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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems, by 
+Eric Mackay
+
+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: Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems
+
+Author: Eric Mackay
+
+Illustrator: James Fagan
+
+Release Date: October 6, 2011 [EBook #37649]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by K Nordquist, Leonard Johnson and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from scanned images of public domain
+material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LOVE
+
+LETTERS
+
+OF A
+
+VIOLINIST
+
+
+
+ERIC MACKAY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+Love Letters
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+LOVE LETTERS OF A
+
+VIOLINIST AND OTHER
+
+POEMS. BY ERIC MACKAY
+
+
+With Illustrations
+
+BY
+
+JAMES FAGAN
+
+
+
+New York:
+
+BRENTANO'S
+
+CHICAGO WASHINGTON PARIS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_Copyright, 1894, by_
+
+_BRENTANO'S_
+
+
+
+THE CAXTON PRESS
+
+NEW YORK
+
+
+TO MARIE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                          PAGE
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTICE                         xi
+
+LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST:
+
+    Letter First--_Prelude_                  1
+
+    Letter Second--_Sorrow_                 11
+
+    Letter Third--_Regrets_                 21
+
+    Letter Fourth--_Yearnings_              31
+
+    Letter Fifth--_Confessions_             41
+
+    Letter Sixth--_Despair_                 51
+
+    Letter Seventh--_Hope_                  61
+
+    Letter Eighth--_A Vision_               71
+
+    Letter Ninth--_To-morrow_               81
+
+    Letter Tenth--_A Retrospect_            91
+
+    Letter Eleventh--_Faith_               101
+
+    Letter Twelfth--_Victory_              111
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:
+
+    Anteros                                123
+
+    The Waking of the Lark                 129
+
+    A Ballad of Kisses                     132
+
+    Mary Arden                             133
+
+    Sachal: A Waif of Battle               141
+
+    The Lady of the May                    146
+
+    An Ode to Englishmen                   149
+
+    Zulalie                                153
+
+    Beethoven at the Piano                 155
+
+    A Rhapsody of Death                    159
+
+    A Prayer for Light                     163
+
+    Mirage                                 165
+
+    A Mother's Name                        170
+
+    A Song of Servitude                    171
+
+    Sylvia in the West                     175
+
+    El�anore                               187
+
+    The Statue                             189
+
+    Pablo de Sarasate                      191
+
+    My Amazon                              197
+
+    Pro Patria                             199
+
+    The Little Grave                       205
+
+    A Dirge                                207
+
+    Daisies out at Sea                     209
+
+SONNETS:
+
+    I. Ecstasy                             215
+
+   II. Visions                             217
+
+  III. The Daisy                           218
+
+   IV. Probation                           219
+
+    V. Dante                               221
+
+   VI. Diffidence                          222
+
+  VII. Fairies                             223
+
+ VIII. Spirit Love                         225
+
+   IX. After Two Days                      226
+
+    X. Byron                               227
+
+   XI. Love's Ambition                     228
+
+  XII. Love's Defeat                       230
+
+ XIII. A Thunderstorm at Night             231
+
+  XIV. In Tuscany                          232
+
+   XV. A Hero                              234
+
+  XVI. Remorse                             235
+
+ XVII. The Mission of the Bard             236
+
+XVIII. Death                               237
+
+  XIX. To One I Love                       239
+
+   XX. Ex Tenebra                          240
+
+  XXI. Victor Hugo                         241
+
+ XXII. Cynthia                             242
+
+XXIII. Philomel                            244
+
+ XXIV. The Sonnet King                     245
+
+  XXV. Token Flowers                       246
+
+ XXVI. A Prayer for England                248
+
+XXVII. A Veteran Poet                      249
+
+A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY                    251
+
+ITALIAN POEMS:
+
+    La Zingarella                          263
+
+    Il Ponte d'Aviglio                     271
+
+    I Miei Saluti                          273
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTICE
+
+
+At the commencement of the year 1885, a captivating little volume of
+poems was mysteriously issued from the "Leadenhalle Presse" of Messrs.
+Field and Tuer--a quaint, vellum-bound, antique-looking book, tied up on
+all sides with strings of golden silk ribbon, and illustrated throughout
+with fanciful wood-cuts. It was entitled "Love Letters by a Violinist,"
+and those who were at first attracted by its title and suggestive
+outward appearance, untied the ribbons with a certain amount of
+curiosity. Love-letters were surely of a private, almost sacred
+character. What "Violinist" thus ventured to publish his heart-records
+openly? and were they worth reading? were the questions asked by the
+public, and last, not least, came the natural inquiry, "_Who_ was the
+'Violinist'?" To this no satisfactory answer could be obtained, for
+nobody knew. But it was directly proved on perusal of the book that he
+was a poet, not a mere writer of verse. Speculations arose as to his
+identity, and Joseph Ellis, the poet, reviewed the work as follows:--
+
+"Behold a mystery--who shall uncase it? A small quarto, anonymous. The
+publisher professes entire ignorance of its origin. Wild guesses spring
+from the mask of a 'Violinist'--who can he be? _Unde derivatur?_ A Tyro?
+The work is too skilful for such, though even a Byron. Young? Not old.
+Tennyson? No--he hath not the grace of style, at least for these verses.
+Browning? No--he could not unbend so far. Edwin Arnold might, possibly,
+have been equal to it, witness, _inter alia_, 'Violetta'; but he is
+unlikely. Lytton Bulwer, a voice from the tomb? No. His son, Owen
+Meredith? A random supposition, yet possible. Rossetti--again a voice
+from the tomb? No--he wanted the strength of wing. James Thomson, the
+younger, could have done it, but he was too stern. Then, our detective
+ingenuity proving incompetent, who? We seek the Delphic fane--the oracle
+replies _Swinburne_. Let us bow to the oracular voice, for in Swinburne
+we find all requisites for the work--fertility of thought, grace of
+language, ingenuity, skill in the _ars poetica_, wealth of words,
+sensuous nature, classic resources. * * * The writer of the
+'Love-Letters' is manifestly imbued with the tone and tune of Italian
+poetry, and has the merit of proving the English tongue capable of
+rivalling the Italian '_Canzoni d'Amore_.' * * * * He is a master of
+versification, so is Swinburne--he is praiseworthy for freshness of
+thought, novelty, and aptness in imagery, so is Swinburne. He is
+remarkable for sustained energy, so is Swinburne; and thus it may safely
+be said that, if not the writer of the 'Love-Letters,' he deserves to be
+accredited with that mysterious production, until the authorship is
+avowed. * * * * Unto Britannia, as erst to Italia, has been granted a a
+Petrarch."
+
+Meanwhile other leading voices in the Press joined the swelling chorus
+of praise. _The Morning Post_ took up the theme, and, after vainly
+endeavouring to clear up the mystery of the authorship, went on to say:
+"The appearance of this book must be regarded as a literary phenomenon.
+We find ourselves lifted at once by the author's genius out of the
+work-a-day world of the England of to-day, and transported into an
+atmosphere as rare and ethereal as that in which the poet of Vaucluse
+lived and moved and had his being. * * * * In nearly every stanza there
+are unerring indications of a mind and heart steeped in that subtlest of
+all forms of beauty, the mythology of old Greece. The reader perceives
+at once that he has to do with a scholar and man of culture, as well as
+with an inspired singer, whose muse need not feel abashed in the
+presence of the highest poets of our own day."
+
+Such expressions as, "A new star of brilliant magnitude has risen above
+the literary horizon in the anonymous author of the exquisite book of
+'Love-Letters,'" and "These poems are among the most graceful and
+beautiful productions of modern times," became frequent in the best
+literary journals, and private opinion concerning the book began to make
+its influence felt. The brilliant writer and astute critic, George
+Meredith, wrote to a friend on the subject as follows:--
+
+"The lines and metre of the poems are easy and interthreading and
+perfectly melodious. It is an astonishing production--the work of a true
+musician in our tongue."
+
+_The Times'_ special correspondent, Antonio Gallenga, expressed himself
+at some length on the merits of the "Violinist," and spoke of him "as
+one who could conjure up a host of noble thoughts and bright fancies,
+who rejoices in a great command of language, with a flow of verse and a
+wealth of rhymes. It is impossible to hear his confessions, to follow
+him in his aspirations, to hear the tale of his visions, his trances,
+his dreams, without catching his enthusiasm and bestowing on him our
+sympathy. Each 'Love-Letter' is in twenty stanzas--each stanza in six
+lines. The poem is regular and symmetrical as Dante's 'Comedy,' with as
+stately and solemn, aye, and as arduous a measure." While the world of
+art and letters thus discussed the volume, reading it meanwhile with
+such eagerness that the whole edition was soon entirely exhausted, a
+particularly brilliant and well-written critique of it appeared in the
+New York _Independent_--a very prominent American journal, destined
+afterwards to declare the author's identity, and to be the first to do
+so. In the columns of this paper had been frequently seen some
+peculiarly graceful and impassioned poems, signed by one Eric
+Mackay--notable among these being a lyric entitled "The Waking of the
+Lark" (included in our present volume), which, to quote the expression
+of a distinguished New York critic, "sent a thrill through the heart of
+America." There are no skylarks in the New World, but there is a deep
+tenderness felt by all Americans for the little
+
+                                  "Priest in grey apparel
+    Who doth prepare to sing in air his sinless summer carol,"
+
+and Eric Mackay's exquisite outburst of tender enthusiasm for the
+English bird of the morning evoked from all parts of the States a chorus
+of critical delight and approbation. The Rev. T. T. Munger, of
+Massachusetts, wrote concerning it:--
+
+"This strikes me as the best poem I have seen for a long time. As I read
+it stanza after stanza, with not an imperfect verse, not a commonplace,
+but with a sustained increase of pure sentiment and glowing fancy, I was
+inclined to place it beside Shelley's. It is not so intellectual as
+Shelley's, but I am not sure that it is not truer. Mackay's is the lark
+itself, Shelley's is himself listening to the lark. Besides Shelley
+makes the lark sing at evening--as I believe it does--but surely 'it to
+the morning doth belong,' and Shakespeare is truer in putting it at
+'Heaven's gate.' It is a great refreshment to us tired workers in the
+prose of life to come across such a poem as this, and seldom enough it
+happens nowadays. Tell Mr. Eric Mackay to sing us another song."
+
+Paul Hamilton Hayne, an American poet, praised it in an American paper;
+and the cultured Maurice Thompson writes:--"This lark-song touches the
+best mark of simplicity, sweetness, and naturalness in its modelling."
+
+This admired lyric was copied from the _Independent_ into many other
+journals, together with several other poems by the same hand, such as
+"A Vision of Beethoven," the beautiful verses addressed to the Spanish
+violinist, Pablo de Sarasate, and a spirited reply to Algernon Charles
+Swinburne, reproaching him for the attack which the author of "Tristram
+of Lyonesse" had made on England's name and fame. One day a simple
+statement appeared in the _Independent_ respecting the much discussed
+"Love-Letters by a Violinist," that the author was simply a gentleman of
+good position, the descendant of a distinguished and very ancient
+family, Eric Mackay, known among his personal friends and intimates as a
+man of brilliant and extensive learning, whose frequent and long
+residences abroad have made him somewhat of a foreigner, though by birth
+an Englishman. A fine linguist, a deep thinker, a profound student of
+the classics, Mr. Mackay may be ranked among the most cultured and
+accomplished men of his day, and still young as he is, will undoubtedly
+be numbered with the choice few whose names are destined to live by the
+side of poets such as Keats, whom, as far as careful work, delicate
+feeling, and fiery tenderness go, Eric Mackay may be said to resemble,
+though there is a greater robustness and force in his muse, indicative
+of a strong mind in an equally strong and healthy body, which latter
+advantage the divine Keats had not, unfortunately for himself and the
+world. The innate, hardly restrained vigour of Mr. Mackay's nature shows
+itself in such passages as occur in the sonnets, "Remorse," "A
+Thunderstorm at Night;" also in the wild and terribly suggestive
+"Zulalie," while something of hot wrath and scorn leap out in such lines
+as those included in his ode to Swinburne, whom he addresses:--
+
+                                "O thou five foot five
+    Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+      "Thou art a bee, a bright, a golden thing
+    With too much honey, and the taste thereof
+    Is sometimes rough, and something of a sting
+    Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+and
+
+    "Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same
+    Accept our pardon; or if this offend,
+    Why, then, no pardon, e'en in England's name.
+    We have our country still, and thou thy fame!"
+
+At the same time no one in all England does more justice and honor to
+Swinburne's genius than Eric Mackay.
+
+His own strength as a poet suggests to the reader the idea of a spirited
+horse reined in tightly and persistently,--a horse which prances wildly
+at times and frets and foams at the bit, and might, on the least
+provocation, run wild in a furious and headlong career, sweeping all
+conventionalities out of its road by a sheer, straight-ahead gallop. Mr.
+Mackay is, however, a careful, even precise rider, and he keeps a firm
+hand on his restless Pegasus--so firm that, as his taste always leads
+him to depict the most fanciful and fine emotions, his steady
+resoluteness of restraint commands not only our admiration but our
+respect. While passionate to an extreme in the "Love-Letters," he is
+never indelicate; the coarse, almost brutal, allusions made by some
+writers to certain phases of so-called love, which are best left
+unsuggested, never defile the pen of our present author, who may almost
+be called fastidious in such matters. How beautiful and all-sufficing to
+the mind is the line expressing the utter satisfaction of a victorious
+lover:--
+
+    "_Crowned with a kiss and sceptred with a joy!_"
+
+No details are needed here--all is said. The "Violinist," though by
+turns regretful, sorrowful, and despairing, is supreme throughout. He
+speaks of the "lady of his song" as
+
+    "The lady for whose sake I shall be strong,
+    But never weak or diffident again."
