A light wind wrinkles it and passes off,
So ran a transient trouble o'er his face.
“My Bertha! we must leave this isle to-night.
Thy shining face is blanked! We will return
Ere thrice the day, like a great bird of light
Flees 'cross the dark, and hides it with his wings.”
“Ah, wherefore?” “Listen, I will tell you why.
“I stood afar upon the grassy hills,
I saw the country with its golden slopes,
And woods, and streams, run down to meet the sea.
I saw the basking ocean skinned with light.
I saw the surf upon the distant sands
Silent and white as snow. Above my head
A lark was singing, 'neath a sunny cloud,
Around the playing winds. As I went down
There seemed a special wonder on the shore,
Low murmuring crowds around a temple stood:
There was a wildered music on the air,
Which came and went, yet ever nearer grew,
When, lo! a train came upward from the sea
With snowy garments, and with reverend steps,
Full in their front a silver cross they bore,
And this sweet hymn they strewed along the winds.
I saw the country with its golden slopes,
And woods, and streams, run down to meet the sea.
I saw the basking ocean skinned with light.
I saw the surf upon the distant sands
Silent and white as snow. Above my head
A lark was singing, 'neath a sunny cloud,
Around the playing winds. As I went down
There seemed a special wonder on the shore,
Low murmuring crowds around a temple stood:
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Which came and went, yet ever nearer grew,
When, lo! a train came upward from the sea
With snowy garments, and with reverend steps,
Full in their front a silver cross they bore,
And this sweet hymn they strewed along the winds.
‘Blest be this sunny morning, sweet and fair!
Blest be the people of this pleasant land!
Ye unseen larks that sing a mile in air,
Ye waving forests, waving green and grand,
Ye waves, that dance upon the flashing strand,
Ye children golden-haired! we bring, we bring
A gospel hallowing.’
Then one stood forth and spoke against the gods;
He called them ‘cruel gods,’ and then he said,
‘We have a Father, One who dwells serene,
'Bove thunder and the stars, Whose eye is mild,
And ever open as the summer sky;
Who cares for everything on earth alike,
Who hears the plovers crying in the wind,
The happy linnets singing in the broom,
Whose smile is sunshine.’ When the old man ceased,
Forth from the murmuring crowd there stepped a youth,
As bright-haired as a star, and cried aloud,
‘Friends! I've grown up among the wilds, and found
Each outward form is but a window whence
Terror or Beauty looks. Beauty I've seen
In the sweet eyes of flowers, along the streams,
And in the cold and crystal wells that sleep
Far in the murmur of the summer woods;
Terror in fire and thunder, in the worn
And haggard faces of the winter clouds,
In shuddering winds, and oft on moonless nights
I've heard it in the white and wailing fringe
That runs along the coast from end to end.
The mountains brooded on some wondrous thought
Which they would ne'er reveal. I seemed to stand
Outside of all things; my desire to know
Grew wild and eager as a starving wolf.
To gain the secret of the awful world,
I knelt before the gods, and then held up
My heart to them in the pure arms of prayer—
They gave no answer, or had none to give.
Friends! I will test these sour and sullen gods:
If they are weak, 'tis well, we then may list
Unto the strangers; but if my affront
Draw angry fire, I shall be slain by gods,
And Death may have no secrets. A spear! a steed!’
A steed was brought by trembling hands, he sprang
And dashed towards the temple with a cry.
A shudder ran through all the pallid crowds.
I saw him enter, and my sight grew dim,
And on a long-suspended breath I stood,
Till one might count a hundred beats of heart:
Then he rode slowly forth, and, wondrous strange!
Although an awful gleam lay on his face,
His charger's limbs were drenched with terror-sweat.
Amid the anxious silence loud he cried,
‘Gods, marvellously meek! Why, any child
May pluck them by the beard, spit in their face,
Or smite them on the mouth; they can do nought,
But sit like poor old foolish men, and moan.
I flung my spear.’—Here, as a singing rill
Is in the mighty noise of ocean drowned,
His voice was swallowed in the shout that rose,
And touched the heavens, ran along the hills,
Thence came an after silence, strange and dim.
Blest be the people of this pleasant land!
Ye unseen larks that sing a mile in air,
Ye waving forests, waving green and grand,
Ye waves, that dance upon the flashing strand,
Ye children golden-haired! we bring, we bring
A gospel hallowing.’
