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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse, by 
+Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse
+
+Author: Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+Illustrator: Louis Fairfax-Muckley and James W. R. Linton
+
+Release Date: August 31, 2007 [EBook #22474]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRINGILLA: SOME TALES IN VERSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+FRINGILLA: SOME TALES IN VERSE
+
+By  Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+Illustrated by Louis Fairfax-Muckley and James W. R. Linton
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+     TO MY PEN
+
+     LITA OF THE NILE
+
+     KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY
+
+     MOUNT ARAFA
+
+     THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN
+
+     PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER
+
+     BUSCOMBE; OR, A MICHAELMAS GOOSE
+
+     FAME
+
+
+[Illustration: 013]
+
+
+[_Fringilla loquitur_]
+
+"What means your finch?"
+
+"Being well aware that he cannot sing like a Nightingale,
+He flits about from tree to tree, and twitters a little tale."
+
+     Albeit he is an ancient bird, who tried
+     his pipe in better days, and then was
+     scared by random shots, he is fain to
+     lift the migrant wing once more towards the
+     humble perch, among the trees he loves. All
+     gardeners own that he does no harm, unless
+     he flits into a thicket of young buds, or a very
+     choice ladies' seed-bed. And he hopes that he is
+     now too wise to commit such indiscretions.
+
+     Perhaps it would have been wiser still to
+     have shut up his little mandible, or employed it
+
+     only upon grub. But the long gnaw of last
+     winter's frost, which set mankind a-shivering,
+     even in their most downy nest, has made them
+     kindly to the race that has no roof for shelter
+     and no hearth for warmth.
+
+     Anyhow, this little finch can do no harm,
+     if he does no good; and if he pleases nobody,
+     he will not be surprised, because he has never
+     satisfied himself.
+
+     May-day, 1895.
+
+
+NOTE
+
+With kind consent of Messrs. Harper, "Buscombe" returns in altered form
+from the other side of the ocean. Two other little tales appeared of
+old, but nobody would look at them, and now they are offered after
+careful trimming.
+
+Standing afar. I gaze with doubt at other trimmings which are not mine.
+They have conquered the taste of the day perhaps, and high art announces
+them as her last transfiguration. Moreover they are highly recommended--
+as the purest art not always is--by the modesty of the artist.
+
+
+The cover design, borders, initial letters and the whole of the
+full-page illustrations--with the exception of the three to 'Pausias
+and Glycera' by James W. R. Linton--are by Louis Fairfax-Muckley.
+
+
+[Illustration: 017.]
+
+
+
+    I
+
+    Thou feeble implement of mind,
+      Wherewith she strove to scrawl her
+        name;
+    But, like a mitcher, left behind
+      No signature, no stroke, no claim,
+        No hint that she hath pined--
+
+    Shall ever come a stronger time,
+        When thou shalt be a tool of skill,
+      And steadfast purpose, to fulfil
+    A higher task than rhyme?
+
+    II
+
+    Thou puny instrument of soul,
+      Wherewith she labours to impart
+    Her efforts at some arduous goal;
+      But fails to bring thy coarser art
+        Beneath a fine control--
+
+      Shall ever come a fairer day,
+        When thou shalt be a buoyant plume,
+        To soar, where clearer suns illume,
+      And fresher breezes play?
+
+[Illustration: 020.]
+
+[Illustration: 023.]
+
+     III
+
+     Thou weak interpreter of heart,
+       So impotent to tell the tale
+     Of love's delight, of envy's smart,
+       Of passion, and ambition's bale,
+         Of pride that dwells apart--
+
+       Shall I, in length of time, attain
+         (By walking in the human ways,
+          With love of Him, who made and sways)
+       To ply thee, less in vain?
+
+     If so, thou shalt be more to me
+       Than sword, or sceptre, flag, or crown;
+     With mind, and soul, and heart in thee,
+       Despising gold, and sham renown;
+
+         But truthful, kind, and free--
+       Then come; though now a pithless quill,
+         Uncouth, unfledged, indefinite,--
+         In time, thou shalt be taught to write,
+       By patience, and good-will.
+
+
+
+
+LITA  OF THE  NILE
+
+A TALE  IN  THREE   PARTS
+
+PART   I
+
+     I
+
+     "KING, and Father, gift and giver,
+     God revealed in form of river,
+     Issuing perfect, and sublime,
+     From the fountain-head of time;
+
+     "Whom eternal mystery shroudeth,
+       Unapproached, untracked, unknown;
+     Whom the Lord of heaven encloudeth
+       With the curtains of His throne;
+
+     "From the throne of heaven descending,
+     Glory, power, and goodness blending,
+     Grant us, ere the daylight dies,
+     Token of thy rapid rise,"
+
+     II
+
+     Ha, it cometh! Furrowing, flashing,
+       Red blood rushing o'er brown breast;
+     Peaks, and ridges, and domes, dashing
+       Foam on foam, and crest on crest!
+
+     'Tis the signal Thebes hath waited,
+     Libyan Thebes, the hundred-gated:
+     Rouse, and robe thee, River-priest
+     For thy dedication feast!
+
+     Follows him the loveliest maiden,
+       Afric's thousand hills can show;
+     White apparel'd, flower-laden,
+       With the lotus on her brow.
+
+     III
+
+     Votive maid, who hath espousal
+     Of the river's high carousal;
+     Twenty cubits if he rise,
+     This shall be his bridal prize.
+
+     Calm, and meek of face and carriage,
+       Deigning scarce a quicker breath,
+     Comes she to the funeral marriage,
+       The betrothal of black death.
+
+     Rosy hands, and hennaed fingers,
+     Nails whereon the onyx lingers,
+     Clasped, as at a lover's tale,
+     In the bosom's marble vale.
+
+
+     IV
+
+     Silvery scarf, her waist enwreathing,
+       Wafts a soft Sabaean balm;
+     Like a cloud of incense, breathing
+       Round the column of a palm:
+
+     Snood of lilies interweaveth
+     (Giving less than it receiveth)
+     Beauty of her clustered brow,
+     Calmly bent upon us now.
+
+     Through her dark hair, spread before
+       See the western glory wane,
+     As in groves of dim Cytorus,
+       Or the bowers of Taprobane!
+
+
+     V
+
+     See, the large eyes, lit by heaven,
+     Brighter than the Sisters Seven,
+     (Like a star the storm hath cowed)
+     Sink their flash in sorrow's cloud.
+
+     There the crystal tear refraineth,
+       And the founts of grief are dry;
+     "Father, Mother--none remaineth;
+       All are dead; and why not I?"
+
+     Yet, by God's will, heavenly beauty
+     Owes to Heaven alone its duty;
+     Off ye priests, who dare adjudge
+     Bride, like this, to slime and sludge!
+
+
+     VI
+
+     When they tread the river's margent,
+       All their mitred heads are bowed--
+     What hath browned the ripples argent,
+       Like the plume of thunder-cloud?
+
+     Where yestreen the water slumbered,
+     With a sickly crust encumbered,
+     Leapeth now a roaring flood,
+     Wild as war, and red as blood.
+
+     Every billow hurries quicker,
+       Every surge runs up the strand;
+     While the brindled eddies flicker,
+       Scourged as with a levin brand.
+
+     VII
+
+     Every bulrush, parched and welted,
+     Lifts his long joints yellow-belted;
+     Every lotus, faint and sick,
+     Hangs her fragrant tongue to lick.
+
+     Countless creatures, lone unthought of,
+       Swarm from every hole and nook;
+     What is man, that he make nought of
+       Other entries in God's book?
+
+     Scorpions, rats, and lizards flabby,
+     Centipedes, and hydras scabby,
+     Asp, and slug, and toad, whose gem
+     Outlasts human diadem.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Therefore hath the priest-procession
+       Causeway clean of sandal-wood;
+     That no foul thing make transgression
+       On the votive maiden's blood.
+
+     Pure of blood and soul, she standeth
+     Where the marble gauge demandeth,
+     Marble pillar, with black style,
+     Record of the rising Nile,
+
+     White-robed priests around her kneeling,
+       Ibis-banner floating high,
+     Conchs, and drums, and sistrals pealing,
+       And Sesostris standing nigh.
+
+     IX
+
+     He, whose kingdom-city stretches
+     Further than our eyesight fetches;
+     Every street it wanders down
+     Larger than a regal town;
+
+     Built, when each man was a giant,
+       When the rocks were mason's stones,
+     When the oaks were osiers pliant,
+       And the mountains scarcely thrones;
+
+     City, whose Titanic portals
+     Scorn the puny modern mortals,
+     In thy desert winding-sheet,
+     Sacred from our insect feet.
+
+     X
+
+     Thebes No-Amon, hundred-gated,
+       Every gate could then unfold
+     Cavalry ten thousand, plated,
+       Man and horse, in solid gold.
+
+     Glancing back through serried ranges,
+     Vivid as his own phalanges,
+     Every captain might espy
+     Equal host in sculpture vie;
+
+     Down Piromid vista gazing,
+       Ten miles back from every gate,
+     He can see that temple blazing,
+       Which the world shall never mate.
+
+     XI
+
+     But the Nile-flood, when it swelleth,
+     Recks not man, nor where he dwelleth;
+     And--e'en while Sesostris reigns--
+     Scarce five cubits man attains.
+
+     Lo, the darkening river quaileth,
+       Like a swamp by giant trod,
+     And the broad commotion waileth,
+       Stricken with the hand of God I
+
+     When the rushing deluge raging
+     Flung its flanks, and shook the staging,
+     Priesthood, cowering from the brim,
+     Chanted thus its faltering hymn.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Ocean sire, the earth enclasping,
+       Like a babe upon thy knee,
+     In thy cosmic cycle grasping
+       All that hath been, or shall be;
+
+     "Thou, that art around and over
+     All we labour to discover;
+     Thou, to whom our world no more
+     Than a shell is on thy shore;
+
+     "God, that wast Supreme, or ever
+       Orus, or Osiris, saw;
+     God, with whom is no endeavour,
+       But thy will eternal law:
+
+     XIII
+
+     "We, who keep thy feasts and fastings,
+     We, who live on thy off-castings,
+     Here in low obeisance crave
+     Rich abundance of thy wave.
+
+     "Seven years now, for some transgression,
+       Some neglect, or outrage vile,
+     Vainly hath our poor procession
+       Offered life, and soul to Nile.
+
+     "Seven years now of promise fickle,
+     Niggard ooze, and paltry trickle,
+     Freshet sprinkling scanty dole,
+     Where the roaring flood should roll.
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Therefore are thy children dwindled,
+       Therefore is thine altar bare;
+     Wheat, and rye, and millet spindled,
+       And the fruits of earth despair.
+
+     "Men with haggard bellies languish,
+     Bridal beds are strewn with anguish,
+     Mothers sell their babes for bread,
+     Half the holy kine are dead.
+
+     "Is thy wrath at last relaxing?
+       Art thou merciful, once more?
+     Yea, behold the torrent waxing!
+       Yea, behold the flooded shore!
+
+     XV
+
+     "Nile, that now with life-blood tidest,
+     And in gorgeous cold subsidest,
+     Richer than our victor tread
+     Stirred in far Hydaspes' bed;
+
+     "When thy swelling crest o'er-waveth
+     Yonder twenty cubit mark,
+     And thy tongue of white foam laveth
+     Borders of the desert dark,
+
+     "This, the fairest Theban maiden,
+     Shall be thine, with jewels laden;
+     Lift thy furrowed brow, and see
+     _Lita_, dedicate to thee!"
+
+[Illustration: 032.]
+
+     XVI
+
+     Thus he spake, and lowly stooping
+       O'er the Calasiris hem,
+     Took the holy water, scooping
+       With a bowl of lucid gem;
+
+     Chanting from the Bybline psalter
+     Touched he then her forehead altar;
+     Sleeking back the trickled jet,
+     There the marriage-seal he set.
+
+     "None of mortals dare pursue thee,
+       None come near thy hallowed side:
+     Nile's thou art, and he shall woo thee,--
+       Nile, who swalloweth his bride."
+
+     XVII
+
+     With despair's mute self-reliance,
+     She accepted death's affiance;
+     She, who hath no home or rest,
+     Shrank not from the river's breast.
+
+     Haply there she shall discover
+       Father, lost in wilds unknown,
+     Mother slain, and youthful lover,
+       Seen as yet in dreams alone.
+
+     Ha! sweet maid, what sudden vision
+     Hath dispelled thy cold derision?
+     What new picture hast thou seen,
+     Of a world that might have been?
+
+     XVIII
+
+     From Mount Seir, Duke Iram roveth,
+       Three renewals of the moon:
+     To see Egypt him behoveth,
+       Ere his life be past its noon.
+
+     Soul, and mind, at first fell under
+     Flat discomfiture of wonder,
+     With the Nile before him spread,
+     Temple-crowned, and tempest-fed!
+
+     Yet a nobler creed he owneth,
+       Than to worship things of space:
+     One true God his heart enthroneth
+       Heart that throbs with Esau's race.
+
+     XIX
+
+     Thus he stood, with calm eyes scorning
+     Idols, priests, and their adorning;
+     Seeing, e'en in nature's show,
+     Him alone, who made it so.
+
+     "God of Abraham, our Father,
+       Earth, and heaven, and all we see,
+     Are but gifts of thine, to gather
+       Us, thy children, back to Thee.
+
+     "All the grandeur spread before us,
+     All the miracles shed o'er us,
+     Echoes of the voice above,
+     Tokens of a Father's love."
+
+     XX
+
+     While of heaven his heart indited,
+       And his dark eyes swept the crowd,
+     Sudden on the maid they lighted,
+       Mild and haughty, meek and proud.
+
+     Rapid as the flash of sabre,
+     Strong as giant's toss of caber,
+     Sure as victor's grasp of goal,
+     Came the love-stroke through his soul
+
+     Gently she, her eyes recalling,
+       Felt that Heaven had touched their flight,
+     Peeped again, through lashes falling,
+       Blushed, and shrank, and shunned the light
+
+     XXI
+
+     Ah, what booteth sweet illusion,
+     Fluttering glance, and soft suffusion,
+     Bliss unknown, but felt in sighs,
+     Breast, that shrinks at its own rise?
+
+     She, who is the Nile's devoted,
+       Courted with a watery smile;
+     Her betrothal duly noted
+       By the bridesmaid Crocodile!
+
+     So she bowed her forehead lowly,
+     Tightened her tiara holy;
+     And, with every sigh suppressed,
+     Clasped her hands on passion's breast.
+
+
+PART  II
+
+     I
+
+     Twice the moon hath waxed and wasted,
+       Lavish of her dew-bright horn;
+       And the wheeling sun hath hasted
+     Fifty days, towards Capricorn.
+
+     Thebes, and all the Misric nation,
+     Float upon the inundation;
+     Each man shouts and laughs, before
+     Landing at his own house door.
+
+     There the good wife doth return it,
+       Grumbling, as she shows the dish,
+     Chervil, basil, chives, and burnet
+       Feed, instead of seasoning, fish.
+
+     II
+
+     Palm trees, grouped upon the highland,
+     Here and there make pleasant island;
+     On the bark some wag hath wrote--
+     "Who would fly, when he can float?"
+
+     Udder'd cows are standing--pensive,
+       Not belonging to that ilk;
+     How shall horn, or tail defensive,
+       Keep the water from their milk?
+
+     Lo, the black swan, paddling slowly,
+     Pintail ducks, and sheldrakes holy,
+     Nile-goose flaked, and herons gray,
+     Silver-voiced at fall of day!
+
+     III
+
+     Flood hath swallowed dikes and hedges,
+       Lately by Sesostris planned;
+     Till, like ropes, its matted edges
+       Quiver on the desert sand.
+
+     Then each farmer, brisk and mellow,
+     Graspeth by the hand his fellow;
+     And, as one gone labour-proof,
+     Shakes his head at the drowned shadoof
+
+     Soon the Nuphar comes, beguiling
+       Sedgy spears, and swords around,
+     Like that cradled infant smiling,
+       Whom, the royal maiden found.
+
+     IV
+
+     But the time of times foe wonder,
+     Is when ruddy sun goes under;
+     And the dusk throws, half afraid,
+     Silver shuttles of long shade.
+
+     Opens then a scene, the fairest
+       Ever burst on human view;
+     Once behold, and thou comparest
+       Nothing in the world thereto.
+
+     While the broad flood murmurs glistening
+     To the moon that hangeth listening--
+     Moon that looketh down the sky,
+     Like an aloe-bloom on high--
+
+     V
+
+     Sudden conch o'er the wave ringeth!
+       Ere the date-leaves cease to snake,
+     All, that hath existence, springeth
+       Into broad light, wide-awake.
+
+     As at a window of heaven thrown up,
+     All in a dazzling blaze are shown up,
+     Mellowing, ere our eyes avail,
+     To some soft enchanter's tale.
+
+     Every skiff a big ship seemeth,
+       Every bush with tall wings clad;
+     Every man his good brain deemeth
+       The only brain that is not mad.
+
+     VI
+
+     Hark!  The pulse of measured rowing,
+     And the silver clarions blowing,
+     From the distant darkness, break
+     Into this illumined lake.
+
+     Tis Sesostris, lord of nations,
+       Victor of three continents,
+     Visiting the celebrations,
+       Priests, and pomps, and regiments.
+
+     Kings, from Indus, and Araxes,
+     Ister, and the Boreal axes,
+     Horsed his chariot to the waves,
+     Then embarked, his galley-slaves.
+
+     VII
+
+     Glittering stands the giant royal,
+       Four tall sons are at his back;
+     Twain, with their own corpses loyal,
+       Bridged the flames Pelusiac.
+
+     As he passeth, myriads bless him,
+     Glorious Monarch all confess him,
+     Sternly upright, to condone
+     No injustice, save his own.
+
+     He, well-pleased, his sceptre swingeth,
+       While his four sons strike the gong;
+     Till the sparkling water ringeth
+       Joy and laughter, joke and song.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Ah, but while loud merry-making
+     Sets the lights and shadows shaking,
+     While the mad world casts away
+     Every thought that is not gay,
+
+     Hath not earth, our sweet step-mother,
+       Very different scene hard by,
+     Tossing one, and trampling other,
+       Some to laugh, and some to sigh?
+
+     Where the fane of Hathor Iowereth,
+     And the black Myrike embowereth,
+     Weepeth one her life gone by;
+     Over young, oh death, to die!
+
+     IX
+
+     Nay, but lately she was yearning
+       To be quit of life's turmoil,
+     In the land of no returning,
+       Where all travel ends, and toil.
+
+     What temptations now entice her?
+     What hath made the world seem nicer?
+     Whence the charm, that strives anew
+     To prolong this last adieu?
+
+     Ah, her heart can understand it,
+       Though her tongue can ne'er explain:
+     Let yon granite Sphinx demand it--
+       Riddle, ever solved in vain.
+
+     X
+
+     No constraint of hands hath bound her,
+     Not a chain hath e'er been round her;
+     Silver star hath sealed her brow,
+     Holy as an Isis cow.
+
+     Free to wander where she listeth;
+       No immurement must defile
+     (So the ancient law insisteth)
+       This, the hallowed bride of Nile.
+
+     What recks Abraham's descendant
+     Idols, priests, and pomps attendant?
+     And how long shall nature heed
+     What the stocks and stones decreed?
+
+     XI
+
+     "Fiendish superstitions hold thee
+       To a vile and hideous death.
+     Break their bonds; let love enfold thee;
+       Off, and fly with me;"--he saith.
+
+     "Off! while priests are cutting capers--
+     Priests of beetles, cats, and tapirs,
+     Brutes, who would thy beauty truck,
+     For an inch of yellow muck.
+
+     "Lo, my horse, _Pyropus_, yearneth
+       For the touch of thy light form;
+     Like the lightning, his eye burneth;
+       And his nostril, like the storm.
+
+     XII
+
+     "What are those unholy pagans?
+     Can they ride?   No more than Dagons.
+     Fishtails ne'er could sit a steed;
+     That belongs to Esau's seed.
+
+     "I will make thee Queen of far lands,
+       Flocks, and herds, and camel-trains,
+     Milk and honey, fruit and garlands,
+       Vines and venison, woods and wains.
+
+     "God is with us; He shall speed us;
+     Or (if this vile crew impede us)
+     Let some light into their brain,
+     By the sword of Tubal Cain."
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Nay," she answered, deeply sighing,
+       As the maid grew womanish--
+     "Love, how hard have I been trying'
+       To believe the thing I wish!
+
+     "Thou hast taught me holy teachings,
+     Where to offer my beseechings,
+     Homage due to Heaven alone,
+     Not to ghosts, and graven stone,
+
+     "Thou hast shown me truth and freedom,
+       Love, and faith in One most High;
+     But thou hast not, Prince of Edom,
+       Taught me therewithal, to lie.
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Little cause had I for fretting,
+     None on earth to be regretting;
+     Till I saw thee, brave and kind;
+     And my heart undid my mind.
+
+     "Better, if the Gods had slain me,
+       When no difference could be;
+     Ere the joy had come to pain me,
+       And, alas, my dear one, thee!
+
+     "But shall my poor life throw shame on
+     Royal lineage of Amor?
+     Tis of Egypt's oldest strains;
+     Kingly blood flows in my veins.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Thou hast seen; my faith is plighted,
+       That I will not fly my doom.
+     Honour is a flower unblighted,
+       Though the fates cut off its bloom.
+
+     "I have sent my last sun sleeping,
+     And I am ashamed of weeping.
+     God, my new God, give me grace
+     To be worthy of my race.
+
+     "Though this death our bodies sever,
+       Thou shalt find me there above;
+     Where I shall be learning ever,
+       To be worthy of thy love."
+
+     XVI
+
+     From his gaze she turned, to borrow
+     Pride's assistance against sorrow--
+     God vouchsafes that scanty loan,
+     When He taketh all our own.
+
+     Sudden thought of heaven's inspiring
+       Flashed through bold Duke Iram's heart;
+     Angels more than stand admiring,
+       When a man takes his own part.
+
+     'Tis the law the Lord hath taught us,
+     To undo what Satan wrought us;
+     To confound the foul fiend's plan,
+     With the manliness of man.
+
+     XVII
+
+     "Thou art right," he answered lowly,
+       As a youth should sneak a maid;
+     "Like thyself, thy word is holy;
+       Love is hate, if it degrade.
+
+     "But when thou hast well surrendered,
+     And thy sacrifice is tendered--
+     God do so, and more to me,
+     If I slay not, who slay thee!
+
+     "Abraham's God hath ne'er forsaken
+       Them who trust in Him alway.
+     Thy sweet life shall not be taken.
+       Rest, and calm thee, while I pray."
+
+     XVIII
+
+     Like a little child, that kneeleth
+     To tell God whate'er he feeleth,
+     Bent the tall young warrior there,
+     And the palm-trees whispered prayer.
+
+     She, outworn with woe and weeping,
+       Shared that influence from above;
+     And the fear of death went sleeping
+       In the maiden faith and love.
+
+     Less the stormy water waileth,
+     E'en the human tumult faileth;
+     Stars their silent torches light,
+     To conduct the car of night
+
+
+
+
+PART  III
+
+     I
+
+     Lo, how bright-eyed morn awaketh
+       Tower and temple, nook and Nile;
+     How the sun exultant maketh
+       All the world return his smile!
+
+     O'er the dry sand, vapour twinkleth,
+     Like an eye when old age wrinkleth;
+     While, along the watered shore
+     Runs a river of gold ore.
+
+     Temple-front and court resemble
+       Mirrors swung in wavering light;
+     While the tapering columns tremble
+       At the view of their own height.
+
+     II
+
+     Marble shaft, and granite portal,
+     Statues of the Gods immortal
+     Quiver, with their figures bent,
+     In a liquid pediment
+
+     Thence the flood-leat followeth swiftly,
+       Where the peasant, spade in hand,
+     Guideth many a runnel deftly
+       Through his fruit and pasture-land;
+
+     Oft, the irriguous bank cross-slicing,
+     Plaited trickles he keeps enticing;
+     Till their gravelly gush he feels,
+     Overtaking his brown heels.
+
+     III
+
+     Life--that long hath born the test of
+       More than ours could bear, and live,
+     Springs anew, to make the best of
+       Every chance the Gods may give,
+
+     Doum-tree stiffeneth flagging feather;
+     Pate-leaves cease to cling together;
+     Citrons clear their welted rind;
+     Vines their mildewed sprays unwind.
+
+     Gourds, and melons, spread new lustre
+       On their veiny dull shagreen;
+     While the starred pomegranates cluster
+       Golden balls, with pink between.
+
+     IV
+
+     Yea, but heaven hath ordered duly,
+     Lest mankind should wax unruly,
+     Egypt, garner of all lore,
+     Narrow as a threshing-floor.
+
+     East, and West, lies desolation,
+       Infinite, untracked, untold
+     Shroud for all of God's creation,
+       When the wild blast lifts its fold;
+
+     There eternal melancholy
+     Maketh all delight unholy;
+     As a stricken widow glides
+     Past a group of laughing brides.
+
+     Who is this, that so disdaineth
+       Dome and desert, fear and fate;
+     While his jewell'd horse he reineth.
+       At Amen-Ra's temple-gate?
+
+     He, who crushed the kings of Asia,
+     Like a pod of colocasia;
+     Whom the sons of Anak fled,
+     Puling infants at his tread.
+
+     Who, with his own shoulders, lifted
+       Thrones of many a conquered land;
+     Who the rocks of Scythia rifted--
+       King Sesostris waves his hand
+
+     VI
+
+     Blare of trumpet fills the valley;
+     Slowly, and majestically,
+     Swingeth wide, in solemn state,
+     Lord Amen-Ra's temple-gate.
+
+     Thence the warrior-host emeigeth,
+       Casque, and corselet, spear, and shield;
+     As the tide of red ore suigeth
+       From the furnace-door revealed.
+
+     After them, tumultuous rushing,
+     Mob, and medley, crowd, and crushing;
+     And the hungry file of priests,
+     Loosely zoned for larger feasts.
+
+     VII
+
+     "Look!" The whispered awe enhances
+       With a thrill their merry treat;
+     As one readeth grim romances,
+       In a sunny window-seat
+
+     "Look! It is the maid selected
+     For the sacrifice expected:
+     By the Gods, how proud and brave
+     Steps she to her watery grave!"
+
+     Strike up cymbals, gongs, and tabours,
+       Clarions, double-flutes, and drums;
+     All that bellows, or belabours,
+       In a surging discord comes.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Scarce Duke Iram can keep under
+     His wild steed's disdain and wonder,
+     While his large eyes ask alway--
+     "Dareth man attempt to neigh?"
+
+     He hath snuffed the great Sahara,
+       And the mute parade of stars;
+     Shall he brook this shrill fanfara,
+       Ramshorns, pigskins, screechy jars?
+
+     What hath he to do with rabble?
+     Froth is better than their babble;
+     Let him toss them flakes of froth,
+     To pronounce his scorn and wrath.
+
+     IX
+
+     With his nostrils fierce dilating,
+       With his crest a curling sea,
+     All his volumed power is waiting
+       For the will, to set it free.
+
+     "Peace, my friend!"   The touch he knoweth
+     Calms his heart, howe'er it gloweth:
+     Horse can shame a man, to quell
+     Passion, where he loveth well.
+
+     "Nay, endure we," saith the rider,
+       "Till her plighted word be paid;
+     Then, though Satan stand beside her,
+       God shall help me swing this blade."
+
+     X
+
+     Lo, upon the deep-piled dais,
+     Wrought in hallowed looms of Sais,
+     O'er the impetuous torrent's swoop,
+     Stands the sacrificial group!
+
+     Tall High-priest, with zealot fires
+       Blazing in those eyeballs old,
+     Swathes him, as his rank requires,
+       Head to foot, in linen fold.
+
+     Seven attendants round him vying,
+     In a lighter vesture plying,
+     Four with skirts, and other three
+     Tunic'd short from waist to knee.
+
+     XI
+
+     Free among them stands the maiden,
+       Clad in white for her long rest;
+     Crowned with gold, and jewel-laden,
+       With a lily on her breast
+
+     Lily is the mark that showeth
+     Where that pure and sweet heart gloweth;
+     Here must come, to shed her life,
+     Point of sacrificial knife.
+
+     Here the knife is, cold and gleaming,
+       Here the colder butcher band.
+     Was the true love nought but dreaming,
+       Feeble heart, and coward hand?
+
+     XII
+
+     Strength unto the weak is given,
+     When their earthly bonds are riven;
+     Ere the spirit is called away,
+     Heaven begins its tranquil sway.
+
+     Life hath been unstained, and therefore
+       Pleasant to look back upon;
+     But there is not much to care for,
+       When the light of love is gone.
+
+     Still, though love were twice as fleeting,
+     Longeth she for one last greeting;
+     If her eyes might only dwell
+     Once on his, to say farewell
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Glorious Hapi," spake Piromis,
+       Lifting high his weapon'd hand;
+     "Earth thy footstool, heaven thy dome is,
+       We the pebbles on thy strand.
+
+     "Thou hast leaped the cubits twenty,
+     Dowering us with peace and plenty;
+     Mutha shows thee her retreat,
+     And the desert licks thy feet,
+
+     "We have passed through our purgation,
+       Once again we are thy kin;
+     God, accept our expiation,
+       Maiden pure of mortal sin."
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Ha!" the king cried, smiling blandly;
+     "Ha!" the trumpets answered grandly.
+     Proudly priest whirled, knife on high,
+     While the maiden bowed--to die.
+
+     Sudden, through the ranks beside her,
+       Scattering men, like sparks of flint,
+     Burst a snow-white horse and rider,
+       Rapid as the lightning's glint.
+
+     One blow hurls Arch-priest to quiver
+     Headless, in his beloved river,
+     In the twinkling of an eye,
+     All the rest are dead, or fly.
+
+     XV
+
+     Iram, from _Pyropus_ sweeping,
+     As a mower swathes the rye,
+     Caught his love, in terror sleeping,
+     And her light form swings on high.
+
+     "Soul of Khons!" Sesostris shouted,
+     Striding down the planks blood-grouted--
+     Into his beard fell something light,
+     And he spat, and swooned with fright.
+
+     What hath made this great king stagger,
+       Reel, and shriek--"unclean, unclean!"
+     Thunderbolt, or flash of dagger?
+       Nay, 'twas but a garden bean.
+
+     XVI
+
+     Brave _Pyropus_, blood-bespattered,
+     Snorts at men and corpses scattered,
+     Throws his noble chest more wide,
+     Leaps into the leaping tide.
+
+     Vainly hiss a thousand arrows,
+       Launched at random through the foam;
+     Every stroke the distance narrows
+       Twixt him and his desert home.
+
+     Sorely tried, and passion-shaken,
+     Long amid her foes forsaken,
+     Now, in tumult of surprise,
+     Lita knows not where she lies.
+
+[Illustration: 056.]
+
+     XVII
+
+     Till a bright wave breaks upon her,
+       And her clear perceptions wake--
+     All his valour, prowess, honour,
+       Scorn of life, for her poor sake!
+
+     Gently then her eyes she raises,
+     (Eyes, whence all the pure soul gazes)
+     Softly brings her lips to his--
+     Lips, wherein the whole heart is.
+
+     Let the furious waters welter,
+       Let the rough winds roar above;
+     Waves are warmth, and storms are shelter,
+       In the upper heaven of love.
+
+     XVIII
+
+     Fierce the flood, and wild the danger;
+     Yet the noble desert-ranger
+     Flinches not, nor flags, before
+     He hath brought them safe ashore.
+
+     Lives there man, who would have striven,
+       Reckless thus of storm and sword;
+     Leaped into the gulf, and given
+       Heart and soul, to please his Lord?
+
+     With caresses they have plied him,
+     Hand in hand they kneel beside him,
+     While their mutual vows they plight
+     To the God of life and light
+
+     XIX
+
+     Ha!  What meaneth yon sword-flashing?
+       Trumps, and shouts from wave and isle?
+     Lo, the warrior galleys dashing,
+       To avenge insulted Nile!
+
+     Haste!  The brave steed, leaping lightly,
+     'Neath his double burden sprightly,
+     Challenges, with scornful note,
+     Every horse in Pharaoh's boat.
+
+     King of Egypt, curb thy rages;
+       Lo, how trouble should be borne!
+     Memnon soothes the woe of ages,
+       With a sweet song, every morn.
+
+[Illustration: 062.]
+
+[Illustration: 065.]
+
+
+
+
+KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY
+
+AN  EASTERN  LEGEND
+
+HERE IS A CURIOUS LEGEND AS TO THE ORIGIN OP JEALOUSY. WHEN ADAM AND EVE
+WERE IN PARADISE, THE FORMER WAS ACCUSTOMED TO RETIRE AT EVENTIDE TO THE
+RECESSES OF THE GARDEN, FOR THE PURPOSE OF PRAYER. ON ONE OF THESE
+OCCASIONS THE DEVIL APPEARED TO EVE, AND INFORMED HER THAT HER SOLITUDE
+WAS TO BE ACCOUNTED FOR BY THE ATTRACTIONS OF ANOTHER FAIR ONE. EVE
+REPLIED THAT IT COULD NOT BE SO, AS SHE WAS THE ONLY WOMAN IN EXISTENCE.
+"IF I SHOW YOU ANOTHER, WILL YOU BELIEVE ME?" RETURNED THE EVIL ONE, AND
+PRODUCED A MIRROR, IN WHICH SHE SAW HER OWN REFLECTION,  AND   MISTOOK
+IT   FOR HER RIVAL.   See "_Life in Abyssinia_," by Mr. Parkyns.
+Murray, Albemarle Street.
+
+The Kadisha, flowing to the south of Lebanon, is called
+"the holy river," as having been a minor stream of Paradise.
+
+[Illustration: 066.]
+
+
+
+PART   I
+
+     True love's regale is incomplete,
+     'Till bitter leaven make it sweet;
+     Accept not then our tale amiss,
+     That jealousy was part of bliss;
+     But rather note a mercy here,
+     That fact was thus outrun by fear;
+     And so, before the harder bout,
+       When sin must be encountered too,
+       A woman's heart already knew
+     The way to conquer doubt
+
+     I
+
+     "When sleep was in the summer air,
+       And stars looked down on Paradise,
+     And palms and cedars answered fair
+       The visionary night-wind's sighs,
+         And murmuring prayer:
+
+     When every flower was in its hood
+       (By clasps of diamond dew retained),
+     Or sunk to elude Phalcena's brood,
+       Down slumber's breast with shadows veined,
+         In solitude:
+
+       The citron, stephanote, and rose,
+         Pomegranate, hoya, calycanth,
+         And yet unwanted amaranth,
+       Were sweetness in repose:
+
+     II
+
+     When rivulets were loth to creep,
+       Except unto the pillow moss,
+     And distant lake, encurtained deep,
+       Was but a silver thread across
+         The eyes of sleep:
+
+     When nightingales, in the sycamore,
+       Sang low and soft, as an echo dreaming;
+     And slept the moon upon heaven's shore--
+       The tidal shore of heaven, beaming
+         With lazuled ore:
+
+       When new-born earth was fain to lean
+         In Summer's arms, recovering
+         The unaccustomed toil of Spring,
+       Why slept not Eve, their Queen?
+
+     III
+
+     Upon a smooth fern-mantled stone
+       She sat, and watched the wicket-gate,
+     Not timid in her woman's throne,
+       Nor lonely in her sinless state,
+         Though all alone;
+
+     For having spread her simple board
+       With grapes, and peaches, milk, and flowers,
+     She strewed sweet mastic o'er the sward,
+       And waited through the bridal hours
+         Step of her lord.
+
+       Such innocence around her breathed,
+         And freshness of young nature's play,
+         The sensitive plant shrank not away,
+       And cactus' swords were sheathed.
+
+     IV
+
+     The vision of her beauty fell,
+       Like music on a moonlit place,
+     Or trembles of a silver bell,
+       Or memories of a sacred face,
+         Too dear to tell:
+
+     The grace that wandered free of laws,
+       The look that lit the heart's confession,
+     Had never dreamed how fair it was;
+       Nor guessed that purity's expression
+         Is beauty's cause:
+
+       No more that unenquiring heart
+         Perused the sweet home of her breast,
+         Than turtle-doves unline their nest
+       To scan the outer part
+
+     V
+
+     Although, in all that garden fair,
+       Whate'er delight abode, or grew,
+     Flowers, and trees, and balmy air,
+       Fountains, and birds, and heaven blue
+         Beyond compare:
+
+     In her their various charms had met,
+       And grown more varied by combining,
+     As budded plants do give and get,
+       Each inmate doubling while resigning
+         His several debt:
+
+       And yet she nursed one joy, above
+         Her thousand charms, nor bora of them,
+         But blooming on a single stem--
+       Her true faith in her love.
+
+     VI
+
+     And though, before she heard his foot,
+       The moon had climbed the homestead palm,
+     Flinging to her the shadowed fruit,
+       And tree-frogs ceased to break the calm,
+         And birds were mute,
+
+     With sudden transport ever new,
+       She blushed, and sprang from forth the bower,
+     Her eyes, as bright as moon-lit dew,
+       Her bosom glad as snow-veiled flower,
+         When sun shines through;
+
+       He, with a natural dignity
+         Untaught self-consciousness by harm,
+         Sustained her with his manly arm,
+       And smiled upon her glee.
+
+     VII
+
+     Next day, when early evening shone
+       Along the walks of Paradise,
+     Strewing with gold the hills, her throne,
+       Embarrassing the winds with spice
+         (Too rich a loan),
+
+     Fair Eve was in her bower of ease,
+       A cool arcade of fruit and flowers,
+
+     From North and East enclasped by trees,
+       But open to the Western showers,
+         And Southern breeze.