+
+The supremacy of manhood is insisted on always; and the lover, though he
+entreats, implores, wonders and raves as all lovers do, never forgets
+his own dignity. He will take no second-best affection on his lady's
+part--this he plainly states in verse 19 of Letter V. Again, in the last
+letter of all, he asserts his mastery--and this is as it should be;
+absolute authority, as he knows, is the way to win and to keep a woman's
+affections. Such lovely fancies as
+
+      "Phoebus loosens all his golden hair
+    Right down the sky--and daisies turn and stare
+    At things we see not with our human wit,"
+
+and
+
+                            "A tuneful noise
+    Broke from the copse where late a breeze was slain,
+    And nightingales in ecstacy of pain
+    Did break their hearts with singing the old joys,"
+
+abound all through the book. And here it is as well to mark the
+decision of our poet, even in trifles. The breeze he speaks of is not
+_hushed_, or _still_--none of the usual epithets are applied to it--it
+is "_slain_," as utterly and as pitifully as though it were a murdered
+child. This originality of conception is remarkable, and comes out in
+such lines as
+
+    "I will unpack my mind of all its fears"--
+
+where the word "_unpack_" is singularly appropriate, and again--
+
+    "O sweet To-morrow! Youngest of the sons
+    Of old King Time, _to whom Creation runs_
+    As men to God_."
+                    "Where a daisy grows,
+    There grows a joy!"
+
+and beautiful and dainty to a high degree is the quaint "Retrospect,"
+where the lover enthusiastically draws the sun and moon into his
+ecstasies, and makes them seem to partake in his admiration of his
+lady's loveliness.
+
+A graver and more philosophic turn of mind will be found in "A Song of
+Servitude," and "A Rhapsody of Death;" but, judged from a critical
+standpoint, Eric Mackay is a purely passionate poet, straying amongst
+the most voluptuous imaginings, and sometimes seeming to despise the
+joys of Heaven itself for the sake of love. Thus he lays himself open to
+an accusation of blasphemy from ultra-religious persons, yet it must be
+remembered that in this respect he in no way exceeds the emotions of
+Romeo, and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, or any of those lovers
+whose passion has earned for their names an undying celebrity.
+
+In closing the present notice we can but express a hope that this volume
+of Eric Mackay's poems may meet with the welcome it deserves from true
+lovers of Art; for Art includes Poetry; and Poetry, as properly defined
+is one of its grandest and most enduring forms.
+
+                                                                  G. D.
+
+    *** Some of the miscellaneous poems in this collection
+    (including "Beethoven at the Piano") were published by the
+    author a few years ago, under a pseudonym, now discarded.
+
+[Illustration: PRELUDE Letter I]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER I.
+
+PRELUDE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Teach me to love thee as a man, in prayer,
+      May love the picture of a sainted nun,
+      And I will woo thee, when the day is done,
+    With tears and vows, and fealty past compare,
+    And seek the sunlight in thy golden hair,
+      And kiss thy hand to claim thy benison.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I shall not need to gaze upon the skies,
+      Or mark the message of the morning breeze,
+      Or heed the notes of birds among the trees,
+    If, taught by thee to yearn for Paradise,
+    I may confront thee with adoring eyes
+      And do thee homage on my bended knees.
+
+
+III.
+
+    For I would be thy pilgrim; I would bow
+      Low as the grave, and, lingering in the same,
+      Live like a spectre; or be burnt in flame
+    To do thee good. A kingdom for a vow
+    I'd freely give to be elected now
+      The chief of all the servants of thy fame.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Yea, like a Roman of the days of old,
+      I would, for thee, construct a votive shrine,
+      And fan the fire, and consecrate the wine;
+    And have a statue there, of purest gold,
+    And bow thereto, unlov'd and unconsoled,
+      But proud withal to know the statue thine.
+
+
+V.
+
+    For it were sacrilege to stand erect,
+      And face to face, within thy chamber lone,
+      To urge again my right to what hath flown:
+    A bygone trust, a passion coldly check'd!
+    Were I a king of men, or laurel-deck'd,
+      I were not fit to claim thee as mine own.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    What am I then? The sexton of a joy,
+      So lately slain,--so lately on its bier
+      Laid out in state,--I dare not, for the fear
+    Of this dead thing, regard it as a toy.
+    It was a splendid Hope without alloy,
+      And now, behold! I greet it with a tear.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    It is my pastime, and my penance, too,
+      My pride, my comfort, and my discontent,
+      To count my sorrows ere the day is spent,
+    And dream, at night, of love within the blue
+    Of thy sweet eyes, and tremble through and through,
+      And keep my house, as one that doth lament.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Have I not sinn'd? I have; and I am curst,
+      And Misery makes the moments, as they fly,
+      Harder than stone, and sorrier than a sigh.
+    Oh, I did wrong thee when I met thee first,
+    And in my soul a fantasy was nurs'd
+      That seem'd an outcome of the upper sky.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I thought a poor musician might aspire;
+      I thought he might obtain from thee a look,
+      As Dian's self will smile upon a brook,
+    And make it glad, though deaf to its desire,
+    And tinge its ripples with a tender fire,
+      And make it thankful in its lonely nook.
+
+
+X.
+
+    I thought to win thee ere the waning days
+      Had caught the snow, ere yet a word of mine
+      Had pall'd upon thee in the summer shine;
+    And I was fain to meet thee in the ways
+    Of wild romance, and cling to thee, and gaze,
+      Between two kisses, on thy face divine.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Aye! on thy face, and on the rippling hair
+      That makes a mantle round thee in the night,
+      A royal robe, a network of the light,
+    Which fairies brought for thee, to keep thee fair,
+    And hide the glories of a beauty rare
+      As those of sylphs, whereof the poets write.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I thought, by token of thy matchless form,
+      To curb thy will, and make thee mine indeed,
+      From head to foot. There is no other creed
+    For men and maids, in safety or in storm,
+    Than this of love. Repentance may be warm,
+      But love is best, though broken like a reed.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    "She shall be mine till death!" I wildly said,
+      "Mine, and mine only." And I vow'd, apace,
+      That I would have thee in my dwelling-place;
+    Yea, like a despot, I would see thee led
+    Straight to the altar, with a tear unshed,
+      A wordless woe imprinted on thy face.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I wanted thee. I yearned for thee afar.
+      "She shall be mine," I cried, "and mine alone.
+      A Gorgon grief may change me into stone
+    If I be baulk'd." I hankered for a star,
+    And soar'd, in thought, to where the angels are,
+      To snatch my prize beyond the torrid zone.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I heeded not the teaching of the past.
+      I heeded not the wisdom of the years.
+      "She shall be mine," I urged, "till death appears.
+    For death, I know, will conquer me at last."
+    And then I found the sky was overcast;
+      And then I felt the bitterness of tears.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    "Behold!" I thought, "Behold, how fair to see
+      Is this white wonder!" And I wish'd thee well
+      But, like a demon out of darkest hell,
+    I marr'd thy peace, and claim'd thee on the plea
+    Of pride and passion; and there came to me
+      The far-off warning of a wedding-bell.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    A friend of thine was walking to her doom,
+      A wife-elect, who, ere the summer sun
+      Had plied its course, would weep for what was don,--
+    A friend of thine and mine, who, in the gloom
+    Of her own soul, had built herself a tomb,
+      To tremble there, when tears had ceas'd to run.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    On this I brooded; but ah! not for this
+      Did I abandon what I sought the while:
+      The dear damnation of thy tender smile,
+    And all the tortures that were like a bliss,
+    And all the raptures of a holier kiss
+      Than fair Miranda's on the magic isle.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    I urged my suit. "My bond!" I did exclaim,
+      "My pink and white, the hand I love to press,
+      The golden hair that crowns her loveliness;
+    And all the beauties which I cannot name;
+    All, all are mine, and I will have the same,
+      Though she should hate me for my love's excess."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I knew myself. I knew the withering fate
+      That would consume me, if, amid my trust,
+      I sued for Hope as beggars for a crust.
+    "O God!" I cried, entranced though desolate,
+    "Hallow my love, or turn it into hate."
+      And then I bow'd, in anguish, to the dust.
+
+[Illustration: Letter II SORROW]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER II.
+
+SORROW.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Yes, I was mad. I know it. I was mad.
+      For there is madness in the looks of love;
+      And he who frights a tender, brooding dove
+    Is not more base than I, and not so sad;
+    For I had kill'd the hope that made me glad,
+      And curs'd, in thought, the sunlight from above.
+
+
+II.
+
+    He was a fool, indeed, who lately tried
+      To touch the moon, far-shining in the trees,
+      He clomb the branches with his hands and knees.
+    And craned his neck to kiss what he espied.
+    But down he fell, unseemly in his pride,
+      And told his follies to the fitful breeze.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I was convicted of as strange a thing,
+      And wild as strange; for, in a hope forlorn,
+      I fought with Fate. But now the flag is torn
+    Which like a herald in the days of spring
+    I held aloft. The birds have ceased to sing
+      The dear old songs they sang from morn to morn.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    All holy things avoid me. Breezes pass
+      And will not fan my cheek, as once they did.
+      The gloaming hies away like one forbid;
+    And day returns, and shadows on the grass
+    Fall from the trees; and night and morn amass
+      No joys for me this side the coffin-lid.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Absolve me, Sweet! Absolve me, or I die;
+      And give me pardon, if no other boon.
+      Aye, give me pardon, and the sun and moon,
+    And all the stars that wander through the sky
+    Will be thy sponsors, and the gladden'd cry
+      Of one poor heart will thank thee for it soon.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    And mine Amati--my belov�d one--
+      The tender sprite who soothes, as best he may,
+      My fever'd pulse, and makes a roundelay
+    Of all my fears--e'en he, when all is done,
+    Will be thy friend, and yield his place to none
+      To wish thee well, and greet thee day by day.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    For he is human, though, to look at him,
+      To see his shape, to hear,--as from the throat
+      Of some bright angel,--his ecstatic note,
+    A sinful soul might dream of cherubim.
+    Aye! and he watches when my senses swim,
+      And I can trace the thoughts that o'er him float.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Often, indeed, I tell him more than man
+      E'er tells to woman in the honied hours
+      Of tranced night, in cities or in bowers;
+    And more, perchance, than lovers in the span
+    Of absent letters may, with scheming, plan
+      For life's surrender in the fairy towers.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    And he consoles me. There is none I find,
+      None in the world, so venturesome and wild,
+      And yet withal, so tender, true, and mild,
+    As he can be. And those who think him blind
+    Are much to blame. His ways are ever kind;
+      And he can plead as softly as a child.
+
+
+X.
+
+    And when he talks to me I feel the touch
+      Of some sweet hope, a feeling of content
+      Almost akin to what by joy is meant.
+    And then I brood on this; for Love is such,
+    It makes us weep to want it overmuch,
+      If wayward Fate withhold his full consent.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Oh, come to me, thou friend of my desire,
+      My lov'd Amati! At a word of thine
+      I can be brave, and dash away the brine
+    From off my cheek, and neutralise the fire
+    That makes me mad, and use thee as a lyre
+      To curb the anguish of this soul of mine.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Wood as thou art, my treasure, with the strings
+      Fair on thy form, as fits thy parentage,
+      I cannot deem that in a gilded cage
+    Thy spirit lives. The bird that in thee sings
+    Is not a mortal. No! Enthralment flings
+      Its charms about thee like a poet's rage.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Thou hast no sex; but, in an elfish way,
+      Thou dost entwine in one, as in a troth,
+      The gleesome thoughts of man and maiden both.
+    Thy voice is fullest at the flush of day,
+    But after midnight there is much to say
+      In weird remembrance of an April oath.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And when the moon is seated on the throne
+      Of some white cloud, with her attendants near--
+      The wondering stars that hold her name in fear--
+    Oh! then I know that mine Amati's tone
+    Is all for me, and that he stands alone,
+      First of his tribe, belov'd without a peer.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Yea, this is so, my Lady! A fair form
+      Made of the garner'd relics of a tree,
+      In which of old a dryad of the lea
+    Did live and die. He flourish'd in a storm,
+    And learnt to warble when the days were warm
+      And learnt at night the secrets of the sea.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    And now he is all mine, for my caress
+      And my strong bow,--an Ariel, as it seems,--
+      A something sweeter than the sweetest dreams;
+    A prison'd wizard that has come to bless
+    And will not curse, though tortured, more or less,
+      By some remembrance that athwart him streams.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    It is the thought of April. 'Tis the tie
+      That made us one; for then the earth was fair
+      With all things on't, and summer in the air
+    Tingled for thee and me. A soft reply
+    Came to thy lips, and I was like to die
+      To hear thee make such coy confessions there.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    It was the dawn of love (or so I thought)
+      The tender cooing of thy bosom-bird--
+      The beating heart that flutter'd at a word,
+    And seem'd for me alone to be so fraught
+    With wants unutter'd! All my being caught
+      Glamor thereat, as at a boon conferr'd.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    And I was lifted, in a minute's space,
+      As nigh to Heaven as Heaven is nigh to thee,
+      And in thy wistful glances I could see
+    Something that seem'd a joy, and in thy face
+    A splendour fit for angels in the place
+      Where God has named them all in their degree.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    Ah, none so blest as I, and none so proud,
+      In that wild moment when a thrill was sent
+      Right through my soul, as if from thee it went
+    As flame from fire! But this was disallow'd;
+    And I shall sooner wear a winter shroud
+      Than thou revoke my doom of banishment.