Then one stood forth and spoke against the gods;
He called them ‘cruel gods,’ and then he said,
‘We have a Father, One who dwells serene,
'Bove thunder and the stars, Whose eye is mild,
And ever open as the summer sky;
Who cares for everything on earth alike,
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The happy linnets singing in the broom,
Whose smile is sunshine.’ When the old man ceased,
Forth from the murmuring crowd there stepped a youth,
As bright-haired as a star, and cried aloud,
‘Friends! I've grown up among the wilds, and found
Each outward form is but a window whence
Terror or Beauty looks. Beauty I've seen
In the sweet eyes of flowers, along the streams,
And in the cold and crystal wells that sleep
Far in the murmur of the summer woods;
Terror in fire and thunder, in the worn
And haggard faces of the winter clouds,
In shuddering winds, and oft on moonless nights
I've heard it in the white and wailing fringe
That runs along the coast from end to end.
The mountains brooded on some wondrous thought
Which they would ne'er reveal. I seemed to stand
Outside of all things; my desire to know
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To gain the secret of the awful world,
I knelt before the gods, and then held up
My heart to them in the pure arms of prayer—
They gave no answer, or had none to give.
Friends! I will test these sour and sullen gods:
If they are weak, 'tis well, we then may list
Unto the strangers; but if my affront
Draw angry fire, I shall be slain by gods,
And Death may have no secrets. A spear! a steed!’
A steed was brought by trembling hands, he sprang
And dashed towards the temple with a cry.
A shudder ran through all the pallid crowds.
I saw him enter, and my sight grew dim,
And on a long-suspended breath I stood,
Till one might count a hundred beats of heart:
Then he rode slowly forth, and, wondrous strange!
Although an awful gleam lay on his face,
His charger's limbs were drenched with terror-sweat.
Amid the anxious silence loud he cried,
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May pluck them by the beard, spit in their face,
Or smite them on the mouth; they can do nought,
But sit like poor old foolish men, and moan.
I flung my spear.’—Here, as a singing rill
Is in the mighty noise of ocean drowned,
His voice was swallowed in the shout that rose,
And touched the heavens, ran along the hills,
Thence came an after silence, strange and dim.
A voice rose 'mong the strangers like a lark,
And warbled out its joy, then died away.
And the old man that spoke before went on,
And, oh! the gentle music of his voice
Stirred through my heart-strings like a wind through reeds.
He said, ‘It was God's hand that shaped the world
And laid it in the sunbeams:’ and that ‘God,
With His great presence fills the universe.
That, could we dwell like night among the stars,
Or plunge with whales in the unsounded sea,
He still would be around us with His care.’
And also, ‘That, as flowers come back in Spring,
We would live after Death.’ I heard no more.
I thought of thee in this delightful isle,
Pure as a prayer, and wished that I had wings
To tell you swiftly, that the death we feared
Was but a grey eve 'tween two shining days,
That we would love for ever! Then I thought
Our home might be in that transparent star
Which we have often watched from off this verge,
Stand in the dying sunset, large and clear—
The humming world awoke me from my dream.
I saw the old gods tumbled on the grass
Like uncouth stones, they threw the temple wide,
And Summer, with her bright and happy face,
Looked in upon its gloom, and pensive grew.
The while among the tumult of the crowds,
Divinest hymns the white-robed stranger sang.
I wearied for thee, Bertha! and I came.
Wilt go and hear these strangers?” She turned on him
A look of love—a look that richly crowned
A moment heavenly rich, and murmured “Yes.”
He kissed her proudly, while a giddy tear,
Wild with its happiness, ran down her cheek
And perished in the dew. They took their seats.
And as the paddles struck, grey-pinioned Time
Flew through the gates of sunset into Night,
And held through stars to gain the coasts of Morn.
And warbled out its joy, then died away.
And the old man that spoke before went on,
And, oh! the gentle music of his voice
Stirred through my heart-strings like a wind through reeds.
He said, ‘It was God's hand that shaped the world
And laid it in the sunbeams:’ and that ‘God,
With His great presence fills the universe.
That, could we dwell like night among the stars,
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He still would be around us with His care.’
And also, ‘That, as flowers come back in Spring,
We would live after Death.’ I heard no more.
I thought of thee in this delightful isle,
Pure as a prayer, and wished that I had wings
To tell you swiftly, that the death we feared
Was but a grey eve 'tween two shining days,
That we would love for ever! Then I thought
Our home might be in that transparent star
Which we have often watched from off this verge,
Stand in the dying sunset, large and clear—
The humming world awoke me from my dream.
