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diff --git a/22474-h/22474-h.htm b/22474-h/22474-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ec2fc45 --- /dev/null +++ b/22474-h/22474-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4271 @@ +<?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— + as the purest art not always is—by the modesty of the artist. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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— + + 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? +</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— + + 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. +</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—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— + 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 + <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,— + 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— + "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, <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— + "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 +</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—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 <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— + 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 <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— + 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. +</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— + 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, +</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— + 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. + + 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— + 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! +</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— + 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. + + 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—but Eve is gone! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PART I—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— + 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." + + <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— + 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?—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 <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—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— + 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." + + <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— + 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." + + <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—"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. + + 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— + 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. +</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—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—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:—<i>Outside the gate of Sicyon—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—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— + 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—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— + 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— + 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— + But one warm breath transforms it into heart." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Scene II:—<i>A wood near Sicyon. Pausias with his +easel, &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—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!" +</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—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—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! + + <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—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— + 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—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. + + <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— + 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." + + &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." + + <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.—<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—for half the praise is thine— + 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— + 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—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— + 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." + + <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—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—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—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—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." + + <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—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— + 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—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—'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—as men such things esteem— + 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— + 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!" + + <b>Pausias</b> + + "I'll not endure it; it shall ne'er be true; + If that cold tyrant comes—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—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." + + <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— + 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— + 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— + 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—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— + 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. + +</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"—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. + +</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— + 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— + "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!" + +</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— + "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! + +</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—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—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— + 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? +</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—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"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse, by +Richard Doddridge Blackmore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRINGILLA: SOME TALES IN VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 22474-h.htm or 22474-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/4/7/22474/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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