+
+[Illustration: Letter III REGRETS]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER III.
+
+REGRETS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    When I did wake, to-day, a bird of Heaven,
+      A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering sprite,
+      Did seem to sing a song for my delight;
+    And, far away, did make its holy steven
+    Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are seven;
+      And I did weep thereat in my despite.
+
+
+II.
+
+    O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious king,
+      Of all this splendour that we call the earth!
+      For thee the lark distils his morning mirth,
+    But who will hear the matins that I sing?
+    Who will be glad to greet me in the spring,
+      Or heed the voice of one so little worth?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Who will accept the thanks I would entone
+      For having met thee? and for having seen
+      Thy face an instant in the bower serene
+    Of perfect faith? The splendour was thine own,
+    The rapture mine; and Doubt was overthrown,
+      And Grief forgot the keynote of its threne.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I rose in haste. I seiz'd, as in a trance,
+      My violin, the friend I love the best
+      (After thyself, sweet soul!) and wildly press'd,
+    And firmly drew it, with a master's glance,
+    Straight to my heart! The sunbeams seem'd to dance
+      Athwart the strings, to rob me of my rest.
+
+
+V.
+
+    For then a living thing it did appear,
+      And every chord had sympathies for me;
+      And something like a lover's lowly plea
+    Did shake its frame, and something like a tear
+    Fell on my cheek, to mind me of the year
+      When first we met, we two, beside the sea.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I stood erect, I proudly lifted up
+      The Sword of Song, the bow that trembled now,
+      As if for joy, my grief to disallow.--
+    Are there not some who, in the choicest cup,
+    Imbibe despair, and famish as they sup,
+      Sear'd by a solace that was like a vow?
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Are there not some who weep, and cannot tell
+      Why it is thus? And others who repeat
+      Stories of ice, to cool them in the heat?
+    And some who quake for doubts they cannot quell,
+    And yet are brave? And some who smile in Hell
+      For thinking of the sin that was so sweet?
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    I have been one who, in the glow of youth,
+      Have liv'd in books, and realised a bliss
+      Unfelt by misers, when they count and kiss
+    Their minted joys; and I have known, in sooth,
+    The taste of water from the well of Truth,
+      And found it good. But time has alter'd this.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I have been hated, scorn'd, and thrust away,
+      By one who is the Regent of the flowers,
+      By one who, in the magic of her powers,
+    Changes the day to night, the night to day,
+    And makes a potion of the solar ray
+      Which drugs my heart, and deadens it for hours.
+
+
+X.
+
+    I have been taught that Happiness is coy,
+      And will not come to all who bend the knee;
+      That Faith is like the foam upon the sea,
+    And Pride a snare, and Pomp a foolish toy,
+    And Hope a moth whose wings we may destroy;
+      And she I love has taught these things to me.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Yes, thou, my Lady! Thou hast made me feel
+      The pangs of that Prometheus who was chain'd
+      And would not bow, but evermore maintain'd
+    A fierce revolt. Have I refused to kneel?
+    I do it gladly. But to mine appeal
+      No answer comes, and none will be ordain'd.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Why, then, this rancour? Why so cold a thing
+      As thy displeasure, O thou dearest One?
+      I meant no wrong. I stole not from the sun
+    The fire of Heaven; but I did seek to bring
+    Glory from thee to me; and in the Spring
+      I pray'd the prayer that left me thus undone.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I pray'd my prayer. I wove into my song
+      Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the bleak,
+      The wan despair that words can never speak.
+    I pray'd as if my spirit did belong
+    To some old master, who was wise and strong
+      Because he lov'd, and suffer'd, and was weak.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I curb'd the notes, convulsive, to a sigh,
+      And, when they falter'd most, I made them leap
+      Fierce from my bow, as from a summer sleep
+    A young she-devil. I was fired thereby
+    To bolder efforts, and a muffled cry
+      Came from the strings, as if a saint did weep.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I changed the theme. I dallied with the bow
+      Just time enough to fit it to a mesh
+      Of merry notes, and drew it back afresh
+    To talk of truth and constancy and woe,
+    And life, and love, and madness, and the glow
+      Of mine own soul which burns into my flesh.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    It was the Lord of music, it was he
+      Who seiz'd my hand. He forc'd me, as I play'd,
+      To think of that ill-fated fairy-glade
+    Where once we stroll'd at night; and wild and free
+    My notes did ring; and quickly unto me
+      There came the joy that maketh us afraid.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Oh! I shall die of tasting in my dreams
+      Poison of love and ecstasy of pain;
+      For I shall never kneel to thee again,
+    Or sit in bowers, or wander by the streams
+    Of golden vales, or of the morning beams
+      Construct a wreath to crown thee on the plain!
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Yet it were easy, too, to compass this,
+      So thou wert kind; and easy to my soul
+      Were harder things if I could reach the goal
+    Of all I crave, and consummate a bliss
+    In mine own fashion, and compel a kiss
+      More fraught with honour than a king's control.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    It is not much to say that I would die,--
+      It is not much to say that I would dare
+      Torture, and doom, and death, could I but share
+    One kiss with thee. For then, without a sigh,
+    I'd teach thee pity, and be graced thereby,
+      Wet with thy tears, and shrouded by thy hair.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    It is not much to say that this is so;
+      Yet I would sell my substance and my breath,
+      And all the joy that comes from Nazareth,
+    And all the peace that all the angels know,
+    To lie with thee, one minute, in the snow
+      Of thy white bosom, ere I sank in death!
+
+[Illustration: Letter IV YEARNING]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER IV.
+
+YEARNINGS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    The earth is glad, I know, when night is spent,
+      For then she wakes the birdlings in the bowers;
+      And, one by one, the rosy-footed hours
+    Start for the race; and from his crimson tent
+    The soldier-sun looks o'er the firmament;
+      And all his path is strewn with festal flowers.
+
+
+II.
+
+    But what his mission? What the happy quest
+      Of all this toil? He journeys on his way
+      As C�sar did, unbiass'd by the sway
+    Of maid or man. His goal is in the west.
+    Will he unbuckle there, and, in his rest,
+      Dream of the gods who died in Nero's day?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Will he arraign the traitor in his camp?
+      The Winter Comet who, with streaming hair,
+      Attack'd the sweetest of the Pleiads fair
+    And ravish'd her, and left her in the damp
+    Of dull decay, nor re-illumined the lamp
+      That show'd the place she occupied in air.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    No; 'tis not so! He seeks his lady-moon,
+      The gentle orb for whom Endymion sigh'd,
+      And trusts to find her by the ocean tide,
+    Or near a forest in the coming June;
+    For he has lov'd her since she late did swoon
+      In that eclipse of which she nearly died.
+
+
+V.
+
+    He knew her then; he knew her in the glow
+      Of all her charms. He knew that she was chaste,
+      And that she wore a girdle at her waist
+    Whiter than pearl. And when he eyed her so
+    He knew that in the final overthrow
+      He should prevail, and she should be embraced.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    But were I minded thus, were I the sun,
+      And thou the moon, I would not bide so long
+      To hear the marvels of thy wedding-song;
+    For I would have the planets, every one,
+    Conduct thee home, before the day was done,
+      And call thee queen, and crown thee in the throng.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    And, like Apollo, I would flash on thee,
+      And rend thy veil, and call thee by the name
+      That Daphne lov'd, the loadstar of his fame;
+    And make myself for thee as white to see
+    As whitest marble, and as wildly free
+      As Leda's lover with his look of flame.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And there should then be f�tes that should not cease
+      Till I had kiss'd thee, lov'd one! in a trance
+      Lasting a life-time, through a life's romance;
+    And every star should have a mate apiece,
+    And I would teach them how, in ancient Greece,
+      The gods were masters of the maidens' dance.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I should be bold to act; and thou should'st feel
+      Terror and joy combined, in all the span
+      Of thy sweet body, ere my fingers ran
+    From curl to curl, to prompt thee how to kneel;
+    And then, soul-stricken by thy mute appeal,
+      I should be quick to answer like a man.
+
+
+X.
+
+    What! have I sinn'd, dear Lady, have I sinn'd
+      To talk so wildly? Have I sinn'd in this?
+      An angel's mouth was surely meant to kiss!
+    Or have I dreamt of courtship out in Inde
+    In some wild wood? My soul is fever-thinn'd,
+      And fierce and faint, and frauded of its bliss.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    I will not weep. I will not in the night
+      Weep or lament, or, bending on my knees,
+      Appeal for pity! In the clustered trees
+    The wind is boasting of its one delight;
+    And I will boast of mine, in thy despite,
+      And say I love thee more than all of these.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    The rose in bloom, the linnet as it sings,
+      The fox, the fawn, the cygnet on the mere,
+      The dragon-fly that glitters like a spear,--
+    All these, and more, all these ecstatic things,
+    Possess their mates; and some arrive on wings,
+      And some on webs, to make their meanings clear.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Yea, all these things, and more than I can tell,
+      More than the most we know of, one and all,
+      Do talk of Love. There is no other call
+    From wind to wave, from rose to asphodel,
+    Than Love's alone--the thing we cannot quell,
+      Do what we will, from font to funeral.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    What have I done, I only on the earth,
+      That I should wait a century for a word?
+      A hundred years, I know, have been deferr'd
+    Since last we met, and then it was in dearth
+    Of gladsome peace; for, in a moment's girth,
+      My shuddering soul was wounded like a bird.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I knew thy voice. I knew the veering sound
+      Of that sweet oracle which once did tend
+      To treat me grandly, as we treat a friend;
+    And I would know't if darkly underground
+    I lay as dead, or, down among the drown'd,
+      I blindly stared, unvalued to the end.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    There! take again the kiss I took from thee
+      Last night in sleep. I met thee in a dream
+      And drew thee closer than a monk may deem
+    Good for the soul. I know not how it be,
+    But this I know: if God be good to me
+      I shall be raised again to thine esteem.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    I touched thy neck. I kiss'd it. I was bold.
+      And bold am I, to-day, to call to mind
+      How, in the night, a murmur not unkind
+    Broke on mine ear; a something new and old
+    Quick in thy breath, as when a tale is told
+      Of some great hope with madness intertwined.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    And round my lips, in joy and yet in fear,
+      There seemed to dart the stings of kisses warm.
+      These were my honey-bees, and soon would swarm
+    To choose their queen. But ere they did appear,
+    I heard again that murmur in mine ear
+      Which seem'd to speak of calm before a storm.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    "What is it, love?" I whispered in my sleep,
+      And turned to thee, as April unto May.
+      "Art mine in truth, mine own, by night and day,
+    Now and for ever?" And I heard thee weep,
+    And then persuade; and then my soul did leap
+      Swiftly to thine, in love's ecstatic sway.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I fondled thee! I drew thee to my heart,
+      Well knowing in the dark that joy is dumb.
+      And then a cry, a sigh, a sob, did come
+    Forth from thy lips.... I waken'd, with a start,
+    To find thee gone. The day had taken part
+      Against the total of my blisses' sum.
+
+[Illustration: Letter V CONFESSIONS]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER V.
+
+CONFESSIONS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O Lady mine! O Lady of my Life!
+      Mine and not mine, a being of the sky
+      Turn'd into Woman, and I know not why--
+    Is't well, bethink thee, to maintain a strife
+    With thy poor servant? War unto the knife,
+      Because I greet thee with a lover's eye?
+
+
+II.
+
+    Is't well to visit me with thy disdain,
+      And rack my soul, because, for love of thee,
+      I was too prone to sink upon my knee,
+    And too intent to make my meaning plain,
+    And too resolved to make my loss a gain
+      To do thee good, by Love's immortal plea?
+
+
+III.
+
+    O friend! forgive me for my dream of bliss.
+      Forgive: forget; be just! Wilt not forgive?
+      Not though my tears should fall, as through a sieve
+    The salt sea-sand? What joy hast thou in this:
+    To be a maid, and marvel at a kiss?
+      Say! Must I die, to prove that I can live?
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Shall this be so? E'en this? And all my love
+      Wreck'd in an instant? No, a gentle heart
+      Beats in thy bosom; and the shades depart
+    From all fair gardens, and from skies above,
+    When thou art near. For thou art like a dove,
+      And dainty thoughts are with thee where thou art.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Oh! it is like the death of dearest kin,
+      To wake and find the fancies of the brain
+      Sear'd and confused. We languish in the strain
+    Of some lost music, and we find within,
+    Deep in the heart, the record of a sin,
+      The thrill thereof, and all the blissful pain.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+VI.
+
+    For it is deadly sin to love too well,
+      And unappeased, unhonour'd, unbesought,
+      To feed on dreams; and yet 'tis aptly thought
+    That all must love. E'en those who most rebel
+    In Eros' camp have known his master-spell;
+      And more shall learn than Eros yet has taught.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    But I am mad to love. I am not wise.
+      I am the worst of men to love the best
+      Of all sweet women! An untimely jest,
+    A thing made up of rhapsodies and sighs,
+    And unordained on earth, and in the skies,
+      And undesired in tumult and in rest.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    All this is true. I know it. I am he.