I saw the old gods tumbled on the grass
Like uncouth stones, they threw the temple wide,
And Summer, with her bright and happy face,
Looked in upon its gloom, and pensive grew.
The while among the tumult of the crowds,
Divinest hymns the white-robed stranger sang.
I wearied for thee, Bertha! and I came.
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A look of love—a look that richly crowned
A moment heavenly rich, and murmured “Yes.”
He kissed her proudly, while a giddy tear,
Wild with its happiness, ran down her cheek
And perished in the dew. They took their seats.
And as the paddles struck, grey-pinioned Time
Flew through the gates of sunset into Night,
And held through stars to gain the coasts of Morn.
'Tis done! The phantoms of my soul have fled
Into the night, and I am left alone
With that sweet sadness which doth ever dwell
On the brink of tears; I stare i' th' crumbling fire
Which from my brooding eye takes strangest shapes.
The Past is with me, and I scarcely hear
Outside the weeping of the homeless rain.
Into the night, and I am left alone
With that sweet sadness which doth ever dwell
On the brink of tears; I stare i' th' crumbling fire
Which from my brooding eye takes strangest shapes.
The Past is with me, and I scarcely hear
Outside the weeping of the homeless rain.
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LADY BARBARA.
Earl Gawain wooed the Lady Barbara,—
High-thoughted Barbara, so white and cold!
'Mong broad-branched beeches in the summer shaw,
In soft green light his passion he has told.
When rain-beat winds did shriek across the wold,
The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear
Framed passion-trembled ditties manifold;
Silent she sat his am'rous breath to hear,
With calm and steady eyes, her heart was otherwhere.
High-thoughted Barbara, so white and cold!
'Mong broad-branched beeches in the summer shaw,
In soft green light his passion he has told.
When rain-beat winds did shriek across the wold,
The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear
Framed passion-trembled ditties manifold;
Silent she sat his am'rous breath to hear,
With calm and steady eyes, her heart was otherwhere.
He sighed for her through all the summer weeks;
Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful boughs
Bore glorious apples with smooth-shining cheeks,
Earl Gawain came and whispered, “Lady, rouse!
Thou art no vestal held in holy vows;
Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath.”
Her father's blood leapt up unto her brows—
He who, exulting on the trumpet's breath,
Came charging like a star across the lists of death,
Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful boughs
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Earl Gawain came and whispered, “Lady, rouse!
Thou art no vestal held in holy vows;
Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath.”
Her father's blood leapt up unto her brows—
He who, exulting on the trumpet's breath,
Came charging like a star across the lists of death,
Trembled, and passed before her high rebuke:
And then she sat, her hands clasped round her knee:
Like one far-thoughted was the lady's look,
For in a morning cold as misery
She saw a lone ship sailing on the sea;
Before the north 'twas driven like a cloud,
High on the poop a man sat mournfully:
The wind was whistling thorough mast and shroud.
And to the whistling wind thus did he sing aloud:—
And then she sat, her hands clasped round her knee:
Like one far-thoughted was the lady's look,
For in a morning cold as misery
She saw a lone ship sailing on the sea;
Before the north 'twas driven like a cloud,
High on the poop a man sat mournfully:
The wind was whistling thorough mast and shroud.
And to the whistling wind thus did he sing aloud:—
“Didst look last night upon my native vales,
Thou Sun! that from the drenching sea hast clomb?
Ye demon winds! that glut my gaping sails,
Upon the salt sea must I ever roam,
Wander for ever on the barren foam?
O happy are ye, resting mariners.
O Death, that thou wouldst come and take me home!
A hand unseen this vessel onward steers,
And onward I must float through slow moon-measured years.
Thou Sun! that from the drenching sea hast clomb?
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Upon the salt sea must I ever roam,
Wander for ever on the barren foam?
O happy are ye, resting mariners.
O Death, that thou wouldst come and take me home!
A hand unseen this vessel onward steers,
And onward I must float through slow moon-measured years.
“Ye winds! when like a curse ye drove us on,
Frothing the waters, and along our way,
Nor cape nor headland through red mornings shone,
One wept aloud, one shuddered down to pray,
One howled, ‘Upon the Deep we are astray.’
On our wild hearts his words fell like a blight:
In one short hour my hair was stricken grey,
For all the crew sank ghastly in my sight
As we went driving on through the cold starry night.
Frothing the waters, and along our way,
Nor cape nor headland through red mornings shone,
One wept aloud, one shuddered down to pray,
One howled, ‘Upon the Deep we are astray.’