+
+       Here followed she her gardening trade,
+         Her favourites' simple needs attending,
+         And singing soft, above them bending,
+       A song herself had made.
+
+     VIII
+
+     In evening's calm, she walked between
+       The tints and shades of rich delight,
+     While overhead came, arching green,
+       Many a shrub and parasite,
+         To crown their Queen;
+
+     There laughed the joy of the rose, among
+       Myrtle and Iris, heaven's eye,
+     Magnole, with cups of moonlight hung,
+       And Fuchsia's sunny chandlery,
+         And coral tongue;
+
+       And where the shy brook fluttered through,
+         Nepenthe held her chalice leaf
+         (Undrained as yet by human grief),
+       And broad Nymphaea grew.
+
+     IX
+
+     But where the path bent towards the wood,
+       Across it hung a sombre screen,
+     The deadly night-shade, leaden-hued;
+       And there behind it, darkly seen,
+         A Being stood:
+
+     The form, if any form it had,
+       Was likest to a nightly vision
+     In mantle of amazement clad,
+       A terror-sense, without precision,
+         Of something bad.
+
+       A tremble chilled the forest shade,
+         A roving lion turned and fled,
+         The birds cowered home in hush of dread;
+       But Eve was not afraid.
+
+     X
+
+     She stood before him, sweetly bold,
+       To keep him from her garden shrine,
+     With hair that fell, a shower of gold,
+       Around her figure's snowy line
+         And rosy mould:
+
+     He (with a re-awakened sense
+       Of goodness, long for ever lost,
+     And angel beauty's pure defence)
+       Shrank back, unable to accost
+         Such innocence:
+
+       But envy soon scoffed down his shame;
+         And with a smile, designed for fawning,
+         But like hell's daybreak sickly dawning,
+       His crafty accents came.
+
+     XI
+
+     "Sweet ignorance, 'tis sad and hard
+       To break thy fond confiding spell;
+     And my soft heart hath such regard
+       For thine, that I will never tell
+         What may be spared."
+
+     He turned aside, o'erwhelmed with pain,
+       And drew a sigh of deep compassion:
+     She trembled, flushed, and gazed again,
+       And prayed him quick, in woman's fashion,
+         To speak it plain:
+
+       "Then, if thou must be taught to grieve,
+         And scorn the guile thou hast adored--
+         The man who calls himself thy lord,
+       Where goes he, every eve?"
+
+     XII
+
+     "Nay, then," she cried, "if that be all,
+       I care not what thou hast to say;
+     The guile that lurks therein is small--
+       My husband but retires to pray,
+         At evening call."
+
+     "To pray? Oh yes, and on his knees
+       May-hap to find a lovely being:
+     Devotions so devout as these
+       Are best at night, with no one seeing,
+         Among the trees."
+
+       She blushed as deep as modesty,
+         Then glancing back as bright as cride,
+         "What woman can he find,' she cried,
+       "In all the world, but me?"
+
+     XIII
+
+     He laughed with a superior sneer,
+       Enough to shake e'en woman's faith;
+     "Wilt thou believe me, simple dear,
+       If I am able now," he saith,
+         "To show her here?"
+
+     She cried aloud with gladsome heart,
+       "Be that the test whereon to try thee;
+     Nature and heaven shall take my part:
+       Come, show this rival; I defy thee
+         And all thy art."
+
+       A mirror, held in readiness,
+         He set upright before her feet--
+         "Now can thy simple charms compete
+       With beauty such as this?"
+
+     XIV
+
+     A lovelier sight therein she saw
+       Than ever yet had charmed her eyes,
+     A fairer picture, void of flaw,
+       Than any, even Paradise
+       Itself, could draw;
+
+     A woman's form of perfect grace,
+       In shadowy softness delicate;
+     Though flushed by sunset's rich embrace,
+       A white rose could not imitate
+         Her innocent face:
+
+       Then, through the deepening glance of fear,
+         The shaft of doubt came quivering,
+         The sorrow-shaft--a sigh its wing,
+       And for its barb a tear.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Ah me!" she cried, "too true it is!
+       A simple homely thing, like Eve,
+     Hath not a chance to rival this,
+       But must resign herself to grieve
+         O'er by-gone bliss.
+
+     "Till now it was enough for me
+       To be what God our Father made;
+     Oh, Adam, I was proud to be
+       (As I have felt, and thou hast said)
+         A part of thee.
+
+       "No marvel that my lord can spare
+         His true and heaven-appointed bride.
+         And yet affection might have tried
+       To fancy me as fair."
+
+     XVI
+
+     The Tempter, glorying in his wile,
+       Hath ta'en his mirror and withdrawn;
+     Again the flowers look up and smile,
+       And brightens off from air and lawn
+         The taint of guile.
+
+     But smiles come not again to Eve,
+       Nor brightens off her dark reflection:
+     Her garland-crown she hath ceased to weave,
+       And, plucking, maketh no selection;
+         Only to grieve.
+
+       She feels a dewy radiance steep
+         The languid petals of her eyes,
+         And hath another sad surprise,
+       To know the way to weep,
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+     The tears were still in woman's eyes,
+     When morn awoke on Paradise;
+     And still her sense of shame forbade
+     To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
+     Nor knew she which was dearer cost,
+     To seek him, or to shun him most
+     Then Adam, willing to believe
+       A heart by casual fancy moved
+       Would soon come back, at voice she loved,
+     Addressed his song to Eve.
+
+     I
+
+     "Come fairest, while the morn is fair,
+       And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
+     Calm down this tide of troubled hair,
+       Forget with me all other sighs
+         Than summer air.
+
+     "Like me, the woodland shadows roam
+       At light (their fairer comrade's) side;
+     And peace and joy salute our home;
+       And lo, the sun in all his pride--
+         My sunshine, come!
+
+       "The fawns and birds, that know our call,
+         Are waiting for our presence--see,
+         They wait my presence, love; and thee,
+       The most desired of all.
+
+     II
+
+     "The trees, which thought it grievous thing
+       To weep their own sweet leaves away,
+     Untaught as yet how soon the Spring
+       Upon their nestled heads should lay
+         Her callow wing--
+
+     "The trees, whereat we smiled again,
+       To see them, in their growing wonder,
+     Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
+       Until the gay winds rustled under
+         Their feathered train,
+
+       "Lo, now they stand in braver mien,
+         And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
+         Make prisoner of the intrusive light,
+       And strew the winds with green.
+
+     III
+
+     "Of all the flowers that bow the head,
+       Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
+     Not one there is, declines to sned,
+       Or standeth up, to qualify
+         His incense-meed:
+
+     "Of all that blossom one by one,
+       Or join their lips in loving cluster,
+     Not one hath now resolved alone,
+       Or taken counsel, that his lustre
+         Shall be unshown.
+
+       "So let thy soul a blossom be,
+         To breathe the fragrance of its praise,
+         And lift itself, in early days,
+       To Him who fosters thee.
+
+     IV
+
+     "Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
+       Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees,
+     Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
+       It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
+         And jewelled flight:
+
+     "Of all that hush among the moss,
+       Or babble to the lily-vases,
+     Not one there is but purls across
+       A gush of the delight, that causes
+         It's limpid gloss.
+
+       "So let thy heart a fountain be,
+         To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
+         In dimpled melody--and all
+       For love of home, and me."
+
+     V
+
+     The only fount her heart became
+       Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
+     While pink upon her white cheek came,
+       (Like apple-blossom among pear's)
+         The tinge of shame.
+
+     Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
+       Bent nigh to ask of her distresses,
+     Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
+       Unwinding by discreet caresses,
+         The thread of harm.
+
+       Then she, with sobs of slow relief
+         (For silence is the jail of care)
+         Confessed, for him to heal or share,
+       The first of human grief.
+
+     VI
+
+     "I cannot look on thee, and think
+       That thou has ceased to hold me dear;
+     I cannot break the loosened link:
+       When thou, my only one, art near,
+         How can I shrink?
+
+     "So it were better, love--I mean,
+       My lord, it is more wise and right--
+     That I, as one whose day hath been,
+       Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight,
+         And dwell unseen.
+
+       "And--though it break my heart to say--
+         However sad my loneliness,
+         I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this--
+       To have me far away.
+
+     VII
+
+     "I know not how it is with man,
+       Perhaps his nature is to change,
+     On finding consort fairer than--
+       But oh, I cannot so arrange
+         My nature's plan!
+
+     "And haply thou hast never thought
+       To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
+     But, since to thee the thing was nought,
+       Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
+         As lightly brought.
+
+       "Yet, is it strange that I repine,
+         And feel abased in lonely woe,
+         To lose thy love--or e'en to know
+       That half of it is mine?
+
+     VIII
+
+     "For whom have I on earth but thee,
+       What heart to love, or home to bless?
+     Albeit I was wrong, I see,
+       To think my husband took no less
+         Delight in me.
+
+     "But even now, if thou wilt stay,
+       Or try at least no more to wander,
+     And let me love thee, day by day,
+       Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
+       (If so it may)--
+
+       "Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
+         In homely wise, on serving thee,
+         Than any stranger e'er can be;
+       And Eve shall seem content."
+
+     IX
+
+     Not loud she wept--but hope could hear;
+       Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
+     Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
+       That each alternate step should trace
+         A smile and tear.
+
+     But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
+       Regarded her with troubled glances,
+     Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
+       Himself to be in strange romances,
+       And dreamy haze:
+
+       Then questioning in hurried voice,
+         And scarcely waiting her replies,
+         He spoke, and showed the true surprise
+       That made her soul rejoice.
+
+     X
+
+     She told him what the Tempter said,
+       And what her frightened self had seen,
+     (That form in loveliness arrayed,
+       With modest face, and graceful mien)
+         And how displayed.
+
+     Then well-content to show his bride
+       The worldly knowledge he possessed,
+     (That world whereof was none beside)
+       He laid his hand upon his breast,
+         And thus replied:--
+
+       "Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
+         "A little way down yonder path,
+         "And I will show the form which hath
+       "Enchanted thee, and me."
+
+     XI
+
+     Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
+       Which hurries down the pebbled way,
+     As one who hath small time to spare,
+       So far to go, so much to say
+     To summer air;
+
+     Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
+       O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
+     And little circles dimple in,
+       As if the waters quaffed themselves,
+         The while they spin:
+
+       Thence in a clear pool, overbent
+         With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
+         Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
+       Kadisha sleeps content.
+
+     XII
+
+     Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
+       The first of men was smiling gay;
+     Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
+       The mystery of that passion-sway
+         She could not quell.
+
+     As they approached the silver strand,
+       He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
+     And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
+       Therein he set the blossom featly,
+         And took her hand:
+
+       He led her past the maiden-hair,
+         Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
+         Until the margin held her feet,
+       Like water-lilies fain
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
+       The only one with whom I stray,
+     The only image still I have,
+       Too often, even while I pray
+         To Him who gave.
+
+     The form she saw was long unknown,
+       Except as that beheld yestreen;
+     Till viewing, not that form alone,
+       But his, with hands enclasped between,
+         She guessed her own.
+
+[Illustration: 088..]
+
+       And, bending o'er in sweet surprise,
+         Perused, with simple child's delight,
+         The flowing hair, and forehead white,
+       And soft inquiring eyes.
+
+     XIV
+
+     Then, blushing to a fairer tint
+       Than waves might ever hope to catch,
+     "I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
+       But surely I can never match
+         This lily glint!
+
+     "So pure, so innocent, and bright,
+       So charming free, without endeavour,
+     So fancy-touched with pensive light I
+       I think that I could gaze for ever,
+         With new delight
+
+       "And now that rose-bud in my hair,
+         Perhaps it should be placed above--
+         And yet, I will not change it, love,
+       Since mou hast set it there.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve?
+       What matter Tor thy form or face?
+     Thy beauty is, if love believe
+       Thee worthy of that treasured place
+         Thou ne'er shalt leave.
+
+     "Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
+       Take back my faith that dared to wander;
+     Forgive my joy to have thee shown
+       Not transient, as thine image yonder,
+         But all my own.
+
+       "And, love, if this be vain of me,
+         This pleasure, and the pride I take;
+         Tis only for thy dearer sake,
+       To be so fair to thee."
+
+     XVI
+
+     No more she said; but smiling fell,
+       And lost her sorrow on his breast;
+     Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell,
+       Like troubled waters laid at rest
+         In comfort's well:
+
+     Tis nothing more, an' if she weep,
+       Than joy she cannot else reveal;
+     As onyx-gems of Pison keep
+       A tear-vein, where the sun may steal
+         Throughout their deep.
+
+       May every Adam's fairer part
+         Thus, only thus, a rival find--
+         The image of herself, enshrined
+       Within the faithful heart!
+
+[Illustration: 092.]
+
+[Illustration: 095.]
+
+
+
+
+MOUNT ARAFA
+
+IN TWO PARTS
+
+"Mount Arafa, situated about a mile from Mecca, is held in great
+veneration by the Mussulmans, as a place very proper for penitence. Its
+fitness in this respect is accounted for by a tradition that Adam and
+Eve, on being banished out of Paradise, in order to do penance for their
+transgression were parted from each other, and after a separation of
+six score years, met again upon this mountain." Ockley's "_History of
+the Saracens_," p. 60
+
+
+
+THE  PARTING
+
+     I
+
+     Driven away from Eden's gate
+       With   biasing   falchions fenced about,
+     Into a desert desolate,
+       A miserable pair came out,
+         To meet their fate.
+
+     To wander in a world of woe,
+       To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
+     With every living thing their foe--
+       The fire of God above, the river
+         Of death below.
+
+       Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
+         It is the destiny of man
+         To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
+       And hide from his own theft!
+
+     II
+
+     The father of a world unborn--
+       Who hath begotten death, ere life--
+     In sullen silence plods forlorn;
+       His love and pride in his fair wife
+         Are rage and scorn.
+
+     Instead of Angel ministers,
+       What hath he now but fiends devouring;
+     Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
+       In lieu of manna, crab and souring--
+         By whose fault?   Hers!
+
+       Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
+         New penance waits thee; since--when thus
+         Thou shouldst have wept for all of us--
+       Thou mournest thine own ease I
+
+     III
+
+     The mother of all loving wives
+       (Condemned unborn to many a tear)
+     Is fain to take his hand, and strives
+       In sorrow to be doubly dear--
+         But shame deprives.
+
+[Illustration: 098.]
+
+     The shame, the woe, the black surprise,
+       That love's first dream should have such ending,
+     To weep, and wipe neglected eyes I
+       Oh loss of true love, far transcending
+         Lost Paradise!
+
+       For is it faith, that cannot live
+         One gloomy hour, and soar above
+         The clouds of fate?   And is it love,
+       That will not e'en forgive?
+
+     IV
+
+     The houseless monarch of the earth
+       Hath quickly found what empire means;
+     For while he scoffs with bitter mirth,
+       And curses, after Eden's scenes,
+         This dreary dearth.
+
+     A snake, that twined in playful zeal,
+       But yester morn, around his ankle,
+     Now driven along the dust to steal,
+       Steals up, and leaves its venom'd rankle
+         Deep in his heel.
+
+       He groans awhile.    He seeks anon
+         For comfort to this first of pain,
+         Where all his sons to-day are fain;
+       He seeks--but Eve is gone!
+
+
+PART I--ADAM
+
+     _O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
+     A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
+     Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
+     He pours the sorrow no one hears;
+     Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
+     Some ease of heart in toil of mind._
+
+     I
+
+     "YE mountains, that forbid the day,
+       Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
+     How long amid you must I stray,
+       Deserted, banished from God's sight,
+         And castaway?
+
+     "Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
+       Ye beasts, to my good-will committed--
+     Although your trust hath been betrayed--
+       Not long ago ye would have pitied
+         Your old comrade.
+
+       "Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
+         Albeit I love your outward part;
+         The nature that enthrals my heart
+       Must be more like my own.
+
+     II
+
+     "The Maker once appointed me--
+       I know not, and I care not why--
+     The lord of everything I see,
+       Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
+         Whate'er they be.
+
+     "And all the earth whereon they dwell,
+       And all the heavens they are inhaling,
+     And powers, whereof I cannot tell--
+       Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
+         Until I fell.
+
+       "Twas good and glorious to believe;
+         But now mv majesty is o'er;
+         And I would give it all, and more,
+       For one sweet glimpse of Eve.
+
+     III
+
+     "For what is glory, what is power?
+       And what the pride of standing first?
+     A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
+       A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
+         A sun-scorched flower.
+
+     "God grant the men who spring from me,
+       As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
+     To find a loftier pedigree
+       Than any by the Lord intended--
+         Frog, slug, or tree!
+
+       "So shall they live, without the grief
+         Of having womankind to love,
+         Find nought below, and less above,
+       And be their own belief.
+
+     IV
+
+     "So weak was I, so poorly taught,
+       By any but my Maker's voice,
+     Too happy to indulge in thought,
+       Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
+         And ends in nought.
+
+     "But now and then, my path grows clear,
+       My mind casts off its grim confusion,
+     When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
+       Then happiness seems no delusion,
+         Even down here.
+
+       "With love and faith, to bless the curse,
+         To heal the mind by touch of heart,
+         To make me feel my better part,
+       And fight against the worse.
+
+     V
+
+     "It may be that I did o'erprize,
+       Above the Giver, that rare gift,
+     Ungird my will for softer ties,
+       And hold my manhood little thrift
+         To woman's eyes.
+
+     "So far she was, so full of grace,
+       So innocent with coy caresses,
+     So proud to step at my own pace,
+       So rosy through her golden tresses;
+         And such a face!
+
+       "Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
+         A thought against my faithful Eve;
+         Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
+       That it was one, to love.
+
+     VI
+
+     "Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
+       Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
+     Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
+       Or better made by Him, who made
+         That pair in vain.
+
+     "Shall any know, as we have known,
+       Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
+     Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
+       Crowning of reason, and upsetting
+         Of reason's throne?
+
+       "Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
+         Or crimson sting from creamy rose--
+         Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
+       Thy venom from our fall."
+
+     _Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
+     Had made a drought of vocal flow;
+     When hungry, weary, desolate,
+     A fox crept home to his defis gate.
+     The sight brought Adam's memory back,
+     And touched him with a keener lack._
+
+     VII
+
+     "Home! Where is home? Of old I thought
+       (Or felt in mystery of bliss)
+     That so divinely was I wrought
+       As not to care for that or this,
+         And value nought;
+
+     "But sit or saunter, rest or roam,
+       Regarding all things most sublimely,
+     As if enthroned on heaven's dome;
+       Away with paltry and untimely
+         Hankerings for _Home!_
+
+       "But now the weary heart is fain
+         For shelter in some lowly nest--
+         To sink upon a softer breast,
+       And smile away its pain,
+
+     VIII
+
+     "For me, what home, what hope is left?
+       What difference of good or ill?
+     Of all I ever loved bereft,
+       Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,
+         For one small theft!
+
+     "I sicken of my skill and pride;
+       I work, without a bit of caring.
+     The world is waste, the world is wide;
+       Why make good things, with no one sharing
+         Them at my side?
+
+       "What matters how I dwell, or die?
+         Away with such a niggard life!
+         The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;
+       And life is only I.
+
+     IX
+
+     "God, who hast said it is not good
+       For man, thy son, to live alone;
+     Is everlasting solitude,
+       When once united bliss was known,
+         A livelier food?
+
+     "Can'st thou suppose it right or just,
+       When thine own creature so misled us,
+     In virtue of our simple trust,
+       To torture us like this, and tread us
+         Back into dust?
+
+       "Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!
+         If, when immortal, I was slain,
+         For daring to impugn his reign,
+       How shall I, thus infirm?
+
+     X
+
+     "Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,
+       For all the penance on me laid!
+     Forgive me, Lord, if I forget
+       That I am but what Thou hast made,
+         My soul Thy debt!
+
+     "Inspire me to survey the skies,
+       And tremble at their golden wonder;
+     To learn the space that _I_ comprise,
+       At once to marvel, and to ponder,
+     And drop mine eyes.
+
+       "And grant me?--for I do but find,
+         In seeking more than God hath shown,
+         I scorn His power and lose my own--
+       Grant me a lowly mind.
+
+     XI
+
+     "A lowly mind!  Thou wondrous sprite,
+       Whose frolics make their master weep;
+     Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,
+       Anon, too impotent to creep,
+         Or blink aright;--
+
+     "Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play
+       Among the miracles above thee,
+     Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,
+       To labour, so that He shall love thee,
+         And guide thy way.
+
+       "Be led, from out the cloudy dreams
+         Of thy too visionary part,
+         To listen to the whispering heart,
+       And curb thine own extremes.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give
+       To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,
+     And flowers of grace and love revive,
+       And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,
+         And corn snail thrive.
+
+     "Beholding gladness, Eve and I,
+       Enfolding it also in each other,
+     May talk of heaven without a sigh;
+       Because our heaven in one another
+         Love shall supply.
+
+       "For courage, faith, and bended knees,
+         By stress of patience, cure distress,
+       And turn wild _Love-in-idleness_
+       Into the true _Heartsease_."
+
+     _The Lord breathed on the first of men,
+     And strung his limbs to strength again;
+     He scorned a century of ill,
+     And girt his loins to climb the parting hill._
+
+
+PART II--EVE
+
+     _Meanwhile through lowland, holt, and glade,
+     Sad Eve her lonely travel made;
+     Not fierce, or proud, but well content
+     To own the righteous punishment;
+     Yet found, as gentle mourners find,
+     The hearts confession soothe the mind._
+
+     I
+
+     "Ye valleys, and ye waters vast,
+       Who answer all that look on you
+     With shadows of themselves, that last
+       As long as they, and are as true--
+         Where hath he past?
+
+     "Oh woods, and heights of rugged stone,
+       Oh weariness of sky above me,
+     For ever must I pine and moan,
+       With none to comfort, none to love me,
+         Alone, alone?
+
+       "Thou bird, that hoverest at heaven's gate,
+         Or cleavest limpid lines of air,
+         Return--for thou hast one to care--
+       Return to thy dear mate.
+
+     II
+
+     "For trie, no joy of earth or sky,
+       No commune with the things I see,
+     But dreary converse of the eye
+       With worlds too grand to look at me--
+         No smile, no sigh!
+
+     "In vain I fall Upon my knees,
+       In vain I weep and sob for ever;
+     All other miseries have ease,
+       All other prayers have ruth--but never
+         Any for these.
+
+       "Are we endowed with heavenly breath,
+         And God's own form, that we should win
+         A proud priority of sin,
+       And teach creation death?
+
+     III
+
+     "Not, that is too profound for me,
+       Too lofty for a fallen thing.
+     More keenly do I feel than see;
+       Far liefer would I, than take wing,
+         Beneath it be.
+
+     "The night--the dark--will soon be here,
+       The gloom that doth my heart appal so I
+     How can I tell what may be near?
+       My faith is in the Lord--but also
+         He hath made fear.
+
+       "I quail, I cower, I strive to flee;
+         Though oft I watched without affright,
+         The stern magnificence of night,
+       When Adam was with me
+
+     IV
+
+     "My husband! Ah, I thought sometime
+       That I could do without him well,
+     Communing with the heaven at prime,
+       And in my womanhood could dwell
+         Calm and sublime.
+
+     "Declining, with a playful strife,
+       All thoughts below my own transcendence,
+     All common-sense of earth and life,
+       And counting it a poor dependence
+         To be his wife,
+
+       "But now I know, by trouble's test,
+         How little my poor strength can bear,
+         What folly wisdom is, whene'er
+       The grief is in the breast!
+
+     "The grief is in my breast, because
+       I have not always been as kind
+     As woman should, by nature's laws,
+       But showed sometimes a wilful mind,
+         Carping at straws.
+
+     "While he, perhaps, with larger eyne,
+       Was pleased, instead of vexed, at seeing
+     Some little petulance in mine,
+       And loved me all the more, for being;
+         Not too divine.
+
+       "Until the pride became a snare,
+         The reason a deceit, wherein
+         I dallied face to face with sinh
+       And made a mortal pair.
+
+     VI
+
+     "Dark sin, the deadly foe of love,
+       All bowers of bliss thou shalt infest,
+     Implanting thorns the flowers above,
+       And one black feather in the breast
+         Of purest dove.
+
+     "Almighty Father, once our friend,
+       And ready even now to love us.
+     Thy pitying gaze upon us bend,
+       And through the tempest-clouds above us
+         Thine arm extend.
+
+       "That so thy children may begin
+         In lieu of bliss, to earn content,
+         And find that sinful Eve was meant
+       Not only for a sin."
+
+     _Awhile she ceased; for memory's flow
+     Had drowned the utterance of woe;
+     Until a young hind crossed the lawn,
+     And fondly trotted forth her fawn,
+     Whose frolics of delight made Eve,
+     As in a weeping vision, grieve._
+
+     VII
+
+     "For me, poor me, no hope to learn
+       That sweeter bliss than Paradise,
+     The joy that makes a mother yearn
+       O'er that bright message from the skies
+         Her pains do earn.
+
+     She stoops entranced; she fears to stir,
+       Or think; lest each a thought endanger
+     (While two enraptured hearts confer)
+       That wonderful and wondering stranger,
+     Come home to her,
+
+       "He watches her, in solemn style;
+         A world of love flows to and fro;
+         He smiles; that he may learn to know
+       His mother by her smile.
+
+     VIII
+
+     "Oh, bliss, that to all other bliss
+       Shall be as sunrise unto night,
+     Or heaven to such a place as this,
+       Or God's own voice, with angels bright,
+         To serpent's hiss!
+
+     "I have I betrayed thee, or cast by
+       The pledge in which my soul delighted--
+     That all this wrong and misery
+       Should be avenged at last, and righted,
+         And so should I?
+
+       "Belike, they look on me as dead,
+         Those fiends that found me soft and sweet;
+         But God hath promised me one treat--
+       To crush that serpent's head!
+
+     IX
+
+     "Revenge! Oh, heaven, let some one rise,
+       Some woman, since revenge is small,--
+     Who shall not care about its size,
+       If only she can get it all,
+         For those black lies!
+
+     "Poor Adam is too good and great,
+       I felt it, though he said so little--
+     To hate his foes, as I can hate--
+       And pay them every jot, and tittle,
+         At their own rate.
+
+       "For was there none but I to blame?
+         God knows that if, instead of me,
+         There had been any other she,
+       She would have done the same,
+
+     X
+
+     "Poor me! Of course the whole disgrace,
+       In spite of reason, falls on me:
+     And so all women of my race,
+       In pure right, shall be reason-free,
+         In every case.
+
+     "It shall not be in power of man
+       To bind them to their own contentions;
+     But each shall speak, as speak she can,
+       And start anew with fresh inventions,
+         Where she began.
+
+       "And so shall they be dearer still;
+         For man shall ne'er suspect in them
+         The plucking of the fatal stem,
+       That brought him all his ill.
+
+     XI
+
+     "And when hereafter--as there must,
+       Since He, that made us, so hath sworn--
+     From that whereof we are, the dust,
+       And whereunto we shall return
+         In higher trust--
+
+     "There spring a grand and countless race,
+       Replenishing this vast possession,
+     Till life, hath won a larger space
+       Than death, by quick and fair succession
+         Of health and grace;
+
+       "They too shall find as I have found
+         The grief, that lifts its head on high,
+         A dewy bud the sun shall dry--
+       But not while on the ground.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Then men shall love their wives again,
+       Allowing for the frailer kind,
+     Content to keep the heart's Amen,
+       Content to own the turns of mind
+         Beyond their ken.
+
+     "And wives shall in their lords be blest,
+       Their higher sense of right perceiving
+     (When possible) with love their test;
+       Exalting, solacing, believing
+         All for the test.
+
+       "And for the best shall all things be,
+         If God once more will shine around,
+         And lift my husband from the ground,
+       And teach him to lift me."
+
+     _New faith inspired the first of wives,
+     She smiles, and drooping hope revives;
+     She scorns a hundred years of woe%
+     And binds her hair, because the breezes blow._
+
+
+THE MEETING
+
+     I
+
+     The wind is hushed, the moon is bright,
+       More stars on heaven than may be told;
+     Young flowers are coying with the light,
+       That softly tempts them to unfold,
+         And trust the night.
+
+     What form comes bounding from above
+       Down Arafa, the mountain lonely,
+     Afraid to scare its long-lost dove,
+       Yet swift as joy--"It can be only,
+         Only my love!"
+
+       What shape is that--too fair to leave
+         On Arafa, the mountain lone?
+         So trembling, and so faint--"My own,
+       It must be my own Eve!"
+
+     II
+
+     As when the mantled heavens display
+       The glory of the morning glow,
+     And spread the mountain heights with day,
+       And bid the clouds and shadows go
+         Trooping away,
+
+     The Spirit of the Lord arose,
+       And made the earth and heaven to quiver,
+     And scattered all his hellish foes,
+       And deigned his good stock to deliver
+         From all their woes.
+
+[Illustration: 118.]
+
+[Illustration: 120.]
+
+       So long the twain had strayed apart,
+         That each as at a marvel gazed,
+         With eyes abashed, and brain amazed;
+       While heart enquired of heart.
+
+     III
+
+     Our God hath made a fairer thing
+       Than fairest dawn of summer day--
+     A gentle, timid, fluttering,
+       Confessing glance, that seeks alway
+         Rest for its wing.
+
+     A sweeter sight than azure skies,
+       Or golden star thereon that glideth;
+     And blest are they who see it rise,
+       For, if it cometh, it abideth
+         In woman's eyes.
+
+       The first of men such blessing sued;
+         The first of women smiled consent;
+         For husband, wife and home it meant,
+       And no more solitude!
+
+     IV
+
+     We trample now the faith of old,
+       We make our Gods of dream and doubt;
+     Yet life is but a tale untold,
+       Without one heart to love, without
+         One hand to hold--
+
+     The fairer half of humankind,
+       More gentle, playful, and confiding:
+     Whose soul is not the slave of mind,
+       Whose spirit hath a nobler guiding
+         Than we can find.
+
+       So Eve restores the sweeter part
+         Of what herself unwitting stole,
+         And makes the wounded Adam whole;
+       For half the mind is heart.
+
+[Illustration: 125.]
+
+
+
+
+THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN
+
+The old well of Saint John, in the parish of Newton-Nottage,
+Glamorganshire, has a tide of its own, which appears to run exactly
+counter to that of the sea, some half-mile away. The water is
+beautifully bright and fresh, and the quaint dome among the lonely
+sands is regarded with some awe and reverence.
+
+     _He_
+
+     "THERE is plenty of room for two in here,
+       Within the steep tunnel of old grey stone;
+     And the well is so dark, and the spring so clear,
+       It is quite unsafe to go down alone."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "It is perfectly safe, depend upon it,
+       For a girl who can count the steps, like me;
+     And if ever I saw dear mother's bonnet,
+       It is there on the hill by the old ash-tree."
+
+     _He_
+
+     "There is nobody but Rees Hopkin's cow
+       Watching, the dusk on the milk-white sea;
+     'Tis the time and the place for a life-long? vow,
+       Such as I owe you, and you owe me."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "Oh, Willie, how can I, in this dark well?
+       I shall drop the brown pitcher if you let go;
+     The long? roof is murmuring like a sea-shell,
+       And the shadows are shuddering to and fro."
+
+     _He_
+
+     "Tis the sound of the ebb, in Newton Bay,
+       Quickens the spring, as the tide grows less;
+     Even as true love flows alway
+       Counter the flood of the world's success."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "There is no other way for love to flow,
+       Whenever it springs in a woman's breast;
+     With the tide of its own heart it must go,
+       And run contrary to all the rest."
+
+     _He_
+
+     "Then fill the sweet cup of your hand, my love,
+       And pledge me your maiden faith thereon,
+     By the touch of the letter'd stone above,
+       And the holy water of Saint John."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "Oh, what shall I say?   My heart sinks low;
+       My fingers are cold, and my hand too flat,
+     Is love to be measured by handfuls so;
+       And you know that I love you--without that."
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     They stooped, in the gleam of the faint light, over
+       The print of themselves on the limpid gloom;
+     And she lifted her full palm toward her lover,
+       With her lips preparing the words of doom.
+
+     But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell,
+       And the pledge of her faith sprang sweet and clear,
+     From a holier source than the old Saint's well,
+       From the depth of a woman's love--a tear.
+
+[Illustration: 128.]
+
+
+
+
+PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER
+
+A STORY IN THREE SCENES
+
+(_Plin. Nat. Hist., xxxv. ii_)
+
+Scene I:--_Outside the gate of Sicyon--Morning. Glycera
+weaving garlands, Pausias stands admiring._
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "YE Gods, I thought myself the Prince of Art,
+     By Phoebus, and the Muses set apart,
+     To smite the critic with his own complaint,
+     And teach the world the proper way to paint.
+     But lo, a young maid trips out of a wood,
+     And what becomes of all I understood?
+
+[Illustration: 132.]
+
+     I stand and stare; I could not draw a line,
+     If ninety Muses came, instead of nine.
+     Thy name, fair maiden, is a debt to me;
+     Teach him to speak, whom thou hast taught to see.
+     Myself already some repute have won,
+     For I am Pausias, Brietes' son.
+     To boast behoves me not, nor do I need,
+     But often wish my friends to win the meed.
+     So shall they now; no more will I pursue
+       The beaten track, but try what thou hast shown,
+       New forms, new curves, new harmonies of tone,
+     New dreams of heaven, and how to make them true."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Fair Sir, 'tis only what I plucked this morn,
+     Kind nature's gift, ere you and I were born.
+     Through mossy woods, and watered vales, I roam,
+     While day is young, and bring my treasure home;
+     Each lovely bell so tenderly I bear,
+     It knoweth not my fingers from the air,
+     Lo now, they scarce acknowledge their surprise,
+     And how the dewdrops sparkle in their eyes!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Because the sun shines out of thine.   But hush,
+     To praise a face praiseworthy, makes it blush.
+     I am not of the youths who find delight,
+     In every pretty thing that meets their sight
+     My father is the sage of Sicyon;
+     And I--well, he is proud of such a son."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "And proud am I, my mother's child to be,
+     And earn for her the life she gave to me,
+     Her name is Myrto of the silver hair,
+     Not famed for wisdom, but loved everywhere."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Then whence thine art?  Hath Phoebus given thee boon
+     Of wreath and posy, fillet and festoon?
+     Of tint and grouping, balance, depth, and tone--
+     Lo, I could cast my palette down, and groan!"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "No art, fair sir, hath ever crossed my thought,
+     The lesson I delight in comes untaught.
+     The flowers around me take their own sweet way,
+     They tell me what they wish--and I obey.
+     Unlike poor us, they feel no spleen or spite
+     But earn their joy, oy ministering delight.
+     So loved and cherished, each may well suppose
+     Itself at home again just where it grows.
+     No dread have they of what the Fates may bring,
+     But trust their Gods, and breathe perpetual Spring."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Fair child of Myrto, simple-hearted maid,
+     Thy innocence doth arrogance upbraid.
+     Ye Gods, I pray you make a flower of me;
+     That I may dwell with nature, and with thee."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I see the brave sun leap the city wall!
+     The gates swing wide; I hear the herald's call.
+     The Archon ham proclaimed the market-day;
+     And mother will shed tears at my delay.
+     The priest of Zeus hath ordered garlands three;
+     And while I tarry, who will wait for me?"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "No picture have I sold for many a moon,
+     But fortune must improve her habits soon;
+     Then will I purchase all thy stock-in-trade,
+       And thou shalt lead me to thy bower of green,
+       There will I paint the flowers, and thee their Queen--
+     The Queen of dowers, that nevermore shall fade."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I know a wood-nymph, who her dwelling hath
+     Among the leaves, and far beyond the path,
+     With myrtle and with jasmin roofed across,
+     Enlaced with vine, and carpeted with moss,
+     Whose only threshold is a plaited brook,
+     Whereby the primrose at herself may look;
+     While birds of song melodious make the air--
+     But oh! I must not take a stranger there."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Nay, but a friend   No stranger now am I.
+     Good art is pledge of perfect modesty.
+     From chastened heights the painter glanceth down;
+     No maid can fear a youth who loves renown."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Thy words are trim, If mother deems them true,
+     Thou shalt come with me.  But till then, adieu!"  [Exit.
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "O! where am I?   The mind is all for art--
+     But one warm breath transforms it into heart."
+
+
+Scene II:--_A wood near Sicyon.   Pausias with his
+easel, &c.   Glycera carrying flowers._
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Confounded tangle!   Who could paint all this?
+     A bear might hug him, or a serpent hiss!
+     For love of nature justly am I famed;
+     But when she goes so far as this, she ought to be ashamed."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Nay, be not frightened by a small affray,
+     Pure love of nature cannot pave its way.
+     But lo, where yonder coney-tracks begin,
+     My nymph hath made her favourite bower within.
+     Yon oak hath reared its rugged antlers thus,
+     Before Deucalion lived, or Daedalus.
+     Inside her woodland Majesty doth keep
+     A world of wonders--if one dared to peep--
+     Of things that burrow, elide, spin webs, or creep;
+     Strange creatures, which before they live must die,
+     And plants that hunt for prey, and flowers that fly!"
+
+[Illustration: 140.]
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "My love of nature freezes in a trice;
+     I loathe all earwigs, beetles, and wood-lice.
+     Outside her bower the lady must remain,
+     If she doth wish to have her portrait taen."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Tis not the lady thou must paint--but me."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Aha, that will I, with a glow of glee.
+     But when I offered, somebody was vexed,
+     And blushed, and frowned, and longed to say,
+     'Whatnext?'"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "A painter's tongue hath learnt to paint, I trow.
+     But oh that order--I remember now--
+     For twenty chaplets, from the priest of Zeus!
+     Ah, what a grand majestic Hiereus!"