+      I am that man. I am the hated friend
+      Who once received a smile, and sought to mend
+    His soul with hope. O tyrant! by the plea
+    Of all thy grace, do thou accept from me
+      At least the notes that know not to offend.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    See! I will strike again the major chord
+      Of that great song, which, in his early days,
+      Beethoven wrote; and thine shall be the praise,
+    And thine the frenzy like a soldier's sword
+    Flashing therein; and thine, O thou adored
+      And bright true Lady! all the poet's lays.
+
+
+X.
+
+    To thee, to thee, the songs of all my joy,
+      To thee the songs that wildly seem to bless,
+      And those that mind thee of a past caress.
+    Lo! with a whisper to the Wing�d Boy
+    Who rules my fate, I will my strength employ
+      To make a matin-song of my distress.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    But playing thus, and toying with the notes,
+      I half forget the cause I have to weep;
+      And, like a reaper in the realms of sleep,
+    I hear the bird of morning where he floats
+    High in the welkin, and in fairy boats
+      I see the minstrels sail upon the deep.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    In mid-suspension of my leaping bow
+      I almost hear the silence of the night;
+      And, in my soul, I know the stars are bright
+    Because they love, and that they nightly glow
+    To make it clear that there is nought below,
+      And nought above, so fair as Love's delight.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    But shall I touch thy heart by speech alone,
+      Without Amati? Shall I prove, by words,
+      That hope is meant for men as well as birds;
+    That I would take a scorpion, or a stone,
+    In lieu of gold, and sacrifice a throne
+      To be the keeper of thy flocks and herds?
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Ah no, my Lady! though I sang to thee
+      With fuller voice than sings the nightingale--
+      Fuller and softer in the moonlight pale
+    Than lays of Keats, or Shelley, or the free
+    And fire-lipp'd Byron--there would come to me
+      No word of thine to thank me for the tale.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Thou would'st not heed. Thou would'st not any-when,
+      In bower or grove--or in the holy nook
+      Which shields thy bed--thou would'st not care to look
+    For thoughts of mine, though faithful in their ken
+    As are the minds of England's fighting men
+      When they inscribe their names in Honour's book.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Thou would'st not care to scan my face, and through
+      This face of mine, the soul, for scraps of thought.
+      Yet 'tis a face that somewhere has been taught
+    To smile in tears. Mine eyes are somewhat blue
+    And quick to flash (if what I hear be true)
+      And dark, at times, as velvet newly wrought.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    But wilt thou own it? Wilt thou in the scroll
+      Of my sad life, perceive, as in a hive,
+      A thousand happy fancies that contrive
+    To seek thee out? Thy bosom is the goal
+    Of all my thoughts, and quick to thy control
+      They wend their way, elate to be alive.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    But there is something I could never bring
+      My soul to compass. No! could I compel
+      Thy plighted troth, I would not have thee tell
+    A lie to God. I'll have no wedding-ring
+    With loveless hands around my neck to cling;
+      For this were worse than all the fires of hell.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    I would not take thee from a lover's lips,
+      Or from the rostrum of a roaring crowd,
+      Or from the memory of a husband's shroud,
+    Or from the goblet where a C�sar sips.
+    I would not touch thee with my finger tips,
+      But I would die to serve thee,--and be proud.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    And could I enter Heaven, and find therein,
+      In all the wide dominions of the air,
+      No trace of thee among the natives there,
+    I would not bide with them--No! not to win
+    A seraph's lyre--but I would sin a sin,
+      And free my soul, and seek thee otherwhere!
+
+[Illustration: Letter VI DESPAIR]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER VI.
+
+DESPAIR.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I am undone. My hopes have beggar'd me,
+      For I have lov'd where loving was denied.
+      To-day is dark, and Yesterday has died,
+    And when To-morrow comes, erect and free,
+    Like some great king, whose tyrant will he be,
+      And whose defender in the days of pride?
+
+
+II.
+
+    I am not cold, and yet November bands
+      Compress my heart. I know the month is May,
+      And that the sun will warm me if I stay.
+    But who is this? Oh, who is this that stands
+    Straight in my path, and with his bony hands
+      Appeals to me to turn some other way?
+
+
+III.
+
+    It is the phantom of my murder'd joy,
+      Which once again has come to persecute,
+      And tell me tales which late I did refute.
+    But lo! I now must heed them, as a boy
+    Takes up, in tears, the remnants of a toy,
+      Or bard forlorn the fragments of a lute.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    It is the ghost that, day by day, did come
+      To tempt my spirit to the mountain-peak;
+      It is the thing that wept, and would not speak,
+    And, with a sign, to show that it was dumb,
+    Did seem to hint at Death that was the sum
+      Of all we know, and all we strive to seek.
+
+
+V.
+
+    And now it comes again, and with its eye
+      Bloodshot and blear, though pallid in its face,
+      Doth point, exacting, to the very place
+    Where I do keep, that no one may descry,
+    A lady's glove, a ribbon, and a dry,
+      A perjur'd rose, which oft I did embrace.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    It means, perchance, that I must make an end
+      Of all these things, and burn them as a fee
+      To my Despair, when down upon my knee.
+    O piteous thing! have pity; be my friend;
+    Or say, at least, that blessings will descend
+      On her I love, on her if not on me!
+
+
+VII.
+
+    The Shape did smile; and, wildly, with a start,
+      Did shrivel up, as when a fire is spent,
+      Whereof the smoke obscured the firmament.
+    And then I knew it had but tried my heart,
+    To teach me how to play a manly part,
+      And strengthen me in all my good intent.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And here I stand alone, e'en like a leaf
+      In sudden frost, as quiet as the wing
+      Of wounded bird, which knows it cannot sing.
+    A child may moan, but not a mountain chief.
+    If we be sad, if we possess a grief,
+      The grief should be the slave, and not the king.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Yes, I will pause, and pluck from out the Past
+      The full discernment of my sorry cheer,
+      And why the sunlight seems no longer clear,
+    And why, in spite of anguish, and the vast,
+    The sickly blank that o'er my life is cast,
+      I cannot kneel to-day, or shed a tear.
+
+
+X.
+
+    It was thy friendship. It was this I had,
+      This and no more. I was a fool to doubt,
+      I was a fool to strive to put to rout
+    My many foes:--thy musings tender-glad,
+    Which all had said:--"Avoid him! he is mad--
+      Mad with his love, and Love's erratic shout."
+
+
+XI.
+
+    I should have known,--I should have guess'd in time,--
+      That, like a soft mirage at twilight hour,
+      My dream would melt, and rob me of its dower.
+    I should have guess'd that all the heights sublime,
+    Which look'd like spires and cities built in rhyme,
+      Would droop and die, like petals from a flower.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I should have known, indeed, that to the brave
+      All things are servants. But my lost Delight
+      Was like the ship that founders in a night,
+    And leaves no mark. How then? Is Passion's grave
+    All that is left beside the sobbing wave?
+      The foam thereof, the saltness, and the blight?
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I had a fleet of ships, and where are they?
+      Where are they all? and where the merchandise
+      I treasured once--an empire's golden prize,
+    The empire of a soul, which, in a day,
+    Lost all its wealth? I was deceiv'd, I say,
+      For I had reckon'd on propitious skies.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I look'd afar, and saw no sign of wrack.
+      I look'd anear, and felt the summer breeze
+      Warm on my cheek; and forth upon the seas
+    I sent my ships; and would not have them back,
+    Though some averr'd a storm was on the track
+      Of all I lov'd, and all I own'd of these.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    One ship was "Joy," the second "Truth," the third
+      "Love in a Dream," and, last not least of all,
+      "Hope," and "Content," and "Pride that hath a Fall."
+    And they were goodly vessels, by my word,
+    With sails as strong as pinions of a bird,
+      And crew that answer'd well to Duty's call.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    In one of these--in "Hope"--where I did fly
+      A lofty banner,--in that ship I found
+      Doom's-day at last, and all my crew were drown'd.
+    Yes, I was wreck'd in this, and here I lie,
+    Here on the beach, forlorn and like to die,
+      With none to pray for me on holy ground.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    O sweet my Lady! If thou pass this way,
+      And thou behold me where I lie beset
+      By wind and wave, and powerless to forget,
+    Wilt not approach me thoughtfully and say:--
+    "This man was true. He lov'd me night and day
+      And though I spurn'd at him, he loves me yet."
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Wilt not withhold thy blame, at least to-night,
+      And shed for me a tear, as one may grieve
+      For people known in books, for men who weave
+    Ropes out of sand, to lead them to the light?
+    Oh! treat me thus, and, by thy hand so white,
+      I will forego the dreams to which I cleave.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    Be just to me, and say, when all is o'er,
+      When some such book is calmly laid aside:
+      "The shadow-men have liv'd and lov'd and died;
+    The shadow-women will be vexed no more.
+    But there is One for whom my heart is sore,
+      Because he took a shadow for his guide."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    Say only this; but pray for me withal,
+      And let a pitying thought possess thee then,
+      Whether at home, at sea, or in a glen
+    In some wild nook. It were a joy to fall
+    Dead at thy feet, as at a trumpet's call,
+      For I should then be peerless among men!
+
+[Illustration: Letter VII HOPE]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER VII.
+
+HOPE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O tears of mine! Ye start I know not why,
+      Unless, indeed, to prove that I am glad,
+      Albeit fast wedded to a thought so sad
+    I scarce can deem that my despair will die,
+    Or that the sun, careering up the sky,
+      Will warm again a world that seem'd so mad.
+
+
+II.
+
+    And yet, who knows? The world is, to the mind,
+      Much as we make it; and the things we tend
+      Wear, for the nonce, the liveries that we lend.
+    And some such things are fair, though ill-defined,
+    And some are scathing, like the wintry wind;
+      And some begin, and some will never end.
+
+
+III.
+
+    How can I think, ye tears! that I have been
+      The thing I was--so doubting, so unfit,
+      And so unblest, with brows for ever knit,
+    And hair unkempt, and face becoming lean
+    And cold and pale, as if I late had seen
+      Medusa's head, and all the scowls of it?
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Oh, why is this? Oh, why have I so long
+      Brooded on grief, and made myself a bane
+      To golden fields and all the happy plain
+    Where once I met the Lady of my Song,
+    The lady for whose sake I shall be strong,
+      But never weak or diffident again?
+
+
+V.
+
+    I was too shorn of hope. I did employ
+      Words like a mourner; and to Her I bow'd,
+      As one might kneel to Glory in its shroud.
+    But I am crown'd to-day, and not so coy--
+    Crown'd with a kiss, and sceptred with a joy;
+      And all the world shall see that I am proud.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I shall be sated now. I shall receive
+      More than the guerdon of my wildest thought,
+      More than the most that ecstasy has taught
+    To saints in Heaven; and more than poets weave
+    In madcap verse, to warn us, or deceive;
+      And more than Adam knew ere Eve was brought.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    I know the meaning now of all the signs,
+      And all the joys I dreamt of in my dreams.
+      I realise the comfort of the streams
+    When they reflect the shadows of the pines.
+    I know that there is hope for celandines,
+      And that a tree is merrier than it seems.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    I know the mighty hills have much to tell;
+      And that they quake, at times, in undertone,
+      And talk to stars, because so much alone
+    And so unlov'd. I know that, in the dell,
+    Flowers are betroth'd, and that a wedding-bell
+      Rings in the breeze on which a moth has flown.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I know such things, because to loving hearts
+      Nature is keen, and pleasures, long delay'd,
+      Quicken the pulse, and turn a truant shade
+    Into a sprite, equipp'd with all the darts
+    That once were Cupid's; and the day departs,
+      And sun and moon conjoin, as man with maid.
+
+
+X.
+
+    The lover knows how grand a thing is love,
+      How grand, how sweet a thing, and how divine
+      More than the pouring out of choicest wine;
+    More than the whiteness of the whitest dove;
+    More than the glittering of the stars above;
+      And such a love, O Love! is thine and mine.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    To me the world, to-day, has grown so fair
+      I dare not trust myself to think of it.
+      Visions of light around me seem to flit,
+    And Phoebus loosens all his golden hair
+    Right down the sky; and daisies turn and stare
+      At things we see not with our human wit.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+XII.
+
+    And here, beside me, there are mosses green
+      In shelter'd nooks, and gnats in bright array,
+      And lordly beetles out for holiday;
+    And spiders small that work in silver sheen
+    To make a kirtle for the Fairy Queen,
+      That she may don it on the First of May.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I hear, in thought, I hear the very words
+      That Arethusa, turn'd into a brook,
+      Spoke to Diana, when her leave she took
+    Of all she lov'd--low-weeping as the birds
+    Shrill'd out of tune, and all the frighten'd herds
+      Scamper'd to death, in spite of pipe and crook.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I know, to-day, why winds were made to sigh
+      And why they hide themselves, and why they gloat
+      In some old ruin! Mote confers with mote,
+    And shell with shell; and corals live and die,
+    And die and live, below the deep. And why?