On our wild hearts his words fell like a blight:
In one short hour my hair was stricken grey,
For all the crew sank ghastly in my sight
As we went driving on through the cold starry night.
“Madness fell on me in my loneliness,
The sea foamed curses, and the reeling sky
Became a dreadful face which did oppress
Me with the weight of its unwinking eye.
It fled, when I burst forth into a cry—
A shoal of fiends came on me from the deep;
I hid, but in all corners they did pry,
And dragged me forth, and round did dance and leap;
They mouthed on me in dream, and tore me from sweet sleep.
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Became a dreadful face which did oppress
Me with the weight of its unwinking eye.
It fled, when I burst forth into a cry—
A shoal of fiends came on me from the deep;
I hid, but in all corners they did pry,
And dragged me forth, and round did dance and leap;
They mouthed on me in dream, and tore me from sweet sleep.
“Strange constellations burned above my head,
Strange birds around the vessel shrieked and flew,
Strange shapes, like shadows, through the clear sea fled,
As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through,
Angering to foam the smooth and sleeping blue.”
The lady sighed, “Far, far upon the sea,
My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you!
The wind blows shrill between my love and me.”
Fond heart! the space between was but the apple-tree.
Strange birds around the vessel shrieked and flew,
Strange shapes, like shadows, through the clear sea fled,
As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through,
Angering to foam the smooth and sleeping blue.”
The lady sighed, “Far, far upon the sea,
My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you!
The wind blows shrill between my love and me.”
Fond heart! the space between was but the apple-tree.
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There was a cry of joy, with seeking hands
She fled to him, like worn bird to her nest;
Like washing water on the figured sands,
His being came and went in sweet unrest,
As from the mighty shelter of his breast
The Lady Barbara her head uprears
With a wan smile, “Methinks I'm but half blest:
Now when I've found thee, after weary years,
I cannot see thee, love! so blind I am with tears.”
She fled to him, like worn bird to her nest;
Like washing water on the figured sands,
His being came and went in sweet unrest,
As from the mighty shelter of his breast
The Lady Barbara her head uprears
With a wan smile, “Methinks I'm but half blest:
Now when I've found thee, after weary years,
I cannot see thee, love! so blind I am with tears.”
236
TO ------
The broken moon lay in the autumn sky,
And I lay at thy feet;
You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.
And I lay at thy feet;
You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.
I spoke; my soul was full of trembling fears
At what my words would bring:
You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears,
As the sweet eyes of Spring.
At what my words would bring:
You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears,
As the sweet eyes of Spring.
You kissed me then, I worshipped at thy feet
Upon the shadowy sod.
Oh, fool, I loved thee! loved thee, lovely cheat!
Better than Fame or God.
Upon the shadowy sod.
Oh, fool, I loved thee! loved thee, lovely cheat!
Better than Fame or God.
237
My soul leaped up beneath thy timid kiss;
What then to me were groans,
Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss,
I seemed to walk on thrones.
What then to me were groans,
Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss,
I seemed to walk on thrones.
And you were with me 'mong the rushing wheels,
'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars;
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals
Her hollow gulfs of stars.
'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars;
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals
Her hollow gulfs of stars.
Before your window, as before a shrine,
I've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers,
While distant music-bells, with voices fine,
Measured the midnight hours.
I've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers,
While distant music-bells, with voices fine,
Measured the midnight hours.
There came a fearful moment: I was pale,
You wept, and never spoke,
But clung around me as the woodbine frail
Clings, pleading, round an oak.
You wept, and never spoke,
But clung around me as the woodbine frail
Clings, pleading, round an oak.
238
Upon my wrong I steadied up my soul,
And flung thee from myself;
I spurned thy love as 't were a rich man's dole,—
It was my only wealth.
And flung thee from myself;
I spurned thy love as 't were a rich man's dole,—
It was my only wealth.
I spurned thee! I, who loved thee, could have died,
That hoped to call thee “wife,”
And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side,
Through all the shocks of life!
That hoped to call thee “wife,”
And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side,
Through all the shocks of life!
Too late, thy fatal beauty and thy tears,
Thy vows, thy passionate breath;
I'll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres
Made visible by Death.
Thy vows, thy passionate breath;
I'll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres
Made visible by Death.
239
SONNETS.
241
[I cannot deem why men toil so for Fame.]
I cannot deem why men toil so for Fame.A porter is a porter though his load
Be the oceaned world, and although his road
Be down the ages. What is in a name?