+     So pleased he was that morning with those three,
+     And such a customer he means to be!
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "The priest of _Dis!_a scoundrel with three wives!
+     I'll pull his triple beard, if he arrives."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "High words and threats profane this hallowed place,
+     Where Time rebukes the fuss of human race.
+     And gentle sir, what harm hath he done thee?
+     It is my mother whom he comes to see.
+     Lo, how the Gods our puny wrath deride,
+     With peace and beauty spread on every side!
+     This earth with pleasure of the Spring complete,
+     Too bright to dwell on, were it not so sweet.
+     No theft of man it's affluence impairs,
+     A thousand flowers, without a loss, it spares;
+     Whose bashful elegance no brush can trace,
+     Heartfelt delight, and plenitude of grace;
+     No palettes match their brilliance, although
+     Pandora filled her box from Iris' bow."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Her want of faith sweet Glycera will rue,
+     When she hath seen what _Pausias_ can do."
+
+     $Glycera$
+     "Forgive me, sir;  In truth it was no taunt.
+     A great man can do anything--but vaunt."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "E'en that he can do, if he sees the need.
+     But out on words, when time hath come for deed!
+     Up leaps the sun, to paint thee with his plume,
+     And every blossom seems to be thy bloom."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Why stand we here, so early of the morn,
+     In love with things that treat our love with scorn--
+     Grey crags, where Time with folded pinion broods,
+     Ana ever young antiquity of woods;
+     The brooks that babble, and the flowers that blush,
+     Ere woman was a reed, or man a rush?
+     And he for ever, as the Gods ordain,
+     Would fain revive with art what he hath slain;
+     Shall nature fail to laugh, while man doth yearn
+     To teach the canvas what he ne'er can learn?"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Sweet Muse, while thus through heaven's too distant vault,
+     Thy great mind roves--how shall we earn our salt?
+     Though art is not encouraged as of old,
+       She is worth a score of nature; I design
+       To manufacture, from these flowers of thine,
+     A silver * talent--or perhaps of gold!"
+
+     * Lucullus is said to have given two talents for
+     a mere copy of this picture.
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Good heavens, how precious is your Worship's time!
+     Some minds are lowly, others too sublime.
+     Before thee all my simple flowers I spread;
+     Long may they live, when Glycera is dead!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "The Gods forefend!
+     Fair omen from fair maid--
+     Bright tongue, recall the dark thing thou hast said!"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Then long live they, with Glycera to aid!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "And Pausias crowned by Critics, to non-plus
+     Euphranor, Cydias, and Antidotus.
+     But what are they?   Below my feet they lie;
+     Poor sons of pelf.    The son of art am I.
+     Now rest thee, maiden, on this pillowy bed,
+     With fragrance canopied, with beauty spread;
+     Above thee hovers eglantine's caress,
+     Around thee glows entangled loveliness;
+     Shy primrose smiles, thy gentle smile to woo,
+     And violets take thy glances for the dew."
+
+     &Glycera&
+
+     "Then will they pluck themselves, to see me laugh;
+     Good flowers bring cash; but who will pay for chaff?
+     But haply thus the true poet intervenes,
+     To make us wonder what on earth he means."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "A poet! We do things in a superior way;
+     A painter is a poet, who makes it pay.
+     A poet, though deep and mystic as the Sphinx,
+     Will ne'er earn half of what he eats and drinks,
+     He dreams of Gods, but of himself he thinks."
+
+[Illustration: 146.]
+
+
+Scene III.--_A western slope near Sicyon.    Pausias
+has his easel set, Glycera is dressed in white._
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Seven times the moon hath filled her silver horn,
+     And twice a hundred suns awoke the morn,
+     Since thou and I--for half the praise is thine--
+     Began this study of the flowers divine."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Alas! how swiftly have the months gone by!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Not swift alone, but passing sweet for me."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "The world, that was so large, is you and I."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "And shall be larger still, when it is 'We.'"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     (Aside)  "Sweet dual!  Alas, that this shall never be!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "A tear, bright Glycera in those eyes of thine,
+     Those tender eyes, that should with triumph shine!
+     When I, the owner of that precious heart,
+     Am shouting Iö Pæan of high art;
+     The noblest picture underneath the sun--
+     A few more strokes, and victory is won!"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Nay, heed me not.  True pleasure is not dry;
+     The sunrise of the heart bedews the eye."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "If that were all--but lately there hath been
+     A listless air beneath thy livery mien;
+     Thyself art all fair petal, and sweet perfume,
+     And smiles that light the damask of thy bloom;
+     Yet some, pale distance seems to chill the whole."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Forgive me, love, forgive a timorous soul.
+     Through brightest hours untimely vapours rise--
+     But while I prate, the lucky moment flies.
+     The work, the weather, and the world are fair;
+     A few more strokes--and fame flies everywhere."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Who cares for fame, except with love to share?"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "To share! Nay every breath of it is mine,
+     Whene'er it breathes on thee; for I am thine.
+     But pardon now--if I have seemed sometime
+     Impatient, glib, too pert for things sublime,
+     Remember that I meant not so to sink;
+     Forgive your Glycera, when you come to think."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "I'll not forgive my Glycera--until
+     She hath discovered how to do some ill.
+     Now don once more this coronet of bloom,
+     While lilies sweet thy sweeter breast illume."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     (Aside) "Ah me, what brightness wasted upon gloom!
+     (Aloud) Oh fling thy sponge across this wretched face,
+     A patch uncouth amid a world of grace."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Sweet love, thy beauty far outshineth them;
+     The tinsel they are, thou the living gem.
+     Great gift of Gods!  Shall flowers of earth despise
+     Those flowers of heaven--thy tresses, and thine eyes?
+     Away with gloom I let no ill-boding make
+     My heart to falter, or my hand to shake.
+     One hour is all I crave.  If that be long,
+     Sweet lips beguile it with my favourite song."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "A song like mine, a childish lullaby,
+     Will close--when needed wide-awake--thine eye.
+     But since thou so demandest, let me try.
+
+     "In the fresh woods have I been,
+       Sprinkled with the morning dew;
+     And of all that I have seen,
+       Lo, the fairest are for you!
+
+     Take your choice of many a flower,
+       Lily, rose, and melilot,
+     Lilac, myrtle, virgin's bower,
+       Pansy, and forget-me-not.
+
+     Ladies'-tresses, and harebell,
+       Jasmin, daphne, violet,
+     Meadow-sweet, and pimpernel,
+       Maidenhair, and mignonette.
+
+     What is gold, that doth allure
+       Foolish hearts from field and flower?
+     If you plant them in it pure,
+       Will they keep alive an hour?
+
+     What is fame, compared with these,
+       Fame of wisdom, sword, or pen?
+     Who would quit the meadow breeze,
+       For the sultry breath of men?
+
+     These have been my childhood's love,
+       These my maiden visions were;
+     When I meet their gaze above,
+       These will tell me, God is there."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "'Tis done!   No more the palsied doubt molests;
+     The crown of glory on my labour rests.
+     Thy clear voice hath my flagging thoughts supplied,
+     My model thou, my teacher, and my bride!
+     Now stand, beloved one, where the soft glow lies,
+     Yet judge not rashly, ere the colour dries.
+     Find every fault, pick every flaw thou canst;
+     I'll not be vexed; true art is thus advanced.
+     So meek is art, that (when it comprehends)
+     It loves the carping of its dearest friends.
+     If my own bride condemns my efforts--let her.
+     A poor daub? Well let some one do it better."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "My love, my lord, my monarch of high art,
+     Forgive a tongue held fast and bound by heart.
+     Not Orpheus, Linus, or great Hermes could
+     Find words to make their rapture understood.
+     No Muse, no Phoebus, hath this work inspired,
+     But Jove himself, with heaven's own splendour fired.
+     I see the nursing fingers of the day,
+     And night as well, upon their offspring play--
+     The silent glide of moon, that hushed their sleep,
+     (As mother at her infant steals a peep)
+     Anon, with pearly glances half withdrawn,
+     The gentle hesitation of the dawn;
+     I see the sun his golden target raise,
+     And drive in tremulous ranks the woodland haze;
+     Awakened by whose call the flowers arise,
+     With tears of joy and blushes of surprise;
+     From bulb and bush, from leaf and blade, spring up
+     Bell, disk, or star, plume, sceptre, fan, or cup;
+     A thousand forms, a thousand hues of bloom
+     Fill earth and heaven with beauty and perfume.
+     All this, by thine enchantment, liveth here;
+     Oh wondrous power, that chills my pride with fear!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Thy praise, sweet critic, makes thee doubly dear.
+     But what of thy fair self--thy form, thy face,
+     The flower of flowers, the gracefulness of grace?"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I see why thou hast placed me among these;
+     I serve a purpose--'tis to scare the bees.
+     Sweet love hath right to place me anywhere;
+     And yet I mourn, to find myself so fair."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "A maid lament her beauty!  Thou hast shown,
+     A thousand times, a wit beyond mine own;
+     Yet is it kind to such a love as mine,
+     To grudge it refuge in a lovely shrine?"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "No shrine, no throne, of earth or heaven above,
+     Can be too fair a dwelling-place for love.
+     But that which makes me grieve, myself to see,
+     Is memory of the bitter loss to thee;
+     That earthly charms--as men such things esteem--
+     Should tantalize thee, in a weeping dream!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "My own, my only love, what wouldst thou say?
+     My heart hath borne a heavy bode, all day."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I durst not tell thee, till thy work was done;
+     But now I must, before the setting sun.
+     Last night, when life was lapsed in quietude,
+     Beside my couch a stately figure stood--
+     A virgin form, in garb of chace arrayed,
+     With bow and quiver, baldric, and steel blade;
+     Majestic as a palm that scorns the wind,
+     And taller than the daughters of mankind
+     Twas Artemis, close-girt in silver sheen,
+     The Goddess of the woods, the Maiden-queen.
+     Cold terror seized me, and mute awe, the while
+     She oped her proud lips, with an icy smile--
+     'Whose votary art thou?  Shall I resign
+     'To wanton Cypris this sworn nymph of mine?
+     'Have I enfeoffed thee of my holiest glen?
+     'To have thee tainted by the lips of men?
+     'Shall urchin Eros laugh at my decree?
+     'No Hymen torch, no loosened zone for thee I
+     'To-morrow, when my crescent tops yon oak,
+     'Thou shalt return unto thy proper yoke.'
+     She closed her lips, and like the barb of frost,
+       Her fingers on my bounding heart outspread:
+       My breast is ice, mv soul is of the dead:
+       The sod, the cold clay, are my marriage-bed;
+     Sweet sun, sweet flowers, sweet Love, forever lost!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "I'll not endure it; it shall ne'er be true;
+     If that cold tyrant comes--I'll run her through."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "What can'st thou do against the Goddess trine,
+     Selene, Artemis, and Proserpine?
+     Oh love, thou hast before thee life and fame,
+     And some new Glycera with a loftier name.
+     So tender is my heart, that it would break,
+     To think that thou wert suffering for my sake.
+     Be angry with me; doubt my faith--or try;
+     And count it for a crime of mine to die:
+     Or tell thyself--if still a pain there be--
+     That wealth and grandeur were not meant for me.
+     Yet think sometimes, when thou art well consoled,
+     That no one loves thee, like some one of old."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "My life, my soul, my heart of hearts, my all,
+     Together let us cling, till death befall."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "The sun is gone; the crescent waxeth bright;
+     I fly to darkness, or eternal light.
+     Great are the Gods; but greater yet is love;
+     Here thou art mine, and I am thine above."
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Oh fame, and conquest, pomp, and power, and state,
+     What are ye, when the heart is desolate?
+     A few more years of labour, and slow breath--
+     Till death benign hath overtaken death."
+
+[Illustration: 159.]
+
+
+
+
+BUSCOMBE; OR, A MICHAELMAS GOOSE
+
+     When I was Head of Blunders school,
+       Before the age of stokers,
+     Compelled by rank to look a fool
+       Betwixt a pair of "chokers,"
+
+     Tom Tanner's father's wrote, to say
+       That we should both of us come,
+     To spend Saint Michael's holiday
+       At the Vicarage of Buscombe.
+
+     One trifle marred this merry plan--
+       I had contrived, though barr'd up,
+     To typify the future man,
+       By getting very hard up.
+
+     Oh bimetallic champion, some
+       New ratio doth seem proper,
+     When the circulating medium
+       Has fallen to half a copper.
+
+     Vile mammon hence!   Thy low amount
+       Too paltry is to mope for;
+     The more we have in hand to count,
+       The less in heart to hope for.
+
+     Bright youth itself is golden ore,
+       And health the best gold-beater:
+     Without a sigh for two pence more,
+       We passed the gates of Peter.
+
+     A nod suffices surly Cop,
+       Who grins his _bona fides_;
+     As Cerberus preferred his sop
+       To Orpheus and Alcides.
+
+     But Mother Cop!   Her cooking knack
+       Would conquer fifty Catos--
+     The Queen of tarts, and tuck, and tack,
+       And cream, and fried potatoes.
+
+     And rashers!   Sweet Ulysses, say
+       Old Homer was mistaken;
+     The Goddess must have had her way,
+       And turned thee into bacon.
+
+     That Circe came, and wished us joy,
+       And said, "Goodbye, my dearie!"
+     Because I was an honest boy,
+       And _pauper tneo ære_.
+
+     So Tom and I, like men on strike,
+       Shook hands with all our cronies,
+     Walked fifty yards, to save the pike,
+       And jumped upon our ponies.
+
+     Of apples, nuts, and goose galore
+       I chattered, like a stupid,
+     And thought of shooting coneys, more
+       Than being shot by Cupid.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     At racing pace the turnpike road
+       (Great Western, in this quicker age)
+     Was swallowed up with whip and goad,
+       And soon we saw the Vicarage.
+
+     A sweet seclusion, to forget
+       The world and its disasters,
+     And fill the mind with mignonette,
+       Clove-pinks, and German asters;
+
+     In pensive, or in playful mood,
+       To saunter here, and dally
+     With leafy calm of solitude,
+       Or sunshine of the valley.
+
+     The Vicar loved his parish well,
+       And well was he loved by it;
+     Religion did not him compel
+       To harass and defy it
+
+     No price he charged for Heavenly love,
+       No discount on _Resurgo_;
+     His conscience told him--one side-shove
+       Is worth ten kicks _a tergo_.
+
+     But while the path of life he showed
+       To win the Christian guerdon,
+     No post was he, to point the road,
+       But a man to share the burden.
+
+     The lapse of years made manifest
+       The sanctuary of holy age;
+     As clearer grows the ring-dove's nest,
+       When time hath stripp'd the foliage.
+
+     The Vicar's wife was much the same,
+       In fairer form presented--
+     A lively, yet a quiet dame,
+       With home, sweet home, contented.
+
+     In parish, needs; and household arts,
+       A lesson to this glib age;
+     Well versed in pickles, jams, and tarts,
+       Piano, chess, and cribbage.
+
+     And well she loved the flowers, that speak
+       A language undefiled--
+     The flowers that lift the dimpled cheek,
+       Or droop the dewy eyelid.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     Now, if she lingers after us,
+       What ground have we for snarling?
+     What act prohibits private buss,
+       Reserved for "Tommy darling"?
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     But who are these, so fresh and sweet,
+       In lovely hats and dresses,
+     Who half advance, and half retreat,
+       And peep through clouds of tresses?
+
+     "Come, dears!" They shyly offer hand,
+       Beneath the jasmin trellis;
+     "Say who you are, girls"--Charlotte, and
+       Her sister, Caroline Ellis!
+
+     Sweet Charlotte hath a serious face,
+       A gaze almost parental;
+     A type of every maiden grace,
+       But a wee bit sentimental.
+
+     Bright Caroline hath eyes that dance,
+       While buoyant airs engirdle her;
+     Her playful soul may love romance,
+       But not a creepy curdler.
+
+      Sweet Charlotte's are the deep grey eyes
+       That win profound devotion;
+     Bright Carry's flash, like azure skies,
+       With heliograph in motion.
+
+     As merry as the vintage ray,
+       That dances down the grape-rill;
+     As tender as the dews of May,
+       Or apple-buds of April.
+
+     Their charms are safe to grow more bright
+       For at least two lustral stages;
+     And so it seems not unpolite
+       To enquire what their age is.
+
+     "Last May, I was fifteen"; with glee
+       Replies the laughing Carry;
+     Sage Charlotte adds--"And I shall be
+       Seventeen, next February."
+
+     To the dining-room we walk on air,
+       Disdaining jots and tittles;
+     To feed seems such a low affair--
+       And yet, hurrah for victuals!
+
+     Could e'en a boy ply knife and fork,
+       In presence so poetic,
+     Until the vicar draws a cork,
+       And gives the sniff prophetic?
+
+     And when the evening games began,
+       Pope Joan, and Speculation--
+     What head could keep its poise and plan,
+       With the heart in palpitation?
+
+     Until, in soft white-curtained bed,
+       We sink to slumber lowly,
+     And angels fan the childish head,
+       With visions sweet and holy.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     "Now I do declare," exclaimed our host,
+       As he strode back from the arish,
+     "Those railway fellows soon will boast
+       They have undermined my parish!
+
+     "Though none can say I have ever set
+       My face against improvement,
+     I cannot quite perceive as yet
+       The good of this new movement
+
+     "Like Hannibal, these folk confound
+       All nature's institutions,
+     And shun, with a great dive underground,
+       Parochial contributions!
+
+     "Come boys and girls, let us see their craft,
+       These hills of Devon will task it;
+     'Tis a pretty walk to White-Ball shaft,
+       If the boys will take a basket
+
+     "Dear wife; if your poor feet are right,
+       The miracles of this cycle
+     Will give you a noble appetite,
+       For the roast goose of Saint Michael."
+
+     In a twinkle, we had baskets twain
+       Of the right stuff for a journey,
+     And beautiful gooseberry Champagne,
+       Superior to Epernay,
+
+     *    *  *  *  *
+
+     What myriad joys of heart and mind
+       Flit in and out our brief age!
+     That day it was grand to see how kind
+       The sun looked through the leafage!
+
+     While the leaves for their part pricked their lips,
+       With a dewy simper waiting;
+     They were conscious of some amber tips--
+       But those Were his own creating.
+
+     Can the heart of man alone be dull,
+       And the mind of man be spiteful,
+     When all above is beautiful,
+       And all below delightful?
+
+     When Season bright, and Season rich,
+       Make bids against each other;
+     And earth, uncertain which is which,
+       Smiles up at Nature Mother.
+
+     The copse, the lane, the meadow path,
+       The valleys, banks, and hedges,
+     Were green with summer's aftermath,
+       And gold with autumn's pledges.
+
+     Wild rose hung coral beads above,
+       And satchel'd nuts grew nigh them;
+     Like tips of a little maiden's glove,
+       Ere ever she has to buy them.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     But ours are not the maids to bite
+       A gore or gusset undone;
+     How neat they look, how trim and tight!
+       Those frocks were made in London.
+
+     Long time, we glance in awe and doubt,
+       Suppressing all frivolity;
+     Till the spirit of the age breaks out,
+       And all is mirth and jollity.
+
+     One flash, that stole from eyes demure,
+       Hath scattered all convention;
+     And then a pearly laugh makes sure
+       That fun is her intention.
+
+     The smiling elders march ahead;
+       We dance, without a fiddler,
+     We play at cross-touch, White and Red,
+       Tip-cat, and Tommy Tidier.
+
+     We laugh and shout, much more than speak,
+       No etiquette importunes;
+     The trees were made for hide-and-seek,
+       The flowers to tell our fortunes;
+
+     The hills, for pretty girls to pant,
+       And glow with richer roses;
+     The wind itself, to toss askant
+       The curls that hide their noses.
+
+     Then sprightly Carry shouts in French--
+       "All boys and girls, come nutting!"
+     We are slipping down a mighty trench--
+       Why, it is the Railway cutting I
+
+     Before us yawns a dark-browed arch,
+       Paved with a muddy runnel;
+     A thousand giant navvies march
+       To delve the White-Ball tunnel.
+
+     Oh, if a man of them but did
+       Presume to glance at Carry,
+     Though he were Milo, or John Ridd,
+       I would toss him to Old Harry.
+
+     I pull my jacket off, like him
+       Who would shatter England's pillars--
+     From the tunnel comes an order grim,
+       "Get out of the way you chillers!"
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     And the same stern order doth apply
+       To the pranks of this remote age!
+     We are sure alike to be thrust by,
+       In our nonage, and our dotage.
+
+     Yet who shall grudge the tranquil age,
+       When nought can now betide ill,
+     To glance, from a distant hermitage,
+       At a summer morning idyll?
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     Oh agony, despair, and woe!
+       Oh two-edged sword to us come!
+     To Blundell's must the body go,
+       While the heart remains at Buscombe.
+
+     All breakfast time, how glum we looked!
+       Our tears were threatening dribblets;
+     Too truly had our goose been cooked,
+       To leave us e'en our giblets.
+
+     Sweet Charlotte, did you share the thrill,
+       The pang; no throat may utter,
+     And strive an aching void to fill
+       With heartless toast and butter?
+
+     And were you sad, bright Caroline,
+       Although you never said so?
+     You did cast down your lovely eyne,
+       And you crumbled up your bread so!
+
+     But the Vicar's views were more sublime,
+       As he asked in all simplicity,
+     "My youthful friends, what is the prime
+     Of all mundane felicity?"
+
+     My answer, though it sounded cool,
+       Was given with trepidation--
+     "To stay at home, and send to school
+       The rising generation."
+
+     A gentle smile flits o'er his lip,
+       He eyes me with benignity;
+     He yearns to offer goodly tip,
+       Yet fears to wound my dignity.
+
+     True benefactor, be not shy,
+       Thou seest a humble fellow,
+     Thy noble impulse gratify--.
+     My stars, if it isn't yellow!
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     But time is over, and above,
+       To end this charming visit;
+     And must we part my own true love?
+       Though I am not sure, which is it.
+
+     Sweet Charlotte lingered in the shade,
+       Most gentle of all houris;
+     Bright Carry in the lobby played
+       With a pair of polished cowries.
+
+     She showed me how alike they were,
+       So Heaven had pleased to make them.
+     Though fortune might divide the pair,
+       She ne'er could separate them.
+
+     I blushed, and stammered at her touch,
+       I feared to beg for either;
+     My heart was in my mouth so much,
+       I could say "Goodbye" to neither.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     Two strings are wise for every bow,
+       To meet the change of weather;
+     And Cupid's shafts give softer blow,
+       When two are tied together.
+
+     Oh, Charlotte sweet, and Carry bright,
+       My whole, or double-half love,
+     Let no maturer wisdom slight
+       A simple tale of calf-love.
+
+     A blessing on the maiden grace,
+       That beautifies the real,
+     To make the world a fairer place,
+       And lift the low ideal!
+
+     If one, or both, by any chance,
+       Behold what I confess here,
+     Make auld lang syne of young romance,
+       By sending your address here.
+
+     And answer--as I trust you can,
+       When time is flying faster,
+     That he hath served you better than
+       Your humble poetaster.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     _Postscript (a Fact)_
+
+     This have they done--and oh, by Jove,
+       Not altered by a fraction!
+     If then they were too sweet to love,
+       What are they now? Distraction.
+
+     Of course they must be ever young;
+       How could I be so stupid?
+     Time fell in love with both, and flung
+       His calendar to Cupid!
+
+[Illustration: 175.]
+
+
+
+TO  FAME
+
+     I
+
+     Right Fairy of the morn, with flowers arrayed,
+       Whose beauties to thy young pursuer seem
+       Beyond the ecstasy of poet's dream--
+     Shall  I overtake thee, ere thy lustre fade?
+
+     II
+
+     Ripe glory of the noon, august, and proud,
+       A vision of high purpose, power, and skill,
+       That melteth into mirage of good-will--
+     Do I o'ertake thee, or embrace a cloud?
+
+     III
+
+     Gray shadow of the evening, gaunt and bare,
+       At random cast, beyond me or above,
+       And cold as memory in the arms of love--
+     If I o'ertook thee now, what should I care?
+
+[Illustration: 176.]
+
+     IV
+
+     "No morn, or noon, or eve am I," she said;
+
+       "But night--the depth of night behind the sun;
+       By all mankind pursued; but never won,
+     Until my shadow falls upon a shade."
+
+1894.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse, by 
+Richard Doddridge Blackmore
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Fringilla: Some Tales in Verse, by Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+    
+    body { margin:5%; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+    
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse, by 
+Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse
+
+Author: Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+Illustrator: Louis Fairfax-Muckley and James W. R. Linton
+
+Release Date: August 31, 2007 [EBook #22474]
+Last Updated: December 17, 2012
+
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRINGILLA: SOME TALES IN VERSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      FRINGILLA<br /> <br /> SOME TALES IN VERSE
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img alt="titlepage (205K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/013.jpg" alt="013 " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Contents
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#linkpen"> TO MY PEN </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> LITA OF THE NILE </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> MOUNT ARAFA </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST
+            FLOWER-PAINTER </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#linkbuscombe"> BUSCOMBE; OR, A MICHAELMAS GOOSE </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#linkfame"> FAME </a>
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      [<i>Fringilla loquitur</i>]
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+"What means your finch?"
+
+"Being well aware that he cannot sing like a Nightingale,
+He flits about from tree to tree, and twitters a little tale."
+
+     Albeit he is an ancient bird, who tried
+     his pipe in better days, and then was
+     scared by random shots, he is fain to
+     lift the migrant wing once more towards the
+     humble perch, among the trees he loves. All
+     gardeners own that he does no harm, unless
+     he flits into a thicket of young buds, or a very
+     choice ladies' seed-bed. And he hopes that he is
+     now too wise to commit such indiscretions.
+
+     Perhaps it would have been wiser still to
+     have shut up his little mandible, or employed it
+
+     only upon grub. But the long gnaw of last
+     winter's frost, which set mankind a-shivering,
+     even in their most downy nest, has made them
+     kindly to the race that has no roof for shelter
+     and no hearth for warmth.
+
+     Anyhow, this little finch can do no harm,
+     if he does no good; and if he pleases nobody,
+     he will not be surprised, because he has never
+     satisfied himself.
+
+     May-day, 1895.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      NOTE
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With kind consent of Messrs. Harper, "Buscombe" returns in altered form
+      from the other side of the ocean. Two other little tales appeared of old,
+      but nobody would look at them, and now they are offered after careful
+      trimming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Standing afar. I gaze with doubt at other trimmings which are not mine.
+      They have conquered the taste of the day perhaps, and high art announces
+      them as her last transfiguration. Moreover they are highly recommended&mdash;
+      as the purest art not always is&mdash;by the modesty of the artist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cover design, borders, initial letters and the whole of the full-page
+      illustrations&mdash;with the exception of the three to 'Pausias and
+      Glycera' by James W. R. Linton&mdash;are by Louis Fairfax-Muckley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/017.jpg" alt="017. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <a name="linkpen" id="linkpen"></a><br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      TO MY PEN
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+    I
+
+    Thou feeble implement of mind,
+      Wherewith she strove to scrawl her
+        name;
+    But, like a mitcher, left behind
+      No signature, no stroke, no claim,
+        No hint that she hath pined&mdash;
+
+    Shall ever come a stronger time,
+        When thou shalt be a tool of skill,
+      And steadfast purpose, to fulfil
+    A higher task than rhyme?
+
+    II
+
+    Thou puny instrument of soul,
+      Wherewith she labours to impart
+    Her efforts at some arduous goal;
+      But fails to bring thy coarser art
+        Beneath a fine control&mdash;
+
+      Shall ever come a fairer day,
+        When thou shalt be a buoyant plume,
+        To soar, where clearer suns illume,
+      And fresher breezes play?
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/020.jpg" alt="020. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/023.jpg" alt="023. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     Thou weak interpreter of heart,
+       So impotent to tell the tale
+     Of love's delight, of envy's smart,
+       Of passion, and ambition's bale,
+         Of pride that dwells apart&mdash;
+
+       Shall I, in length of time, attain
+         (By walking in the human ways,
+          With love of Him, who made and sways)
+       To ply thee, less in vain?
+
+     If so, thou shalt be more to me
+       Than sword, or sceptre, flag, or crown;
+     With mind, and soul, and heart in thee,
+       Despising gold, and sham renown;
+
+         But truthful, kind, and free&mdash;
+       Then come; though now a pithless quill,
+         Uncouth, unfledged, indefinite,&mdash;
+         In time, thou shalt be taught to write,
+       By patience, and good-will.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LITA OF THE NILE
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A TALE IN THREE PARTS
+    </h3>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART   I
+
+     I
+
+     "KING, and Father, gift and giver,
+     God revealed in form of river,
+     Issuing perfect, and sublime,
+     From the fountain-head of time;
+
+     "Whom eternal mystery shroudeth,
+       Unapproached, untracked, unknown;
+     Whom the Lord of heaven encloudeth
+       With the curtains of His throne;
+
+     "From the throne of heaven descending,
+     Glory, power, and goodness blending,
+     Grant us, ere the daylight dies,
+     Token of thy rapid rise,"
+
+     II
+
+     Ha, it cometh! Furrowing, flashing,
+       Red blood rushing o'er brown breast;
+     Peaks, and ridges, and domes, dashing
+       Foam on foam, and crest on crest!
+
+     'Tis the signal Thebes hath waited,
+     Libyan Thebes, the hundred-gated:
+     Rouse, and robe thee, River-priest
+     For thy dedication feast!
+
+     Follows him the loveliest maiden,
+       Afric's thousand hills can show;
+     White apparel'd, flower-laden,
+       With the lotus on her brow.
+
+     III
+
+     Votive maid, who hath espousal
+     Of the river's high carousal;
+     Twenty cubits if he rise,
+     This shall be his bridal prize.
+
+     Calm, and meek of face and carriage,
+       Deigning scarce a quicker breath,
+     Comes she to the funeral marriage,
+       The betrothal of black death.
+
+     Rosy hands, and hennaed fingers,
+     Nails whereon the onyx lingers,
+     Clasped, as at a lover's tale,
+     In the bosom's marble vale.
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     IV
+
+     Silvery scarf, her waist enwreathing,
+       Wafts a soft Sabaean balm;
+     Like a cloud of incense, breathing
+       Round the column of a palm:
+
+     Snood of lilies interweaveth
+     (Giving less than it receiveth)
+     Beauty of her clustered brow,
+     Calmly bent upon us now.
+
+     Through her dark hair, spread before
+       See the western glory wane,
+     As in groves of dim Cytorus,
+       Or the bowers of Taprobane!
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     V
+
+     See, the large eyes, lit by heaven,
+     Brighter than the Sisters Seven,
+     (Like a star the storm hath cowed)
+     Sink their flash in sorrow's cloud.
+
+     There the crystal tear refraineth,
+       And the founts of grief are dry;
+     "Father, Mother&mdash;none remaineth;
+       All are dead; and why not I?"
+
+     Yet, by God's will, heavenly beauty
+     Owes to Heaven alone its duty;
+     Off ye priests, who dare adjudge
+     Bride, like this, to slime and sludge!
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     VI
+
+     When they tread the river's margent,
+       All their mitred heads are bowed&mdash;
+     What hath browned the ripples argent,
+       Like the plume of thunder-cloud?
+
+     Where yestreen the water slumbered,
+     With a sickly crust encumbered,
+     Leapeth now a roaring flood,
+     Wild as war, and red as blood.
+
+     Every billow hurries quicker,
+       Every surge runs up the strand;
+     While the brindled eddies flicker,
+       Scourged as with a levin brand.
+
+     VII
+
+     Every bulrush, parched and welted,
+     Lifts his long joints yellow-belted;
+     Every lotus, faint and sick,
+     Hangs her fragrant tongue to lick.
+
+     Countless creatures, lone unthought of,
+       Swarm from every hole and nook;
+     What is man, that he make nought of
+       Other entries in God's book?
+
+     Scorpions, rats, and lizards flabby,
+     Centipedes, and hydras scabby,
+     Asp, and slug, and toad, whose gem
+     Outlasts human diadem.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Therefore hath the priest-procession
+       Causeway clean of sandal-wood;
+     That no foul thing make transgression
+       On the votive maiden's blood.
+
+     Pure of blood and soul, she standeth
+     Where the marble gauge demandeth,
+     Marble pillar, with black style,
+     Record of the rising Nile,
+
+     White-robed priests around her kneeling,
+       Ibis-banner floating high,
+     Conchs, and drums, and sistrals pealing,
+       And Sesostris standing nigh.
+
+     IX
+
+     He, whose kingdom-city stretches
+     Further than our eyesight fetches;
+     Every street it wanders down
+     Larger than a regal town;
+
+     Built, when each man was a giant,
+       When the rocks were mason's stones,
+     When the oaks were osiers pliant,
+       And the mountains scarcely thrones;
+
+     City, whose Titanic portals
+     Scorn the puny modern mortals,
+     In thy desert winding-sheet,
+     Sacred from our insect feet.
+
+     X
+
+     Thebes No-Amon, hundred-gated,
+       Every gate could then unfold
+     Cavalry ten thousand, plated,
+       Man and horse, in solid gold.
+
+     Glancing back through serried ranges,
+     Vivid as his own phalanges,
+     Every captain might espy
+     Equal host in sculpture vie;
+
+     Down Piromid vista gazing,
+       Ten miles back from every gate,
+     He can see that temple blazing,
+       Which the world shall never mate.
+
+     XI
+
+     But the Nile-flood, when it swelleth,
+     Recks not man, nor where he dwelleth;
+     And&mdash;e'en while Sesostris reigns&mdash;
+     Scarce five cubits man attains.
+
+     Lo, the darkening river quaileth,
+       Like a swamp by giant trod,
+     And the broad commotion waileth,
+       Stricken with the hand of God I
+
+     When the rushing deluge raging
+     Flung its flanks, and shook the staging,
+     Priesthood, cowering from the brim,
+     Chanted thus its faltering hymn.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Ocean sire, the earth enclasping,
+       Like a babe upon thy knee,
+     In thy cosmic cycle grasping
+       All that hath been, or shall be;
+
+     "Thou, that art around and over
+     All we labour to discover;
+     Thou, to whom our world no more
+     Than a shell is on thy shore;
+
+     "God, that wast Supreme, or ever
+       Orus, or Osiris, saw;
+     God, with whom is no endeavour,
+       But thy will eternal law:
+
+     XIII
+
+     "We, who keep thy feasts and fastings,
+     We, who live on thy off-castings,
+     Here in low obeisance crave
+     Rich abundance of thy wave.
+
+     "Seven years now, for some transgression,
+       Some neglect, or outrage vile,
+     Vainly hath our poor procession
+       Offered life, and soul to Nile.
+
+     "Seven years now of promise fickle,
+     Niggard ooze, and paltry trickle,
+     Freshet sprinkling scanty dole,
+     Where the roaring flood should roll.
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Therefore are thy children dwindled,
+       Therefore is thine altar bare;
+     Wheat, and rye, and millet spindled,
+       And the fruits of earth despair.
+
+     "Men with haggard bellies languish,
+     Bridal beds are strewn with anguish,
+     Mothers sell their babes for bread,
+     Half the holy kine are dead.
+
+     "Is thy wrath at last relaxing?
+       Art thou merciful, once more?
+     Yea, behold the torrent waxing!
+       Yea, behold the flooded shore!
+
+     XV
+
+     "Nile, that now with life-blood tidest,
+     And in gorgeous cold subsidest,
+     Richer than our victor tread
+     Stirred in far Hydaspes' bed;
+
+     "When thy swelling crest o'er-waveth
+     Yonder twenty cubit mark,
+     And thy tongue of white foam laveth
+     Borders of the desert dark,
+
+     "This, the fairest Theban maiden,
+     Shall be thine, with jewels laden;
+     Lift thy furrowed brow, and see
+     <i>Lita</i>, dedicate to thee!"
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/032.jpg" alt="032. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     Thus he spake, and lowly stooping
+       O'er the Calasiris hem,
+     Took the holy water, scooping
+       With a bowl of lucid gem;
+
+     Chanting from the Bybline psalter
+     Touched he then her forehead altar;
+     Sleeking back the trickled jet,
+     There the marriage-seal he set.
+
+     "None of mortals dare pursue thee,
+       None come near thy hallowed side:
+     Nile's thou art, and he shall woo thee,&mdash;
+       Nile, who swalloweth his bride."
+
+     XVII
+
+     With despair's mute self-reliance,
+     She accepted death's affiance;
+     She, who hath no home or rest,
+     Shrank not from the river's breast.
+
+     Haply there she shall discover
+       Father, lost in wilds unknown,
+     Mother slain, and youthful lover,
+       Seen as yet in dreams alone.
+
+     Ha! sweet maid, what sudden vision
+     Hath dispelled thy cold derision?
+     What new picture hast thou seen,
+     Of a world that might have been?
+
+     XVIII
+
+     From Mount Seir, Duke Iram roveth,
+       Three renewals of the moon:
+     To see Egypt him behoveth,
+       Ere his life be past its noon.
+
+     Soul, and mind, at first fell under
+     Flat discomfiture of wonder,
+     With the Nile before him spread,
+     Temple-crowned, and tempest-fed!
+
+     Yet a nobler creed he owneth,
+       Than to worship things of space:
+     One true God his heart enthroneth
+       Heart that throbs with Esau's race.
+
+     XIX
+
+     Thus he stood, with calm eyes scorning
+     Idols, priests, and their adorning;
+     Seeing, e'en in nature's show,
+     Him alone, who made it so.
+
+     "God of Abraham, our Father,
+       Earth, and heaven, and all we see,
+     Are but gifts of thine, to gather
+       Us, thy children, back to Thee.