+      To make a necklace for my lady's throat.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    And yet the world, in all its varied girth,
+      Lacks what we look for. There is something base
+      In mere existence--something in the face
+    Of men and women which accepts the earth,
+    And all its havings, as its right of birth,
+      But not its quittance, not its resting-place.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    There have been moments, at the set of sun,
+      When I have long'd for wings upon the wind,
+      That I might seek a planet to my mind,
+    More full-develop'd than this present one;
+    With more of scope, when all is said and done,
+      To satisfy the wants of human kind.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    A world with thee, a home in some remote
+      And unknown region, which no sage's ken
+      Has compass'd yet; of which no human pen
+    Has traced the limits; where no terrors float
+    In wind or wave, and where the soul may note
+      A thousand raptures unreveal'd to men.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    To be transported in a magic car,
+      On some transcendent night in early June,
+      Beyond the horn'd projections of the moon;
+    To have our being in a bridal star,
+    In lands of light, where only angels are,
+      Athwart the spaces where the comets swoon.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    To be all this: to have in our estate
+      Worlds without stint, and quit them for the clay
+      Of some new planet where a summer's day
+    Lasts fifty years; and there to celebrate
+    Our Golden Wedding, by the will of Fate--
+      This were a subject for a seraph's lay.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    This were a life to live,--a life indeed,--
+      A thing to die for; if, in truth, we die
+      When we but put our mortal vestments by.
+    This were a climax for a lover's need
+    Sweeter than songs, and holier than the creed
+      Of half the zealots who have sought the sky.
+
+[Illustration: Letter VIII A VISION]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER VIII.
+
+A VISION.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Yes, I will tell thee what, a week ago,
+      I dreamt of thee, and all the joy therein
+      Which I conceiv'd, and all the holy din
+    Of throbbing music, which appear'd to flow
+    From room to room, as if to make me know
+      The power thereof to lead me out of sin.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Methought I saw thee in a ray of light,
+      This side a grove--a dream within a dream--
+      With eyes of tender pleading, and the gleam
+    Of far-off summers in thy tresses bright;
+    And I did tremble at the gracious sight,
+      As one who sees a na�ad in a stream.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I follow'd thee. I knew that, in the wood,
+      Where thus we met, there was a trysting-place.
+      I follow'd thee, as mortals in a chase
+    Follow the deer. I knew that it was good
+    To track thy step, and promptly understood
+      The fitful blush that flutter'd to thy face.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I followed thee to where a brook did run
+      Close to a grot; and there I knelt to thee.
+      And then a score of birds flew over me,--
+    Birds which arrived because the day was done,
+    To sing the Sanctus of the setting sun;
+      And then I heard thy voice upon the lea.
+
+
+V.
+
+    "Follow!" it cried. I rose and follow'd fast;
+      And, in my dream, I felt the dream was true,
+      And that, full soon, Titania, with her crew
+    Of imps and fays, would meet me on the blast.
+    But this was hindered; and I quickly passed
+      Into the valley where the cedars grew.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    And what a scene, O God! and what repose,
+      And what sad splendour in the burning west:
+      A languid sun low-dropping to his rest,
+    And incense rising, as of old it rose,
+    To do him honour at the daylight's close,--
+      The birds entranced, and all the winds repress'd.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    I followed thee. I came to where a shrine
+      Stood in the trees, and where an oaken gate
+      Swung in the air, so turbulent of late.
+    I touch'd thy hand; it quiver'd into mine;
+    And then I look'd into thy face benign,
+      And saw the smile for which the angels wait.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And lo! the moon had sailed into the main
+      Of that blue sky, as if therein did poise
+      A silver boat; and then a tuneful noise
+    Broke from the copse where late a breeze was slain;
+    And nightingales, in ecstasy of pain,
+      Did break their hearts with singing the old joys.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    "Is this the spot?" I cried, "is this the spot
+      Where I must tell thee all my heart's desire?
+      Is this the time when I must drink the fire,
+    And eat the snow, and find it fever-hot?
+    I freeze with heat, and yet I fear it not;
+      And all my pulses thrill me like a lyre."
+
+
+X.
+
+    A wondrous light was thrown upon thy face;
+      It was the light within; it was the ray
+      Of thine own soul. And then a voice did say,
+    "Glory to God the King, and Jesu's grace
+    Here and hereafter!" and about the place
+      A radiance shone surpassing that of day.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    It was thy voice. It was the voice I prize
+      More than the sound of April in the dales,
+      More than the songs of larks and nightingales,
+    And more than the teachings of the worldly-wise.
+    "Glory to God," it said, "for in the skies,
+      And here on earth, 'tis He alone prevails."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+XII.
+
+    And then I asked thee: "Shall I tell thee now
+      All that I think of, when, by land and sea,
+      The days and nights illume the world for me?
+    And how I muse on marriage, as I bow
+    In God's own places, with a throbbing brow?
+      And how, at night, I dream of kissing thee?"
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    But thou did'st answer: "First behold this man!
+      He is thy lord, for love's and lady's sake;
+      He is thy master, or I much mistake."
+    And I perceiv'd, hard by, a phantom wan
+    And wild and kingly, who did, walking, span
+      The open space that lay beside the brake.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    It was Beethoven. It was he who came
+      From monstrous shades, to journey yet awhile
+      In pleasant nooks, and vainly seek the smile
+    Of one lov'd woman--she to whom his fame
+    Had been a glory had she sought the same,
+      And lov'd a soul so grand, so free from guile.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    It was the Kaiser of the land of song,
+      The giant-singer who did storm the gates
+      Of Heaven and Hell, a man to whom the Fates
+    Were fierce as furies, and who suffer'd wrong
+    And ached and bore it, and was brave and strong,
+      But gaunt as ocean when its rage abates.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    I knew his tread. I knew him by his look
+      Of pent-up sorrow--by his hair unkempt
+      And torn attire--and by his smile exempt
+    From all but pleading. Yet his body shook
+    With some great joy; and onward he betook
+      His echoing steps the way that I had dreamt.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    I bow'd my head. The lordly being pass'd.
+      He was my king, and I did bow to him.
+      And when I rais'd mine eyes they were as dim
+    As tears could make them. And the moon, aghast,
+    Glared in the sky; and westward came a blast
+      Which shook the earth like shouts of cherubim.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    I held my breath. I could have fled the place,
+      As men have fled before the wrath of God.
+      But I beheld my Lady where she trod
+    The darken'd path; and I did cry apace:
+    "Help me, my Lady!" and thy lustrous face
+      Gladden'd the air, and quicken'd all the sod.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    Then did I hear again that voice of cheer.
+      "Lovest thou me," it said, "or music best?"
+      I seized thy hand, I drew thee to my breast,
+    "Thee, only thee!" I cried. "From year to year,
+    Thee, only thee--not fame!" And silver-clear,
+      Thy voice responded: "God will grant the rest."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I kiss'd thine eyes. I kiss'd them where the blue
+      Peep'd smiling forth; and proudly as before
+      I heard the tones that thrill'd me to the core.
+    "If thou love me," they said, "if thou be true,
+    Thou shalt have fame, and love, and music too!"
+      Entranced I kiss'd the lips that I adore.
+
+[Illustration: Letter IX TO-MORROW]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER IX.
+
+TO-MORROW.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O Love! O Love! O Gateway of Delight!
+      Thou porch of peace, thou pageant of the prime
+      Of all God's creatures! I am here to climb
+    Thine upward steps, and daily and by night
+    To gaze beyond them, and to search aright
+      The far-off splendour of thy track sublime.
+
+
+II.
+
+    For, in thy precincts, on the further side,
+      Beyond the turret where the bells are rung,
+      Beyond the chapel where the rites are sung,
+    There is a garden fit for any bride.
+    O Love! by thee, by thee are sanctified
+      The joys thereof to keep our spirits young.
+
+
+III.
+
+    By thee, dear Love! by thee, if all be well--
+      And we be wise enough to own the touch
+      Of some bright folly that has thrill'd us much--
+    By thee, till death, we may regain the spell
+    Of wizard Merlin, and in every dell
+      Confront a Muse, and bow to it as such.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Love! Happy Love! Behold me where I stand
+      This side thy portal, with my straining eyes
+      Turn'd to the Future. Cloudless are the skies,
+    And, far adown the road which thou hast spann'd,
+    I see the groves of that elected land
+      Which is the place I call my paradise.
+
+
+V.
+
+    But what is this? The plains are known to me;
+      The hills are known, the fields, the little fence,
+      The noisy brook as clear as innocence,
+    And this old oak, the wonder of the lea,
+    Which stops the wind to know if there shall be
+      Sorrow for men, or pride, or recompense.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I know these things, yet hold it little blame
+      To know them not, though in their proud array,
+      The flowers advance to make the world so gay.
+    Ah, what a change! The things I know by name
+    Look unfamiliar all, and, like a flame,
+      The roses burn upon the hedge to-day.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    The grass is velvet. There are pearls thereon,
+      And golden signs, and braid that doth appear
+      Made for a bridal. This is fairy gear
+    If I mistake not. I shall know anon.
+    Nature herself will teach me how to con
+      The new-found words to thank the glowing year.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    This is the path that led me to the brook;
+      And this the mead, and this the mossy slope,
+      And this the place where breezes did elope
+    With giddy moths, enamour'd of a look;
+    And here I sat alone, or with a book,
+      Dreaming the dreams of constancy and hope.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I loved the river well; but not till now
+      Did I perceive the marvels of the shore.
+      This is a cave, and this an emerald floor;
+    And here Sir Englantine might make a vow,
+    And here a king, a guilty king, might bow
+      Before a child, and break his word no more.
+
+
+X.
+
+    The day is dying. I shall see him die,
+      And I shall watch the sunset, and the red
+      Of all that splendour when the day is dead.
+    And I shall see the stars upon the sky,
+    And think them torches that are lit on high
+      To light the Lord Apollo to his bed.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    And sweet To-morrow, like a golden bark,
+      Will call for me, and lead me on apace
+      To where I shall behold, in all her grace,
+    Mine own true Lady, whom a happy lark
+    Did late salute, appointing, after dark,
+      A nightingale to carol in his place.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Oh, come to me! Oh, come, belov�d day,
+      O sweet To-morrow! Youngest of the sons
+      Of old King Time, to whom Creation runs
+    As men to God. Oh, quickly with thy ray
+    Anoint my head, and teach me how to pray,
+      As gentle Jesus taught the little ones.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I am aweary of the waiting hours,
+      I am aweary of the tardy night.
+      The hungry moments rob me of delight,
+    The crawling minutes steal away my powers;
+    And I am sick at heart, as one who cowers,
+      In lonely haunts, remov'd from human sight.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    How shall I think the night was meant for sleep,
+      When I must count the dreadful hours thereof,
+      And cannot beat them down, or bid them doff
+    Their hateful masks? A man may wake and weep
+    From hour to hour, and, in the silence deep,
+      See shadows move, and almost hear them scoff.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Oh, come to me, To-morrow! like a friend,
+      And not as one who bideth for the clock.
+      Be swift to come, and I will hear thee knock,
+    And though the night refuse to make an end
+    Of her dull peace, I promptly will descend
+      And let thee in, and thank thee for the shock.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Dear, good To-morrow! in my life, till now,
+      I did not think to need thee quite so soon.
+      I did not think that I should hate the moon,
+    Or new or old, or that my fevered brow
+    Requir'd the sun to cool it. I will bow
+      To this new day, that he may grant the boon.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Yes, 'twill consent. The day will dawn at last.
+      Day and the tide approach. They cannot rest.
+      They must approach. They must by every test
+    Of all men's knowledge, neither slow nor fast,
+    Approach and front us. When the night is past,
+      The morrow's dawn will lead me to my quest.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Then shall I tremble greatly, and be glad,
+      For I shall meet my true-love all alone,
+      And none shall tell me of her dainty zone,
+    And none shall say how sweetly she is clad;
+    But I shall know it. Men may call me mad;
+      But I shall know how bright the world has grown.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    There is a grammar of the lips and eyes,
+      And I have learnt it. There are tokens sure
+      Of trust in love; and I have found them pure.
+    Is love the guerdon then? Is love the prize?
+    It is! It is! We find it in the skies,
+      And here on earth 'tis all that will endure.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    All things for love. All things in some divine
+      And wish'd for way, conspire, as Nature knows,
+      To some great good. Where'er a daisy grows
+    There grows a joy. The forest-trees combine
+    To talk of peace when mortals would repine;
+      And he is false to God who flouts the rose.
+
+[Illustration: Letter X A RETROSPECT]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER X.
+
+A RETROSPECT.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I walk again beside the roaring sea,
+      And once again I harken to the speech
+      Of waves exulting on the madden'd beach.
+    A sound of awful joy it seems to me,
+    A shuddering sound of God's eternity,--
+      Telling of things beyond the sage's reach.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I walk alone. I see the bounding waves
+      Curl'd into foam. I watch them as they leap
+      Like wild sea-horses loosen'd from the deep.
+    And well I know that they have seen the graves
+    Of shipwreck'd sailors; for Disaster paves
+      The fearful fields where reapers cannot reap.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Out there, in islands where the summer sun
+      Goes down in tempest, there are loathsome things
+      That crawl to shore, and flap unsightly wings.
+    But here there are no monsters that can run
+    To catch the limbs of bathers; no! not one;
+      And here the wind is harmless when it stings.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    There is a glamour all about the bay,
+      As if the nymphs of Greece had tarried here.
+      The sands are golden, and the rocks appear
+    Crested with silver; and the breezes play
+    Snatches of song they humm'd when far away,
+      And then are hush'd, as if from sudden fear.
+
+
+V.
+
+    They think of thee. They hunt; they meditate.
+      They will not quit the shore till they have seen
+      The very spot where thou did'st stand serene
+    In all thy beauty; and of me they prate,
+    Knowing I love thee. And, like one elate,
+      The grand old sea remembers what hath been.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+VI.
