The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

One evening, weary in brain and sad of heart,
I strolled along a sea-front—watched the tide,
Saw golden sunset glitter, then depart
While raven darkness spread her mantle wide.

But in that hour my soul was left alone,
Unloved of night, unsolaced of the sea:
I turned aside, and lo! a garden shone
With glittering lanterns strung from tree to tree.

I entered, and through all my heart there rushed
The sense of youth and gladness once again:
Half pleased, yet half in very truth I blushed
To think how slight a salve cures human pain!

I had been sad at heart, but here was light,
Warmth, colour—pain had loosed its strangling hold:—
The dark trees framed more star-lamps than the night;
Their branches flashed with gems, or burned with gold.

Then, in that mood in which one takes account
Of little things and lets all great cares flee,
I let my gaze from lawn to terrace mount,
From bush illumed to lamp-bedizened tree.

My fancy revelled in the fiery gleams
Of Eastern colour from the lanterns flung;
There mixed a thousand artists' wayward dreams
Love-tales unheard and Epics never sung.

There crimson mandarins put emerald flocks
Of huge Satanic cranes to shameful flight,
And gorgeous fishes cruised amid blue rocks,
Golden, with eyes whence flashed unearthly light.

Pale black-capped soldiers, massed in threatening groups,
Loomed fierce upon the lanterns,—pig-tailed kings,
And executioners, red-handed troops,
And giant butterflies with jewelled wings.

Knives raised from severed necks yet dripped with gore;
Delicious damsels, dainty, almond-eyed,
Ogled their swains; upon a yellow shore
Strange painted junks lay basking in their pride.

Grim hieroglyphics, Chinese down-strokes, meant
No doubt, “I love you—all my heart is thine!”
—While over all flowed soft the mystic scent
The night-wind culls from heliotrope and pine.

Then 'mid that maze of sweet bewildering light
The fears that silence lovers fled away,
And young hearts gathered courage from the night
Who found no words nor courage in the day.

And there were shadowy places, bowers apart,
Where lovers quitting lamp-land for awhile,
Might interchange the thoughts of heart and heart,
With ardour plead, or vanquish with a smile.

There some who had dreamed for years yet never won
The gift of one soft tress, one treasured flower,
Tongue-tied beneath the harsh gaze of the sun,
Found passionate words within the kindly bower.

And lips too coy by day to yield their fill
Of sweetest ecstasy and pure delight
Bent forward eager answering lips to thrill,
Full of the balm and magic of the night.

Eyes which by day were cowards were braver now
And dared within the shadowy bowers to gleam,
Full of the light that makes the lover vow
That but for love's light star-land were a dream!

And tender tongues, sweet cowards alas! by day,
Won from the stars the mandate to be bold,
Heedless what jewels of speech they flung away,
What lovely word-gems of seductive gold.

For round about the thousand lanterns gleamed;
Upon the leafy boughs they gently swung:
Of fairy-land all fervent young hearts dreamed,
And old hearts dreamed of days when they were young.

Then underneath two elms whose verdant gloom
Shadowed a mimic stage, a play began.
The armoured hero tossed his snowy plume:
The villain of the piece disclosed his plan.

A play wins magic from the soft night air,
Steals glamour from surroundings such as these;
The lovely village-maid seems twice as fair
Beneath the actual shadow of living trees.

The courtly dame of passionate romance
Seems twice as courtly, more romantic far,
When o'er real leaves her lover's steps advance
And through real branches peeps the evening star.

Moreover sombre deeds that dye the soul
Crimson, dark horrors fleeing from the light,
Seem twice as grim when actors play their rôle
Beneath the sombre ceiling of the night.

All is so real—we watch no more a part
That some mere actor, aping passion, plays:
We feel the wild love throb through Romeo's heart
And Shakespeare's Juliet thrills us as we gaze.

I gazed—the strange spell seized me, and I felt
While in the background countless lanterns gleamed
As if before some sacred shrine I knelt
Or in Art's holiest temple gazed and dreamed.

Music was rapture—notes that ne'er before
Had aught of magic power, creative might,
Now struck the airs, each note a tiny oar
Urging the soul's bark towards unknown delight.

The universe seemed made for love alone;
All men were lovers, women all were sweet:
Sorrow was but a phase to be outgrown
And death a phantom cringing at our feet.