+
+     "All the grandeur spread before us,
+     All the miracles shed o'er us,
+     Echoes of the voice above,
+     Tokens of a Father's love."
+
+     XX
+
+     While of heaven his heart indited,
+       And his dark eyes swept the crowd,
+     Sudden on the maid they lighted,
+       Mild and haughty, meek and proud.
+
+     Rapid as the flash of sabre,
+     Strong as giant's toss of caber,
+     Sure as victor's grasp of goal,
+     Came the love-stroke through his soul
+
+     Gently she, her eyes recalling,
+       Felt that Heaven had touched their flight,
+     Peeped again, through lashes falling,
+       Blushed, and shrank, and shunned the light
+
+     XXI
+
+     Ah, what booteth sweet illusion,
+     Fluttering glance, and soft suffusion,
+     Bliss unknown, but felt in sighs,
+     Breast, that shrinks at its own rise?
+
+     She, who is the Nile's devoted,
+       Courted with a watery smile;
+     Her betrothal duly noted
+       By the bridesmaid Crocodile!
+
+     So she bowed her forehead lowly,
+     Tightened her tiara holy;
+     And, with every sigh suppressed,
+     Clasped her hands on passion's breast.
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART  II
+
+     I
+
+     Twice the moon hath waxed and wasted,
+       Lavish of her dew-bright horn;
+       And the wheeling sun hath hasted
+     Fifty days, towards Capricorn.
+
+     Thebes, and all the Misric nation,
+     Float upon the inundation;
+     Each man shouts and laughs, before
+     Landing at his own house door.
+
+     There the good wife doth return it,
+       Grumbling, as she shows the dish,
+     Chervil, basil, chives, and burnet
+       Feed, instead of seasoning, fish.
+
+     II
+
+     Palm trees, grouped upon the highland,
+     Here and there make pleasant island;
+     On the bark some wag hath wrote&mdash;
+     "Who would fly, when he can float?"
+
+     Udder'd cows are standing&mdash;pensive,
+       Not belonging to that ilk;
+     How shall horn, or tail defensive,
+       Keep the water from their milk?
+
+     Lo, the black swan, paddling slowly,
+     Pintail ducks, and sheldrakes holy,
+     Nile-goose flaked, and herons gray,
+     Silver-voiced at fall of day!
+
+     III
+
+     Flood hath swallowed dikes and hedges,
+       Lately by Sesostris planned;
+     Till, like ropes, its matted edges
+       Quiver on the desert sand.
+
+     Then each farmer, brisk and mellow,
+     Graspeth by the hand his fellow;
+     And, as one gone labour-proof,
+     Shakes his head at the drowned shadoof
+
+     Soon the Nuphar comes, beguiling
+       Sedgy spears, and swords around,
+     Like that cradled infant smiling,
+       Whom, the royal maiden found.
+
+     IV
+
+     But the time of times foe wonder,
+     Is when ruddy sun goes under;
+     And the dusk throws, half afraid,
+     Silver shuttles of long shade.
+
+     Opens then a scene, the fairest
+       Ever burst on human view;
+     Once behold, and thou comparest
+       Nothing in the world thereto.
+
+     While the broad flood murmurs glistening
+     To the moon that hangeth listening&mdash;
+     Moon that looketh down the sky,
+     Like an aloe-bloom on high&mdash;
+
+     V
+
+     Sudden conch o'er the wave ringeth!
+       Ere the date-leaves cease to snake,
+     All, that hath existence, springeth
+       Into broad light, wide-awake.
+
+     As at a window of heaven thrown up,
+     All in a dazzling blaze are shown up,
+     Mellowing, ere our eyes avail,
+     To some soft enchanter's tale.
+
+     Every skiff a big ship seemeth,
+       Every bush with tall wings clad;
+     Every man his good brain deemeth
+       The only brain that is not mad.
+
+     VI
+
+     Hark!  The pulse of measured rowing,
+     And the silver clarions blowing,
+     From the distant darkness, break
+     Into this illumined lake.
+
+     Tis Sesostris, lord of nations,
+       Victor of three continents,
+     Visiting the celebrations,
+       Priests, and pomps, and regiments.
+
+     Kings, from Indus, and Araxes,
+     Ister, and the Boreal axes,
+     Horsed his chariot to the waves,
+     Then embarked, his galley-slaves.
+
+     VII
+
+     Glittering stands the giant royal,
+       Four tall sons are at his back;
+     Twain, with their own corpses loyal,
+       Bridged the flames Pelusiac.
+
+     As he passeth, myriads bless him,
+     Glorious Monarch all confess him,
+     Sternly upright, to condone
+     No injustice, save his own.
+
+     He, well-pleased, his sceptre swingeth,
+       While his four sons strike the gong;
+     Till the sparkling water ringeth
+       Joy and laughter, joke and song.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Ah, but while loud merry-making
+     Sets the lights and shadows shaking,
+     While the mad world casts away
+     Every thought that is not gay,
+
+     Hath not earth, our sweet step-mother,
+       Very different scene hard by,
+     Tossing one, and trampling other,
+       Some to laugh, and some to sigh?
+
+     Where the fane of Hathor Iowereth,
+     And the black Myrike embowereth,
+     Weepeth one her life gone by;
+     Over young, oh death, to die!
+
+     IX
+
+     Nay, but lately she was yearning
+       To be quit of life's turmoil,
+     In the land of no returning,
+       Where all travel ends, and toil.
+
+     What temptations now entice her?
+     What hath made the world seem nicer?
+     Whence the charm, that strives anew
+     To prolong this last adieu?
+
+     Ah, her heart can understand it,
+       Though her tongue can ne'er explain:
+     Let yon granite Sphinx demand it&mdash;
+       Riddle, ever solved in vain.
+
+     X
+
+     No constraint of hands hath bound her,
+     Not a chain hath e'er been round her;
+     Silver star hath sealed her brow,
+     Holy as an Isis cow.
+
+     Free to wander where she listeth;
+       No immurement must defile
+     (So the ancient law insisteth)
+       This, the hallowed bride of Nile.
+
+     What recks Abraham's descendant
+     Idols, priests, and pomps attendant?
+     And how long shall nature heed
+     What the stocks and stones decreed?
+
+     XI
+
+     "Fiendish superstitions hold thee
+       To a vile and hideous death.
+     Break their bonds; let love enfold thee;
+       Off, and fly with me;"&mdash;he saith.
+
+     "Off! while priests are cutting capers&mdash;
+     Priests of beetles, cats, and tapirs,
+     Brutes, who would thy beauty truck,
+     For an inch of yellow muck.
+
+     "Lo, my horse, <i>Pyropus</i>, yearneth
+       For the touch of thy light form;
+     Like the lightning, his eye burneth;
+       And his nostril, like the storm.
+
+     XII
+
+     "What are those unholy pagans?
+     Can they ride?   No more than Dagons.
+     Fishtails ne'er could sit a steed;
+     That belongs to Esau's seed.
+
+     "I will make thee Queen of far lands,
+       Flocks, and herds, and camel-trains,
+     Milk and honey, fruit and garlands,
+       Vines and venison, woods and wains.
+
+     "God is with us; He shall speed us;
+     Or (if this vile crew impede us)
+     Let some light into their brain,
+     By the sword of Tubal Cain."
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Nay," she answered, deeply sighing,
+       As the maid grew womanish&mdash;
+     "Love, how hard have I been trying'
+       To believe the thing I wish!
+
+     "Thou hast taught me holy teachings,
+     Where to offer my beseechings,
+     Homage due to Heaven alone,
+     Not to ghosts, and graven stone,
+
+     "Thou hast shown me truth and freedom,
+       Love, and faith in One most High;
+     But thou hast not, Prince of Edom,
+       Taught me therewithal, to lie.
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Little cause had I for fretting,
+     None on earth to be regretting;
+     Till I saw thee, brave and kind;
+     And my heart undid my mind.
+
+     "Better, if the Gods had slain me,
+       When no difference could be;
+     Ere the joy had come to pain me,
+       And, alas, my dear one, thee!
+
+     "But shall my poor life throw shame on
+     Royal lineage of Amor?
+     Tis of Egypt's oldest strains;
+     Kingly blood flows in my veins.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Thou hast seen; my faith is plighted,
+       That I will not fly my doom.
+     Honour is a flower unblighted,
+       Though the fates cut off its bloom.
+
+     "I have sent my last sun sleeping,
+     And I am ashamed of weeping.
+     God, my new God, give me grace
+     To be worthy of my race.
+
+     "Though this death our bodies sever,
+       Thou shalt find me there above;
+     Where I shall be learning ever,
+       To be worthy of thy love."
+
+     XVI
+
+     From his gaze she turned, to borrow
+     Pride's assistance against sorrow&mdash;
+     God vouchsafes that scanty loan,
+     When He taketh all our own.
+
+     Sudden thought of heaven's inspiring
+       Flashed through bold Duke Iram's heart;
+     Angels more than stand admiring,
+       When a man takes his own part.
+
+     'Tis the law the Lord hath taught us,
+     To undo what Satan wrought us;
+     To confound the foul fiend's plan,
+     With the manliness of man.
+
+     XVII
+
+     "Thou art right," he answered lowly,
+       As a youth should sneak a maid;
+     "Like thyself, thy word is holy;
+       Love is hate, if it degrade.
+
+     "But when thou hast well surrendered,
+     And thy sacrifice is tendered&mdash;
+     God do so, and more to me,
+     If I slay not, who slay thee!
+
+     "Abraham's God hath ne'er forsaken
+       Them who trust in Him alway.
+     Thy sweet life shall not be taken.
+       Rest, and calm thee, while I pray."
+
+     XVIII
+
+     Like a little child, that kneeleth
+     To tell God whate'er he feeleth,
+     Bent the tall young warrior there,
+     And the palm-trees whispered prayer.
+
+     She, outworn with woe and weeping,
+       Shared that influence from above;
+     And the fear of death went sleeping
+       In the maiden faith and love.
+
+     Less the stormy water waileth,
+     E'en the human tumult faileth;
+     Stars their silent torches light,
+     To conduct the car of night
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART  III
+
+     I
+
+     Lo, how bright-eyed morn awaketh
+       Tower and temple, nook and Nile;
+     How the sun exultant maketh
+       All the world return his smile!
+
+     O'er the dry sand, vapour twinkleth,
+     Like an eye when old age wrinkleth;
+     While, along the watered shore
+     Runs a river of gold ore.
+
+     Temple-front and court resemble
+       Mirrors swung in wavering light;
+     While the tapering columns tremble
+       At the view of their own height.
+
+     II
+
+     Marble shaft, and granite portal,
+     Statues of the Gods immortal
+     Quiver, with their figures bent,
+     In a liquid pediment
+
+     Thence the flood-leat followeth swiftly,
+       Where the peasant, spade in hand,
+     Guideth many a runnel deftly
+       Through his fruit and pasture-land;
+
+     Oft, the irriguous bank cross-slicing,
+     Plaited trickles he keeps enticing;
+     Till their gravelly gush he feels,
+     Overtaking his brown heels.
+
+     III
+
+     Life&mdash;that long hath born the test of
+       More than ours could bear, and live,
+     Springs anew, to make the best of
+       Every chance the Gods may give,
+
+     Doum-tree stiffeneth flagging feather;
+     Pate-leaves cease to cling together;
+     Citrons clear their welted rind;
+     Vines their mildewed sprays unwind.
+
+     Gourds, and melons, spread new lustre
+       On their veiny dull shagreen;
+     While the starred pomegranates cluster
+       Golden balls, with pink between.
+
+     IV
+
+     Yea, but heaven hath ordered duly,
+     Lest mankind should wax unruly,
+     Egypt, garner of all lore,
+     Narrow as a threshing-floor.
+
+     East, and West, lies desolation,
+       Infinite, untracked, untold
+     Shroud for all of God's creation,
+       When the wild blast lifts its fold;
+
+     There eternal melancholy
+     Maketh all delight unholy;
+     As a stricken widow glides
+     Past a group of laughing brides.
+
+     Who is this, that so disdaineth
+       Dome and desert, fear and fate;
+     While his jewell'd horse he reineth.
+       At Amen-Ra's temple-gate?
+
+     He, who crushed the kings of Asia,
+     Like a pod of colocasia;
+     Whom the sons of Anak fled,
+     Puling infants at his tread.
+
+     Who, with his own shoulders, lifted
+       Thrones of many a conquered land;
+     Who the rocks of Scythia rifted&mdash;
+       King Sesostris waves his hand
+
+     VI
+
+     Blare of trumpet fills the valley;
+     Slowly, and majestically,
+     Swingeth wide, in solemn state,
+     Lord Amen-Ra's temple-gate.
+
+     Thence the warrior-host emeigeth,
+       Casque, and corselet, spear, and shield;
+     As the tide of red ore suigeth
+       From the furnace-door revealed.
+
+     After them, tumultuous rushing,
+     Mob, and medley, crowd, and crushing;
+     And the hungry file of priests,
+     Loosely zoned for larger feasts.
+
+     VII
+
+     "Look!" The whispered awe enhances
+       With a thrill their merry treat;
+     As one readeth grim romances,
+       In a sunny window-seat
+
+     "Look! It is the maid selected
+     For the sacrifice expected:
+     By the Gods, how proud and brave
+     Steps she to her watery grave!"
+
+     Strike up cymbals, gongs, and tabours,
+       Clarions, double-flutes, and drums;
+     All that bellows, or belabours,
+       In a surging discord comes.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Scarce Duke Iram can keep under
+     His wild steed's disdain and wonder,
+     While his large eyes ask alway&mdash;
+     "Dareth man attempt to neigh?"
+
+     He hath snuffed the great Sahara,
+       And the mute parade of stars;
+     Shall he brook this shrill fanfara,
+       Ramshorns, pigskins, screechy jars?
+
+     What hath he to do with rabble?
+     Froth is better than their babble;
+     Let him toss them flakes of froth,
+     To pronounce his scorn and wrath.
+
+     IX
+
+     With his nostrils fierce dilating,
+       With his crest a curling sea,
+     All his volumed power is waiting
+       For the will, to set it free.
+
+     "Peace, my friend!"   The touch he knoweth
+     Calms his heart, howe'er it gloweth:
+     Horse can shame a man, to quell
+     Passion, where he loveth well.
+
+     "Nay, endure we," saith the rider,
+       "Till her plighted word be paid;
+     Then, though Satan stand beside her,
+       God shall help me swing this blade."
+
+     X
+
+     Lo, upon the deep-piled dais,
+     Wrought in hallowed looms of Sais,
+     O'er the impetuous torrent's swoop,
+     Stands the sacrificial group!
+
+     Tall High-priest, with zealot fires
+       Blazing in those eyeballs old,
+     Swathes him, as his rank requires,
+       Head to foot, in linen fold.
+
+     Seven attendants round him vying,
+     In a lighter vesture plying,
+     Four with skirts, and other three
+     Tunic'd short from waist to knee.
+
+     XI
+
+     Free among them stands the maiden,
+       Clad in white for her long rest;
+     Crowned with gold, and jewel-laden,
+       With a lily on her breast
+
+     Lily is the mark that showeth
+     Where that pure and sweet heart gloweth;
+     Here must come, to shed her life,
+     Point of sacrificial knife.
+
+     Here the knife is, cold and gleaming,
+       Here the colder butcher band.
+     Was the true love nought but dreaming,
+       Feeble heart, and coward hand?
+
+     XII
+
+     Strength unto the weak is given,
+     When their earthly bonds are riven;
+     Ere the spirit is called away,
+     Heaven begins its tranquil sway.
+
+     Life hath been unstained, and therefore
+       Pleasant to look back upon;
+     But there is not much to care for,
+       When the light of love is gone.
+
+     Still, though love were twice as fleeting,
+     Longeth she for one last greeting;
+     If her eyes might only dwell
+     Once on his, to say farewell
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Glorious Hapi," spake Piromis,
+       Lifting high his weapon'd hand;
+     "Earth thy footstool, heaven thy dome is,
+       We the pebbles on thy strand.
+
+     "Thou hast leaped the cubits twenty,
+     Dowering us with peace and plenty;
+     Mutha shows thee her retreat,
+     And the desert licks thy feet,
+
+     "We have passed through our purgation,
+       Once again we are thy kin;
+     God, accept our expiation,
+       Maiden pure of mortal sin."
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Ha!" the king cried, smiling blandly;
+     "Ha!" the trumpets answered grandly.
+     Proudly priest whirled, knife on high,
+     While the maiden bowed&mdash;to die.
+
+     Sudden, through the ranks beside her,
+       Scattering men, like sparks of flint,
+     Burst a snow-white horse and rider,
+       Rapid as the lightning's glint.
+
+     One blow hurls Arch-priest to quiver
+     Headless, in his beloved river,
+     In the twinkling of an eye,
+     All the rest are dead, or fly.
+
+     XV
+
+     Iram, from <i>Pyropus</i> sweeping,
+     As a mower swathes the rye,
+     Caught his love, in terror sleeping,
+     And her light form swings on high.
+
+     "Soul of Khons!" Sesostris shouted,
+     Striding down the planks blood-grouted&mdash;
+     Into his beard fell something light,
+     And he spat, and swooned with fright.
+
+     What hath made this great king stagger,
+       Reel, and shriek&mdash;"unclean, unclean!"
+     Thunderbolt, or flash of dagger?
+       Nay, 'twas but a garden bean.
+
+     XVI
+
+     Brave <i>Pyropus</i>, blood-bespattered,
+     Snorts at men and corpses scattered,
+     Throws his noble chest more wide,
+     Leaps into the leaping tide.
+
+     Vainly hiss a thousand arrows,
+       Launched at random through the foam;
+     Every stroke the distance narrows
+       Twixt him and his desert home.
+
+     Sorely tried, and passion-shaken,
+     Long amid her foes forsaken,
+     Now, in tumult of surprise,
+     Lita knows not where she lies.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/056.jpg" alt="056. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     Till a bright wave breaks upon her,
+       And her clear perceptions wake&mdash;
+     All his valour, prowess, honour,
+       Scorn of life, for her poor sake!
+
+     Gently then her eyes she raises,
+     (Eyes, whence all the pure soul gazes)
+     Softly brings her lips to his&mdash;
+     Lips, wherein the whole heart is.
+
+     Let the furious waters welter,
+       Let the rough winds roar above;
+     Waves are warmth, and storms are shelter,
+       In the upper heaven of love.
+
+     XVIII
+
+     Fierce the flood, and wild the danger;
+     Yet the noble desert-ranger
+     Flinches not, nor flags, before
+     He hath brought them safe ashore.
+
+     Lives there man, who would have striven,
+       Reckless thus of storm and sword;
+     Leaped into the gulf, and given
+       Heart and soul, to please his Lord?
+
+     With caresses they have plied him,
+     Hand in hand they kneel beside him,
+     While their mutual vows they plight
+     To the God of life and light
+
+     XIX
+
+     Ha!  What meaneth yon sword-flashing?
+       Trumps, and shouts from wave and isle?
+     Lo, the warrior galleys dashing,
+       To avenge insulted Nile!
+
+     Haste!  The brave steed, leaping lightly,
+     'Neath his double burden sprightly,
+     Challenges, with scornful note,
+     Every horse in Pharaoh's boat.
+
+     King of Egypt, curb thy rages;
+       Lo, how trouble should be borne!
+     Memnon soothes the woe of ages,
+       With a sweet song, every morn.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/062.jpg" alt="062. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/065.jpg" alt="065. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      AN EASTERN LEGEND
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      HERE IS A CURIOUS LEGEND AS TO THE ORIGIN OP JEALOUSY. WHEN ADAM AND EVE
+      WERE IN PARADISE, THE FORMER WAS ACCUSTOMED TO RETIRE AT EVENTIDE TO THE
+      RECESSES OF THE GARDEN, FOR THE PURPOSE OF PRAYER. ON ONE OF THESE
+      OCCASIONS THE DEVIL APPEARED TO EVE, AND INFORMED HER THAT HER SOLITUDE
+      WAS TO BE ACCOUNTED FOR BY THE ATTRACTIONS OF ANOTHER FAIR ONE. EVE
+      REPLIED THAT IT COULD NOT BE SO, AS SHE WAS THE ONLY WOMAN IN EXISTENCE.
+      "IF I SHOW YOU ANOTHER, WILL YOU BELIEVE ME?" RETURNED THE EVIL ONE, AND
+      PRODUCED A MIRROR, IN WHICH SHE SAW HER OWN REFLECTION, AND MISTOOK IT FOR
+      HER RIVAL. See "<i>Life in Abyssinia</i>," by Mr. Parkyns. Murray,
+      Albemarle Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Kadisha, flowing to the south of Lebanon, is called "the holy river,"
+      as having been a minor stream of Paradise.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART   I
+
+     True love's regale is incomplete,
+     'Till bitter leaven make it sweet;
+     Accept not then our tale amiss,
+     That jealousy was part of bliss;
+     But rather note a mercy here,
+     That fact was thus outrun by fear;
+     And so, before the harder bout,
+       When sin must be encountered too,
+       A woman's heart already knew
+     The way to conquer doubt
+
+     I
+
+     "When sleep was in the summer air,
+       And stars looked down on Paradise,
+     And palms and cedars answered fair
+       The visionary night-wind's sighs,
+         And murmuring prayer:
+
+     When every flower was in its hood
+       (By clasps of diamond dew retained),
+     Or sunk to elude Phalcena's brood,
+       Down slumber's breast with shadows veined,
+         In solitude:
+
+       The citron, stephanote, and rose,
+         Pomegranate, hoya, calycanth,
+         And yet unwanted amaranth,
+       Were sweetness in repose:
+
+     II
+
+     When rivulets were loth to creep,
+       Except unto the pillow moss,
+     And distant lake, encurtained deep,
+       Was but a silver thread across
+         The eyes of sleep:
+
+     When nightingales, in the sycamore,
+       Sang low and soft, as an echo dreaming;
+     And slept the moon upon heaven's shore&mdash;
+       The tidal shore of heaven, beaming
+         With lazuled ore:
+
+       When new-born earth was fain to lean
+         In Summer's arms, recovering
+         The unaccustomed toil of Spring,
+       Why slept not Eve, their Queen?
+
+     III
+
+     Upon a smooth fern-mantled stone
+       She sat, and watched the wicket-gate,
+     Not timid in her woman's throne,
+       Nor lonely in her sinless state,
+         Though all alone;
+
+     For having spread her simple board
+       With grapes, and peaches, milk, and flowers,
+     She strewed sweet mastic o'er the sward,
+       And waited through the bridal hours
+         Step of her lord.
+
+       Such innocence around her breathed,
+         And freshness of young nature's play,
+         The sensitive plant shrank not away,
+       And cactus' swords were sheathed.
+
+     IV
+
+     The vision of her beauty fell,
+       Like music on a moonlit place,
+     Or trembles of a silver bell,
+       Or memories of a sacred face,
+         Too dear to tell:
+
+     The grace that wandered free of laws,
+       The look that lit the heart's confession,
+     Had never dreamed how fair it was;
+       Nor guessed that purity's expression
+         Is beauty's cause:
+
+       No more that unenquiring heart
+         Perused the sweet home of her breast,
+         Than turtle-doves unline their nest
+       To scan the outer part
+
+     V
+
+     Although, in all that garden fair,
+       Whate'er delight abode, or grew,
+     Flowers, and trees, and balmy air,
+       Fountains, and birds, and heaven blue
+         Beyond compare:
+
+     In her their various charms had met,
+       And grown more varied by combining,
+     As budded plants do give and get,
+       Each inmate doubling while resigning
+         His several debt:
+
+       And yet she nursed one joy, above
+         Her thousand charms, nor bora of them,
+         But blooming on a single stem&mdash;
+       Her true faith in her love.
+
+     VI
+
+     And though, before she heard his foot,
+       The moon had climbed the homestead palm,
+     Flinging to her the shadowed fruit,
+       And tree-frogs ceased to break the calm,
+         And birds were mute,
+
+     With sudden transport ever new,
+       She blushed, and sprang from forth the bower,
+     Her eyes, as bright as moon-lit dew,
+       Her bosom glad as snow-veiled flower,
+         When sun shines through;
+
+       He, with a natural dignity
+         Untaught self-consciousness by harm,
+         Sustained her with his manly arm,
+       And smiled upon her glee.
+
+     VII
+
+     Next day, when early evening shone
+       Along the walks of Paradise,
+     Strewing with gold the hills, her throne,
+       Embarrassing the winds with spice
+         (Too rich a loan),
+
+     Fair Eve was in her bower of ease,
+       A cool arcade of fruit and flowers,
+
+     From North and East enclasped by trees,
+       But open to the Western showers,
+         And Southern breeze.
+
+       Here followed she her gardening trade,
+         Her favourites' simple needs attending,
+         And singing soft, above them bending,
+       A song herself had made.
+
+     VIII
+
+     In evening's calm, she walked between
+       The tints and shades of rich delight,
+     While overhead came, arching green,
+       Many a shrub and parasite,
+         To crown their Queen;
+
+     There laughed the joy of the rose, among
+       Myrtle and Iris, heaven's eye,
+     Magnole, with cups of moonlight hung,
+       And Fuchsia's sunny chandlery,
+         And coral tongue;
+
+       And where the shy brook fluttered through,
+         Nepenthe held her chalice leaf
+         (Undrained as yet by human grief),
+       And broad Nymphaea grew.
+
+     IX
+
+     But where the path bent towards the wood,
+       Across it hung a sombre screen,
+     The deadly night-shade, leaden-hued;
+       And there behind it, darkly seen,
+         A Being stood:
+
+     The form, if any form it had,
+       Was likest to a nightly vision
+     In mantle of amazement clad,
+       A terror-sense, without precision,
+         Of something bad.
+
+       A tremble chilled the forest shade,
+         A roving lion turned and fled,
+         The birds cowered home in hush of dread;
+       But Eve was not afraid.
+
+     X
+
+     She stood before him, sweetly bold,
+       To keep him from her garden shrine,
+     With hair that fell, a shower of gold,
+       Around her figure's snowy line
+         And rosy mould:
+
+     He (with a re-awakened sense
+       Of goodness, long for ever lost,
+     And angel beauty's pure defence)
+       Shrank back, unable to accost
+         Such innocence:
+
+       But envy soon scoffed down his shame;
+         And with a smile, designed for fawning,
+         But like hell's daybreak sickly dawning,
+       His crafty accents came.
+
+     XI
+
+     "Sweet ignorance, 'tis sad and hard
+       To break thy fond confiding spell;
+     And my soft heart hath such regard
+       For thine, that I will never tell
+         What may be spared."
+
+     He turned aside, o'erwhelmed with pain,
+       And drew a sigh of deep compassion:
+     She trembled, flushed, and gazed again,
+       And prayed him quick, in woman's fashion,
+         To speak it plain:
+
+       "Then, if thou must be taught to grieve,
+         And scorn the guile thou hast adored&mdash;
+         The man who calls himself thy lord,
+       Where goes he, every eve?"
+
+     XII
+
+     "Nay, then," she cried, "if that be all,
+       I care not what thou hast to say;
+     The guile that lurks therein is small&mdash;
+       My husband but retires to pray,
+         At evening call."
+
+     "To pray? Oh yes, and on his knees
+       May-hap to find a lovely being:
+     Devotions so devout as these
+       Are best at night, with no one seeing,
+         Among the trees."
+
+       She blushed as deep as modesty,
+         Then glancing back as bright as cride,
+         "What woman can he find,' she cried,
+       "In all the world, but me?"
+
+     XIII
+
+     He laughed with a superior sneer,
+       Enough to shake e'en woman's faith;
+     "Wilt thou believe me, simple dear,
+       If I am able now," he saith,
+         "To show her here?"
+
+     She cried aloud with gladsome heart,
+       "Be that the test whereon to try thee;
+     Nature and heaven shall take my part:
+       Come, show this rival; I defy thee
+         And all thy art."
+
+       A mirror, held in readiness,
+         He set upright before her feet&mdash;
+         "Now can thy simple charms compete
+       With beauty such as this?"
+
+     XIV
+
+     A lovelier sight therein she saw
+       Than ever yet had charmed her eyes,
+     A fairer picture, void of flaw,
+       Than any, even Paradise
+       Itself, could draw;
+
+     A woman's form of perfect grace,
+       In shadowy softness delicate;
+     Though flushed by sunset's rich embrace,
+       A white rose could not imitate
+         Her innocent face:
+
+       Then, through the deepening glance of fear,
+         The shaft of doubt came quivering,
+         The sorrow-shaft&mdash;a sigh its wing,
+       And for its barb a tear.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Ah me!" she cried, "too true it is!
+       A simple homely thing, like Eve,
+     Hath not a chance to rival this,
+       But must resign herself to grieve
+         O'er by-gone bliss.
+
+     "Till now it was enough for me
+       To be what God our Father made;
+     Oh, Adam, I was proud to be
+       (As I have felt, and thou hast said)
+         A part of thee.
+
+       "No marvel that my lord can spare
+         His true and heaven-appointed bride.
+         And yet affection might have tried
+       To fancy me as fair."
+
+     XVI
+
+     The Tempter, glorying in his wile,
+       Hath ta'en his mirror and withdrawn;
+     Again the flowers look up and smile,
+       And brightens off from air and lawn
+         The taint of guile.
+
+     But smiles come not again to Eve,
+       Nor brightens off her dark reflection:
+     Her garland-crown she hath ceased to weave,
+       And, plucking, maketh no selection;
+         Only to grieve.
+
+       She feels a dewy radiance steep
+         The languid petals of her eyes,
+         And hath another sad surprise,
+       To know the way to weep,
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART II
+
+     The tears were still in woman's eyes,
+     When morn awoke on Paradise;
+     And still her sense of shame forbade
+     To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
+     Nor knew she which was dearer cost,
+     To seek him, or to shun him most
+     Then Adam, willing to believe
+       A heart by casual fancy moved
+       Would soon come back, at voice she loved,
+     Addressed his song to Eve.
+
+     I
+
+     "Come fairest, while the morn is fair,
+       And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
+     Calm down this tide of troubled hair,
+       Forget with me all other sighs
+         Than summer air.
+
+     "Like me, the woodland shadows roam
+       At light (their fairer comrade's) side;
+     And peace and joy salute our home;
+       And lo, the sun in all his pride&mdash;
+         My sunshine, come!
+
+       "The fawns and birds, that know our call,
+         Are waiting for our presence&mdash;see,
+         They wait my presence, love; and thee,
+       The most desired of all.
+
+     II
+
+     "The trees, which thought it grievous thing
+       To weep their own sweet leaves away,
+     Untaught as yet how soon the Spring
+       Upon their nestled heads should lay
+         Her callow wing&mdash;
+
+     "The trees, whereat we smiled again,
+       To see them, in their growing wonder,
+     Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
+       Until the gay winds rustled under
+         Their feathered train,
+
+       "Lo, now they stand in braver mien,
+         And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
+         Make prisoner of the intrusive light,
+       And strew the winds with green.
+
+     III
+
+     "Of all the flowers that bow the head,
+       Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
+     Not one there is, declines to sned,
+       Or standeth up, to qualify
+         His incense-meed:
+
+     "Of all that blossom one by one,
+       Or join their lips in loving cluster,
+     Not one hath now resolved alone,
+       Or taken counsel, that his lustre
+         Shall be unshown.
+
+       "So let thy soul a blossom be,
+         To breathe the fragrance of its praise,
+         And lift itself, in early days,
+       To Him who fosters thee.
+
+     IV
+
+     "Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
+       Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees,
+     Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
+       It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
+         And jewelled flight:
+
+     "Of all that hush among the moss,
+       Or babble to the lily-vases,
+     Not one there is but purls across
+       A gush of the delight, that causes
+         It's limpid gloss.
+
+       "So let thy heart a fountain be,
+         To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
+         In dimpled melody&mdash;and all
+       For love of home, and me."
+
+     V
+
+     The only fount her heart became
+       Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
+     While pink upon her white cheek came,
+       (Like apple-blossom among pear's)
+         The tinge of shame.
+
+     Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
+       Bent nigh to ask of her distresses,
+     Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
+       Unwinding by discreet caresses,
+         The thread of harm.
+
+       Then she, with sobs of slow relief
+         (For silence is the jail of care)
+         Confessed, for him to heal or share,
+       The first of human grief.
+
+     VI
+
+     "I cannot look on thee, and think
+       That thou has ceased to hold me dear;
+     I cannot break the loosened link:
+       When thou, my only one, art near,
+         How can I shrink?
+
+     "So it were better, love&mdash;I mean,
+       My lord, it is more wise and right&mdash;
+     That I, as one whose day hath been,
+       Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight,
+         And dwell unseen.
+
+       "And&mdash;though it break my heart to say&mdash;
+         However sad my loneliness,
+         I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this&mdash;
+       To have me far away.
+
+     VII
+
+     "I know not how it is with man,
+       Perhaps his nature is to change,
+     On finding consort fairer than&mdash;
+       But oh, I cannot so arrange
+         My nature's plan!
+
+     "And haply thou hast never thought
+       To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
+     But, since to thee the thing was nought,
+       Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
+         As lightly brought.
+
+       "Yet, is it strange that I repine,
+         And feel abased in lonely woe,
+         To lose thy love&mdash;or e'en to know
+       That half of it is mine?
+
+     VIII
+
+     "For whom have I on earth but thee,
+       What heart to love, or home to bless?
+     Albeit I was wrong, I see,
+       To think my husband took no less
+         Delight in me.
+
+     "But even now, if thou wilt stay,
+       Or try at least no more to wander,
+     And let me love thee, day by day,
+       Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
+       (If so it may)&mdash;
+
+       "Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
+         In homely wise, on serving thee,
+         Than any stranger e'er can be;
+       And Eve shall seem content."
+
+     IX
+
+     Not loud she wept&mdash;but hope could hear;
+       Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
+     Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
+       That each alternate step should trace
+         A smile and tear.
+
+     But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
+       Regarded her with troubled glances,
+     Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
+       Himself to be in strange romances,
+       And dreamy haze:
+
+       Then questioning in hurried voice,
+         And scarcely waiting her replies,
+         He spoke, and showed the true surprise
+       That made her soul rejoice.
+
+     X
+
+     She told him what the Tempter said,
+       And what her frightened self had seen,
+     (That form in loveliness arrayed,
+       With modest face, and graceful mien)
+         And how displayed.
+
+     Then well-content to show his bride
+       The worldly knowledge he possessed,
+     (That world whereof was none beside)
+       He laid his hand upon his breast,
+         And thus replied:&mdash;
+
+       "Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
+         "A little way down yonder path,
+         "And I will show the form which hath
+       "Enchanted thee, and me."
+
+     XI
+
+     Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
+       Which hurries down the pebbled way,
+     As one who hath small time to spare,
+       So far to go, so much to say
+     To summer air;
+
+     Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
+       O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
+     And little circles dimple in,
+       As if the waters quaffed themselves,
+         The while they spin:
+
+       Thence in a clear pool, overbent
+         With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
+         Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
+       Kadisha sleeps content.
+
+     XII
+
+     Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
+       The first of men was smiling gay;
+     Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
+       The mystery of that passion-sway
+         She could not quell.
+
+     As they approached the silver strand,
+       He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
+     And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
+       Therein he set the blossom featly,
+         And took her hand:
+
+       He led her past the maiden-hair,
+         Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
+         Until the margin held her feet,
+       Like water-lilies fain
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
+       The only one with whom I stray,
+     The only image still I have,
+       Too often, even while I pray
+         To Him who gave.
+
+     The form she saw was long unknown,
+       Except as that beheld yestreen;
+     Till viewing, not that form alone,
+       But his, with hands enclasped between,
+         She guessed her own.
+
+       And, Bending O'er in Sweet Surprise,
+         Perused, With Simple Child's Delight,
+         the Flowing Hair, and Forehead White,
+       and Soft Inquiring Eyes.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/088.jpg" alt="088. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     XIV
+
+     Then, blushing to a fairer tint
+       Than waves might ever hope to catch,
+     "I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
+       But surely I can never match
+         This lily glint!
+
+     "So pure, so innocent, and bright,
+       So charming free, without endeavour,
+     So fancy-touched with pensive light I
+       I think that I could gaze for ever,
+         With new delight
+
+       "And now that rose-bud in my hair,
+         Perhaps it should be placed above&mdash;
+         And yet, I will not change it, love,
+       Since mou hast set it there.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve?
+       What matter Tor thy form or face?
+     Thy beauty is, if love believe
+       Thee worthy of that treasured place
+         Thou ne'er shalt leave.
+
+     "Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
+       Take back my faith that dared to wander;
+     Forgive my joy to have thee shown
+       Not transient, as thine image yonder,
+         But all my own.
+
+       "And, love, if this be vain of me,
+         This pleasure, and the pride I take;
+         Tis only for thy dearer sake,
+       To be so fair to thee."
+
+     XVI
+
+     No more she said; but smiling fell,
+       And lost her sorrow on his breast;
+     Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell,
+       Like troubled waters laid at rest
+         In comfort's well:
+
+     Tis nothing more, an' if she weep,
+       Than joy she cannot else reveal;
+     As onyx-gems of Pison keep
+       A tear-vein, where the sun may steal
+         Throughout their deep.
+
+       May every Adam's fairer part
+         Thus, only thus, a rival find&mdash;
+         The image of herself, enshrined
+       Within the faithful heart!
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/092.jpg" alt="092. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/095.jpg" alt="095. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      MOUNT ARAFA
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      IN TWO PARTS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      "Mount Arafa, situated about a mile from Mecca, is held in great
+      veneration by the Mussulmans, as a place very proper for penitence. Its
+      fitness in this respect is accounted for by a tradition that Adam and Eve,
+      on being banished out of Paradise, in order to do penance for their
+      transgression were parted from each other, and after a separation of six
+      score years, met again upon this mountain." Ockley's "<i>History of the
+      Saracens</i>," p. 60
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+THE  PARTING
+
+     I
+
+     Driven away from Eden's gate
+       With   biasing   falchions fenced about,
+     Into a desert desolate,
+       A miserable pair came out,
+         To meet their fate.