+
+    How many hours, how many days we met
+      Here on the beach, in that delirious time
+      When all the waves appear'd to break in rhyme.
+    Life was a joy, and love was like a debt
+    Paid and repaid in kisses--good to get,
+      And good to lose--unhoarded, yet sublime.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    We wander'd here. We saw the tide advance,
+      We saw it ebb. We saw the widow'd shore
+      Waiting for Ocean with its organ roar,
+    Knowing that, day by day, through happy chance,
+    She would be wooed anew, amid the dance
+      Of bridal waves high-bounding as before.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And I remember how, at flush of morn,
+      Thou didst depart alone, to find a nook
+      Where none could see thee; where a lover's look
+    Were profanation worse than any scorn;
+    And how I went my way, among the corn,
+      To wait for thee beside the Shepherd's brook.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    And lo! from out a cave thou didst emerge,
+      Sweet as thyself, the flower of Womankind.
+      I know 'twas thus; for, in my secret mind,
+    I see thee now. I see thee in the surge
+    Of those wild waves, well knowing that they urge
+      Some idle wish, untalk'd-of to the wind.
+
+
+X.
+
+    I think the beach was thankful to have known
+      Thy warm, white body, and the blessedness
+      Of thy first shiver; and I well can guess
+    How, when thy limbs were toss'd and overthrown,
+    The sea was pleased, and every smallest stone,
+      And every wave, was proud of thy caress.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    A maiden diving, with dishevell'd hair,
+      Sheer from a rock; a syren of the deep
+      Call'd into action, ere a wave could leap
+    Breast-high to daunt her; Daphne, by a prayer,
+    Lured from a forest for the sea to bear--
+      This were a dream to fill a poet's sleep.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    This were a thing for Phoebus to have eyed;
+      And he did eye it. Yea, the Deathless One
+      Did eye thy beauty. It was madly done.
+    He saw thee in the rising of the tide.
+    He saw thee well. The truth is not denied;
+      The shore was proud to show thee to the sun.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Never since Venus, at a god's decree,
+      Uprose from ocean, has there lived on earth
+      A face like thine, a form of so much worth;
+    And nowhere has the moon-obeying sea
+    Known such perfection, down from head to knee,
+      And knee to foot, since that Olympian birth.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And, sooth, the moon was anxious to have placed
+      Her head beside thee, on the waters bright.
+      But she was foil'd; for thou so late at night
+    Wouldst not go forth: no! not to be embraced
+    By Nature's Queen, though, round about the waist,
+      She would have ring'd thee with her softest light.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Ah me! had I a lute of sovereign power
+      I would enlarge on this, and plainly show
+      That there is nothing like thee here below,--
+    Nothing so comely, nothing in its dower
+    Of youth and grace, so like a human flower,
+      And white withal, and guiltless as the snow.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    For thou art fair as lilies, with the flush
+      That roses have while waiting for a kiss;
+      And when thou smilest nothing comes amiss.
+    The earth is glad to see thy dimpled blush.
+    Had I the lute of Orpheus I would hush
+      All meaner sounds to tell the stars of this.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    I would, I swear, by Pallas' own consent,
+      Inform all creatures whom the stars behold
+      That thou art mine, and that a pen of gold,
+    With ink of fire, though by an angel lent,
+    Were all too poor to tell my true content,
+      And how I love thee seven times seventy fold.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    And sure am I that, in the ancient days,
+      Achilles heard no voice so passing sweet,
+      And none so trancing, none that could compete
+    With thine for fervour; none, in watery ways
+    Where Neptune dwelt, so worthy of the praise
+      Of Thetis' son, the sure and swift of feet.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    He never met upon the plains of Troy
+      Goddess or maiden so divinely fraught.
+      Not Helen's self, for whom the Trojans fought,
+    Was like to thee. Her love had much alloy,
+    But thine has none. Her beauty was a toy,
+      But thine's a gem, unsullied and unbought.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    And ne'er was seen by poet, in a sweven,
+      An eye like thine, a face so fair to see
+      As that which makes the sunlight sweet to me.
+    Nor need I wait for death, or for the levin
+    In yonder cloud, to find the path to Heaven.
+      It fronts me here. 'Tis manifest in thee!
+
+[Illustration: Letter XI FAITH]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER XI.
+
+FAITH.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Now will I sing to God a song of praise,
+      And thank the morning for the light it brings,
+      Aye! and the earth for every flower that springs,
+    And every tree that, in the jocund days,
+    Thrills to the blast. My voice I will upraise
+      To thank the world for every bird that sings.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I will unpack my mind of all its fears,
+      I will advance to where the matin fires
+      Absorb the hills. My hopes and my desires
+    Will lead me safe; and day will have no tears
+    And night no torture, as in former years,
+      To warp my nature when my soul aspires.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I will endure. I will not strive to peep
+      Behind the barriers of the days to come,
+      Nor, adding up the figures of a sum,
+    Dispose of prayers as men dispose of sleep.
+    I cannot count the stars, or walk the deep;
+      But I can pray, and Faith shall not be dumb.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I take myself and thee as mine estate--
+      Thee and myself. The world is centred there.
+      If thou be well I know the skies are fair;
+    If not, they press me down with leaden weight,
+    And all is dark; and morning comes too late;
+      And all the birds are tuneless in the air.
+
+
+V.
+
+    I need but thee: thee only. Thou alone
+      Art all my joy: a something to the sight
+      As grand as Silence, and as snowy white.
+    And do thou pardon if I make it known,
+    As oft I do, with mine Amati's tone,
+      Amid the stillness of the starry night.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Oh, give me pity of thy heart and mind,
+      Mine own sweet Lady, if I vex thee now.
+      If the repeating of my constant vow
+    Be undesired, have pity! I were blind,
+    And deaf and dumb, and mad, were I inclined
+      To curb my feelings when to thee I bow.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Forgive the challenge of my longing lips
+      If these offend thee; and forgive me, too,
+      If I perceive, within thine eyes of blue,
+    More than I utter--more than, in eclipse,
+    A man may note atween the argent tips
+      Of frighted Dian whom the Fates pursue.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    It is the thing I dream of; 'tis the thing
+      We know as rapture, when, with sudden thrill,
+      It snares the heart and subjugates the will;
+    I mean the pride, the power, by which we cling
+    To natures nobler than the ones we bring,
+      To keep entire the fire we cannot chill.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Coyest of nymphs, my Lady! whom I seek
+      As sailors seek salvation out at sea,
+      And poets fame, and soldiers victory,
+    Behold! I note the blush upon thy cheek,
+    The flag of truce that tells me thou art meek
+      And soon wilt yield thy fortress up to me.
+
+
+X.
+
+    It is thy soul; it is thy soul in arms
+      Which thus I conquer. All thy furtive sighs,
+      And all the glances of thy wistful eyes,
+    Proclaim the swift surrender of thy charms.
+    I kiss thy hand; and tremors and alarms
+      Discard, in parting, all their late disguise.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    They were not foes. They knew me, one and all;
+      They knew I lov'd thee, and they lured me on
+      To try my fortune, and to wait thereon
+    For just reward. The scaling of the wall
+    Was not the meed; there came the festival,
+      And now there comes the crown that I must don.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    O my Belov�d! I am king of thee,
+      And thou my queen; and I will wear the crown
+      A little moment, for thy love's renown.
+    Yea, for a moment, it shall circle me,
+    And then be thine, so thou, upon thy knee,
+      Do seek the same, with all thy tresses down.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    For woman still is mistress of the man,
+      Though man be master. 'Tis the woman's right
+      To choose her king, and crown him in her sight,
+    And make him feel the pressure of the span
+    Of her soft arms, as only woman can;
+      For, with her weakness, she excels his might.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    It is her joy indeed to be so frail
+      That he must shield her; he of all the world
+      Whom most she loves; and then, if he be hurl'd
+    To depths of sorrow, she will more avail
+    Than half a senate. Troubles may assail,
+      But she will guide him by her lips impearl'd.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    A woman clung to C�sar; he was great,
+      And great the power he gain'd by sea and land.
+      But when he wrong'd her, when he spurn'd the hand
+    Which once he knelt to, when he scoff'd at Fate,
+    Glory dispers'd, and left him desolate;
+      For God remember'd all that first was plann'd.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    The cannon's roar, the wisdom of the sage,
+      The strength of armies, and the thrall of kings--
+      All these are weak compared to weaker things.
+    Napoleon fell because, in puny rage,
+    He wrong'd his house; and earth became a cage
+      For this poor eagle with his batter'd wings.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Believe me, Love! I honour, night and day,
+      The name of Woman. 'Tis the nobler sex.
+      Villains may shame it; sorrows may perplex;
+    But still 'tis watchful. Man may take away
+    All its possessions, all its worldly sway,
+      And yet be worshipp'd by the soul he wrecks.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    A word of love to Woman is as sweet
+      As nectar'd rapture in a golden bowl;
+      And when she quaffs the heavens asunder roll,
+    And God looks through. And, from his judgment-seat,
+    He blesses those who part, and those who meet,
+      And those who join the links of soul with soul.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    And are there none untrue? God knows there are!
+      Aye, there are those who learn in time the laugh
+      That ends in madness--women who for chaff
+    Have sold their corn--who seek no guiding-star,
+    And find no faith to light them from afar;
+      Of whom 'tis said: "They need no epitaph."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    All this is known; but lo! for sake of One
+      Who lives in glory--for my mother's sake,
+      For thine, and hers, O Love!--I pity take
+    On all poor women. Jesu's will be done!
+    Honour for all, and infamy for none,
+      This side the borders of the burning lake.
+
+[Illustration: Letter XII VICTORY]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER XII.
+
+VICTORY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Now have I reach'd the goal of my desire,
+      For thou hast sworn--as sweetly as a bell
+      Makes out its chime--the oath I love to tell,
+    The fealty-oath of which I never tire.
+    The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre,
+      And sings, and rings, the thoughts that o'er it swell.
+
+
+II.
+
+    The air is fill'd with voices. I have found
+      Comfort at last, enthralment, and a joy
+      Past all belief; a peace without alloy.
+    There is a splendour all about the ground
+    As if from Eden, when the world was drown'd,
+      Something had come which death could not destroy.
+
+
+III.
+
+    It seems, indeed, as if to me were sent
+      A smile from Heaven--as if to-day the clods
+      Were lined with silk--the trees divining rods,
+    And roses gems for some high tournament.
+    I should not be so proud, or so content,
+      If I could sup, to-night, with all the gods.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    A shrin�d saint would change his place with me
+      If he but knew the worth of what I feel.
+      He is enrobed indeed, and for his weal
+    Hath much concern; but how forlorn is he!
+    How pale his pomp! He cannot sue to thee,
+      But I am sainted every time I kneel.
+
+
+V.
+
+    I walk'd abroad, to-day, ere yet the dark
+      Had left the hills, and down the beaten road
+      I saunter'd forth a mile from mine abode.
+    I heard, afar, the watchdog's sudden bark,
+    And, near at hand, the tuning of a lark,
+      Safe in its nest, but weighted with an ode.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    The moon was pacing up the sky serene,
+      Pallid and pure, as if she late had shown
+      Her outmost side, and fear'd to make it known;
+    And, like a nun, she gazed upon the scene
+    From bars of cloud that seemed to stand between,
+      And pray'd and smiled, and smiled and pray'd alone.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    The stars had fled. Not one remain'd behind
+      To warn or comfort; or to make amends
+      For hope delay'd,--for ecstasy that ends
+    At dawn's approach. The firmament was blind
+    Of all its eyes; and, wanton up the wind,
+      There came the shuddering that the twilight sends.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    The hills exulted at the Morning's birth,--
+      And clouds assembled, quick, as heralds run
+      Before a king to say the fight is won.
+    The rich, warm daylight fell upon the earth
+    Like wine outpour'd in madness, or in mirth,
+      To celebrate the rising of the sun.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    And when the soaring lark had done its prayer,
+      The holy thing, self-poised amid the blue
+      Of that great sky, did seem, a space or two,
+    To pause and think, and then did clip the air
+    And dropped to earth to claim his guerdon there.
+      "Thank God!" I cried, "My dearest dream is true!"
+
+
+X.
+
+    I was too happy, then, to leap and dance;
+      But I could ponder; I could gaze and gaze
+      From earth to sky and back to woodland ways.
+    The bird had thrill'd my heart, and cheer'd my glance,
+    For he had found to-day his nest-romance,
+      And lov'd a mate, and crown'd her with his praise.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    O Love! my Love! I would not for a throne,
+      I would not for the thrones of all the kings
+      Who yet have liv'd, or for a seraph's wings,
+    Or for the nod of Jove when night hath flown,
+    Consent to rule an empire all alone.
+      No! I must have the grace of our two rings.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I must possess thee from the crowning curl
+      Down to the feet, and from the beaming eye
+      Down to the bosom where my treasures lie.
+    From blush to blush, and from the rows of pearl
+    That light thy smile, I must possess thee, girl,
+      And be thy lord and master till I die.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    This, and no less: the keeper of thy fame,
+      The proud controller of each silken tress,
+      And each dear item of thy loveliness,
+    And every oath, and every dainty name
+    Known to a bride: a picture in a frame
+      Of golden hair, to turn to and caress.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And though I know thee prone, in vacant hours,
+      To laugh and talk with those who circumvent
+      And make mad speeches; though I know the bent
+    Of some such men, and though in ladies' bowers
+    They brag of swords--I know my proven powers;
+      I know myself and thee, and am content.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I know myself; and why should I demur?