Ah! 't is our spirit's curse to strive and seek.
Although its heart is rich in pearls and ores,
The Sea complains upon a thousand shores;
Sea-like we moan for ever. We are weak.
We ever hunger for diviner stores.
I cannot say I have a thirsting deep
For human fame, nor is my spirit bowed
To be a mummy above ground to keep
For stare and handling of the vulgar crowd,
Defrauded of my natural rest and sleep.
242
[There have been vast displays of critic wit]
There have been vast displays of critic witO'er those who vainly flutter feeble wings,
Nor rise an inch 'bove ground,—weak Poetlings!
And on them to the death men's brows are knit.
Ye men! ye critics! seems 't so very fit
They on a storm of laughter should be blown
O'er the world's edge to Limbo? Be it known,
Ye men! ye critics! that beneath the sun
The chiefest woe is this,—When all alone,
And strong as life, a soul's great currents run
Poesy-ward, like rivers in the sea,
But never reach 't. Critic, let that soul moan
In its own hell without a kick from thee.
Kind Death, kiss gently, ease this weary one!
243
[Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas-streets]
Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas-streets,But I am sitting in my silent room,
Sitting all silent in congenial gloom.
To-night, while half the world the other greets
With smiles and grasping hands and drinks and meats,
I sit and muse on my poetic doom;
Like the dim scent within a budded rose,
A joy is folded in my heart; and when
I think on Poets nurtured 'mong the throes,
And by the lowly hearths of common men,—
Think of their works, some song, some swelling ode
With gorgeous music growing to a close,
Deep-muffled as the dead-march of a god,—
My heart is burning to be one of those.
244
[Beauty still walketh on the earth and air]
Beauty still walketh on the earth and air,Our present sunsets are as rich in gold
As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled;
The roses of the Spring are ever fair,
'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair,
And the deep sea still foams its music old.
So, if we are at all divinely souled,
This beauty will unloose our bonds of care.
'T is pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending
Within old starry-gated Poesy,
To meet a soul set to no worldly tune,
Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me
Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon,
Or noble music with a golden ending.
245
[Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears]
Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears,Each worth a world. They fell from eyes divine.
Last night a loving lip was pressed to mine,
And at its touch fled all the barren years;
And softly couched upon a bosom white,
Which came and went beneath me like a sea,
An emperor I lay in empire bright,
Lord of the beating heart, while tenderly
Love-words were glutting my love-greedy ears.
Kind Love, I thank thee for that happy night!
Richer this cheek with those warm tears of thine
Than the vast midnight with its gleaming spheres.
Leander toiling through the moonlight brine,
Kingdomless Anthony, were scarce my peers.
246
[I wrote a Name upon the river sands]
I wrote a Name upon the river sandsWith her who bore it standing by my side,
Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride,
And leaning on my arm with claspèd hands,
To burning words of mine she thus replied,
“Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail
Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands
Will scarce confine these limbs.” I turned love-pale,
I gazed upon the rivered landscape wide,
And thought how little it would all avail
Without her love. 'T was on a morn of May,
Within a month I stood upon the sand,
Gone was the name I traced with trembling hand,—
And from my heart 't was also gone away.
247
[Like clouds or streams we wandered on at will]
Like clouds or streams we wandered on at will,Three glorious days, till, near our journey's end,
As down the moorland road we straight did wend,
To Wordsworth's “Inversneyd,” talking to kill
The cold and cheerless drizzle in the air,
'Bove me I saw, at pointing of my friend,
An old fort like a ghost upon the hill,
Stare in blank misery through the blinding rain,
So human-like it seemed in its despair—
So stunned with grief—long gazed at it we twain.
Weary and damp we reached our poor abode,
I, warmly seated in the chimney-nook,
Still saw that old Fort o'er the moorland road
Stare through the rain with strange woe-wildered look.
248
[Sheathed is the river as it glideth by]
Sheathed is the river as it glideth by,Frost-pearled are all the boughs in forests old,
The sheep are huddling close upon the wold,
And over them the stars tremble on high.
Pure joys these winter nights around me lie;
'T is fine to loiter through the lighted street
At Christmas time, and guess from brow and pace
The doom and history of each one we meet,
What kind of heart beats in each dusky case;
Whiles startled by the beauty of a face
In a shop-light a moment. Or instead,
To dream of silent fields where calm and deep
The sunshine lieth like a golden sleep—
Recalling sweetest looks of Summers dead.
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