+
+     To wander in a world of woe,
+       To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
+     With every living thing their foe&mdash;
+       The fire of God above, the river
+         Of death below.
+
+       Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
+         It is the destiny of man
+         To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
+       And hide from his own theft!
+
+     II
+
+     The father of a world unborn&mdash;
+       Who hath begotten death, ere life&mdash;
+     In sullen silence plods forlorn;
+       His love and pride in his fair wife
+         Are rage and scorn.
+
+     Instead of Angel ministers,
+       What hath he now but fiends devouring;
+     Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
+       In lieu of manna, crab and souring&mdash;
+         By whose fault?   Hers!
+
+       Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
+         New penance waits thee; since&mdash;when thus
+         Thou shouldst have wept for all of us&mdash;
+       Thou mournest thine own ease I
+
+     III
+
+     The mother of all loving wives
+       (Condemned unborn to many a tear)
+     Is fain to take his hand, and strives
+       In sorrow to be doubly dear&mdash;
+         But shame deprives.
+
+		 The Shame, The Woe, The Black Surprise,
+       That Love's First Dream Should Have Such Ending,
+     to Weep, and Wipe Neglected Eyes I
+       Oh Loss of True Love, Far Transcending
+         Lost Paradise!
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/098.jpg" alt="098. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+       For is it faith, that cannot live
+         One gloomy hour, and soar above
+         The clouds of fate?   And is it love,
+       That will not e'en forgive?
+
+     IV
+
+     The houseless monarch of the earth
+       Hath quickly found what empire means;
+     For while he scoffs with bitter mirth,
+       And curses, after Eden's scenes,
+         This dreary dearth.
+
+     A snake, that twined in playful zeal,
+       But yester morn, around his ankle,
+     Now driven along the dust to steal,
+       Steals up, and leaves its venom'd rankle
+         Deep in his heel.
+
+       He groans awhile.    He seeks anon
+         For comfort to this first of pain,
+         Where all his sons to-day are fain;
+       He seeks&mdash;but Eve is gone!
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART I&mdash;ADAM
+
+     <i>O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
+     A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
+     Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
+     He pours the sorrow no one hears;
+     Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
+     Some ease of heart in toil of mind.</i>
+
+     I
+
+     "YE mountains, that forbid the day,
+       Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
+     How long amid you must I stray,
+       Deserted, banished from God's sight,
+         And castaway?
+
+     "Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
+       Ye beasts, to my good-will committed&mdash;
+     Although your trust hath been betrayed&mdash;
+       Not long ago ye would have pitied
+         Your old comrade.
+
+       "Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
+         Albeit I love your outward part;
+         The nature that enthrals my heart
+       Must be more like my own.
+
+     II
+
+     "The Maker once appointed me&mdash;
+       I know not, and I care not why&mdash;
+     The lord of everything I see,
+       Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
+         Whate'er they be.
+
+     "And all the earth whereon they dwell,
+       And all the heavens they are inhaling,
+     And powers, whereof I cannot tell&mdash;
+       Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
+         Until I fell.
+
+       "Twas good and glorious to believe;
+         But now mv majesty is o'er;
+         And I would give it all, and more,
+       For one sweet glimpse of Eve.
+
+     III
+
+     "For what is glory, what is power?
+       And what the pride of standing first?
+     A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
+       A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
+         A sun-scorched flower.
+
+     "God grant the men who spring from me,
+       As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
+     To find a loftier pedigree
+       Than any by the Lord intended&mdash;
+         Frog, slug, or tree!
+
+       "So shall they live, without the grief
+         Of having womankind to love,
+         Find nought below, and less above,
+       And be their own belief.
+
+     IV
+
+     "So weak was I, so poorly taught,
+       By any but my Maker's voice,
+     Too happy to indulge in thought,
+       Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
+         And ends in nought.
+
+     "But now and then, my path grows clear,
+       My mind casts off its grim confusion,
+     When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
+       Then happiness seems no delusion,
+         Even down here.
+
+       "With love and faith, to bless the curse,
+         To heal the mind by touch of heart,
+         To make me feel my better part,
+       And fight against the worse.
+
+     V
+
+     "It may be that I did o'erprize,
+       Above the Giver, that rare gift,
+     Ungird my will for softer ties,
+       And hold my manhood little thrift
+         To woman's eyes.
+
+     "So far she was, so full of grace,
+       So innocent with coy caresses,
+     So proud to step at my own pace,
+       So rosy through her golden tresses;
+         And such a face!
+
+       "Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
+         A thought against my faithful Eve;
+         Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
+       That it was one, to love.
+
+     VI
+
+     "Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
+       Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
+     Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
+       Or better made by Him, who made
+         That pair in vain.
+
+     "Shall any know, as we have known,
+       Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
+     Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
+       Crowning of reason, and upsetting
+         Of reason's throne?
+
+       "Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
+         Or crimson sting from creamy rose&mdash;
+         Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
+       Thy venom from our fall."
+
+     <i>Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
+     Had made a drought of vocal flow;
+     When hungry, weary, desolate,
+     A fox crept home to his defis gate.
+     The sight brought Adam's memory back,
+     And touched him with a keener lack.</i>
+
+     VII
+
+     "Home! Where is home? Of old I thought
+       (Or felt in mystery of bliss)
+     That so divinely was I wrought
+       As not to care for that or this,
+         And value nought;
+
+     "But sit or saunter, rest or roam,
+       Regarding all things most sublimely,
+     As if enthroned on heaven's dome;
+       Away with paltry and untimely
+         Hankerings for <i>Home!</i>
+
+       "But now the weary heart is fain
+         For shelter in some lowly nest&mdash;
+         To sink upon a softer breast,
+       And smile away its pain,
+
+     VIII
+
+     "For me, what home, what hope is left?
+       What difference of good or ill?
+     Of all I ever loved bereft,
+       Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,
+         For one small theft!
+
+     "I sicken of my skill and pride;
+       I work, without a bit of caring.
+     The world is waste, the world is wide;
+       Why make good things, with no one sharing
+         Them at my side?
+
+       "What matters how I dwell, or die?
+         Away with such a niggard life!
+         The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;
+       And life is only I.
+
+     IX
+
+     "God, who hast said it is not good
+       For man, thy son, to live alone;
+     Is everlasting solitude,
+       When once united bliss was known,
+         A livelier food?
+
+     "Can'st thou suppose it right or just,
+       When thine own creature so misled us,
+     In virtue of our simple trust,
+       To torture us like this, and tread us
+         Back into dust?
+
+       "Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!
+         If, when immortal, I was slain,
+         For daring to impugn his reign,
+       How shall I, thus infirm?
+
+     X
+
+     "Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,
+       For all the penance on me laid!
+     Forgive me, Lord, if I forget
+       That I am but what Thou hast made,
+         My soul Thy debt!
+
+     "Inspire me to survey the skies,
+       And tremble at their golden wonder;
+     To learn the space that <i>I</i> comprise,
+       At once to marvel, and to ponder,
+     And drop mine eyes.
+
+       "And grant me?&mdash;for I do but find,
+         In seeking more than God hath shown,
+         I scorn His power and lose my own&mdash;
+       Grant me a lowly mind.
+
+     XI
+
+     "A lowly mind!  Thou wondrous sprite,
+       Whose frolics make their master weep;
+     Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,
+       Anon, too impotent to creep,
+         Or blink aright;&mdash;
+
+     "Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play
+       Among the miracles above thee,
+     Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,
+       To labour, so that He shall love thee,
+         And guide thy way.
+
+       "Be led, from out the cloudy dreams
+         Of thy too visionary part,
+         To listen to the whispering heart,
+       And curb thine own extremes.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give
+       To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,
+     And flowers of grace and love revive,
+       And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,
+         And corn snail thrive.
+
+     "Beholding gladness, Eve and I,
+       Enfolding it also in each other,
+     May talk of heaven without a sigh;
+       Because our heaven in one another
+         Love shall supply.
+
+       "For courage, faith, and bended knees,
+         By stress of patience, cure distress,
+       And turn wild <i>Love-in-idleness</i>
+       Into the true <i>Heartsease</i>."
+
+     <i>The Lord breathed on the first of men,
+     And strung his limbs to strength again;
+     He scorned a century of ill,
+     And girt his loins to climb the parting hill.</i>
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+PART II&mdash;EVE
+
+     <i>Meanwhile through lowland, holt, and glade,
+     Sad Eve her lonely travel made;
+     Not fierce, or proud, but well content
+     To own the righteous punishment;
+     Yet found, as gentle mourners find,
+     The hearts confession soothe the mind.</i>
+
+     I
+
+     "Ye valleys, and ye waters vast,
+       Who answer all that look on you
+     With shadows of themselves, that last
+       As long as they, and are as true&mdash;
+         Where hath he past?
+
+     "Oh woods, and heights of rugged stone,
+       Oh weariness of sky above me,
+     For ever must I pine and moan,
+       With none to comfort, none to love me,
+         Alone, alone?
+
+       "Thou bird, that hoverest at heaven's gate,
+         Or cleavest limpid lines of air,
+         Return&mdash;for thou hast one to care&mdash;
+       Return to thy dear mate.
+
+     II
+
+     "For trie, no joy of earth or sky,
+       No commune with the things I see,
+     But dreary converse of the eye
+       With worlds too grand to look at me&mdash;
+         No smile, no sigh!
+
+     "In vain I fall Upon my knees,
+       In vain I weep and sob for ever;
+     All other miseries have ease,
+       All other prayers have ruth&mdash;but never
+         Any for these.
+
+       "Are we endowed with heavenly breath,
+         And God's own form, that we should win
+         A proud priority of sin,
+       And teach creation death?
+
+     III
+
+     "Not, that is too profound for me,
+       Too lofty for a fallen thing.
+     More keenly do I feel than see;
+       Far liefer would I, than take wing,
+         Beneath it be.
+
+     "The night&mdash;the dark&mdash;will soon be here,
+       The gloom that doth my heart appal so I
+     How can I tell what may be near?
+       My faith is in the Lord&mdash;but also
+         He hath made fear.
+
+       "I quail, I cower, I strive to flee;
+         Though oft I watched without affright,
+         The stern magnificence of night,
+       When Adam was with me
+
+     IV
+
+     "My husband! Ah, I thought sometime
+       That I could do without him well,
+     Communing with the heaven at prime,
+       And in my womanhood could dwell
+         Calm and sublime.
+
+     "Declining, with a playful strife,
+       All thoughts below my own transcendence,
+     All common-sense of earth and life,
+       And counting it a poor dependence
+         To be his wife,
+
+       "But now I know, by trouble's test,
+         How little my poor strength can bear,
+         What folly wisdom is, whene'er
+       The grief is in the breast!
+
+     "The grief is in my breast, because
+       I have not always been as kind
+     As woman should, by nature's laws,
+       But showed sometimes a wilful mind,
+         Carping at straws.
+
+     "While he, perhaps, with larger eyne,
+       Was pleased, instead of vexed, at seeing
+     Some little petulance in mine,
+       And loved me all the more, for being;
+         Not too divine.
+
+       "Until the pride became a snare,
+         The reason a deceit, wherein
+         I dallied face to face with sinh
+       And made a mortal pair.
+
+     VI
+
+     "Dark sin, the deadly foe of love,
+       All bowers of bliss thou shalt infest,
+     Implanting thorns the flowers above,
+       And one black feather in the breast
+         Of purest dove.
+
+     "Almighty Father, once our friend,
+       And ready even now to love us.
+     Thy pitying gaze upon us bend,
+       And through the tempest-clouds above us
+         Thine arm extend.
+
+       "That so thy children may begin
+         In lieu of bliss, to earn content,
+         And find that sinful Eve was meant
+       Not only for a sin."
+
+     <i>Awhile she ceased; for memory's flow
+     Had drowned the utterance of woe;
+     Until a young hind crossed the lawn,
+     And fondly trotted forth her fawn,
+     Whose frolics of delight made Eve,
+     As in a weeping vision, grieve.</i>
+
+     VII
+
+     "For me, poor me, no hope to learn
+       That sweeter bliss than Paradise,
+     The joy that makes a mother yearn
+       O'er that bright message from the skies
+         Her pains do earn.
+
+     She stoops entranced; she fears to stir,
+       Or think; lest each a thought endanger
+     (While two enraptured hearts confer)
+       That wonderful and wondering stranger,
+     Come home to her,
+
+       "He watches her, in solemn style;
+         A world of love flows to and fro;
+         He smiles; that he may learn to know
+       His mother by her smile.
+
+     VIII
+
+     "Oh, bliss, that to all other bliss
+       Shall be as sunrise unto night,
+     Or heaven to such a place as this,
+       Or God's own voice, with angels bright,
+         To serpent's hiss!
+
+     "I have I betrayed thee, or cast by
+       The pledge in which my soul delighted&mdash;
+     That all this wrong and misery
+       Should be avenged at last, and righted,
+         And so should I?
+
+       "Belike, they look on me as dead,
+         Those fiends that found me soft and sweet;
+         But God hath promised me one treat&mdash;
+       To crush that serpent's head!
+
+     IX
+
+     "Revenge! Oh, heaven, let some one rise,
+       Some woman, since revenge is small,&mdash;
+     Who shall not care about its size,
+       If only she can get it all,
+         For those black lies!
+
+     "Poor Adam is too good and great,
+       I felt it, though he said so little&mdash;
+     To hate his foes, as I can hate&mdash;
+       And pay them every jot, and tittle,
+         At their own rate.
+
+       "For was there none but I to blame?
+         God knows that if, instead of me,
+         There had been any other she,
+       She would have done the same,
+
+     X
+
+     "Poor me! Of course the whole disgrace,
+       In spite of reason, falls on me:
+     And so all women of my race,
+       In pure right, shall be reason-free,
+         In every case.
+
+     "It shall not be in power of man
+       To bind them to their own contentions;
+     But each shall speak, as speak she can,
+       And start anew with fresh inventions,
+         Where she began.
+
+       "And so shall they be dearer still;
+         For man shall ne'er suspect in them
+         The plucking of the fatal stem,
+       That brought him all his ill.
+
+     XI
+
+     "And when hereafter&mdash;as there must,
+       Since He, that made us, so hath sworn&mdash;
+     From that whereof we are, the dust,
+       And whereunto we shall return
+         In higher trust&mdash;
+
+     "There spring a grand and countless race,
+       Replenishing this vast possession,
+     Till life, hath won a larger space
+       Than death, by quick and fair succession
+         Of health and grace;
+
+       "They too shall find as I have found
+         The grief, that lifts its head on high,
+         A dewy bud the sun shall dry&mdash;
+       But not while on the ground.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Then men shall love their wives again,
+       Allowing for the frailer kind,
+     Content to keep the heart's Amen,
+       Content to own the turns of mind
+         Beyond their ken.
+
+     "And wives shall in their lords be blest,
+       Their higher sense of right perceiving
+     (When possible) with love their test;
+       Exalting, solacing, believing
+         All for the test.
+
+       "And for the best shall all things be,
+         If God once more will shine around,
+         And lift my husband from the ground,
+       And teach him to lift me."
+
+     <i>New faith inspired the first of wives,
+     She smiles, and drooping hope revives;
+     She scorns a hundred years of woe%
+     And binds her hair, because the breezes blow.</i>
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+THE MEETING
+
+     I
+
+     The wind is hushed, the moon is bright,
+       More stars on heaven than may be told;
+     Young flowers are coying with the light,
+       That softly tempts them to unfold,
+         And trust the night.
+
+     What form comes bounding from above
+       Down Arafa, the mountain lonely,
+     Afraid to scare its long-lost dove,
+       Yet swift as joy&mdash;"It can be only,
+         Only my love!"
+
+       What shape is that&mdash;too fair to leave
+         On Arafa, the mountain lone?
+         So trembling, and so faint&mdash;"My own,
+       It must be my own Eve!"
+
+     II
+
+     As when the mantled heavens display
+       The glory of the morning glow,
+     And spread the mountain heights with day,
+       And bid the clouds and shadows go
+         Trooping away,
+
+     The Spirit of the Lord arose,
+       And made the earth and heaven to quiver,
+     And scattered all his hellish foes,
+       And deigned his good stock to deliver
+         From all their woes.
+
+			 So Long the Twain Had Strayed Apart,
+         That Each As at a Marvel Gazed,
+         With Eyes Abashed, and Brain Amazed;
+       While Heart Enquired of Heart.
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/118.jpg" alt="118. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     III
+
+     Our God hath made a fairer thing
+       Than fairest dawn of summer day&mdash;
+     A gentle, timid, fluttering,
+       Confessing glance, that seeks alway
+         Rest for its wing.
+
+     A sweeter sight than azure skies,
+       Or golden star thereon that glideth;
+     And blest are they who see it rise,
+       For, if it cometh, it abideth
+         In woman's eyes.
+
+       The first of men such blessing sued;
+         The first of women smiled consent;
+         For husband, wife and home it meant,
+       And no more solitude!
+
+     IV
+
+     We trample now the faith of old,
+       We make our Gods of dream and doubt;
+     Yet life is but a tale untold,
+       Without one heart to love, without
+         One hand to hold&mdash;
+
+     The fairer half of humankind,
+       More gentle, playful, and confiding:
+     Whose soul is not the slave of mind,
+       Whose spirit hath a nobler guiding
+         Than we can find.
+
+       So Eve restores the sweeter part
+         Of what herself unwitting stole,
+         And makes the wounded Adam whole;
+       For half the mind is heart.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/125.jpg" alt="125. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+The old well of Saint John, in the parish of Newton-Nottage,
+Glamorganshire, has a tide of its own, which appears to run exactly
+counter to that of the sea, some half-mile away. The water is
+beautifully bright and fresh, and the quaint dome among the lonely
+sands is regarded with some awe and reverence.
+
+     <i>He</i>
+
+     "THERE is plenty of room for two in here,
+       Within the steep tunnel of old grey stone;
+     And the well is so dark, and the spring so clear,
+       It is quite unsafe to go down alone."
+
+     <i>She</i>
+
+     "It is perfectly safe, depend upon it,
+       For a girl who can count the steps, like me;
+     And if ever I saw dear mother's bonnet,
+       It is there on the hill by the old ash-tree."
+
+     <i>He</i>
+
+     "There is nobody but Rees Hopkin's cow
+       Watching, the dusk on the milk-white sea;
+     'Tis the time and the place for a life-long? vow,
+       Such as I owe you, and you owe me."
+
+     <i>She</i>
+
+     "Oh, Willie, how can I, in this dark well?
+       I shall drop the brown pitcher if you let go;
+     The long? roof is murmuring like a sea-shell,
+       And the shadows are shuddering to and fro."
+
+     <i>He</i>
+
+     "Tis the sound of the ebb, in Newton Bay,
+       Quickens the spring, as the tide grows less;
+     Even as true love flows alway
+       Counter the flood of the world's success."
+
+     <i>She</i>
+
+     "There is no other way for love to flow,
+       Whenever it springs in a woman's breast;
+     With the tide of its own heart it must go,
+       And run contrary to all the rest."
+
+     <i>He</i>
+
+     "Then fill the sweet cup of your hand, my love,
+       And pledge me your maiden faith thereon,
+     By the touch of the letter'd stone above,
+       And the holy water of Saint John."
+
+     <i>She</i>
+
+     "Oh, what shall I say?   My heart sinks low;
+       My fingers are cold, and my hand too flat,
+     Is love to be measured by handfuls so;
+       And you know that I love you&mdash;without that."
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     They stooped, in the gleam of the faint light, over
+       The print of themselves on the limpid gloom;
+     And she lifted her full palm toward her lover,
+       With her lips preparing the words of doom.
+
+     But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell,
+       And the pledge of her faith sprang sweet and clear,
+     From a holier source than the old Saint's well,
+       From the depth of a woman's love&mdash;a tear.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/128.jpg" alt="128. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A STORY IN THREE SCENES
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      (<i>Plin. Nat. Hist., xxxv. ii</i>)
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Scene I:&mdash;<i>Outside the gate of Sicyon&mdash;Morning. Glycera
+weaving garlands, Pausias stands admiring.</i>
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "YE Gods, I thought myself the Prince of Art,
+     By Phoebus, and the Muses set apart,
+     To smite the critic with his own complaint,
+     And teach the world the proper way to paint.
+     But lo, a young maid trips out of a wood,
+     And what becomes of all I understood?
+		 I Stand and Stare; I Could Not Draw a Line,
+     if Ninety Muses Came, Instead of Nine.
+     Thy Name, Fair Maiden, is a Debt to Me;
+     Teach Him to Speak, Whom Thou Hast Taught To See.
+     Myself Already Some Repute Have Won,
+     for I Am Pausias, Brietes' Son.
+     to Boast Behoves Me Not, Nor Do I Need,
+     But Often Wish My Friends to Win the Meed.
+     So Shall They Now; No More Will I Pursue
+     the Beaten Track, But Try What Thou Hast Shown,
+     New Forms, New Curves, New Harmonies of Tone,
+     New Dreams of Heaven, and How to Make Them True."
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/132.jpg" alt="132. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Fair Sir, 'tis only what I plucked this morn,
+     Kind nature's gift, ere you and I were born.
+     Through mossy woods, and watered vales, I roam,
+     While day is young, and bring my treasure home;
+     Each lovely bell so tenderly I bear,
+     It knoweth not my fingers from the air,
+     Lo now, they scarce acknowledge their surprise,
+     And how the dewdrops sparkle in their eyes!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Because the sun shines out of thine.   But hush,
+     To praise a face praiseworthy, makes it blush.
+     I am not of the youths who find delight,
+     In every pretty thing that meets their sight
+     My father is the sage of Sicyon;
+     And I&mdash;well, he is proud of such a son."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "And proud am I, my mother's child to be,
+     And earn for her the life she gave to me,
+     Her name is Myrto of the silver hair,
+     Not famed for wisdom, but loved everywhere."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Then whence thine art?  Hath Phoebus given thee boon
+     Of wreath and posy, fillet and festoon?
+     Of tint and grouping, balance, depth, and tone&mdash;
+     Lo, I could cast my palette down, and groan!"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "No art, fair sir, hath ever crossed my thought,
+     The lesson I delight in comes untaught.
+     The flowers around me take their own sweet way,
+     They tell me what they wish&mdash;and I obey.
+     Unlike poor us, they feel no spleen or spite
+     But earn their joy, oy ministering delight.
+     So loved and cherished, each may well suppose
+     Itself at home again just where it grows.
+     No dread have they of what the Fates may bring,
+     But trust their Gods, and breathe perpetual Spring."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Fair child of Myrto, simple-hearted maid,
+     Thy innocence doth arrogance upbraid.
+     Ye Gods, I pray you make a flower of me;
+     That I may dwell with nature, and with thee."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "I see the brave sun leap the city wall!
+     The gates swing wide; I hear the herald's call.
+     The Archon ham proclaimed the market-day;
+     And mother will shed tears at my delay.
+     The priest of Zeus hath ordered garlands three;
+     And while I tarry, who will wait for me?"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "No picture have I sold for many a moon,
+     But fortune must improve her habits soon;
+     Then will I purchase all thy stock-in-trade,
+       And thou shalt lead me to thy bower of green,
+       There will I paint the flowers, and thee their Queen&mdash;
+     The Queen of dowers, that nevermore shall fade."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "I know a wood-nymph, who her dwelling hath
+     Among the leaves, and far beyond the path,
+     With myrtle and with jasmin roofed across,
+     Enlaced with vine, and carpeted with moss,
+     Whose only threshold is a plaited brook,
+     Whereby the primrose at herself may look;
+     While birds of song melodious make the air&mdash;
+     But oh! I must not take a stranger there."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Nay, but a friend   No stranger now am I.
+     Good art is pledge of perfect modesty.
+     From chastened heights the painter glanceth down;
+     No maid can fear a youth who loves renown."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Thy words are trim, If mother deems them true,
+     Thou shalt come with me.  But till then, adieu!"  [Exit.
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "O! where am I?   The mind is all for art&mdash;
+     But one warm breath transforms it into heart."
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Scene II:&mdash;<i>A wood near Sicyon.   Pausias with his
+easel, &amp;c.   Glycera carrying flowers.</i>
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Confounded tangle!   Who could paint all this?
+     A bear might hug him, or a serpent hiss!
+     For love of nature justly am I famed;
+     But when she goes so far as this, she ought to be ashamed."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Nay, be not frightened by a small affray,
+     Pure love of nature cannot pave its way.
+     But lo, where yonder coney-tracks begin,
+     My nymph hath made her favourite bower within.
+     Yon oak hath reared its rugged antlers thus,
+     Before Deucalion lived, or Daedalus.
+     Inside her woodland Majesty doth keep
+     A world of wonders&mdash;if one dared to peep&mdash;
+     Of things that burrow, elide, spin webs, or creep;
+     Strange creatures, which before they live must die,
+     And plants that hunt for prey, and flowers that fly!"
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/140.jpg" alt="140. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "My love of nature freezes in a trice;
+     I loathe all earwigs, beetles, and wood-lice.
+     Outside her bower the lady must remain,
+     If she doth wish to have her portrait taen."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Tis not the lady thou must paint&mdash;but me."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Aha, that will I, with a glow of glee.
+     But when I offered, somebody was vexed,
+     And blushed, and frowned, and longed to say,
+     'Whatnext?'"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "A painter's tongue hath learnt to paint, I trow.
+     But oh that order&mdash;I remember now&mdash;
+     For twenty chaplets, from the priest of Zeus!
+     Ah, what a grand majestic Hiereus!"
+     So pleased he was that morning with those three,
+     And such a customer he means to be!
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "The priest of <i>Dis!</i>a scoundrel with three wives!
+     I'll pull his triple beard, if he arrives."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "High words and threats profane this hallowed place,
+     Where Time rebukes the fuss of human race.
+     And gentle sir, what harm hath he done thee?
+     It is my mother whom he comes to see.
+     Lo, how the Gods our puny wrath deride,
+     With peace and beauty spread on every side!
+     This earth with pleasure of the Spring complete,
+     Too bright to dwell on, were it not so sweet.
+     No theft of man it's affluence impairs,
+     A thousand flowers, without a loss, it spares;
+     Whose bashful elegance no brush can trace,
+     Heartfelt delight, and plenitude of grace;
+     No palettes match their brilliance, although
+     Pandora filled her box from Iris' bow."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Her want of faith sweet Glycera will rue,
+     When she hath seen what <i>Pausias</i> can do."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+     "Forgive me, sir;  In truth it was no taunt.
+     A great man can do anything&mdash;but vaunt."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "E'en that he can do, if he sees the need.
+     But out on words, when time hath come for deed!
+     Up leaps the sun, to paint thee with his plume,
+     And every blossom seems to be thy bloom."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Why stand we here, so early of the morn,
+     In love with things that treat our love with scorn&mdash;
+     Grey crags, where Time with folded pinion broods,
+     Ana ever young antiquity of woods;
+     The brooks that babble, and the flowers that blush,
+     Ere woman was a reed, or man a rush?
+     And he for ever, as the Gods ordain,
+     Would fain revive with art what he hath slain;
+     Shall nature fail to laugh, while man doth yearn
+     To teach the canvas what he ne'er can learn?"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Sweet Muse, while thus through heaven's too distant vault,
+     Thy great mind roves&mdash;how shall we earn our salt?
+     Though art is not encouraged as of old,
+       She is worth a score of nature; I design
+       To manufacture, from these flowers of thine,
+     A silver * talent&mdash;or perhaps of gold!"
+
+     * Lucullus is said to have given two talents for
+     a mere copy of this picture.
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Good heavens, how precious is your Worship's time!
+     Some minds are lowly, others too sublime.
+     Before thee all my simple flowers I spread;
+     Long may they live, when Glycera is dead!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "The Gods forefend!
+     Fair omen from fair maid&mdash;
+     Bright tongue, recall the dark thing thou hast said!"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Then long live they, with Glycera to aid!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "And Pausias crowned by Critics, to non-plus
+     Euphranor, Cydias, and Antidotus.
+     But what are they?   Below my feet they lie;
+     Poor sons of pelf.    The son of art am I.
+     Now rest thee, maiden, on this pillowy bed,
+     With fragrance canopied, with beauty spread;
+     Above thee hovers eglantine's caress,
+     Around thee glows entangled loveliness;
+     Shy primrose smiles, thy gentle smile to woo,
+     And violets take thy glances for the dew."
+
+     &amp;Glycera&amp;
+
+     "Then will they pluck themselves, to see me laugh;
+     Good flowers bring cash; but who will pay for chaff?
+     But haply thus the true poet intervenes,
+     To make us wonder what on earth he means."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "A poet! We do things in a superior way;
+     A painter is a poet, who makes it pay.
+     A poet, though deep and mystic as the Sphinx,
+     Will ne'er earn half of what he eats and drinks,
+     He dreams of Gods, but of himself he thinks."
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/146.jpg" alt="146. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Scene III.&mdash;<i>A western slope near Sicyon.    Pausias
+has his easel set, Glycera is dressed in white.</i>
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Seven times the moon hath filled her silver horn,
+     And twice a hundred suns awoke the morn,
+     Since thou and I&mdash;for half the praise is thine&mdash;
+     Began this study of the flowers divine."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Alas! how swiftly have the months gone by!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Not swift alone, but passing sweet for me."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "The world, that was so large, is you and I."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "And shall be larger still, when it is 'We.'"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     (Aside)  "Sweet dual!  Alas, that this shall never be!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "A tear, bright Glycera in those eyes of thine,
+     Those tender eyes, that should with triumph shine!
+     When I, the owner of that precious heart,
+     Am shouting Iö Pæan of high art;
+     The noblest picture underneath the sun&mdash;
+     A few more strokes, and victory is won!"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Nay, heed me not.  True pleasure is not dry;
+     The sunrise of the heart bedews the eye."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "If that were all&mdash;but lately there hath been
+     A listless air beneath thy livery mien;
+     Thyself art all fair petal, and sweet perfume,
+     And smiles that light the damask of thy bloom;
+     Yet some, pale distance seems to chill the whole."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "Forgive me, love, forgive a timorous soul.
+     Through brightest hours untimely vapours rise&mdash;
+     But while I prate, the lucky moment flies.
+     The work, the weather, and the world are fair;
+     A few more strokes&mdash;and fame flies everywhere."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Who cares for fame, except with love to share?"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "To share! Nay every breath of it is mine,
+     Whene'er it breathes on thee; for I am thine.
+     But pardon now&mdash;if I have seemed sometime
+     Impatient, glib, too pert for things sublime,
+     Remember that I meant not so to sink;
+     Forgive your Glycera, when you come to think."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "I'll not forgive my Glycera&mdash;until
+     She hath discovered how to do some ill.
+     Now don once more this coronet of bloom,
+     While lilies sweet thy sweeter breast illume."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     (Aside) "Ah me, what brightness wasted upon gloom!
+     (Aloud) Oh fling thy sponge across this wretched face,
+     A patch uncouth amid a world of grace."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Sweet love, thy beauty far outshineth them;
+     The tinsel they are, thou the living gem.
+     Great gift of Gods!  Shall flowers of earth despise
+     Those flowers of heaven&mdash;thy tresses, and thine eyes?
+     Away with gloom I let no ill-boding make
+     My heart to falter, or my hand to shake.
+     One hour is all I crave.  If that be long,
+     Sweet lips beguile it with my favourite song."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "A song like mine, a childish lullaby,
+     Will close&mdash;when needed wide-awake&mdash;thine eye.
+     But since thou so demandest, let me try.
+
+     "In the fresh woods have I been,
+       Sprinkled with the morning dew;
+     And of all that I have seen,
+       Lo, the fairest are for you!
+
+     Take your choice of many a flower,
+       Lily, rose, and melilot,
+     Lilac, myrtle, virgin's bower,
+       Pansy, and forget-me-not.
+
+     Ladies'-tresses, and harebell,
+       Jasmin, daphne, violet,
+     Meadow-sweet, and pimpernel,
+       Maidenhair, and mignonette.
+
+     What is gold, that doth allure
+       Foolish hearts from field and flower?
+     If you plant them in it pure,
+       Will they keep alive an hour?
+
+     What is fame, compared with these,
+       Fame of wisdom, sword, or pen?
+     Who would quit the meadow breeze,
+       For the sultry breath of men?
+
+     These have been my childhood's love,
+       These my maiden visions were;
+     When I meet their gaze above,
+       These will tell me, God is there."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "'Tis done!   No more the palsied doubt molests;
+     The crown of glory on my labour rests.
+     Thy clear voice hath my flagging thoughts supplied,
+     My model thou, my teacher, and my bride!
+     Now stand, beloved one, where the soft glow lies,
+     Yet judge not rashly, ere the colour dries.
+     Find every fault, pick every flaw thou canst;
+     I'll not be vexed; true art is thus advanced.
+     So meek is art, that (when it comprehends)
+     It loves the carping of its dearest friends.
+     If my own bride condemns my efforts&mdash;let her.
+     A poor daub? Well let some one do it better."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "My love, my lord, my monarch of high art,
+     Forgive a tongue held fast and bound by heart.
+     Not Orpheus, Linus, or great Hermes could
+     Find words to make their rapture understood.
+     No Muse, no Phoebus, hath this work inspired,
+     But Jove himself, with heaven's own splendour fired.
+     I see the nursing fingers of the day,
+     And night as well, upon their offspring play&mdash;
+     The silent glide of moon, that hushed their sleep,
+     (As mother at her infant steals a peep)
+     Anon, with pearly glances half withdrawn,
+     The gentle hesitation of the dawn;
+     I see the sun his golden target raise,
+     And drive in tremulous ranks the woodland haze;
+     Awakened by whose call the flowers arise,
+     With tears of joy and blushes of surprise;
+     From bulb and bush, from leaf and blade, spring up
+     Bell, disk, or star, plume, sceptre, fan, or cup;
+     A thousand forms, a thousand hues of bloom
+     Fill earth and heaven with beauty and perfume.
+     All this, by thine enchantment, liveth here;
+     Oh wondrous power, that chills my pride with fear!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Thy praise, sweet critic, makes thee doubly dear.
+     But what of thy fair self&mdash;thy form, thy face,
+     The flower of flowers, the gracefulness of grace?"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "I see why thou hast placed me among these;
+     I serve a purpose&mdash;'tis to scare the bees.
+     Sweet love hath right to place me anywhere;
+     And yet I mourn, to find myself so fair."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "A maid lament her beauty!  Thou hast shown,
+     A thousand times, a wit beyond mine own;
+     Yet is it kind to such a love as mine,
+     To grudge it refuge in a lovely shrine?"
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "No shrine, no throne, of earth or heaven above,
+     Can be too fair a dwelling-place for love.
+     But that which makes me grieve, myself to see,
+     Is memory of the bitter loss to thee;
+     That earthly charms&mdash;as men such things esteem&mdash;
+     Should tantalize thee, in a weeping dream!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "My own, my only love, what wouldst thou say?
+     My heart hath borne a heavy bode, all day."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "I durst not tell thee, till thy work was done;
+     But now I must, before the setting sun.
+     Last night, when life was lapsed in quietude,
+     Beside my couch a stately figure stood&mdash;
+     A virgin form, in garb of chace arrayed,
+     With bow and quiver, baldric, and steel blade;
+     Majestic as a palm that scorns the wind,
+     And taller than the daughters of mankind
+     Twas Artemis, close-girt in silver sheen,
+     The Goddess of the woods, the Maiden-queen.
+     Cold terror seized me, and mute awe, the while
+     She oped her proud lips, with an icy smile&mdash;
+     'Whose votary art thou?  Shall I resign
+     'To wanton Cypris this sworn nymph of mine?
+     'Have I enfeoffed thee of my holiest glen?
+     'To have thee tainted by the lips of men?
+     'Shall urchin Eros laugh at my decree?
+     'No Hymen torch, no loosened zone for thee I
+     'To-morrow, when my crescent tops yon oak,
+     'Thou shalt return unto thy proper yoke.'
+     She closed her lips, and like the barb of frost,
+       Her fingers on my bounding heart outspread:
+       My breast is ice, mv soul is of the dead:
+       The sod, the cold clay, are my marriage-bed;
+     Sweet sun, sweet flowers, sweet Love, forever lost!"
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "I'll not endure it; it shall ne'er be true;
+     If that cold tyrant comes&mdash;I'll run her through."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "What can'st thou do against the Goddess trine,
+     Selene, Artemis, and Proserpine?
+     Oh love, thou hast before thee life and fame,
+     And some new Glycera with a loftier name.
+     So tender is my heart, that it would break,
+     To think that thou wert suffering for my sake.
+     Be angry with me; doubt my faith&mdash;or try;
+     And count it for a crime of mine to die:
+     Or tell thyself&mdash;if still a pain there be&mdash;
+     That wealth and grandeur were not meant for me.
+     Yet think sometimes, when thou art well consoled,
+     That no one loves thee, like some one of old."
+
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "My life, my soul, my heart of hearts, my all,
+     Together let us cling, till death befall."
+
+     <b>Glycera</b>
+
+     "The sun is gone; the crescent waxeth bright;
+     I fly to darkness, or eternal light.
+     Great are the Gods; but greater yet is love;
+     Here thou art mine, and I am thine above."
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     <b>Pausias</b>
+
+     "Oh fame, and conquest, pomp, and power, and state,
+     What are ye, when the heart is desolate?
+     A few more years of labour, and slow breath&mdash;
+     Till death benign hath overtaken death."