+      The lily, bowing to the breeze's play,
+      Is not forgetful of the sun in May.
+    She is his nymph, and with a servitor
+    She doth but jest. The sun looks down at her,
+      And knows her true, and loves her day by day.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    E'en so I thee, O Lady of my Heart!
+      O Lady white as lilies on the lea,
+      And fair as foam upon the ocean free
+    Whereon the sun hath sent a shining dart!
+    E'en so I love thee, blameless as thou art,
+      And with my soul's desire I compass thee.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    For thou art Woman in the sweetest sense
+      Of true endowment, and a bride indeed
+      Fit for Apollo. This is Woman's need:
+    To be a beacon when the air is dense,
+    A bower of peace, a life-long recompense--
+      This is the sum of Woman's worldly creed.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    And what is Man the while? And what his will?
+      And what the furtherance of his earthly hope?
+      To turn to Faith, to turn, as to a rope
+    A drowning sailor; all his blood to spill
+    For One he loves, to keep her out of ill--
+      This is the will of Man, and this his scope.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    'Tis like the tranquil sea, that knows anon
+      It can be wild, and keep away from home
+      A thousand ships--and lash itself to foam--
+    And beat the shore, and all that lies thereon--
+    And catch the thunder ere the flash has gone
+      Forth from the cloud that spans it like a dome.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    This is the will of Man, and this is mine.
+      But lo! I love thee more than wealth or fame,
+      More than myself, and more than those who came
+    With Christ's commission from the goal divine.
+    Soul of my soul, and mine as I am thine,
+      I cling to thee, my Life! as fire to flame.
+
+
+
+
+Miscellaneous Poems.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ANTEROS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    This is the feast-day of my soul and me,
+      For I am half a god and half a man.
+    These are the hours in which are heard by sea,
+    By land and wave, and in the realms of space,
+      The lute-like sounds which sanctify my span,
+    And give me power to sway the human race.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I am the king whom men call Lucifer,
+      I am the genius of the nether spheres.
+    Give me my Christian name, and I demur.
+    Call me a Greek, and straightway I rejoice.
+      Yea, I am Anteros, and with my tears
+    I salt the earth that gladdens at my voice.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I am old Anteros; a young, old god;
+      A sage who smiles and limps upon a crutch.
+    But I can turn my crutch into a rod,
+    And change my rod into a crown of wood.
+      Yea, I am he who conquers with a touch,
+    And plays with poisons till he makes them good.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    The sun, uprising with his golden hair,
+      Is mine apostle; and he serves me well.
+    Thoughts and desires of mine, beyond compare,
+    Thrill at his touch. The moon, so lost in thought,
+      Has pined for love; and wanderers out of hell,
+    And saints from heaven, have known what I have taught.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Great are my griefs; my joys are multiplex;
+      And beasts and birds and men my subjects are;
+    Yea, all created things that have a sex,
+    And flies and flowers and monsters of the mere;
+      All these, and more, proclaim me from afar,
+    And sing my marriage songs from year to year.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    There are no bridals but the ones I make;
+      For men are quicken'd when they turn to me.
+    The soul obeys me for its body's sake,
+    And each is form'd for each, as day for night.
+      'Tis but the soul can pay the body's fee
+    To win the wisdom of a fool's delight.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Yea, this is so. My clerks have set it down,
+      And birds have blabbed it to the winds of heaven.
+    The flowers have guessed it, and, in bower and town,
+    Lovers have sung the songs that I have made.
+      Give me your lives, O mortals, and, for leaven,
+    Ye shall receive the fires that cannot fade.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O men! O maidens! O ye listless ones!
+      Ye who desert my temples in the East,
+    Ye who reject the rays of summer suns,
+    And cling to shadows in the wilderness;
+      Why are ye sad? Why frown ye at the feast,
+    Ye who have eyes to see and lips to press?
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Why, for a wisdom that ye will not prove,
+      A joy that crushes and a love that stings,
+    A freak, a frenzy in a fated groove,
+    A thing of nothing born of less than nought--
+      Why in your hearts do ye desire these things,
+    Ye who abhor the joys that ye have sought?
+
+
+X.
+
+    See, see! I weep, but I can jest at times;
+      Yea, I can dance and toss my tears away.
+    The sighs I breathe are fragrant as the rhymes
+    Of men and maids whose hearts are overthrown.
+      I am the God for whom all maidens pray,
+    But none shall have me for herself alone.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    No; I have love enough, here where I stand,
+      To marry fifty maids in their degree;
+    Aye, fifty times five thousand in a band,
+    And every bride the proxy of a score.
+      Want ye a mate for millions? I am he.
+    Glory is mine, and glee-time evermore.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    O men! O masters! O ye kings of grief!
+      Ye who control the world but not the grave,
+    What have ye done to make delight so brief,
+    Ye who have spurn'd the minstrel and the lyre?
+      I will not say: "Be patient." Ye are brave;
+    And ye shall guess the pangs of my desire.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    There shall be traitors in the court of love,
+      And tears and torture and the bliss of pain.
+    The maids of men shall seek the gods above,
+    And drink the nectar of the golden lake.
+      Blessed are they for whom the gods are fain;
+    They shall be glad for love's and pity's sake.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    They shall be taught the songs the syrens know,
+      The wave's lament, the west wind's psalmistry,
+    The secrets of the south and of the snow,
+    The wherewithal of day, and death, and night.
+      O men! O maidens! pray no prayer for me,
+    But sing to me the songs of my delight.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Aye, sing to me the songs I love to hear,
+      And let the sound thereof ascend to heaven.
+    And let the singers, with a voice of cheer,
+    Announce my name to all the ends of earth;
+      And let my servants, seventy times and seven,
+    Re-shout the raptures of my Samian mirth!
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Let joy prevail, and Frenzy, like a flame,
+      Seize all the souls of men for sake of me.
+    For I will have Contention put to shame,
+    And all the hearts of all things comforted.
+      There are no laws but mine on land and sea,
+    And men shall crown me when their kings are dead.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE WAKING OF THE LARK.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O bonnie bird, that in the brake, exultant, dost prepare thee--
+    As poets do whose thoughts are true, for wings that will upbear thee--
+              Oh! tell me, tell me, bonnie bird,
+              Canst thou not pipe of hope deferred?
+    Or canst thou sing of naught but Spring among the golden meadows?
+
+
+II.
+
+    Methinks a bard (and thou art one) should suit his song to sorrow,
+    And tell of pain, as well as gain, that waits us on the morrow;
+              But thou art not a prophet, thou,
+              If naught but joy can touch thee now;
+    If, in thy heart, thou hast no vow that speaks of Nature's anguish.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Oh! I have held my sorrows dear, and felt, tho' poor and slighted,
+    The songs we love are those we hear when love is unrequited.
+              But thou art still the slave of dawn,
+              And canst not sing till night be gone,
+    Till o'er the pathway of the fawn the sunbeams shine and quiver.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Thou art the minion of the sun that rises in his splendour,
+    And canst not spare for Dian fair the songs that should attend her.
+              The moon, so sad and silver-pale,
+              Is mistress of the nightingale;
+    And thou wilt sing on hill and dale no ditties in the darkness.
+
+
+V.
+
+    For Queen and King thou wilt not spare one note of thine outpouring;
+    Thou art as free as breezes be on Nature's velvet flooring.
+              The daisy, with its hood undone,
+              The grass, the sunlight, and the sun--
+    These are the joys, thou holy one, that pay thee for thy singing.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Oh, hush! Oh, hush! how wild a gush of rapture in the distance,--
+    A roll of rhymes, a toll of chimes, a cry for love's assistance;
+              A sound that wells from happy throats,
+              A flood of song where beauty floats,
+    And where our thoughts, like golden boats, do seem to cross a river.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    This is the advent of the lark--the priest in gray apparel--
+    Who doth prepare to trill in air his sinless Summer carol;
+              This is the prelude to the lay
+              The birds did sing in C�sar's day,
+    And will again, for aye and aye, in praise of God's creation.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O dainty thing, on wonder's wing, by life and love elated,
+    Oh! sing aloud from cloud to cloud, till day be consecrated;
+              Till from the gateways of the morn,
+              The sun, with all his light unshorn,
+    His robes of darkness round him torn, doth scale the lofty heavens!
+
+
+
+
+A BALLAD OF KISSES.
+
+
+I.
+
+    There are three kisses that I call to mind,
+      And I will sing their secrets as I go.
+    The first, a kiss too courteous to be kind,
+      Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know;
+      As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.
+
+
+II.
+
+    The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet,
+      And evermore my soul will loathe the same.
+    The toys and joys of fate I may forget,
+      But not the touch of that divided shame:
+      It clove my lips; it burnt me like a flame.
+
+
+III.
+
+    The third, the final kiss, is one I use
+      Morning and noon and night; and not amiss.
+    Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse!
+      And when I die, be love, enrapt in bliss,
+      Re-sanctified in Heaven by such a kiss.
+
+
+
+
+MARY ARDEN.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O thou to whom, athwart the perish'd days
+    And parted nights long sped, we lift our gaze,
+    Behold! I greet thee with a modern rhyme,
+    Love-lit and reverent as befits the time,
+      To solemnize the feast-day of thy son.
+
+
+II.
+
+    And who was he who flourish'd in the smiles
+    Of thy fair face? 'Twas Shakespeare of the Isles,
+    Shakespeare of England, whom the world has known
+    As thine, and ours, and Glory's, in the zone
+      Of all the seas and all the lands of earth.
+
+
+III.
+
+    He was un-famous when he came to thee,
+    But sound, and sweet, and good for eyes to see,
+    And born at Stratford, on St. George's Day,
+    A week before the wondrous month of May;
+      And God therein was gracious to us all.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    He lov'd thee, Lady! and he lov'd the world;
+    And, like a flag, his fealty was unfurl'd;
+    And Kings who flourished ere thy son was born
+    Shall live through him, from morn to furthest morn,
+      In all the far-off cycles yet to come.
+
+
+V.
+
+    He gave us Falstaff, and a hundred quips,
+    A hundred mottoes from immortal lips;
+    And, year by year, we smile to keep away
+    The generous tears that mind us of the sway
+      Of his great singing, and the pomp thereof.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    His was the nectar of the gods of Greece,
+    The lute of Orpheus, and the Golden Fleece
+    Of grand endeavour; and the thunder-roll
+    Of words majestic, which, from pole to pole,
+      Have borne the tidings of our English tongue.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    He gave us Hamlet; and he taught us more
+    Than schools have taught us; and his fairy-lore
+    Was fraught with science; and he called from death
+    Verona's Lovers, with the burning breath
+      Of their great passion that has filled the spheres.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    He made us know Cordelia, and the man
+    Who murder'd sleep, and baleful Caliban;
+    And, one by one, athwart the gloom appear'd
+    Maidens and men and myths who were revered
+      In olden days, before the earth was sad.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Aye! this is true. It was ordain�d so;
+    He was thine own, three hundred years ago;
+    But ours to-day; and ours till earth be red
+    With doom-day splendour for the quick and dead,
+      And days and nights are scattered like the leaves.
+
+
+X.
+
+    It was for this he lived, for this he died;
+    To raise to Heaven the face that never lied,
+    To lean to earth the lips that should become
+    Fraught with conviction when the mouth was dumb,
+      And all the firm, fine body turn'd to clay.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    He lived to seal, and sanctify the lives
+    Of perish'd maids, and uncreated wives,
+    And gave them each a space wherein to dwell;
+    And for his mother's sake he loved them well,
+      And made them types, undying, of all truth.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    O fair and fond young mother of the boy
+    Who wrought all this--O Mary!--in thy joy
+    Did'st thou perceive, when, fitful from his rest,
+    He turn'd to thee, that his would be the best
+      Of all men's chanting since the world began?
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Did'st thou, O Mary! with the eye of trust
+    Perceive, prophetic, through the dark and dust
+    Of things terrene, the glory of thy son,
+    And all the pride therein that should be won
+      By toilsome men, content to be his slaves?
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Did'st thou, good mother! in the tender ways
+    That women find to fill the fleeting days,
+    Behold afar the Giant who should rise
+    With foot on earth, and forehead in the skies,
+      To write his name, and thine, among the stars?
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I love to think it; and, in dreams at night
+    I see thee stand, erect, and all in white,
+    With hands out-yearning to that mighty form,
+    As if to draw him back from out the storm,--
+      A child again, and thine to nurse withal.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    I see thee, pale and pure, with flowing hair,
+    And big, bright eyes, far-searching in the air
+    For thy sweet babe, and, in a trice of time,
+    I see the child advance to thee, and climb,
+      And call thee "Mother!" in ecstatic tones.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Yet, if my thought be vain--if, by a touch
+    Of this weak hand, I vex thee overmuch--
+    Forbear the blame, sweet Spirit! and endow
+    My heart with fervour while to thee I bow
+      Athwart the threshold of my fading dream.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    For, though so seeming-bold in this my song,
+    I turn to thee with reverence, in the throng
+    Of words and thoughts, as shepherds scann'd, afar,
+    The famed effulgence of that eastern star
+      Which usher'd in the Crown'd One of the heavens.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    In dreams of rapture I have seen thee pass
+    Along the banks of Avon, by the grass,
+    As fair as that fair Juliet whom thy son
+    Endow'd with life, but with the look of one
+      Who knows the nearest way to some new grave.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    And often, too, I've seen thee in the flush
+    Of thy full beauty, while the mother's "Hush!"