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/159.jpg" alt="159. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkbuscombe" id="linkbuscombe"></a><br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      BUSCOMBE; OR, A MICHAELMAS GOOSE
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+     When I was Head of Blunders school,
+       Before the age of stokers,
+     Compelled by rank to look a fool
+       Betwixt a pair of "chokers,"
+
+     Tom Tanner's father's wrote, to say
+       That we should both of us come,
+     To spend Saint Michael's holiday
+       At the Vicarage of Buscombe.
+
+     One trifle marred this merry plan&mdash;
+       I had contrived, though barr'd up,
+     To typify the future man,
+       By getting very hard up.
+
+     Oh bimetallic champion, some
+       New ratio doth seem proper,
+     When the circulating medium
+       Has fallen to half a copper.
+
+     Vile mammon hence!   Thy low amount
+       Too paltry is to mope for;
+     The more we have in hand to count,
+       The less in heart to hope for.
+
+     Bright youth itself is golden ore,
+       And health the best gold-beater:
+     Without a sigh for two pence more,
+       We passed the gates of Peter.
+
+     A nod suffices surly Cop,
+       Who grins his <i>bona fides</i>;
+     As Cerberus preferred his sop
+       To Orpheus and Alcides.
+
+     But Mother Cop!   Her cooking knack
+       Would conquer fifty Catos&mdash;
+     The Queen of tarts, and tuck, and tack,
+       And cream, and fried potatoes.
+
+     And rashers!   Sweet Ulysses, say
+       Old Homer was mistaken;
+     The Goddess must have had her way,
+       And turned thee into bacon.
+
+     That Circe came, and wished us joy,
+       And said, "Goodbye, my dearie!"
+     Because I was an honest boy,
+       And <i>pauper tneo ære</i>.
+
+     So Tom and I, like men on strike,
+       Shook hands with all our cronies,
+     Walked fifty yards, to save the pike,
+       And jumped upon our ponies.
+
+     Of apples, nuts, and goose galore
+       I chattered, like a stupid,
+     And thought of shooting coneys, more
+       Than being shot by Cupid.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     At racing pace the turnpike road
+       (Great Western, in this quicker age)
+     Was swallowed up with whip and goad,
+       And soon we saw the Vicarage.
+
+     A sweet seclusion, to forget
+       The world and its disasters,
+     And fill the mind with mignonette,
+       Clove-pinks, and German asters;
+
+     In pensive, or in playful mood,
+       To saunter here, and dally
+     With leafy calm of solitude,
+       Or sunshine of the valley.
+
+     The Vicar loved his parish well,
+       And well was he loved by it;
+     Religion did not him compel
+       To harass and defy it
+
+     No price he charged for Heavenly love,
+       No discount on <i>Resurgo</i>;
+     His conscience told him&mdash;one side-shove
+       Is worth ten kicks <i>a tergo</i>.
+
+     But while the path of life he showed
+       To win the Christian guerdon,
+     No post was he, to point the road,
+       But a man to share the burden.
+
+     The lapse of years made manifest
+       The sanctuary of holy age;
+     As clearer grows the ring-dove's nest,
+       When time hath stripp'd the foliage.
+
+     The Vicar's wife was much the same,
+       In fairer form presented&mdash;
+     A lively, yet a quiet dame,
+       With home, sweet home, contented.
+
+     In parish, needs; and household arts,
+       A lesson to this glib age;
+     Well versed in pickles, jams, and tarts,
+       Piano, chess, and cribbage.
+
+     And well she loved the flowers, that speak
+       A language undefiled&mdash;
+     The flowers that lift the dimpled cheek,
+       Or droop the dewy eyelid.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Now, if she lingers after us,
+       What ground have we for snarling?
+     What act prohibits private buss,
+       Reserved for "Tommy darling"?
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     But who are these, so fresh and sweet,
+       In lovely hats and dresses,
+     Who half advance, and half retreat,
+       And peep through clouds of tresses?
+
+     "Come, dears!" They shyly offer hand,
+       Beneath the jasmin trellis;
+     "Say who you are, girls"&mdash;Charlotte, and
+       Her sister, Caroline Ellis!
+
+     Sweet Charlotte hath a serious face,
+       A gaze almost parental;
+     A type of every maiden grace,
+       But a wee bit sentimental.
+
+     Bright Caroline hath eyes that dance,
+       While buoyant airs engirdle her;
+     Her playful soul may love romance,
+       But not a creepy curdler.
+
+      Sweet Charlotte's are the deep grey eyes
+       That win profound devotion;
+     Bright Carry's flash, like azure skies,
+       With heliograph in motion.
+
+     As merry as the vintage ray,
+       That dances down the grape-rill;
+     As tender as the dews of May,
+       Or apple-buds of April.
+
+     Their charms are safe to grow more bright
+       For at least two lustral stages;
+     And so it seems not unpolite
+       To enquire what their age is.
+
+     "Last May, I was fifteen"; with glee
+       Replies the laughing Carry;
+     Sage Charlotte adds&mdash;"And I shall be
+       Seventeen, next February."
+
+     To the dining-room we walk on air,
+       Disdaining jots and tittles;
+     To feed seems such a low affair&mdash;
+       And yet, hurrah for victuals!
+
+     Could e'en a boy ply knife and fork,
+       In presence so poetic,
+     Until the vicar draws a cork,
+       And gives the sniff prophetic?
+
+     And when the evening games began,
+       Pope Joan, and Speculation&mdash;
+     What head could keep its poise and plan,
+       With the heart in palpitation?
+
+     Until, in soft white-curtained bed,
+       We sink to slumber lowly,
+     And angels fan the childish head,
+       With visions sweet and holy.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     "Now I do declare," exclaimed our host,
+       As he strode back from the arish,
+     "Those railway fellows soon will boast
+       They have undermined my parish!
+
+     "Though none can say I have ever set
+       My face against improvement,
+     I cannot quite perceive as yet
+       The good of this new movement
+
+     "Like Hannibal, these folk confound
+       All nature's institutions,
+     And shun, with a great dive underground,
+       Parochial contributions!
+
+     "Come boys and girls, let us see their craft,
+       These hills of Devon will task it;
+     'Tis a pretty walk to White-Ball shaft,
+       If the boys will take a basket
+
+     "Dear wife; if your poor feet are right,
+       The miracles of this cycle
+     Will give you a noble appetite,
+       For the roast goose of Saint Michael."
+
+     In a twinkle, we had baskets twain
+       Of the right stuff for a journey,
+     And beautiful gooseberry Champagne,
+       Superior to Epernay,
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     What myriad joys of heart and mind
+       Flit in and out our brief age!
+     That day it was grand to see how kind
+       The sun looked through the leafage!
+
+     While the leaves for their part pricked their lips,
+       With a dewy simper waiting;
+     They were conscious of some amber tips&mdash;
+       But those Were his own creating.
+
+     Can the heart of man alone be dull,
+       And the mind of man be spiteful,
+     When all above is beautiful,
+       And all below delightful?
+
+     When Season bright, and Season rich,
+       Make bids against each other;
+     And earth, uncertain which is which,
+       Smiles up at Nature Mother.
+
+     The copse, the lane, the meadow path,
+       The valleys, banks, and hedges,
+     Were green with summer's aftermath,
+       And gold with autumn's pledges.
+
+     Wild rose hung coral beads above,
+       And satchel'd nuts grew nigh them;
+     Like tips of a little maiden's glove,
+       Ere ever she has to buy them.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     But ours are not the maids to bite
+       A gore or gusset undone;
+     How neat they look, how trim and tight!
+       Those frocks were made in London.
+
+     Long time, we glance in awe and doubt,
+       Suppressing all frivolity;
+     Till the spirit of the age breaks out,
+       And all is mirth and jollity.
+
+     One flash, that stole from eyes demure,
+       Hath scattered all convention;
+     And then a pearly laugh makes sure
+       That fun is her intention.
+
+     The smiling elders march ahead;
+       We dance, without a fiddler,
+     We play at cross-touch, White and Red,
+       Tip-cat, and Tommy Tidier.
+
+     We laugh and shout, much more than speak,
+       No etiquette importunes;
+     The trees were made for hide-and-seek,
+       The flowers to tell our fortunes;
+
+     The hills, for pretty girls to pant,
+       And glow with richer roses;
+     The wind itself, to toss askant
+       The curls that hide their noses.
+
+     Then sprightly Carry shouts in French&mdash;
+       "All boys and girls, come nutting!"
+     We are slipping down a mighty trench&mdash;
+       Why, it is the Railway cutting I
+
+     Before us yawns a dark-browed arch,
+       Paved with a muddy runnel;
+     A thousand giant navvies march
+       To delve the White-Ball tunnel.
+
+     Oh, if a man of them but did
+       Presume to glance at Carry,
+     Though he were Milo, or John Ridd,
+       I would toss him to Old Harry.
+
+     I pull my jacket off, like him
+       Who would shatter England's pillars&mdash;
+     From the tunnel comes an order grim,
+       "Get out of the way you chillers!"
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     And the same stern order doth apply
+       To the pranks of this remote age!
+     We are sure alike to be thrust by,
+       In our nonage, and our dotage.
+
+     Yet who shall grudge the tranquil age,
+       When nought can now betide ill,
+     To glance, from a distant hermitage,
+       At a summer morning idyll?
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Oh agony, despair, and woe!
+       Oh two-edged sword to us come!
+     To Blundell's must the body go,
+       While the heart remains at Buscombe.
+
+     All breakfast time, how glum we looked!
+       Our tears were threatening dribblets;
+     Too truly had our goose been cooked,
+       To leave us e'en our giblets.
+
+     Sweet Charlotte, did you share the thrill,
+       The pang; no throat may utter,
+     And strive an aching void to fill
+       With heartless toast and butter?
+
+     And were you sad, bright Caroline,
+       Although you never said so?
+     You did cast down your lovely eyne,
+       And you crumbled up your bread so!
+
+     But the Vicar's views were more sublime,
+       As he asked in all simplicity,
+     "My youthful friends, what is the prime
+     Of all mundane felicity?"
+
+     My answer, though it sounded cool,
+       Was given with trepidation&mdash;
+     "To stay at home, and send to school
+       The rising generation."
+
+     A gentle smile flits o'er his lip,
+       He eyes me with benignity;
+     He yearns to offer goodly tip,
+       Yet fears to wound my dignity.
+
+     True benefactor, be not shy,
+       Thou seest a humble fellow,
+     Thy noble impulse gratify&mdash;.
+     My stars, if it isn't yellow!
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     But time is over, and above,
+       To end this charming visit;
+     And must we part my own true love?
+       Though I am not sure, which is it.
+
+     Sweet Charlotte lingered in the shade,
+       Most gentle of all houris;
+     Bright Carry in the lobby played
+       With a pair of polished cowries.
+
+     She showed me how alike they were,
+       So Heaven had pleased to make them.
+     Though fortune might divide the pair,
+       She ne'er could separate them.
+
+     I blushed, and stammered at her touch,
+       I feared to beg for either;
+     My heart was in my mouth so much,
+       I could say "Goodbye" to neither.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Two strings are wise for every bow,
+       To meet the change of weather;
+     And Cupid's shafts give softer blow,
+       When two are tied together.
+
+     Oh, Charlotte sweet, and Carry bright,
+       My whole, or double-half love,
+     Let no maturer wisdom slight
+       A simple tale of calf-love.
+
+     A blessing on the maiden grace,
+       That beautifies the real,
+     To make the world a fairer place,
+       And lift the low ideal!
+
+     If one, or both, by any chance,
+       Behold what I confess here,
+     Make auld lang syne of young romance,
+       By sending your address here.
+
+     And answer&mdash;as I trust you can,
+       When time is flying faster,
+     That he hath served you better than
+       Your humble poetaster.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     <i>Postscript (a Fact)</i>
+
+     This have they done&mdash;and oh, by Jove,
+       Not altered by a fraction!
+     If then they were too sweet to love,
+       What are they now? Distraction.
+
+     Of course they must be ever young;
+       How could I be so stupid?
+     Time fell in love with both, and flung
+       His calendar to Cupid!
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/175.jpg" alt="175. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="linkfame" id="linkfame"></a><br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      TO FAME
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     I
+
+     Right Fairy of the morn, with flowers arrayed,
+       Whose beauties to thy young pursuer seem
+       Beyond the ecstasy of poet's dream&mdash;
+     Shall  I overtake thee, ere thy lustre fade?
+
+     II
+
+     Ripe glory of the noon, august, and proud,
+       A vision of high purpose, power, and skill,
+       That melteth into mirage of good-will&mdash;
+     Do I o'ertake thee, or embrace a cloud?
+
+     III
+
+     Gray shadow of the evening, gaunt and bare,
+       At random cast, beyond me or above,
+       And cold as memory in the arms of love&mdash;
+     If I o'ertook thee now, what should I care?
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023">
+      <!-- IMG --></a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
+      <img src="images/176.jpg" alt="176. " width="100%" /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     IV
+
+     "No morn, or noon, or eve am I," she said;
+
+       "But night&mdash;the depth of night behind the sun;
+       By all mankind pursued; but never won,
+     Until my shadow falls upon a shade."
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      1894. <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
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+Richard Doddridge Blackmore
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@@ -0,0 +1,4016 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse, by
+Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse
+
+Author: Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+Illustrator: Louis Fairfax-Muckley and James W. R. Linton
+
+Release Date: August 31, 2007 [EBook #22474]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRINGILLA: SOME TALES IN VERSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+FRINGILLA: SOME TALES IN VERSE
+
+By  Richard Doddridge Blackmore
+
+Illustrated by Louis Fairfax-Muckley and James W. R. Linton
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+     TO MY PEN
+
+     LITA OF THE NILE
+
+     KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY
+
+     MOUNT ARAFA
+
+     THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN
+
+     PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER
+
+     BUSCOMBE; OR, A MICHAELMAS GOOSE
+
+     FAME
+
+
+[Illustration: 013]
+
+
+[_Fringilla loquitur_]
+
+"What means your finch?"
+
+"Being well aware that he cannot sing like a Nightingale,
+He flits about from tree to tree, and twitters a little tale."
+
+     Albeit he is an ancient bird, who tried
+     his pipe in better days, and then was
+     scared by random shots, he is fain to
+     lift the migrant wing once more towards the
+     humble perch, among the trees he loves. All
+     gardeners own that he does no harm, unless
+     he flits into a thicket of young buds, or a very
+     choice ladies' seed-bed. And he hopes that he is
+     now too wise to commit such indiscretions.
+
+     Perhaps it would have been wiser still to
+     have shut up his little mandible, or employed it
+
+     only upon grub. But the long gnaw of last
+     winter's frost, which set mankind a-shivering,
+     even in their most downy nest, has made them
+     kindly to the race that has no roof for shelter
+     and no hearth for warmth.
+
+     Anyhow, this little finch can do no harm,
+     if he does no good; and if he pleases nobody,
+     he will not be surprised, because he has never
+     satisfied himself.
+
+     May-day, 1895.
+
+
+NOTE
+
+With kind consent of Messrs. Harper, "Buscombe" returns in altered form
+from the other side of the ocean. Two other little tales appeared of
+old, but nobody would look at them, and now they are offered after
+careful trimming.
+
+Standing afar. I gaze with doubt at other trimmings which are not mine.
+They have conquered the taste of the day perhaps, and high art announces
+them as her last transfiguration. Moreover they are highly recommended--
+as the purest art not always is--by the modesty of the artist.
+
+
+The cover design, borders, initial letters and the whole of the
+full-page illustrations--with the exception of the three to 'Pausias
+and Glycera' by James W. R. Linton--are by Louis Fairfax-Muckley.
+
+
+[Illustration: 017.]
+
+
+
+    I
+
+    Thou feeble implement of mind,
+      Wherewith she strove to scrawl her
+        name;
+    But, like a mitcher, left behind
+      No signature, no stroke, no claim,
+        No hint that she hath pined--
+
+    Shall ever come a stronger time,
+        When thou shalt be a tool of skill,
+      And steadfast purpose, to fulfil
+    A higher task than rhyme?
+
+    II
+
+    Thou puny instrument of soul,
+      Wherewith she labours to impart
+    Her efforts at some arduous goal;
+      But fails to bring thy coarser art
+        Beneath a fine control--
+
+      Shall ever come a fairer day,
+        When thou shalt be a buoyant plume,
+        To soar, where clearer suns illume,
+      And fresher breezes play?
+
+[Illustration: 020.]
+
+[Illustration: 023.]
+
+     III
+
+     Thou weak interpreter of heart,
+       So impotent to tell the tale
+     Of love's delight, of envy's smart,
+       Of passion, and ambition's bale,
+         Of pride that dwells apart--
+
+       Shall I, in length of time, attain
+         (By walking in the human ways,
+          With love of Him, who made and sways)
+       To ply thee, less in vain?
+
+     If so, thou shalt be more to me
+       Than sword, or sceptre, flag, or crown;
+     With mind, and soul, and heart in thee,
+       Despising gold, and sham renown;
+
+         But truthful, kind, and free--
+       Then come; though now a pithless quill,
+         Uncouth, unfledged, indefinite,--
+         In time, thou shalt be taught to write,
+       By patience, and good-will.
+
+
+
+
+LITA  OF THE  NILE
+
+A TALE  IN  THREE   PARTS
+
+PART   I
+
+     I
+
+     "KING, and Father, gift and giver,
+     God revealed in form of river,
+     Issuing perfect, and sublime,
+     From the fountain-head of time;
+
+     "Whom eternal mystery shroudeth,
+       Unapproached, untracked, unknown;
+     Whom the Lord of heaven encloudeth
+       With the curtains of His throne;
+
+     "From the throne of heaven descending,
+     Glory, power, and goodness blending,
+     Grant us, ere the daylight dies,
+     Token of thy rapid rise,"
+
+     II
+
+     Ha, it cometh! Furrowing, flashing,
+       Red blood rushing o'er brown breast;
+     Peaks, and ridges, and domes, dashing
+       Foam on foam, and crest on crest!
+
+     'Tis the signal Thebes hath waited,
+     Libyan Thebes, the hundred-gated:
+     Rouse, and robe thee, River-priest
+     For thy dedication feast!
+
+     Follows him the loveliest maiden,
+       Afric's thousand hills can show;
+     White apparel'd, flower-laden,
+       With the lotus on her brow.
+
+     III
+
+     Votive maid, who hath espousal
+     Of the river's high carousal;
+     Twenty cubits if he rise,
+     This shall be his bridal prize.
+
+     Calm, and meek of face and carriage,
+       Deigning scarce a quicker breath,
+     Comes she to the funeral marriage,
+       The betrothal of black death.
+
+     Rosy hands, and hennaed fingers,
+     Nails whereon the onyx lingers,
+     Clasped, as at a lover's tale,
+     In the bosom's marble vale.
+
+
+     IV
+
+     Silvery scarf, her waist enwreathing,
+       Wafts a soft Sabaean balm;
+     Like a cloud of incense, breathing
+       Round the column of a palm:
+
+     Snood of lilies interweaveth
+     (Giving less than it receiveth)
+     Beauty of her clustered brow,
+     Calmly bent upon us now.
+
+     Through her dark hair, spread before
+       See the western glory wane,
+     As in groves of dim Cytorus,
+       Or the bowers of Taprobane!
+
+
+     V
+
+     See, the large eyes, lit by heaven,
+     Brighter than the Sisters Seven,
+     (Like a star the storm hath cowed)
+     Sink their flash in sorrow's cloud.
+
+     There the crystal tear refraineth,
+       And the founts of grief are dry;
+     "Father, Mother--none remaineth;
+       All are dead; and why not I?"
+
+     Yet, by God's will, heavenly beauty
+     Owes to Heaven alone its duty;
+     Off ye priests, who dare adjudge
+     Bride, like this, to slime and sludge!
+
+
+     VI
+
+     When they tread the river's margent,
+       All their mitred heads are bowed--
+     What hath browned the ripples argent,
+       Like the plume of thunder-cloud?
+
+     Where yestreen the water slumbered,
+     With a sickly crust encumbered,
+     Leapeth now a roaring flood,
+     Wild as war, and red as blood.
+
+     Every billow hurries quicker,
+       Every surge runs up the strand;
+     While the brindled eddies flicker,
+       Scourged as with a levin brand.
+
+     VII
+
+     Every bulrush, parched and welted,
+     Lifts his long joints yellow-belted;
+     Every lotus, faint and sick,
+     Hangs her fragrant tongue to lick.
+
+     Countless creatures, lone unthought of,
+       Swarm from every hole and nook;
+     What is man, that he make nought of
+       Other entries in God's book?
+
+     Scorpions, rats, and lizards flabby,
+     Centipedes, and hydras scabby,
+     Asp, and slug, and toad, whose gem
+     Outlasts human diadem.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Therefore hath the priest-procession
+       Causeway clean of sandal-wood;
+     That no foul thing make transgression
+       On the votive maiden's blood.
+
+     Pure of blood and soul, she standeth
+     Where the marble gauge demandeth,
+     Marble pillar, with black style,
+     Record of the rising Nile,
+
+     White-robed priests around her kneeling,
+       Ibis-banner floating high,
+     Conchs, and drums, and sistrals pealing,
+       And Sesostris standing nigh.
+
+     IX
+
+     He, whose kingdom-city stretches
+     Further than our eyesight fetches;
+     Every street it wanders down
+     Larger than a regal town;
+
+     Built, when each man was a giant,
+       When the rocks were mason's stones,
+     When the oaks were osiers pliant,
+       And the mountains scarcely thrones;
+
+     City, whose Titanic portals
+     Scorn the puny modern mortals,
+     In thy desert winding-sheet,
+     Sacred from our insect feet.
+
+     X
+
+     Thebes No-Amon, hundred-gated,
+       Every gate could then unfold
+     Cavalry ten thousand, plated,
+       Man and horse, in solid gold.
+
+     Glancing back through serried ranges,
+     Vivid as his own phalanges,
+     Every captain might espy
+     Equal host in sculpture vie;
+
+     Down Piromid vista gazing,
+       Ten miles back from every gate,
+     He can see that temple blazing,
+       Which the world shall never mate.
+
+     XI
+
+     But the Nile-flood, when it swelleth,
+     Recks not man, nor where he dwelleth;
+     And--e'en while Sesostris reigns--
+     Scarce five cubits man attains.
+
+     Lo, the darkening river quaileth,
+       Like a swamp by giant trod,
+     And the broad commotion waileth,
+       Stricken with the hand of God I
+
+     When the rushing deluge raging
+     Flung its flanks, and shook the staging,
+     Priesthood, cowering from the brim,
+     Chanted thus its faltering hymn.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Ocean sire, the earth enclasping,
+       Like a babe upon thy knee,
+     In thy cosmic cycle grasping
+       All that hath been, or shall be;
+
+     "Thou, that art around and over
+     All we labour to discover;
+     Thou, to whom our world no more
+     Than a shell is on thy shore;
+
+     "God, that wast Supreme, or ever
+       Orus, or Osiris, saw;
+     God, with whom is no endeavour,
+       But thy will eternal law:
+
+     XIII
+
+     "We, who keep thy feasts and fastings,
+     We, who live on thy off-castings,
+     Here in low obeisance crave
+     Rich abundance of thy wave.
+
+     "Seven years now, for some transgression,
+       Some neglect, or outrage vile,
+     Vainly hath our poor procession
+       Offered life, and soul to Nile.
+
+     "Seven years now of promise fickle,
+     Niggard ooze, and paltry trickle,
+     Freshet sprinkling scanty dole,
+     Where the roaring flood should roll.
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Therefore are thy children dwindled,
+       Therefore is thine altar bare;
+     Wheat, and rye, and millet spindled,
+       And the fruits of earth despair.
+
+     "Men with haggard bellies languish,
+     Bridal beds are strewn with anguish,
+     Mothers sell their babes for bread,
+     Half the holy kine are dead.
+
+     "Is thy wrath at last relaxing?
+       Art thou merciful, once more?
+     Yea, behold the torrent waxing!
+       Yea, behold the flooded shore!
+
+     XV
+
+     "Nile, that now with life-blood tidest,
+     And in gorgeous cold subsidest,
+     Richer than our victor tread
+     Stirred in far Hydaspes' bed;
+
+     "When thy swelling crest o'er-waveth
+     Yonder twenty cubit mark,
+     And thy tongue of white foam laveth
+     Borders of the desert dark,
+
+     "This, the fairest Theban maiden,
+     Shall be thine, with jewels laden;
+     Lift thy furrowed brow, and see
+     _Lita_, dedicate to thee!"
+
+[Illustration: 032.]
+
+     XVI
+
+     Thus he spake, and lowly stooping
+       O'er the Calasiris hem,
+     Took the holy water, scooping
+       With a bowl of lucid gem;
+
+     Chanting from the Bybline psalter
+     Touched he then her forehead altar;
+     Sleeking back the trickled jet,
+     There the marriage-seal he set.
+
+     "None of mortals dare pursue thee,
+       None come near thy hallowed side:
+     Nile's thou art, and he shall woo thee,--
+       Nile, who swalloweth his bride."
+
+     XVII
+
+     With despair's mute self-reliance,
+     She accepted death's affiance;
+     She, who hath no home or rest,
+     Shrank not from the river's breast.
+
+     Haply there she shall discover
+       Father, lost in wilds unknown,
+     Mother slain, and youthful lover,
+       Seen as yet in dreams alone.
+
+     Ha! sweet maid, what sudden vision
+     Hath dispelled thy cold derision?
+     What new picture hast thou seen,
+     Of a world that might have been?
+
+     XVIII
+
+     From Mount Seir, Duke Iram roveth,
+       Three renewals of the moon:
+     To see Egypt him behoveth,
+       Ere his life be past its noon.
+
+     Soul, and mind, at first fell under
+     Flat discomfiture of wonder,
+     With the Nile before him spread,
+     Temple-crowned, and tempest-fed!
+
+     Yet a nobler creed he owneth,
+       Than to worship things of space:
+     One true God his heart enthroneth
+       Heart that throbs with Esau's race.
+
+     XIX
+
+     Thus he stood, with calm eyes scorning
+     Idols, priests, and their adorning;
+     Seeing, e'en in nature's show,
+     Him alone, who made it so.
+
+     "God of Abraham, our Father,
+       Earth, and heaven, and all we see,
+     Are but gifts of thine, to gather
+       Us, thy children, back to Thee.
+
+     "All the grandeur spread before us,
+     All the miracles shed o'er us,
+     Echoes of the voice above,
+     Tokens of a Father's love."
+
+     XX
+
+     While of heaven his heart indited,
+       And his dark eyes swept the crowd,
+     Sudden on the maid they lighted,
+       Mild and haughty, meek and proud.
+
+     Rapid as the flash of sabre,
+     Strong as giant's toss of caber,
+     Sure as victor's grasp of goal,
+     Came the love-stroke through his soul
+
+     Gently she, her eyes recalling,
+       Felt that Heaven had touched their flight,
+     Peeped again, through lashes falling,
+       Blushed, and shrank, and shunned the light
+
+     XXI
+
+     Ah, what booteth sweet illusion,
+     Fluttering glance, and soft suffusion,
+     Bliss unknown, but felt in sighs,
+     Breast, that shrinks at its own rise?
+
+     She, who is the Nile's devoted,
+       Courted with a watery smile;
+     Her betrothal duly noted
+       By the bridesmaid Crocodile!
+
+     So she bowed her forehead lowly,
+     Tightened her tiara holy;
+     And, with every sigh suppressed,
+     Clasped her hands on passion's breast.
+
+
+PART  II
+
+     I
+
+     Twice the moon hath waxed and wasted,
+       Lavish of her dew-bright horn;
+       And the wheeling sun hath hasted
+     Fifty days, towards Capricorn.
+
+     Thebes, and all the Misric nation,
+     Float upon the inundation;
+     Each man shouts and laughs, before
+     Landing at his own house door.
+
+     There the good wife doth return it,
+       Grumbling, as she shows the dish,
+     Chervil, basil, chives, and burnet
+       Feed, instead of seasoning, fish.
+
+     II
+
+     Palm trees, grouped upon the highland,
+     Here and there make pleasant island;
+     On the bark some wag hath wrote--
+     "Who would fly, when he can float?"
+
+     Udder'd cows are standing--pensive,
+       Not belonging to that ilk;
+     How shall horn, or tail defensive,
+       Keep the water from their milk?
+
+     Lo, the black swan, paddling slowly,
+     Pintail ducks, and sheldrakes holy,
+     Nile-goose flaked, and herons gray,
+     Silver-voiced at fall of day!
+
+     III
+
+     Flood hath swallowed dikes and hedges,
+       Lately by Sesostris planned;
+     Till, like ropes, its matted edges
+       Quiver on the desert sand.
+
+     Then each farmer, brisk and mellow,
+     Graspeth by the hand his fellow;
+     And, as one gone labour-proof,
+     Shakes his head at the drowned shadoof
+
+     Soon the Nuphar comes, beguiling
+       Sedgy spears, and swords around,
+     Like that cradled infant smiling,
+       Whom, the royal maiden found.
+
+     IV
+
+     But the time of times foe wonder,
+     Is when ruddy sun goes under;
+     And the dusk throws, half afraid,
+     Silver shuttles of long shade.
+
+     Opens then a scene, the fairest
+       Ever burst on human view;
+     Once behold, and thou comparest
+       Nothing in the world thereto.
+
+     While the broad flood murmurs glistening
+     To the moon that hangeth listening--
+     Moon that looketh down the sky,
+     Like an aloe-bloom on high--
+
+     V
+
+     Sudden conch o'er the wave ringeth!
+       Ere the date-leaves cease to snake,
+     All, that hath existence, springeth
+       Into broad light, wide-awake.
+
+     As at a window of heaven thrown up,
+     All in a dazzling blaze are shown up,
+     Mellowing, ere our eyes avail,
+     To some soft enchanter's tale.
+
+     Every skiff a big ship seemeth,
+       Every bush with tall wings clad;
+     Every man his good brain deemeth
+       The only brain that is not mad.
+
+     VI
+
+     Hark!  The pulse of measured rowing,
+     And the silver clarions blowing,
+     From the distant darkness, break
+     Into this illumined lake.
+
+     Tis Sesostris, lord of nations,
+       Victor of three continents,
+     Visiting the celebrations,
+       Priests, and pomps, and regiments.
+
+     Kings, from Indus, and Araxes,
+     Ister, and the Boreal axes,
+     Horsed his chariot to the waves,
+     Then embarked, his galley-slaves.
+
+     VII
+
+     Glittering stands the giant royal,
+       Four tall sons are at his back;
+     Twain, with their own corpses loyal,
+       Bridged the flames Pelusiac.
+
+     As he passeth, myriads bless him,
+     Glorious Monarch all confess him,
+     Sternly upright, to condone
+     No injustice, save his own.
+
+     He, well-pleased, his sceptre swingeth,
+       While his four sons strike the gong;
+     Till the sparkling water ringeth
+       Joy and laughter, joke and song.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Ah, but while loud merry-making
+     Sets the lights and shadows shaking,
+     While the mad world casts away
+     Every thought that is not gay,
+
+     Hath not earth, our sweet step-mother,
+       Very different scene hard by,
+     Tossing one, and trampling other,
+       Some to laugh, and some to sigh?
+
+     Where the fane of Hathor Iowereth,
+     And the black Myrike embowereth,
+     Weepeth one her life gone by;
+     Over young, oh death, to die!
+
+     IX
+
+     Nay, but lately she was yearning
+       To be quit of life's turmoil,
+     In the land of no returning,
+       Where all travel ends, and toil.
+
+     What temptations now entice her?
+     What hath made the world seem nicer?
+     Whence the charm, that strives anew
+     To prolong this last adieu?
+
+     Ah, her heart can understand it,
+       Though her tongue can ne'er explain:
+     Let yon granite Sphinx demand it--
+       Riddle, ever solved in vain.
+
+     X
+
+     No constraint of hands hath bound her,
+     Not a chain hath e'er been round her;
+     Silver star hath sealed her brow,
+     Holy as an Isis cow.
+
+     Free to wander where she listeth;
+       No immurement must defile
+     (So the ancient law insisteth)
+       This, the hallowed bride of Nile.
+
+     What recks Abraham's descendant
+     Idols, priests, and pomps attendant?
+     And how long shall nature heed
+     What the stocks and stones decreed?
+
+     XI
+
+     "Fiendish superstitions hold thee
+       To a vile and hideous death.
+     Break their bonds; let love enfold thee;
+       Off, and fly with me;"--he saith.
+
+     "Off! while priests are cutting capers--
+     Priests of beetles, cats, and tapirs,
+     Brutes, who would thy beauty truck,
+     For an inch of yellow muck.
+
+     "Lo, my horse, _Pyropus_, yearneth
+       For the touch of thy light form;
+     Like the lightning, his eye burneth;
+       And his nostril, like the storm.
+
+     XII
+
+     "What are those unholy pagans?
+     Can they ride?   No more than Dagons.
+     Fishtails ne'er could sit a steed;
+     That belongs to Esau's seed.
+
+     "I will make thee Queen of far lands,
+       Flocks, and herds, and camel-trains,
+     Milk and honey, fruit and garlands,
+       Vines and venison, woods and wains.
+
+     "God is with us; He shall speed us;
+     Or (if this vile crew impede us)
+     Let some light into their brain,
+     By the sword of Tubal Cain."
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Nay," she answered, deeply sighing,
+       As the maid grew womanish--
+     "Love, how hard have I been trying'
+       To believe the thing I wish!
+
+     "Thou hast taught me holy teachings,
+     Where to offer my beseechings,
+     Homage due to Heaven alone,
+     Not to ghosts, and graven stone,
+
+     "Thou hast shown me truth and freedom,
+       Love, and faith in One most High;
+     But thou hast not, Prince of Edom,
+       Taught me therewithal, to lie.
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Little cause had I for fretting,
+     None on earth to be regretting;
+     Till I saw thee, brave and kind;
+     And my heart undid my mind.
+
+     "Better, if the Gods had slain me,
+       When no difference could be;
+     Ere the joy had come to pain me,
+       And, alas, my dear one, thee!
+
+     "But shall my poor life throw shame on
+     Royal lineage of Amor?
+     Tis of Egypt's oldest strains;
+     Kingly blood flows in my veins.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Thou hast seen; my faith is plighted,
+       That I will not fly my doom.
+     Honour is a flower unblighted,
+       Though the fates cut off its bloom.
+
+     "I have sent my last sun sleeping,
+     And I am ashamed of weeping.
+     God, my new God, give me grace
+     To be worthy of my race.
+
+     "Though this death our bodies sever,
+       Thou shalt find me there above;
+     Where I shall be learning ever,
+       To be worthy of thy love."
+
+     XVI
+
+     From his gaze she turned, to borrow
+     Pride's assistance against sorrow--
+     God vouchsafes that scanty loan,
+     When He taketh all our own.
+
+     Sudden thought of heaven's inspiring
+       Flashed through bold Duke Iram's heart;
+     Angels more than stand admiring,
+       When a man takes his own part.
+
+     'Tis the law the Lord hath taught us,
+     To undo what Satan wrought us;
+     To confound the foul fiend's plan,
+     With the manliness of man.
+
+     XVII
+
+     "Thou art right," he answered lowly,
+       As a youth should sneak a maid;
+     "Like thyself, thy word is holy;
+       Love is hate, if it degrade.
+
+     "But when thou hast well surrendered,
+     And thy sacrifice is tendered--
+     God do so, and more to me,
+     If I slay not, who slay thee!
+
+     "Abraham's God hath ne'er forsaken
+       Them who trust in Him alway.
+     Thy sweet life shall not be taken.
+       Rest, and calm thee, while I pray."
+
+     XVIII
+
+     Like a little child, that kneeleth
+     To tell God whate'er he feeleth,
+     Bent the tall young warrior there,
+     And the palm-trees whispered prayer.
+
+     She, outworn with woe and weeping,
+       Shared that influence from above;
+     And the fear of death went sleeping
+       In the maiden faith and love.
+
+     Less the stormy water waileth,
+     E'en the human tumult faileth;
+     Stars their silent torches light,
+     To conduct the car of night
+
+
+
+
+PART  III
+
+     I
+
+     Lo, how bright-eyed morn awaketh
+       Tower and temple, nook and Nile;
+     How the sun exultant maketh
+       All the world return his smile!
+
+     O'er the dry sand, vapour twinkleth,
+     Like an eye when old age wrinkleth;
+     While, along the watered shore
+     Runs a river of gold ore.
+
+     Temple-front and court resemble
+       Mirrors swung in wavering light;
+     While the tapering columns tremble
+       At the view of their own height.
+
+     II
+
+     Marble shaft, and granite portal,
+     Statues of the Gods immortal
+     Quiver, with their figures bent,
+     In a liquid pediment
+
+     Thence the flood-leat followeth swiftly,
+       Where the peasant, spade in hand,
+     Guideth many a runnel deftly
+       Through his fruit and pasture-land;
+
+     Oft, the irriguous bank cross-slicing,
+     Plaited trickles he keeps enticing;
+     Till their gravelly gush he feels,
+     Overtaking his brown heels.
+
+     III
+
+     Life--that long hath born the test of
+       More than ours could bear, and live,
+     Springs anew, to make the best of
+       Every chance the Gods may give,
+
+     Doum-tree stiffeneth flagging feather;
+     Pate-leaves cease to cling together;
+     Citrons clear their welted rind;
+     Vines their mildewed sprays unwind.
+
+     Gourds, and melons, spread new lustre
+       On their veiny dull shagreen;
+     While the starred pomegranates cluster
+       Golden balls, with pink between.
+
+     IV
+
+     Yea, but heaven hath ordered duly,
+     Lest mankind should wax unruly,
+     Egypt, garner of all lore,
+     Narrow as a threshing-floor.
+
+     East, and West, lies desolation,
+       Infinite, untracked, untold
+     Shroud for all of God's creation,
+       When the wild blast lifts its fold;
+
+     There eternal melancholy
+     Maketh all delight unholy;
+     As a stricken widow glides
+     Past a group of laughing brides.
+
+     Who is this, that so disdaineth
+       Dome and desert, fear and fate;
+     While his jewell'd horse he reineth.
+       At Amen-Ra's temple-gate?
+
+     He, who crushed the kings of Asia,
+     Like a pod of colocasia;
+     Whom the sons of Anak fled,
+     Puling infants at his tread.
+
+     Who, with his own shoulders, lifted
+       Thrones of many a conquered land;
+     Who the rocks of Scythia rifted--
+       King Sesostris waves his hand
+
+     VI
+
+     Blare of trumpet fills the valley;
+     Slowly, and majestically,
+     Swingeth wide, in solemn state,
+     Lord Amen-Ra's temple-gate.
+
+     Thence the warrior-host emeigeth,
+       Casque, and corselet, spear, and shield;
+     As the tide of red ore suigeth
+       From the furnace-door revealed.
+
+     After them, tumultuous rushing,
+     Mob, and medley, crowd, and crushing;
+     And the hungry file of priests,
+     Loosely zoned for larger feasts.
+
+     VII
+
+     "Look!" The whispered awe enhances
+       With a thrill their merry treat;
+     As one readeth grim romances,
+       In a sunny window-seat
+
+     "Look! It is the maid selected
+     For the sacrifice expected:
+     By the Gods, how proud and brave
+     Steps she to her watery grave!"
+
+     Strike up cymbals, gongs, and tabours,
+       Clarions, double-flutes, and drums;
+     All that bellows, or belabours,
+       In a surging discord comes.
+
+     VIII
+
+     Scarce Duke Iram can keep under
+     His wild steed's disdain and wonder,
+     While his large eyes ask alway--
+     "Dareth man attempt to neigh?"
+
+     He hath snuffed the great Sahara,
+       And the mute parade of stars;
+     Shall he brook this shrill fanfara,
+       Ramshorns, pigskins, screechy jars?
+
+     What hath he to do with rabble?
+     Froth is better than their babble;
+     Let him toss them flakes of froth,
+     To pronounce his scorn and wrath.
+
+     IX
+
+     With his nostrils fierce dilating,
+       With his crest a curling sea,
+     All his volumed power is waiting
+       For the will, to set it free.
+
+     "Peace, my friend!"   The touch he knoweth
+     Calms his heart, howe'er it gloweth:
+     Horse can shame a man, to quell
+     Passion, where he loveth well.
+
+     "Nay, endure we," saith the rider,
+       "Till her plighted word be paid;
+     Then, though Satan stand beside her,
+       God shall help me swing this blade."
+
+     X
+
+     Lo, upon the deep-piled dais,
+     Wrought in hallowed looms of Sais,
+     O'er the impetuous torrent's swoop,
+     Stands the sacrificial group!
+
+     Tall High-priest, with zealot fires
+       Blazing in those eyeballs old,
+     Swathes him, as his rank requires,
+       Head to foot, in linen fold.
+
+     Seven attendants round him vying,
+     In a lighter vesture plying,
+     Four with skirts, and other three
+     Tunic'd short from waist to knee.
+
+     XI
+
+     Free among them stands the maiden,
+       Clad in white for her long rest;
+     Crowned with gold, and jewel-laden,
+       With a lily on her breast
+
+     Lily is the mark that showeth
+     Where that pure and sweet heart gloweth;
+     Here must come, to shed her life,
+     Point of sacrificial knife.
+
+     Here the knife is, cold and gleaming,
+       Here the colder butcher band.
+     Was the true love nought but dreaming,
+       Feeble heart, and coward hand?
+
+     XII
+
+     Strength unto the weak is given,
+     When their earthly bonds are riven;
+     Ere the spirit is called away,
+     Heaven begins its tranquil sway.
+
+     Life hath been unstained, and therefore
+       Pleasant to look back upon;
+     But there is not much to care for,
+       When the light of love is gone.
+
+     Still, though love were twice as fleeting,
+     Longeth she for one last greeting;
+     If her eyes might only dwell
+     Once on his, to say farewell
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Glorious Hapi," spake Piromis,
+       Lifting high his weapon'd hand;
+     "Earth thy footstool, heaven thy dome is,
+       We the pebbles on thy strand.
+
+     "Thou hast leaped the cubits twenty,
+     Dowering us with peace and plenty;
+     Mutha shows thee her retreat,
+     And the desert licks thy feet,
+
+     "We have passed through our purgation,
+       Once again we are thy kin;
+     God, accept our expiation,
+       Maiden pure of mortal sin."
+
+     XIV
+
+     "Ha!" the king cried, smiling blandly;
+     "Ha!" the trumpets answered grandly.
+     Proudly priest whirled, knife on high,
+     While the maiden bowed--to die.
+
+     Sudden, through the ranks beside her,
+       Scattering men, like sparks of flint,
+     Burst a snow-white horse and rider,
+       Rapid as the lightning's glint.
+
+     One blow hurls Arch-priest to quiver
+     Headless, in his beloved river,
+     In the twinkling of an eye,
+     All the rest are dead, or fly.
+
+     XV
+
+     Iram, from _Pyropus_ sweeping,
+     As a mower swathes the rye,
+     Caught his love, in terror sleeping,
+     And her light form swings on high.
+
+     "Soul of Khons!" Sesostris shouted,
+     Striding down the planks blood-grouted--
+     Into his beard fell something light,
+     And he spat, and swooned with fright.
+
+     What hath made this great king stagger,
+       Reel, and shriek--"unclean, unclean!"
+     Thunderbolt, or flash of dagger?
+       Nay, 'twas but a garden bean.
+
+     XVI
+
+     Brave _Pyropus_, blood-bespattered,
+     Snorts at men and corpses scattered,
+     Throws his noble chest more wide,
+     Leaps into the leaping tide.
+
+     Vainly hiss a thousand arrows,
+       Launched at random through the foam;
+     Every stroke the distance narrows
+       Twixt him and his desert home.
+
+     Sorely tried, and passion-shaken,
+     Long amid her foes forsaken,
+     Now, in tumult of surprise,
+     Lita knows not where she lies.
+
+[Illustration: 056.]
+
+     XVII
+
+     Till a bright wave breaks upon her,
+       And her clear perceptions wake--
+     All his valour, prowess, honour,
+       Scorn of life, for her poor sake!
+
+     Gently then her eyes she raises,
+     (Eyes, whence all the pure soul gazes)
+     Softly brings her lips to his--
+     Lips, wherein the whole heart is.
+
+     Let the furious waters welter,
+       Let the rough winds roar above;
+     Waves are warmth, and storms are shelter,
+       In the upper heaven of love.
+
+     XVIII
+
+     Fierce the flood, and wild the danger;
+     Yet the noble desert-ranger
+     Flinches not, nor flags, before
+     He hath brought them safe ashore.
+
+     Lives there man, who would have striven,
+       Reckless thus of storm and sword;
+     Leaped into the gulf, and given
+       Heart and soul, to please his Lord?
+
+     With caresses they have plied him,
+     Hand in hand they kneel beside him,
+     While their mutual vows they plight
+     To the God of life and light
+
+     XIX
+
+     Ha!  What meaneth yon sword-flashing?
+       Trumps, and shouts from wave and isle?
+     Lo, the warrior galleys dashing,
+       To avenge insulted Nile!
+
+     Haste!  The brave steed, leaping lightly,
+     'Neath his double burden sprightly,
+     Challenges, with scornful note,
+     Every horse in Pharaoh's boat.
+
+     King of Egypt, curb thy rages;
+       Lo, how trouble should be borne!
+     Memnon soothes the woe of ages,
+       With a sweet song, every morn.
+
+[Illustration: 062.]
+
+[Illustration: 065.]
+
+
+
+
+KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY
+
+AN  EASTERN  LEGEND
+
+HERE IS A CURIOUS LEGEND AS TO THE ORIGIN OP JEALOUSY. WHEN ADAM AND EVE
+WERE IN PARADISE, THE FORMER WAS ACCUSTOMED TO RETIRE AT EVENTIDE TO THE
+RECESSES OF THE GARDEN, FOR THE PURPOSE OF PRAYER. ON ONE OF THESE
+OCCASIONS THE DEVIL APPEARED TO EVE, AND INFORMED HER THAT HER SOLITUDE
+WAS TO BE ACCOUNTED FOR BY THE ATTRACTIONS OF ANOTHER FAIR ONE. EVE
+REPLIED THAT IT COULD NOT BE SO, AS SHE WAS THE ONLY WOMAN IN EXISTENCE.
+"IF I SHOW YOU ANOTHER, WILL YOU BELIEVE ME?" RETURNED THE EVIL ONE, AND
+PRODUCED A MIRROR, IN WHICH SHE SAW HER OWN REFLECTION,  AND   MISTOOK
+IT   FOR HER RIVAL.   See "_Life in Abyssinia_," by Mr. Parkyns.
+Murray, Albemarle Street.
+
+The Kadisha, flowing to the south of Lebanon, is called
+"the holy river," as having been a minor stream of Paradise.
+
+[Illustration: 066.]
+
+
+
+PART   I
+
+     True love's regale is incomplete,
+     'Till bitter leaven make it sweet;
+     Accept not then our tale amiss,
+     That jealousy was part of bliss;
+     But rather note a mercy here,
+     That fact was thus outrun by fear;
+     And so, before the harder bout,
+       When sin must be encountered too,
+       A woman's heart already knew
+     The way to conquer doubt
+
+     I
+
+     "When sleep was in the summer air,
+       And stars looked down on Paradise,
+     And palms and cedars answered fair
+       The visionary night-wind's sighs,
+         And murmuring prayer:
+
+     When every flower was in its hood
+       (By clasps of diamond dew retained),
+     Or sunk to elude Phalcena's brood,
+       Down slumber's breast with shadows veined,
+         In solitude:
+
+       The citron, stephanote, and rose,
+         Pomegranate, hoya, calycanth,
+         And yet unwanted amaranth,
+       Were sweetness in repose:
+
+     II
+
+     When rivulets were loth to creep,
+       Except unto the pillow moss,
+     And distant lake, encurtained deep,
+       Was but a silver thread across
+         The eyes of sleep:
+
+     When nightingales, in the sycamore,
+       Sang low and soft, as an echo dreaming;
+     And slept the moon upon heaven's shore--
+       The tidal shore of heaven, beaming
+         With lazuled ore:
+
+       When new-born earth was fain to lean
+         In Summer's arms, recovering
+         The unaccustomed toil of Spring,
+       Why slept not Eve, their Queen?
+
+     III
+
+     Upon a smooth fern-mantled stone
+       She sat, and watched the wicket-gate,
+     Not timid in her woman's throne,
+       Nor lonely in her sinless state,
+         Though all alone;
+
+     For having spread her simple board
+       With grapes, and peaches, milk, and flowers,
+     She strewed sweet mastic o'er the sward,
+       And waited through the bridal hours
+         Step of her lord.
+
+       Such innocence around her breathed,
+         And freshness of young nature's play,
+         The sensitive plant shrank not away,
+       And cactus' swords were sheathed.
+
+     IV
+
+     The vision of her beauty fell,
+       Like music on a moonlit place,
+     Or trembles of a silver bell,
+       Or memories of a sacred face,
+         Too dear to tell:
+
+     The grace that wandered free of laws,
+       The look that lit the heart's confession,
+     Had never dreamed how fair it was;
+       Nor guessed that purity's expression
+         Is beauty's cause:
+
+       No more that unenquiring heart
+         Perused the sweet home of her breast,
+         Than turtle-doves unline their nest
+       To scan the outer part
+
+     V
+
+     Although, in all that garden fair,
+       Whate'er delight abode, or grew,
+     Flowers, and trees, and balmy air,
+       Fountains, and birds, and heaven blue
+         Beyond compare:
+
+     In her their various charms had met,
+       And grown more varied by combining,
+     As budded plants do give and get,
+       Each inmate doubling while resigning
+         His several debt:
+
+       And yet she nursed one joy, above
+         Her thousand charms, nor bora of them,
+         But blooming on a single stem--
+       Her true faith in her love.
+
+     VI
+
+     And though, before she heard his foot,
+       The moon had climbed the homestead palm,
+     Flinging to her the shadowed fruit,
+       And tree-frogs ceased to break the calm,
+         And birds were mute,
+
+     With sudden transport ever new,
+       She blushed, and sprang from forth the bower,
+     Her eyes, as bright as moon-lit dew,
+       Her bosom glad as snow-veiled flower,
+         When sun shines through;
+
+       He, with a natural dignity
+         Untaught self-consciousness by harm,
+         Sustained her with his manly arm,
+       And smiled upon her glee.
+
+     VII
+
+     Next day, when early evening shone
+       Along the walks of Paradise,
+     Strewing with gold the hills, her throne,
+       Embarrassing the winds with spice
+         (Too rich a loan),
+
+     Fair Eve was in her bower of ease,
+       A cool arcade of fruit and flowers,
+
+     From North and East enclasped by trees,
+       But open to the Western showers,
+         And Southern breeze.
+
+       Here followed she her gardening trade,
+         Her favourites' simple needs attending,
+         And singing soft, above them bending,
+       A song herself had made.
+
+     VIII
+
+     In evening's calm, she walked between
+       The tints and shades of rich delight,
+     While overhead came, arching green,
+       Many a shrub and parasite,
+         To crown their Queen;
+
+     There laughed the joy of the rose, among
+       Myrtle and Iris, heaven's eye,
+     Magnole, with cups of moonlight hung,
+       And Fuchsia's sunny chandlery,
+         And coral tongue;
+
+       And where the shy brook fluttered through,
+         Nepenthe held her chalice leaf
+         (Undrained as yet by human grief),
+       And broad Nymphaea grew.
+
+     IX
+
+     But where the path bent towards the wood,
+       Across it hung a sombre screen,
+     The deadly night-shade, leaden-hued;
+       And there behind it, darkly seen,
+         A Being stood:
+
+     The form, if any form it had,
+       Was likest to a nightly vision
+     In mantle of amazement clad,
+       A terror-sense, without precision,
+         Of something bad.
+
+       A tremble chilled the forest shade,
+         A roving lion turned and fled,
+         The birds cowered home in hush of dread;
+       But Eve was not afraid.
+
+     X
+
+     She stood before him, sweetly bold,
+       To keep him from her garden shrine,
+     With hair that fell, a shower of gold,
+       Around her figure's snowy line
+         And rosy mould:
+
+     He (with a re-awakened sense
+       Of goodness, long for ever lost,
+     And angel beauty's pure defence)
+       Shrank back, unable to accost
+         Such innocence:
+
+       But envy soon scoffed down his shame;
+         And with a smile, designed for fawning,
+         But like hell's daybreak sickly dawning,
+       His crafty accents came.
+
+     XI
+
+     "Sweet ignorance, 'tis sad and hard
+       To break thy fond confiding spell;
+     And my soft heart hath such regard
+       For thine, that I will never tell
+         What may be spared."
+
+     He turned aside, o'erwhelmed with pain,
+       And drew a sigh of deep compassion:
+     She trembled, flushed, and gazed again,
+       And prayed him quick, in woman's fashion,
+         To speak it plain:
+
+       "Then, if thou must be taught to grieve,
+         And scorn the guile thou hast adored--
+         The man who calls himself thy lord,
+       Where goes he, every eve?"
+
+     XII
+
+     "Nay, then," she cried, "if that be all,
+       I care not what thou hast to say;
+     The guile that lurks therein is small--
+       My husband but retires to pray,
+         At evening call."
+
+     "To pray? Oh yes, and on his knees
+       May-hap to find a lovely being:
+     Devotions so devout as these
+       Are best at night, with no one seeing,
+         Among the trees."
+
+       She blushed as deep as modesty,
+         Then glancing back as bright as cride,
+         "What woman can he find,' she cried,
+       "In all the world, but me?"
+
+     XIII
+
+     He laughed with a superior sneer,
+       Enough to shake e'en woman's faith;
+     "Wilt thou believe me, simple dear,
+       If I am able now," he saith,
+         "To show her here?"
+
+     She cried aloud with gladsome heart,
+       "Be that the test whereon to try thee;
+     Nature and heaven shall take my part:
+       Come, show this rival; I defy thee
+         And all thy art."
+
+       A mirror, held in readiness,
+         He set upright before her feet--
+         "Now can thy simple charms compete
+       With beauty such as this?"
+
+     XIV
+
+     A lovelier sight therein she saw
+       Than ever yet had charmed her eyes,
+     A fairer picture, void of flaw,
+       Than any, even Paradise
+       Itself, could draw;
+
+     A woman's form of perfect grace,
+       In shadowy softness delicate;
+     Though flushed by sunset's rich embrace,
+       A white rose could not imitate
+         Her innocent face:
+
+       Then, through the deepening glance of fear,
+         The shaft of doubt came quivering,
+         The sorrow-shaft--a sigh its wing,
+       And for its barb a tear.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Ah me!" she cried, "too true it is!
+       A simple homely thing, like Eve,
+     Hath not a chance to rival this,
+       But must resign herself to grieve
+         O'er by-gone bliss.
+
+     "Till now it was enough for me
+       To be what God our Father made;
+     Oh, Adam, I was proud to be
+       (As I have felt, and thou hast said)
+         A part of thee.
+
+       "No marvel that my lord can spare
+         His true and heaven-appointed bride.
+         And yet affection might have tried
+       To fancy me as fair."
+
+     XVI
+
+     The Tempter, glorying in his wile,
+       Hath ta'en his mirror and withdrawn;
+     Again the flowers look up and smile,
+       And brightens off from air and lawn
+         The taint of guile.
+
+     But smiles come not again to Eve,
+       Nor brightens off her dark reflection:
+     Her garland-crown she hath ceased to weave,
+       And, plucking, maketh no selection;
+         Only to grieve.
+
+       She feels a dewy radiance steep
+         The languid petals of her eyes,
+         And hath another sad surprise,
+       To know the way to weep,
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+     The tears were still in woman's eyes,
+     When morn awoke on Paradise;
+     And still her sense of shame forbade
+     To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
+     Nor knew she which was dearer cost,
+     To seek him, or to shun him most
+     Then Adam, willing to believe
+       A heart by casual fancy moved
+       Would soon come back, at voice she loved,
+     Addressed his song to Eve.
+
+     I
+
+     "Come fairest, while the morn is fair,
+       And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
+     Calm down this tide of troubled hair,
+       Forget with me all other sighs
+         Than summer air.
+
+     "Like me, the woodland shadows roam
+       At light (their fairer comrade's) side;
+     And peace and joy salute our home;
+       And lo, the sun in all his pride--
+         My sunshine, come!
+
+       "The fawns and birds, that know our call,
+         Are waiting for our presence--see,
+         They wait my presence, love; and thee,
+       The most desired of all.
+
+     II
+
+     "The trees, which thought it grievous thing
+       To weep their own sweet leaves away,
+     Untaught as yet how soon the Spring
+       Upon their nestled heads should lay
+         Her callow wing--
+
+     "The trees, whereat we smiled again,
+       To see them, in their growing wonder,
+     Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
+       Until the gay winds rustled under
+         Their feathered train,
+
+       "Lo, now they stand in braver mien,
+         And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
+         Make prisoner of the intrusive light,
+       And strew the winds with green.
+
+     III
+
+     "Of all the flowers that bow the head,
+       Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
+     Not one there is, declines to sned,
+       Or standeth up, to qualify
+         His incense-meed:
+
+     "Of all that blossom one by one,
+       Or join their lips in loving cluster,
+     Not one hath now resolved alone,
+       Or taken counsel, that his lustre
+         Shall be unshown.
+
+       "So let thy soul a blossom be,
+         To breathe the fragrance of its praise,
+         And lift itself, in early days,
+       To Him who fosters thee.
+
+     IV
+
+     "Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
+       Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees,
+     Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
+       It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
+         And jewelled flight:
+
+     "Of all that hush among the moss,
+       Or babble to the lily-vases,
+     Not one there is but purls across
+       A gush of the delight, that causes
+         It's limpid gloss.
+
+       "So let thy heart a fountain be,
+         To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
+         In dimpled melody--and all
+       For love of home, and me."
+
+     V
+
+     The only fount her heart became
+       Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
+     While pink upon her white cheek came,
+       (Like apple-blossom among pear's)
+         The tinge of shame.
+
+     Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
+       Bent nigh to ask of her distresses,
+     Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
+       Unwinding by discreet caresses,
+         The thread of harm.
+
+       Then she, with sobs of slow relief
+         (For silence is the jail of care)
+         Confessed, for him to heal or share,
+       The first of human grief.
+
+     VI
+
+     "I cannot look on thee, and think
+       That thou has ceased to hold me dear;
+     I cannot break the loosened link:
+       When thou, my only one, art near,
+         How can I shrink?
+
+     "So it were better, love--I mean,
+       My lord, it is more wise and right--
+     That I, as one whose day hath been,
+       Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight,
+         And dwell unseen.
+
+       "And--though it break my heart to say--
+         However sad my loneliness,
+         I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this--
+       To have me far away.
+
+     VII
+
+     "I know not how it is with man,
+       Perhaps his nature is to change,
+     On finding consort fairer than--
+       But oh, I cannot so arrange
+         My nature's plan!
+
+     "And haply thou hast never thought
+       To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
+     But, since to thee the thing was nought,
+       Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
+         As lightly brought.
+
+       "Yet, is it strange that I repine,
+         And feel abased in lonely woe,
+         To lose thy love--or e'en to know
+       That half of it is mine?
+
+     VIII
+
+     "For whom have I on earth but thee,
+       What heart to love, or home to bless?
+     Albeit I was wrong, I see,
+       To think my husband took no less
+         Delight in me.
+
+     "But even now, if thou wilt stay,
+       Or try at least no more to wander,
+     And let me love thee, day by day,
+       Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
+       (If so it may)--
+
+       "Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
+         In homely wise, on serving thee,
+         Than any stranger e'er can be;
+       And Eve shall seem content."
+
+     IX
+
+     Not loud she wept--but hope could hear;
+       Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
+     Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
+       That each alternate step should trace
+         A smile and tear.
+
+     But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
+       Regarded her with troubled glances,
+     Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
+       Himself to be in strange romances,
+       And dreamy haze:
+
+       Then questioning in hurried voice,
+         And scarcely waiting her replies,
+         He spoke, and showed the true surprise
+       That made her soul rejoice.
+
+     X
+
+     She told him what the Tempter said,
+       And what her frightened self had seen,
+     (That form in loveliness arrayed,
+       With modest face, and graceful mien)
+         And how displayed.
+
+     Then well-content to show his bride
+       The worldly knowledge he possessed,
+     (That world whereof was none beside)
+       He laid his hand upon his breast,
+         And thus replied:--
+
+       "Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
+         "A little way down yonder path,
+         "And I will show the form which hath
+       "Enchanted thee, and me."
+
+     XI
+
+     Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
+       Which hurries down the pebbled way,
+     As one who hath small time to spare,
+       So far to go, so much to say
+     To summer air;
+
+     Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
+       O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
+     And little circles dimple in,
+       As if the waters quaffed themselves,
+         The while they spin:
+
+       Thence in a clear pool, overbent
+         With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
+         Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
+       Kadisha sleeps content.
+
+     XII
+
+     Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
+       The first of men was smiling gay;
+     Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
+       The mystery of that passion-sway
+         She could not quell.
+
+     As they approached the silver strand,
+       He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
+     And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
+       Therein he set the blossom featly,
+         And took her hand:
+
+       He led her past the maiden-hair,
+         Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
+         Until the margin held her feet,
+       Like water-lilies fain
+
+     XIII
+
+     "Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
+       The only one with whom I stray,
+     The only image still I have,
+       Too often, even while I pray
+         To Him who gave.
+
+     The form she saw was long unknown,
+       Except as that beheld yestreen;
+     Till viewing, not that form alone,
+       But his, with hands enclasped between,
+         She guessed her own.
+
+[Illustration: 088..]
+
+       And, bending o'er in sweet surprise,
+         Perused, with simple child's delight,
+         The flowing hair, and forehead white,
+       And soft inquiring eyes.
+
+     XIV
+
+     Then, blushing to a fairer tint
+       Than waves might ever hope to catch,
+     "I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
+       But surely I can never match
+         This lily glint!
+
+     "So pure, so innocent, and bright,
+       So charming free, without endeavour,
+     So fancy-touched with pensive light I
+       I think that I could gaze for ever,
+         With new delight
+
+       "And now that rose-bud in my hair,
+         Perhaps it should be placed above--
+         And yet, I will not change it, love,
+       Since mou hast set it there.
+
+     XV
+
+     "Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve?
+       What matter Tor thy form or face?
+     Thy beauty is, if love believe
+       Thee worthy of that treasured place
+         Thou ne'er shalt leave.
+
+     "Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
+       Take back my faith that dared to wander;
+     Forgive my joy to have thee shown
+       Not transient, as thine image yonder,
+         But all my own.
+
+       "And, love, if this be vain of me,
+         This pleasure, and the pride I take;
+         Tis only for thy dearer sake,
+       To be so fair to thee."
+
+     XVI
+
+     No more she said; but smiling fell,
+       And lost her sorrow on his breast;
+     Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell,
+       Like troubled waters laid at rest
+         In comfort's well:
+
+     Tis nothing more, an' if she weep,
+       Than joy she cannot else reveal;
+     As onyx-gems of Pison keep
+       A tear-vein, where the sun may steal
+         Throughout their deep.
+
+       May every Adam's fairer part
+         Thus, only thus, a rival find--
+         The image of herself, enshrined
+       Within the faithful heart!
+
+[Illustration: 092.]
+
+[Illustration: 095.]
+
+
+
+
+MOUNT ARAFA
+
+IN TWO PARTS
+
+"Mount Arafa, situated about a mile from Mecca, is held in great
+veneration by the Mussulmans, as a place very proper for penitence. Its
+fitness in this respect is accounted for by a tradition that Adam and
+Eve, on being banished out of Paradise, in order to do penance for their
+transgression were parted from each other, and after a separation of
+six score years, met again upon this mountain." Ockley's "_History of
+the Saracens_," p. 60
+
+
+
+THE  PARTING
+
+     I
+
+     Driven away from Eden's gate
+       With   biasing   falchions fenced about,
+     Into a desert desolate,
+       A miserable pair came out,
+         To meet their fate.
+
+     To wander in a world of woe,
+       To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
+     With every living thing their foe--
+       The fire of God above, the river
+         Of death below.
+
+       Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
+         It is the destiny of man
+         To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
+       And hide from his own theft!
+
+     II
+
+     The father of a world unborn--
+       Who hath begotten death, ere life--
+     In sullen silence plods forlorn;
+       His love and pride in his fair wife
+         Are rage and scorn.
+
+     Instead of Angel ministers,
+       What hath he now but fiends devouring;
+     Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
+       In lieu of manna, crab and souring--
+         By whose fault?   Hers!
+
+       Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
+         New penance waits thee; since--when thus
+         Thou shouldst have wept for all of us--
+       Thou mournest thine own ease I
+
+     III
+
+     The mother of all loving wives
+       (Condemned unborn to many a tear)
+     Is fain to take his hand, and strives
+       In sorrow to be doubly dear--
+         But shame deprives.
+
+[Illustration: 098.]
+
+     The shame, the woe, the black surprise,
+       That love's first dream should have such ending,
+     To weep, and wipe neglected eyes I
+       Oh loss of true love, far transcending
+         Lost Paradise!
+
+       For is it faith, that cannot live
+         One gloomy hour, and soar above
+         The clouds of fate?   And is it love,
+       That will not e'en forgive?
+
+     IV
+
+     The houseless monarch of the earth
+       Hath quickly found what empire means;
+     For while he scoffs with bitter mirth,
+       And curses, after Eden's scenes,
+         This dreary dearth.
+
+     A snake, that twined in playful zeal,
+       But yester morn, around his ankle,
+     Now driven along the dust to steal,
+       Steals up, and leaves its venom'd rankle
+         Deep in his heel.
+
+       He groans awhile.    He seeks anon
+         For comfort to this first of pain,
+         Where all his sons to-day are fain;
+       He seeks--but Eve is gone!
+
+
+PART I--ADAM
+
+     _O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
+     A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
+     Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
+     He pours the sorrow no one hears;
+     Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
+     Some ease of heart in toil of mind._
+
+     I
+
+     "YE mountains, that forbid the day,
+       Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
+     How long amid you must I stray,
+       Deserted, banished from God's sight,
+         And castaway?
+
+     "Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
+       Ye beasts, to my good-will committed--
+     Although your trust hath been betrayed--
+       Not long ago ye would have pitied
+         Your old comrade.
+
+       "Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
+         Albeit I love your outward part;
+         The nature that enthrals my heart
+       Must be more like my own.
+
+     II
+
+     "The Maker once appointed me--
+       I know not, and I care not why--
+     The lord of everything I see,
+       Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
+         Whate'er they be.
+
+     "And all the earth whereon they dwell,
+       And all the heavens they are inhaling,
+     And powers, whereof I cannot tell--
+       Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
+         Until I fell.
+
+       "Twas good and glorious to believe;
+         But now mv majesty is o'er;
+         And I would give it all, and more,
+       For one sweet glimpse of Eve.
+
+     III
+
+     "For what is glory, what is power?
+       And what the pride of standing first?
+     A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
+       A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
+         A sun-scorched flower.
+
+     "God grant the men who spring from me,
+       As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
+     To find a loftier pedigree
+       Than any by the Lord intended--
+         Frog, slug, or tree!
+
+       "So shall they live, without the grief
+         Of having womankind to love,
+         Find nought below, and less above,
+       And be their own belief.
+
+     IV
+
+     "So weak was I, so poorly taught,
+       By any but my Maker's voice,
+     Too happy to indulge in thought,
+       Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
+         And ends in nought.
+
+     "But now and then, my path grows clear,
+       My mind casts off its grim confusion,
+     When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
+       Then happiness seems no delusion,
+         Even down here.
+
+       "With love and faith, to bless the curse,
+         To heal the mind by touch of heart,
+         To make me feel my better part,
+       And fight against the worse.
+
+     V
+
+     "It may be that I did o'erprize,
+       Above the Giver, that rare gift,
+     Ungird my will for softer ties,
+       And hold my manhood little thrift
+         To woman's eyes.
+
+     "So far she was, so full of grace,
+       So innocent with coy caresses,
+     So proud to step at my own pace,
+       So rosy through her golden tresses;
+         And such a face!
+
+       "Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
+         A thought against my faithful Eve;
+         Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
+       That it was one, to love.
+
+     VI
+
+     "Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
+       Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
+     Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
+       Or better made by Him, who made
+         That pair in vain.
+
+     "Shall any know, as we have known,
+       Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
+     Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
+       Crowning of reason, and upsetting
+         Of reason's throne?
+
+       "Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
+         Or crimson sting from creamy rose--
+         Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
+       Thy venom from our fall."
+
+     _Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
+     Had made a drought of vocal flow;
+     When hungry, weary, desolate,
+     A fox crept home to his defis gate.
+     The sight brought Adam's memory back,
+     And touched him with a keener lack._
+
+     VII
+
+     "Home! Where is home? Of old I thought
+       (Or felt in mystery of bliss)
+     That so divinely was I wrought
+       As not to care for that or this,
+         And value nought;
+
+     "But sit or saunter, rest or roam,
+       Regarding all things most sublimely,
+     As if enthroned on heaven's dome;
+       Away with paltry and untimely
+         Hankerings for _Home!_
+
+       "But now the weary heart is fain
+         For shelter in some lowly nest--
+         To sink upon a softer breast,
+       And smile away its pain,
+
+     VIII
+
+     "For me, what home, what hope is left?
+       What difference of good or ill?
+     Of all I ever loved bereft,
+       Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,
+         For one small theft!
+
+     "I sicken of my skill and pride;
+       I work, without a bit of caring.
+     The world is waste, the world is wide;
+       Why make good things, with no one sharing
+         Them at my side?
+
+       "What matters how I dwell, or die?
+         Away with such a niggard life!
+         The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;
+       And life is only I.
+
+     IX
+
+     "God, who hast said it is not good
+       For man, thy son, to live alone;
+     Is everlasting solitude,
+       When once united bliss was known,
+         A livelier food?
+
+     "Can'st thou suppose it right or just,
+       When thine own creature so misled us,
+     In virtue of our simple trust,
+       To torture us like this, and tread us
+         Back into dust?
+
+       "Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!
+         If, when immortal, I was slain,
+         For daring to impugn his reign,
+       How shall I, thus infirm?
+
+     X
+
+     "Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,
+       For all the penance on me laid!
+     Forgive me, Lord, if I forget
+       That I am but what Thou hast made,
+         My soul Thy debt!
+
+     "Inspire me to survey the skies,
+       And tremble at their golden wonder;
+     To learn the space that _I_ comprise,
+       At once to marvel, and to ponder,
+     And drop mine eyes.
+
+       "And grant me?--for I do but find,
+         In seeking more than God hath shown,
+         I scorn His power and lose my own--
+       Grant me a lowly mind.
+
+     XI
+
+     "A lowly mind!  Thou wondrous sprite,
+       Whose frolics make their master weep;
+     Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,
+       Anon, too impotent to creep,
+         Or blink aright;--
+
+     "Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play
+       Among the miracles above thee,
+     Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,
+       To labour, so that He shall love thee,
+         And guide thy way.
+
+       "Be led, from out the cloudy dreams
+         Of thy too visionary part,
+         To listen to the whispering heart,
+       And curb thine own extremes.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give
+       To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,
+     And flowers of grace and love revive,
+       And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,
+         And corn snail thrive.
+
+     "Beholding gladness, Eve and I,
+       Enfolding it also in each other,
+     May talk of heaven without a sigh;
+       Because our heaven in one another
+         Love shall supply.
+
+       "For courage, faith, and bended knees,
+         By stress of patience, cure distress,
+       And turn wild _Love-in-idleness_
+       Into the true _Heartsease_."
+
+     _The Lord breathed on the first of men,
+     And strung his limbs to strength again;
+     He scorned a century of ill,
+     And girt his loins to climb the parting hill._
+
+
+PART II--EVE
+
+     _Meanwhile through lowland, holt, and glade,
+     Sad Eve her lonely travel made;
+     Not fierce, or proud, but well content
+     To own the righteous punishment;
+     Yet found, as gentle mourners find,
+     The hearts confession soothe the mind._
+
+     I
+
+     "Ye valleys, and ye waters vast,
+       Who answer all that look on you
+     With shadows of themselves, that last
+       As long as they, and are as true--
+         Where hath he past?
+
+     "Oh woods, and heights of rugged stone,
+       Oh weariness of sky above me,
+     For ever must I pine and moan,
+       With none to comfort, none to love me,
+         Alone, alone?
+
+       "Thou bird, that hoverest at heaven's gate,
+         Or cleavest limpid lines of air,
+         Return--for thou hast one to care--
+       Return to thy dear mate.
+
+     II
+
+     "For trie, no joy of earth or sky,
+       No commune with the things I see,
+     But dreary converse of the eye
+       With worlds too grand to look at me--
+         No smile, no sigh!
+
+     "In vain I fall Upon my knees,
+       In vain I weep and sob for ever;
+     All other miseries have ease,
+       All other prayers have ruth--but never
+         Any for these.
+
+       "Are we endowed with heavenly breath,
+         And God's own form, that we should win
+         A proud priority of sin,
+       And teach creation death?
+
+     III
+
+     "Not, that is too profound for me,
+       Too lofty for a fallen thing.
+     More keenly do I feel than see;
+       Far liefer would I, than take wing,
+         Beneath it be.
+
+     "The night--the dark--will soon be here,
+       The gloom that doth my heart appal so I
+     How can I tell what may be near?
+       My faith is in the Lord--but also
+         He hath made fear.
+
+       "I quail, I cower, I strive to flee;
+         Though oft I watched without affright,
+         The stern magnificence of night,
+       When Adam was with me
+
+     IV
+
+     "My husband! Ah, I thought sometime
+       That I could do without him well,
+     Communing with the heaven at prime,
+       And in my womanhood could dwell
+         Calm and sublime.
+
+     "Declining, with a playful strife,
+       All thoughts below my own transcendence,
+     All common-sense of earth and life,
+       And counting it a poor dependence
+         To be his wife,
+
+       "But now I know, by trouble's test,
+         How little my poor strength can bear,
+         What folly wisdom is, whene'er
+       The grief is in the breast!
+
+     "The grief is in my breast, because
+       I have not always been as kind
+     As woman should, by nature's laws,
+       But showed sometimes a wilful mind,
+         Carping at straws.
+
+     "While he, perhaps, with larger eyne,
+       Was pleased, instead of vexed, at seeing
+     Some little petulance in mine,
+       And loved me all the more, for being;
+         Not too divine.
+
+       "Until the pride became a snare,
+         The reason a deceit, wherein
+         I dallied face to face with sinh
+       And made a mortal pair.
+
+     VI
+
+     "Dark sin, the deadly foe of love,
+       All bowers of bliss thou shalt infest,
+     Implanting thorns the flowers above,
+       And one black feather in the breast
+         Of purest dove.
+
+     "Almighty Father, once our friend,
+       And ready even now to love us.
+     Thy pitying gaze upon us bend,
+       And through the tempest-clouds above us
+         Thine arm extend.
+
+       "That so thy children may begin
+         In lieu of bliss, to earn content,
+         And find that sinful Eve was meant
+       Not only for a sin."
+
+     _Awhile she ceased; for memory's flow
+     Had drowned the utterance of woe;
+     Until a young hind crossed the lawn,
+     And fondly trotted forth her fawn,
+     Whose frolics of delight made Eve,
+     As in a weeping vision, grieve._
+
+     VII
+
+     "For me, poor me, no hope to learn
+       That sweeter bliss than Paradise,
+     The joy that makes a mother yearn
+       O'er that bright message from the skies
+         Her pains do earn.
+
+     She stoops entranced; she fears to stir,
+       Or think; lest each a thought endanger
+     (While two enraptured hearts confer)
+       That wonderful and wondering stranger,
+     Come home to her,
+
+       "He watches her, in solemn style;
+         A world of love flows to and fro;
+         He smiles; that he may learn to know
+       His mother by her smile.
+
+     VIII
+
+     "Oh, bliss, that to all other bliss
+       Shall be as sunrise unto night,
+     Or heaven to such a place as this,
+       Or God's own voice, with angels bright,
+         To serpent's hiss!
+
+     "I have I betrayed thee, or cast by
+       The pledge in which my soul delighted--
+     That all this wrong and misery
+       Should be avenged at last, and righted,
+         And so should I?
+
+       "Belike, they look on me as dead,
+         Those fiends that found me soft and sweet;
+         But God hath promised me one treat--
+       To crush that serpent's head!
+
+     IX
+
+     "Revenge! Oh, heaven, let some one rise,
+       Some woman, since revenge is small,--
+     Who shall not care about its size,
+       If only she can get it all,
+         For those black lies!
+
+     "Poor Adam is too good and great,
+       I felt it, though he said so little--
+     To hate his foes, as I can hate--
+       And pay them every jot, and tittle,
+         At their own rate.
+
+       "For was there none but I to blame?
+         God knows that if, instead of me,
+         There had been any other she,
+       She would have done the same,
+
+     X
+
+     "Poor me! Of course the whole disgrace,
+       In spite of reason, falls on me:
+     And so all women of my race,
+       In pure right, shall be reason-free,
+         In every case.
+
+     "It shall not be in power of man
+       To bind them to their own contentions;
+     But each shall speak, as speak she can,
+       And start anew with fresh inventions,
+         Where she began.
+
+       "And so shall they be dearer still;
+         For man shall ne'er suspect in them
+         The plucking of the fatal stem,
+       That brought him all his ill.
+
+     XI
+
+     "And when hereafter--as there must,
+       Since He, that made us, so hath sworn--
+     From that whereof we are, the dust,
+       And whereunto we shall return
+         In higher trust--
+
+     "There spring a grand and countless race,
+       Replenishing this vast possession,
+     Till life, hath won a larger space
+       Than death, by quick and fair succession
+         Of health and grace;
+
+       "They too shall find as I have found
+         The grief, that lifts its head on high,
+         A dewy bud the sun shall dry--
+       But not while on the ground.
+
+     XII
+
+     "Then men shall love their wives again,
+       Allowing for the frailer kind,
+     Content to keep the heart's Amen,
+       Content to own the turns of mind
+         Beyond their ken.
+
+     "And wives shall in their lords be blest,
+       Their higher sense of right perceiving
+     (When possible) with love their test;
+       Exalting, solacing, believing
+         All for the test.
+
+       "And for the best shall all things be,
+         If God once more will shine around,
+         And lift my husband from the ground,
+       And teach him to lift me."
+
+     _New faith inspired the first of wives,
+     She smiles, and drooping hope revives;
+     She scorns a hundred years of woe%
+     And binds her hair, because the breezes blow._
+
+
+THE MEETING
+
+     I
+
+     The wind is hushed, the moon is bright,
+       More stars on heaven than may be told;
+     Young flowers are coying with the light,
+       That softly tempts them to unfold,
+         And trust the night.
+
+     What form comes bounding from above
+       Down Arafa, the mountain lonely,
+     Afraid to scare its long-lost dove,
+       Yet swift as joy--"It can be only,
+         Only my love!"
+
+       What shape is that--too fair to leave
+         On Arafa, the mountain lone?
+         So trembling, and so faint--"My own,
+       It must be my own Eve!"
+
+     II
+
+     As when the mantled heavens display
+       The glory of the morning glow,
+     And spread the mountain heights with day,
+       And bid the clouds and shadows go
+         Trooping away,
+
+     The Spirit of the Lord arose,
+       And made the earth and heaven to quiver,
+     And scattered all his hellish foes,
+       And deigned his good stock to deliver
+         From all their woes.
+
+[Illustration: 118.]
+
+[Illustration: 120.]
+
+       So long the twain had strayed apart,
+         That each as at a marvel gazed,
+         With eyes abashed, and brain amazed;
+       While heart enquired of heart.
+
+     III
+
+     Our God hath made a fairer thing
+       Than fairest dawn of summer day--
+     A gentle, timid, fluttering,
+       Confessing glance, that seeks alway
+         Rest for its wing.
+
+     A sweeter sight than azure skies,
+       Or golden star thereon that glideth;
+     And blest are they who see it rise,
+       For, if it cometh, it abideth
+         In woman's eyes.
+
+       The first of men such blessing sued;
+         The first of women smiled consent;
+         For husband, wife and home it meant,
+       And no more solitude!
+
+     IV
+
+     We trample now the faith of old,
+       We make our Gods of dream and doubt;
+     Yet life is but a tale untold,
+       Without one heart to love, without
+         One hand to hold--
+
+     The fairer half of humankind,
+       More gentle, playful, and confiding:
+     Whose soul is not the slave of mind,
+       Whose spirit hath a nobler guiding
+         Than we can find.
+
+       So Eve restores the sweeter part
+         Of what herself unwitting stole,
+         And makes the wounded Adam whole;
+       For half the mind is heart.
+
+[Illustration: 125.]
+
+
+
+
+THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN
+
+The old well of Saint John, in the parish of Newton-Nottage,
+Glamorganshire, has a tide of its own, which appears to run exactly
+counter to that of the sea, some half-mile away. The water is
+beautifully bright and fresh, and the quaint dome among the lonely
+sands is regarded with some awe and reverence.
+
+     _He_
+
+     "THERE is plenty of room for two in here,
+       Within the steep tunnel of old grey stone;
+     And the well is so dark, and the spring so clear,
+       It is quite unsafe to go down alone."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "It is perfectly safe, depend upon it,
+       For a girl who can count the steps, like me;
+     And if ever I saw dear mother's bonnet,
+       It is there on the hill by the old ash-tree."
+
+     _He_
+
+     "There is nobody but Rees Hopkin's cow
+       Watching, the dusk on the milk-white sea;
+     'Tis the time and the place for a life-long? vow,
+       Such as I owe you, and you owe me."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "Oh, Willie, how can I, in this dark well?
+       I shall drop the brown pitcher if you let go;
+     The long? roof is murmuring like a sea-shell,
+       And the shadows are shuddering to and fro."
+
+     _He_
+
+     "Tis the sound of the ebb, in Newton Bay,
+       Quickens the spring, as the tide grows less;
+     Even as true love flows alway
+       Counter the flood of the world's success."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "There is no other way for love to flow,
+       Whenever it springs in a woman's breast;
+     With the tide of its own heart it must go,
+       And run contrary to all the rest."
+
+     _He_
+
+     "Then fill the sweet cup of your hand, my love,
+       And pledge me your maiden faith thereon,
+     By the touch of the letter'd stone above,
+       And the holy water of Saint John."
+
+     _She_
+
+     "Oh, what shall I say?   My heart sinks low;
+       My fingers are cold, and my hand too flat,
+     Is love to be measured by handfuls so;
+       And you know that I love you--without that."
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     They stooped, in the gleam of the faint light, over
+       The print of themselves on the limpid gloom;
+     And she lifted her full palm toward her lover,
+       With her lips preparing the words of doom.
+
+     But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell,
+       And the pledge of her faith sprang sweet and clear,
+     From a holier source than the old Saint's well,
+       From the depth of a woman's love--a tear.
+
+[Illustration: 128.]
+
+
+
+
+PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER
+
+A STORY IN THREE SCENES
+
+(_Plin. Nat. Hist., xxxv. ii_)
+
+Scene I:--_Outside the gate of Sicyon--Morning. Glycera
+weaving garlands, Pausias stands admiring._
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "YE Gods, I thought myself the Prince of Art,
+     By Phoebus, and the Muses set apart,
+     To smite the critic with his own complaint,
+     And teach the world the proper way to paint.
+     But lo, a young maid trips out of a wood,
+     And what becomes of all I understood?
+
+[Illustration: 132.]
+
+     I stand and stare; I could not draw a line,
+     If ninety Muses came, instead of nine.
+     Thy name, fair maiden, is a debt to me;
+     Teach him to speak, whom thou hast taught to see.
+     Myself already some repute have won,
+     For I am Pausias, Brietes' son.
+     To boast behoves me not, nor do I need,
+     But often wish my friends to win the meed.
+     So shall they now; no more will I pursue
+       The beaten track, but try what thou hast shown,
+       New forms, new curves, new harmonies of tone,
+     New dreams of heaven, and how to make them true."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Fair Sir, 'tis only what I plucked this morn,
+     Kind nature's gift, ere you and I were born.
+     Through mossy woods, and watered vales, I roam,
+     While day is young, and bring my treasure home;
+     Each lovely bell so tenderly I bear,
+     It knoweth not my fingers from the air,
+     Lo now, they scarce acknowledge their surprise,
+     And how the dewdrops sparkle in their eyes!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Because the sun shines out of thine.   But hush,
+     To praise a face praiseworthy, makes it blush.
+     I am not of the youths who find delight,
+     In every pretty thing that meets their sight
+     My father is the sage of Sicyon;
+     And I--well, he is proud of such a son."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "And proud am I, my mother's child to be,
+     And earn for her the life she gave to me,
+     Her name is Myrto of the silver hair,
+     Not famed for wisdom, but loved everywhere."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Then whence thine art?  Hath Phoebus given thee boon
+     Of wreath and posy, fillet and festoon?
+     Of tint and grouping, balance, depth, and tone--
+     Lo, I could cast my palette down, and groan!"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "No art, fair sir, hath ever crossed my thought,
+     The lesson I delight in comes untaught.
+     The flowers around me take their own sweet way,
+     They tell me what they wish--and I obey.
+     Unlike poor us, they feel no spleen or spite
+     But earn their joy, oy ministering delight.
+     So loved and cherished, each may well suppose
+     Itself at home again just where it grows.
+     No dread have they of what the Fates may bring,
+     But trust their Gods, and breathe perpetual Spring."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Fair child of Myrto, simple-hearted maid,
+     Thy innocence doth arrogance upbraid.
+     Ye Gods, I pray you make a flower of me;
+     That I may dwell with nature, and with thee."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I see the brave sun leap the city wall!
+     The gates swing wide; I hear the herald's call.
+     The Archon ham proclaimed the market-day;
+     And mother will shed tears at my delay.
+     The priest of Zeus hath ordered garlands three;
+     And while I tarry, who will wait for me?"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "No picture have I sold for many a moon,
+     But fortune must improve her habits soon;
+     Then will I purchase all thy stock-in-trade,
+       And thou shalt lead me to thy bower of green,
+       There will I paint the flowers, and thee their Queen--
+     The Queen of dowers, that nevermore shall fade."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I know a wood-nymph, who her dwelling hath
+     Among the leaves, and far beyond the path,
+     With myrtle and with jasmin roofed across,
+     Enlaced with vine, and carpeted with moss,
+     Whose only threshold is a plaited brook,
+     Whereby the primrose at herself may look;
+     While birds of song melodious make the air--
+     But oh! I must not take a stranger there."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Nay, but a friend   No stranger now am I.
+     Good art is pledge of perfect modesty.
+     From chastened heights the painter glanceth down;
+     No maid can fear a youth who loves renown."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Thy words are trim, If mother deems them true,
+     Thou shalt come with me.  But till then, adieu!"  [Exit.
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "O! where am I?   The mind is all for art--
+     But one warm breath transforms it into heart."
+
+
+Scene II:--_A wood near Sicyon.   Pausias with his
+easel, &c.   Glycera carrying flowers._
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Confounded tangle!   Who could paint all this?
+     A bear might hug him, or a serpent hiss!
+     For love of nature justly am I famed;
+     But when she goes so far as this, she ought to be ashamed."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Nay, be not frightened by a small affray,
+     Pure love of nature cannot pave its way.
+     But lo, where yonder coney-tracks begin,
+     My nymph hath made her favourite bower within.
+     Yon oak hath reared its rugged antlers thus,
+     Before Deucalion lived, or Daedalus.
+     Inside her woodland Majesty doth keep
+     A world of wonders--if one dared to peep--
+     Of things that burrow, elide, spin webs, or creep;
+     Strange creatures, which before they live must die,
+     And plants that hunt for prey, and flowers that fly!"
+
+[Illustration: 140.]
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "My love of nature freezes in a trice;
+     I loathe all earwigs, beetles, and wood-lice.
+     Outside her bower the lady must remain,
+     If she doth wish to have her portrait taen."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Tis not the lady thou must paint--but me."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Aha, that will I, with a glow of glee.
+     But when I offered, somebody was vexed,
+     And blushed, and frowned, and longed to say,
+     'Whatnext?'"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "A painter's tongue hath learnt to paint, I trow.
+     But oh that order--I remember now--
+     For twenty chaplets, from the priest of Zeus!
+     Ah, what a grand majestic Hiereus!"
+     So pleased he was that morning with those three,
+     And such a customer he means to be!
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "The priest of _Dis!_a scoundrel with three wives!
+     I'll pull his triple beard, if he arrives."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "High words and threats profane this hallowed place,
+     Where Time rebukes the fuss of human race.
+     And gentle sir, what harm hath he done thee?
+     It is my mother whom he comes to see.
+     Lo, how the Gods our puny wrath deride,
+     With peace and beauty spread on every side!
+     This earth with pleasure of the Spring complete,
+     Too bright to dwell on, were it not so sweet.
+     No theft of man it's affluence impairs,
+     A thousand flowers, without a loss, it spares;
+     Whose bashful elegance no brush can trace,
+     Heartfelt delight, and plenitude of grace;
+     No palettes match their brilliance, although
+     Pandora filled her box from Iris' bow."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Her want of faith sweet Glycera will rue,
+     When she hath seen what _Pausias_ can do."
+
+     $Glycera$
+     "Forgive me, sir;  In truth it was no taunt.
+     A great man can do anything--but vaunt."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "E'en that he can do, if he sees the need.
+     But out on words, when time hath come for deed!
+     Up leaps the sun, to paint thee with his plume,
+     And every blossom seems to be thy bloom."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Why stand we here, so early of the morn,
+     In love with things that treat our love with scorn--
+     Grey crags, where Time with folded pinion broods,
+     Ana ever young antiquity of woods;
+     The brooks that babble, and the flowers that blush,
+     Ere woman was a reed, or man a rush?
+     And he for ever, as the Gods ordain,
+     Would fain revive with art what he hath slain;
+     Shall nature fail to laugh, while man doth yearn
+     To teach the canvas what he ne'er can learn?"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Sweet Muse, while thus through heaven's too distant vault,
+     Thy great mind roves--how shall we earn our salt?
+     Though art is not encouraged as of old,
+       She is worth a score of nature; I design
+       To manufacture, from these flowers of thine,
+     A silver * talent--or perhaps of gold!"
+
+     * Lucullus is said to have given two talents for
+     a mere copy of this picture.
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Good heavens, how precious is your Worship's time!
+     Some minds are lowly, others too sublime.
+     Before thee all my simple flowers I spread;
+     Long may they live, when Glycera is dead!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "The Gods forefend!
+     Fair omen from fair maid--
+     Bright tongue, recall the dark thing thou hast said!"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Then long live they, with Glycera to aid!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "And Pausias crowned by Critics, to non-plus
+     Euphranor, Cydias, and Antidotus.
+     But what are they?   Below my feet they lie;
+     Poor sons of pelf.    The son of art am I.
+     Now rest thee, maiden, on this pillowy bed,
+     With fragrance canopied, with beauty spread;
+     Above thee hovers eglantine's caress,
+     Around thee glows entangled loveliness;
+     Shy primrose smiles, thy gentle smile to woo,
+     And violets take thy glances for the dew."
+
+     &Glycera&
+
+     "Then will they pluck themselves, to see me laugh;
+     Good flowers bring cash; but who will pay for chaff?
+     But haply thus the true poet intervenes,
+     To make us wonder what on earth he means."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "A poet! We do things in a superior way;
+     A painter is a poet, who makes it pay.
+     A poet, though deep and mystic as the Sphinx,
+     Will ne'er earn half of what he eats and drinks,
+     He dreams of Gods, but of himself he thinks."
+
+[Illustration: 146.]
+
+
+Scene III.--_A western slope near Sicyon.    Pausias
+has his easel set, Glycera is dressed in white._
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Seven times the moon hath filled her silver horn,
+     And twice a hundred suns awoke the morn,
+     Since thou and I--for half the praise is thine--
+     Began this study of the flowers divine."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Alas! how swiftly have the months gone by!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Not swift alone, but passing sweet for me."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "The world, that was so large, is you and I."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "And shall be larger still, when it is 'We.'"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     (Aside)  "Sweet dual!  Alas, that this shall never be!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "A tear, bright Glycera in those eyes of thine,
+     Those tender eyes, that should with triumph shine!
+     When I, the owner of that precious heart,
+     Am shouting Ioe Paean of high art;
+     The noblest picture underneath the sun--
+     A few more strokes, and victory is won!"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Nay, heed me not.  True pleasure is not dry;
+     The sunrise of the heart bedews the eye."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "If that were all--but lately there hath been
+     A listless air beneath thy livery mien;
+     Thyself art all fair petal, and sweet perfume,
+     And smiles that light the damask of thy bloom;
+     Yet some, pale distance seems to chill the whole."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "Forgive me, love, forgive a timorous soul.
+     Through brightest hours untimely vapours rise--
+     But while I prate, the lucky moment flies.
+     The work, the weather, and the world are fair;
+     A few more strokes--and fame flies everywhere."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Who cares for fame, except with love to share?"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "To share! Nay every breath of it is mine,
+     Whene'er it breathes on thee; for I am thine.
+     But pardon now--if I have seemed sometime
+     Impatient, glib, too pert for things sublime,
+     Remember that I meant not so to sink;
+     Forgive your Glycera, when you come to think."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "I'll not forgive my Glycera--until
+     She hath discovered how to do some ill.
+     Now don once more this coronet of bloom,
+     While lilies sweet thy sweeter breast illume."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     (Aside) "Ah me, what brightness wasted upon gloom!
+     (Aloud) Oh fling thy sponge across this wretched face,
+     A patch uncouth amid a world of grace."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Sweet love, thy beauty far outshineth them;
+     The tinsel they are, thou the living gem.
+     Great gift of Gods!  Shall flowers of earth despise
+     Those flowers of heaven--thy tresses, and thine eyes?
+     Away with gloom I let no ill-boding make
+     My heart to falter, or my hand to shake.
+     One hour is all I crave.  If that be long,
+     Sweet lips beguile it with my favourite song."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "A song like mine, a childish lullaby,
+     Will close--when needed wide-awake--thine eye.
+     But since thou so demandest, let me try.
+
+     "In the fresh woods have I been,
+       Sprinkled with the morning dew;
+     And of all that I have seen,
+       Lo, the fairest are for you!
+
+     Take your choice of many a flower,
+       Lily, rose, and melilot,
+     Lilac, myrtle, virgin's bower,
+       Pansy, and forget-me-not.
+
+     Ladies'-tresses, and harebell,
+       Jasmin, daphne, violet,
+     Meadow-sweet, and pimpernel,
+       Maidenhair, and mignonette.
+
+     What is gold, that doth allure
+       Foolish hearts from field and flower?
+     If you plant them in it pure,
+       Will they keep alive an hour?
+
+     What is fame, compared with these,
+       Fame of wisdom, sword, or pen?
+     Who would quit the meadow breeze,
+       For the sultry breath of men?
+
+     These have been my childhood's love,
+       These my maiden visions were;
+     When I meet their gaze above,
+       These will tell me, God is there."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "'Tis done!   No more the palsied doubt molests;
+     The crown of glory on my labour rests.
+     Thy clear voice hath my flagging thoughts supplied,
+     My model thou, my teacher, and my bride!
+     Now stand, beloved one, where the soft glow lies,
+     Yet judge not rashly, ere the colour dries.
+     Find every fault, pick every flaw thou canst;
+     I'll not be vexed; true art is thus advanced.
+     So meek is art, that (when it comprehends)
+     It loves the carping of its dearest friends.
+     If my own bride condemns my efforts--let her.
+     A poor daub? Well let some one do it better."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "My love, my lord, my monarch of high art,
+     Forgive a tongue held fast and bound by heart.
+     Not Orpheus, Linus, or great Hermes could
+     Find words to make their rapture understood.
+     No Muse, no Phoebus, hath this work inspired,
+     But Jove himself, with heaven's own splendour fired.
+     I see the nursing fingers of the day,
+     And night as well, upon their offspring play--
+     The silent glide of moon, that hushed their sleep,
+     (As mother at her infant steals a peep)
+     Anon, with pearly glances half withdrawn,
+     The gentle hesitation of the dawn;
+     I see the sun his golden target raise,
+     And drive in tremulous ranks the woodland haze;
+     Awakened by whose call the flowers arise,
+     With tears of joy and blushes of surprise;
+     From bulb and bush, from leaf and blade, spring up
+     Bell, disk, or star, plume, sceptre, fan, or cup;
+     A thousand forms, a thousand hues of bloom
+     Fill earth and heaven with beauty and perfume.
+     All this, by thine enchantment, liveth here;
+     Oh wondrous power, that chills my pride with fear!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Thy praise, sweet critic, makes thee doubly dear.
+     But what of thy fair self--thy form, thy face,
+     The flower of flowers, the gracefulness of grace?"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I see why thou hast placed me among these;
+     I serve a purpose--'tis to scare the bees.
+     Sweet love hath right to place me anywhere;
+     And yet I mourn, to find myself so fair."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "A maid lament her beauty!  Thou hast shown,
+     A thousand times, a wit beyond mine own;
+     Yet is it kind to such a love as mine,
+     To grudge it refuge in a lovely shrine?"
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "No shrine, no throne, of earth or heaven above,
+     Can be too fair a dwelling-place for love.
+     But that which makes me grieve, myself to see,
+     Is memory of the bitter loss to thee;
+     That earthly charms--as men such things esteem--
+     Should tantalize thee, in a weeping dream!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "My own, my only love, what wouldst thou say?
+     My heart hath borne a heavy bode, all day."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "I durst not tell thee, till thy work was done;
+     But now I must, before the setting sun.
+     Last night, when life was lapsed in quietude,
+     Beside my couch a stately figure stood--
+     A virgin form, in garb of chace arrayed,
+     With bow and quiver, baldric, and steel blade;
+     Majestic as a palm that scorns the wind,
+     And taller than the daughters of mankind
+     Twas Artemis, close-girt in silver sheen,
+     The Goddess of the woods, the Maiden-queen.
+     Cold terror seized me, and mute awe, the while
+     She oped her proud lips, with an icy smile--
+     'Whose votary art thou?  Shall I resign
+     'To wanton Cypris this sworn nymph of mine?
+     'Have I enfeoffed thee of my holiest glen?
+     'To have thee tainted by the lips of men?
+     'Shall urchin Eros laugh at my decree?
+     'No Hymen torch, no loosened zone for thee I
+     'To-morrow, when my crescent tops yon oak,
+     'Thou shalt return unto thy proper yoke.'
+     She closed her lips, and like the barb of frost,
+       Her fingers on my bounding heart outspread:
+       My breast is ice, mv soul is of the dead:
+       The sod, the cold clay, are my marriage-bed;
+     Sweet sun, sweet flowers, sweet Love, forever lost!"
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "I'll not endure it; it shall ne'er be true;
+     If that cold tyrant comes--I'll run her through."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "What can'st thou do against the Goddess trine,
+     Selene, Artemis, and Proserpine?
+     Oh love, thou hast before thee life and fame,
+     And some new Glycera with a loftier name.
+     So tender is my heart, that it would break,
+     To think that thou wert suffering for my sake.
+     Be angry with me; doubt my faith--or try;
+     And count it for a crime of mine to die:
+     Or tell thyself--if still a pain there be--
+     That wealth and grandeur were not meant for me.
+     Yet think sometimes, when thou art well consoled,
+     That no one loves thee, like some one of old."
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "My life, my soul, my heart of hearts, my all,
+     Together let us cling, till death befall."
+
+     $Glycera$
+
+     "The sun is gone; the crescent waxeth bright;
+     I fly to darkness, or eternal light.
+     Great are the Gods; but greater yet is love;
+     Here thou art mine, and I am thine above."
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     $Pausias$
+
+     "Oh fame, and conquest, pomp, and power, and state,
+     What are ye, when the heart is desolate?
+     A few more years of labour, and slow breath--
+     Till death benign hath overtaken death."
+
+[Illustration: 159.]
+
+
+
+
+BUSCOMBE; OR, A MICHAELMAS GOOSE
+
+     When I was Head of Blunders school,
+       Before the age of stokers,
+     Compelled by rank to look a fool
+       Betwixt a pair of "chokers,"
+
+     Tom Tanner's father's wrote, to say
+       That we should both of us come,
+     To spend Saint Michael's holiday
+       At the Vicarage of Buscombe.
+
+     One trifle marred this merry plan--
+       I had contrived, though barr'd up,
+     To typify the future man,
+       By getting very hard up.
+
+     Oh bimetallic champion, some
+       New ratio doth seem proper,
+     When the circulating medium
+       Has fallen to half a copper.
+
+     Vile mammon hence!   Thy low amount
+       Too paltry is to mope for;
+     The more we have in hand to count,
+       The less in heart to hope for.
+
+     Bright youth itself is golden ore,
+       And health the best gold-beater:
+     Without a sigh for two pence more,
+       We passed the gates of Peter.
+
+     A nod suffices surly Cop,
+       Who grins his _bona fides_;
+     As Cerberus preferred his sop
+       To Orpheus and Alcides.
+
+     But Mother Cop!   Her cooking knack
+       Would conquer fifty Catos--
+     The Queen of tarts, and tuck, and tack,
+       And cream, and fried potatoes.
+
+     And rashers!   Sweet Ulysses, say
+       Old Homer was mistaken;
+     The Goddess must have had her way,
+       And turned thee into bacon.
+
+     That Circe came, and wished us joy,
+       And said, "Goodbye, my dearie!"
+     Because I was an honest boy,
+       And _pauper tneo aere_.
+
+     So Tom and I, like men on strike,
+       Shook hands with all our cronies,
+     Walked fifty yards, to save the pike,
+       And jumped upon our ponies.
+
+     Of apples, nuts, and goose galore
+       I chattered, like a stupid,
+     And thought of shooting coneys, more
+       Than being shot by Cupid.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     At racing pace the turnpike road
+       (Great Western, in this quicker age)
+     Was swallowed up with whip and goad,
+       And soon we saw the Vicarage.
+
+     A sweet seclusion, to forget
+       The world and its disasters,
+     And fill the mind with mignonette,
+       Clove-pinks, and German asters;
+
+     In pensive, or in playful mood,
+       To saunter here, and dally
+     With leafy calm of solitude,
+       Or sunshine of the valley.
+
+     The Vicar loved his parish well,
+       And well was he loved by it;
+     Religion did not him compel
+       To harass and defy it
+
+     No price he charged for Heavenly love,
+       No discount on _Resurgo_;
+     His conscience told him--one side-shove
+       Is worth ten kicks _a tergo_.
+
+     But while the path of life he showed
+       To win the Christian guerdon,
+     No post was he, to point the road,
+       But a man to share the burden.
+
+     The lapse of years made manifest
+       The sanctuary of holy age;
+     As clearer grows the ring-dove's nest,
+       When time hath stripp'd the foliage.
+
+     The Vicar's wife was much the same,
+       In fairer form presented--
+     A lively, yet a quiet dame,
+       With home, sweet home, contented.
+
+     In parish, needs; and household arts,
+       A lesson to this glib age;
+     Well versed in pickles, jams, and tarts,
+       Piano, chess, and cribbage.
+
+     And well she loved the flowers, that speak
+       A language undefiled--
+     The flowers that lift the dimpled cheek,
+       Or droop the dewy eyelid.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     Now, if she lingers after us,
+       What ground have we for snarling?
+     What act prohibits private buss,
+       Reserved for "Tommy darling"?
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     But who are these, so fresh and sweet,
+       In lovely hats and dresses,
+     Who half advance, and half retreat,
+       And peep through clouds of tresses?
+
+     "Come, dears!" They shyly offer hand,
+       Beneath the jasmin trellis;
+     "Say who you are, girls"--Charlotte, and
+       Her sister, Caroline Ellis!
+
+     Sweet Charlotte hath a serious face,
+       A gaze almost parental;
+     A type of every maiden grace,
+       But a wee bit sentimental.
+
+     Bright Caroline hath eyes that dance,
+       While buoyant airs engirdle her;
+     Her playful soul may love romance,
+       But not a creepy curdler.
+
+      Sweet Charlotte's are the deep grey eyes
+       That win profound devotion;
+     Bright Carry's flash, like azure skies,
+       With heliograph in motion.
+
+     As merry as the vintage ray,
+       That dances down the grape-rill;
+     As tender as the dews of May,
+       Or apple-buds of April.
+
+     Their charms are safe to grow more bright
+       For at least two lustral stages;
+     And so it seems not unpolite
+       To enquire what their age is.
+
+     "Last May, I was fifteen"; with glee
+       Replies the laughing Carry;
+     Sage Charlotte adds--"And I shall be
+       Seventeen, next February."
+
+     To the dining-room we walk on air,
+       Disdaining jots and tittles;
+     To feed seems such a low affair--
+       And yet, hurrah for victuals!
+
+     Could e'en a boy ply knife and fork,
+       In presence so poetic,
+     Until the vicar draws a cork,
+       And gives the sniff prophetic?
+
+     And when the evening games began,
+       Pope Joan, and Speculation--
+     What head could keep its poise and plan,
+       With the heart in palpitation?
+
+     Until, in soft white-curtained bed,
+       We sink to slumber lowly,
+     And angels fan the childish head,
+       With visions sweet and holy.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     "Now I do declare," exclaimed our host,
+       As he strode back from the arish,
+     "Those railway fellows soon will boast
+       They have undermined my parish!
+
+     "Though none can say I have ever set
+       My face against improvement,
+     I cannot quite perceive as yet
+       The good of this new movement
+
+     "Like Hannibal, these folk confound
+       All nature's institutions,
+     And shun, with a great dive underground,
+       Parochial contributions!
+
+     "Come boys and girls, let us see their craft,
+       These hills of Devon will task it;
+     'Tis a pretty walk to White-Ball shaft,
+       If the boys will take a basket
+
+     "Dear wife; if your poor feet are right,
+       The miracles of this cycle
+     Will give you a noble appetite,
+       For the roast goose of Saint Michael."
+
+     In a twinkle, we had baskets twain
+       Of the right stuff for a journey,
+     And beautiful gooseberry Champagne,
+       Superior to Epernay,
+
+     *    *  *  *  *
+
+     What myriad joys of heart and mind
+       Flit in and out our brief age!
+     That day it was grand to see how kind
+       The sun looked through the leafage!
+
+     While the leaves for their part pricked their lips,
+       With a dewy simper waiting;
+     They were conscious of some amber tips--
+       But those Were his own creating.
+
+     Can the heart of man alone be dull,
+       And the mind of man be spiteful,
+     When all above is beautiful,
+       And all below delightful?
+
+     When Season bright, and Season rich,
+       Make bids against each other;
+     And earth, uncertain which is which,
+       Smiles up at Nature Mother.
+
+     The copse, the lane, the meadow path,
+       The valleys, banks, and hedges,
+     Were green with summer's aftermath,
+       And gold with autumn's pledges.
+
+     Wild rose hung coral beads above,
+       And satchel'd nuts grew nigh them;
+     Like tips of a little maiden's glove,
+       Ere ever she has to buy them.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     But ours are not the maids to bite
+       A gore or gusset undone;
+     How neat they look, how trim and tight!
+       Those frocks were made in London.
+
+     Long time, we glance in awe and doubt,
+       Suppressing all frivolity;
+     Till the spirit of the age breaks out,
+       And all is mirth and jollity.
+
+     One flash, that stole from eyes demure,
+       Hath scattered all convention;
+     And then a pearly laugh makes sure
+       That fun is her intention.
+
+     The smiling elders march ahead;
+       We dance, without a fiddler,
+     We play at cross-touch, White and Red,
+       Tip-cat, and Tommy Tidier.
+
+     We laugh and shout, much more than speak,
+       No etiquette importunes;
+     The trees were made for hide-and-seek,
+       The flowers to tell our fortunes;
+
+     The hills, for pretty girls to pant,
+       And glow with richer roses;
+     The wind itself, to toss askant
+       The curls that hide their noses.
+
+     Then sprightly Carry shouts in French--
+       "All boys and girls, come nutting!"
+     We are slipping down a mighty trench--
+       Why, it is the Railway cutting I
+
+     Before us yawns a dark-browed arch,
+       Paved with a muddy runnel;
+     A thousand giant navvies march
+       To delve the White-Ball tunnel.
+
+     Oh, if a man of them but did
+       Presume to glance at Carry,
+     Though he were Milo, or John Ridd,
+       I would toss him to Old Harry.
+
+     I pull my jacket off, like him
+       Who would shatter England's pillars--
+     From the tunnel comes an order grim,
+       "Get out of the way you chillers!"
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     And the same stern order doth apply
+       To the pranks of this remote age!
+     We are sure alike to be thrust by,
+       In our nonage, and our dotage.
+
+     Yet who shall grudge the tranquil age,
+       When nought can now betide ill,
+     To glance, from a distant hermitage,
+       At a summer morning idyll?
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     Oh agony, despair, and woe!
+       Oh two-edged sword to us come!
+     To Blundell's must the body go,
+       While the heart remains at Buscombe.
+
+     All breakfast time, how glum we looked!
+       Our tears were threatening dribblets;
+     Too truly had our goose been cooked,
+       To leave us e'en our giblets.
+
+     Sweet Charlotte, did you share the thrill,
+       The pang; no throat may utter,
+     And strive an aching void to fill
+       With heartless toast and butter?
+
+     And were you sad, bright Caroline,
+       Although you never said so?
+     You did cast down your lovely eyne,
+       And you crumbled up your bread so!
+
+     But the Vicar's views were more sublime,
+       As he asked in all simplicity,
+     "My youthful friends, what is the prime
+     Of all mundane felicity?"
+
+     My answer, though it sounded cool,
+       Was given with trepidation--
+     "To stay at home, and send to school
+       The rising generation."
+
+     A gentle smile flits o'er his lip,
+       He eyes me with benignity;
+     He yearns to offer goodly tip,
+       Yet fears to wound my dignity.
+
+     True benefactor, be not shy,
+       Thou seest a humble fellow,
+     Thy noble impulse gratify--.
+     My stars, if it isn't yellow!
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     But time is over, and above,
+       To end this charming visit;
+     And must we part my own true love?
+       Though I am not sure, which is it.
+
+     Sweet Charlotte lingered in the shade,
+       Most gentle of all houris;
+     Bright Carry in the lobby played
+       With a pair of polished cowries.
+
+     She showed me how alike they were,
+       So Heaven had pleased to make them.
+     Though fortune might divide the pair,
+       She ne'er could separate them.
+
+     I blushed, and stammered at her touch,
+       I feared to beg for either;
+     My heart was in my mouth so much,
+       I could say "Goodbye" to neither.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     Two strings are wise for every bow,
+       To meet the change of weather;
+     And Cupid's shafts give softer blow,
+       When two are tied together.
+
+     Oh, Charlotte sweet, and Carry bright,
+       My whole, or double-half love,
+     Let no maturer wisdom slight
+       A simple tale of calf-love.
+
+     A blessing on the maiden grace,
+       That beautifies the real,
+     To make the world a fairer place,
+       And lift the low ideal!
+
+     If one, or both, by any chance,
+       Behold what I confess here,
+     Make auld lang syne of young romance,
+       By sending your address here.
+
+     And answer--as I trust you can,
+       When time is flying faster,
+     That he hath served you better than
+       Your humble poetaster.
+
+     *  *  *  *  *
+
+     _Postscript (a Fact)_
+
+     This have they done--and oh, by Jove,
+       Not altered by a fraction!
+     If then they were too sweet to love,
+       What are they now? Distraction.
+
+     Of course they must be ever young;
+       How could I be so stupid?
+     Time fell in love with both, and flung
+       His calendar to Cupid!
+
+[Illustration: 175.]
+
+
+
+TO  FAME
+
+     I
+
+     Right Fairy of the morn, with flowers arrayed,
+       Whose beauties to thy young pursuer seem
+       Beyond the ecstasy of poet's dream--
+     Shall  I overtake thee, ere thy lustre fade?
+
+     II
+
+     Ripe glory of the noon, august, and proud,
+       A vision of high purpose, power, and skill,
+       That melteth into mirage of good-will--
+     Do I o'ertake thee, or embrace a cloud?
+
+     III
+
+     Gray shadow of the evening, gaunt and bare,
+       At random cast, beyond me or above,
+       And cold as memory in the arms of love--
+     If I o'ertook thee now, what should I care?
+
+[Illustration: 176.]
+
+     IV
+
+     "No morn, or noon, or eve am I," she said;
+
+       "But night--the depth of night behind the sun;
+       By all mankind pursued; but never won,
+     Until my shadow falls upon a shade."
+
+1894.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse, by
+Richard Doddridge Blackmore
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