+    Hung on thy lip, and all thy tangled hair
+    Re-clothed a bosom that in part was bare
+      Because a tiny hand had toy'd therewith!
+
+
+XXI.
+
+    Oh! by the June-tide splendour of thy face
+    When, eight weeks old, the child in thine embrace
+    Did leap and laugh, O Mary! by the same,
+    I bow to thee, subservient to thy fame,
+      And call thee England's Pride for evermore!
+
+
+
+
+SACHAL.
+
+A WAIF OF BATTLE.
+
+
+I.
+
+            Lo! at my feet,
+        A something pale of hue;
+        A something sad to view;
+    Dead or alive I dare not call it sweet.
+
+
+II.
+
+            Not white as snow;
+        Not transient as a tear!
+        A warrior left it here,
+    It was his passport ere he met the foe.
+
+
+III.
+
+            Here is a name,
+        A word upon the book;
+        If ye but kneel to look,
+    Ye'll find the letters "Sachal" on the same.
+
+
+IV.
+
+            His Land to cherish,
+        He died at twenty-seven.
+        There are no wars in Heaven,
+    But when he fought he gain'd the right to perish.
+
+
+V.
+
+            Where was he born?
+        In France, at Puy le D�me.
+        A wanderer from his home,
+    He found a Fatherland beyond the morn.
+
+
+VI.
+
+            'Twas France's plan;
+        The cause he did not ask.
+        His life was but a mask,
+    And he upraised it, martyr'd at Sedan.
+
+
+VII.
+
+            And prone in death,
+        Beyond the name of France,
+        Beyond his hero-glance,--
+    He thought, belike, of her who gave him breath.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+            O thou dead son!
+        O Sachal! far away,
+        But not forgot to-day,
+    I had a mother, too, but now have none.
+
+
+IX.
+
+            Our hopes are brave.
+        Our faiths are braver still.
+        The soul shall no man kill;
+    For God will find us, each one in his grave.
+
+
+X.
+
+            A land more vast
+        Than Europe's kingdoms are,--
+        A brighter, nobler star
+    Than victory's fearful light,--is thine at last.
+
+
+XI.
+
+            And should'st thou meet
+        Yon Germans up on high,--
+        Thy foes when death was nigh,--
+    Nor thou nor they will sound the soul's retreat.
+
+
+XII.
+
+            For all are just,
+        Yea, all are patriots there,
+        And thou, O Fils de Pierre!
+    Hast found thy marshal's baton in the dust.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+            Oh, farewell, friend;
+        My friend, albeit unknown,
+        Save in thy death alone,
+    Oh, fare thee well till sin and sorrow end.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+            In realms of joy
+        We'll meet; aye, every one:
+        Mother and sire and son,--
+    And my poor mother, too, will claim her boy.
+
+
+XV.
+
+            Death leads to God.
+        Death is the Sword of Fate,
+        Death is the Golden Gate
+    That opens up to glory, through the sod.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+            And thou that road,
+        O Sachal! thou hast found;
+        A king is not so crown'd
+    As thou art, soldier! in thy blest abode.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+            Deathless in death,
+        Exalted, not destroy'd,
+        Thou art in Heaven employ'd
+    To swell the songs of angels with thy breath.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF THE MAY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O stars that fade in amber skies
+      Because ye dread the light of day,
+    O moon so lonely and so wise,
+      Look down, and love my Love alw�y;
+      Salute the Lady of the May.
+
+
+II.
+
+    O lark that soarest in the light
+      To hail thy lord in his array,
+    Look down; be just; and sing aright.
+      A lover claims thy song to-day
+      To greet his Lady of the May.
+
+
+III.
+
+    "O lady! lady!" sings the lark,
+      "Thy lover's hest I do obey;
+    For thou art splendid after dark,
+      And where thou smilest, there is day;
+      And thou'rt the Lady of the May.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    "The nightingale's a friend of mine,
+      And yesternight she flew my way.
+    'Awake,' she cried, 'at morning shine
+      And sing for me thy blythest lay
+      To greet the Lady of the May.'
+
+
+V.
+
+    "'And tell her, tell her, gentle one,
+      While thou attun'st thy morning lay,
+    That I will sing at set of sun
+      Another song for thy sweet fay,
+      Because she's Lady of the May.'
+
+
+VI.
+
+    "And lo I come," the lark in air,
+      Self-pois'd and free, did seem to say,
+    "I come to greet thy lady's hair
+      And call its beams the light of day
+      Which decks thy Lady of the May."
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Oh, thank thee, bird that singest well!
+      For all thou say'st and still would'st say
+    And for the thoughts which Philomel
+      Intends to trill, in roundelay,
+      To greet my Lady of the May.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    We two (my Love and I) are one,
+      And so shall be, for aye and aye.
+    Go, take my homage to the sun,
+      And bid him shine his best to-day,
+      To crown my Lady of the May!
+
+
+
+
+AN ODE TO ENGLISHMEN.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I who have sung of love and lady bright
+    And mirth and music and the world's delight,
+      Behold! to-day, I sound a sterner note
+    To move the minds of foemen when they fight.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Have I not said: There is no sweeter thing,
+    And none diviner than the wedding-ring?
+      And, all intent to make my meaning plain,
+    Have I not kiss'd the lips of Love, the King?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Yea, this is so. But lo! to-day there comes
+    The far-off sound of trumpets and of drums;
+      And I must parley with the men of toil
+    Who rise in ranks exultant from the slums.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I must arraign each man; yea, all the host;
+    And each true soul shall learn the least and most
+      Of all his wrongs,--if wrongs indeed they be;
+    And he shall face the flag that guards the coast.
+
+
+V.
+
+    He shall salute it! He shall find therein
+    Salve for his wounds and solace for his sin.
+      Brother and guide is he who loves his Land;
+    But he is kinless who denies his kin.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Has he a heart to feel, a knee to bend,
+    And will not trust his country to the end?
+      If this be so, God help him to a tear!
+    He shall be foiled, as foeman and as friend.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Bears he a sword? I care not. He is base;
+    Unfit to wield it, and of meaner place
+      Than tongue can tell of, in the Senate House;
+    And he shall find no balm for his disgrace.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O men! I charge ye, in the name of Him
+    Who rules the world, and guards the cherubim,
+      I charge ye, pause, ere from the lighted track
+    Ye turn, distraught, to pathways that are dim.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Who gave your fathers, and your fathers' sons
+    The rights ye claim, amid the roar of guns,
+      And 'mid the flash thereof from sea to sea?
+    Your country! through her lov'd, her chosen ones.
+
+
+X.
+
+    Oh, ye are dastards if ye lift a hand,
+    Dastards and fools, if, loveless in a band,
+      Ye touch in wrath the bulwark of the realm.
+    Ye shall be baulk'd, and Chivalry shall stand.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    I have a sword, I also, and I swear
+    By my heart's faith, and by my Lady's hair,
+      That I will strike the first of ye that moves,
+    If by a sign ye wrong the flag ye bear.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    In Freedom's name, in her's to whom we bow,
+    In her great name, I charge ye, palter now
+      With no traducer of your country's cause.
+    Accurst of God is he who breaks his vow!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ZULALIE.
+
+
+I.
+
+            I am the sprite
+            That reigns at night,
+    My body is fair for man's delight.
+            I leap and laugh
+            As the wine I quaff,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+II.
+
+            I curse and swear
+            In my demon-lair;
+    I shake wild sunbeams out of my hair.
+            I madden the old,
+            I gladden the bold,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+III.
+
+            Of churchyard stone
+            I have made my throne;
+    My locks are looped with a dead man's bone.
+            Mine eyes are red
+            With the tears I shed,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+IV.
+
+            In cities and camps
+            I have lighted my lamps,
+    My kisses are caught by kings and tramps.
+            With rant and revel
+            My hair I dishevel,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+V.
+
+            My kisses are stains,
+            Mine arms are chains,
+    My forehead is fair and false like Cain's.
+            My gain is loss,
+            Mine honour is dross,--
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO.
+
+
+I.
+
+    See where Beethoven sits alone--a dream of days elysian,
+    A crownless king upon a throne, reflected in a vision--
+    The man who strikes the potent chords which make the world, in wonder,
+    Acknowledge him, though poor and dim, the mouthpiece of the thunder.
+
+
+II.
+
+    He feels the music of the skies the while his heart is breaking;
+    He sings the songs of Paradise, where love has no forsaking.
+    And, though so deaf he cannot hear the tempest as a token,
+    He makes the music of his mind the grandest ever spoken.
+
+
+III.
+
+    He doth not hear the whispered word of love in his seclusion,
+    Or voice of friend, or song of bird, in Nature's sad confusion;
+    But he hath made, for Love's sweet sake, so wild a declamation
+    That all true lovers of the earth have claim'd him of their nation.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    He had a Juliet in his youth, as Romeo had before him,
+    And, Romeo-like, he sought to die that she might then adore him;
+    But she was weak, as women are whose faith has not been proven,
+    And would not change her name for his--Guiciardi for Beethoven.
+
+
+V.
+
+    O minstrel, whom a maiden spurned, but whom a world has treasured!
+    O sovereign of a greater realm than man has ever measured!
+    Thou hast not lost the lips of love, but thou hast gain'd, in glory,
+    The love of all who know the thrall of thine immortal story.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Thou art the bard whom none discard, but whom all men discover
+    To be a god, as Orpheus was, albeit a lonely lover;
+    A king to call the stones to life beside the roaring ocean,
+    And bid the stars discourse to trees in words of man's emotion.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    A king of joys, a prince of tears, an emperor of the seasons,
+    Whose songs are like the sway of years in Love's immortal reasons;
+    A bard who knows no life but this: to love and be rejected,
+    And reproduce in earthly strains the prayers of the elected.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O poet heart! O seraph soul! by men and maids ador�d!
+    O Titan with the lion's mane, and with the splendid forehead!
+    We men who bow to thee in grief must tremble in our gladness,
+    To know what tears were turned to pearls to crown thee in thy sadness.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    An Angel by direct descent, a German by alliance,
+    Thou didst intone the wonder-chords which made Despair a science.
+    Yea, thou didst strike so grand a note that, in its large vibration,
+    It seemed the roaring of the sea in nature's jubilation.
+
+
+X.
+
+    O Sire of Song! Sonata-King! Sublime and loving master;
+    The sweetest soul that ever struck an octave in disaster;
+    In thee were found the fires of thought--the splendours of endeavour,--
+    And thou shalt sway the minds of men for ever and for ever!
+
+
+
+
+A RHAPSODY OF DEATH.
+
+
+I.
+
+        That phantoms fair, with radiant hair,
+          May seek at midnight hour
+        The sons of men, belov'd again,
+          And give them holy power;
+    That souls survive the mortal hive, and sinless come and go,
+    Is true as death, the prophet saith; and God will have it so.
+
+
+II.
+
+        For who be ye who doubt and prate?
+          O sages! make it clear
+        If ye be more than men of fate,
+          Or less than men of cheer;
+    If ye be less than bird or beast? O brothers! make it plain
+    If ye be bankrupts at a feast, or sharers in a gain.
+
+
+III.
+
+        You say there is no future state;
+          The clue ye fail to find.
+        The flesh is here, and bones appear
+          When graves are undermined.
+    But of the soul, in time of dole, what answer can ye frame--
+    Ye who have heard no spirit-word to guide ye to the same.
+
+
+IV.
+
+        Ah! facts are good, and reason's good,
+          But fancy's stronger far;
+        In weal or woe we only know
+          We know not what we are.
+    The sunset seems a raging fire, the clouds roll back, afraid;
+    The rainbow seems a broken lyre on which the storm has play'd.
+
+
+V.
+
+        But these, ye urge, are outward signs.
+          Such signs are not for you.
+        The sight's deceiv'd and truth bereav'd
+          By diamonds of the dew.
+    The sage's mind is more refined, his rapture more complete;
+    He almost knows the little rose that blossoms at his feet!
+
+
+VI.
+
+        The sage can kill a thousand things,
+          And tell the names of all;
+        And wrench away the wearied wings
+          Of eagles when they fall;
+    And calmly trace the lily's grace, or fell the strongest tree,
+    And almost feel, if not reveal, the secrets of the sea.
+
+
+VII.
+
+        But can he set, by day or night,
+          The clock-work of the skies?
+        Or bring the dead man back to sight
+          With soul-invested eyes?
+    Can he describe the ways of life, the wondrous ways of death,
+    And whence it came, and what the flame that feeds the vital breath?
+
+
+VIII.
+
+        If he could do such deeds as these,
+          He might, though poor and low,
+        Explain the cause of Nature's laws,
+          Which none shall ever know;
+    He might recall the vanish'd years by lifting of his hand,
+    And bid the wind go north or south to prove what he has plann'd.
+
+
+IX.
+
+        But God is just. He burdens not
+          The shoulders of the sage;
+        He pities him whose sight is dim;
+          He turns no second page.
+    There are two pages to the book. We men have read the one;
+    The other needs a spirit-look, in lands beyond the sun.
+
+
+X.
+
+        The other needs a poet's eye,
+          Like that of Milton blind;
+        The light of Faith which cannot die,
+          Though doubts perplex the mind;
+    The eyesight of a little child; a martyr's eye in dole,
+    Which sees afar the golden star that shines upon the soul!
+
+
+
+
+A PRAYER FOR LIGHT.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Oh, give me light, to-day, or let me die,--
+    The light of love, the love-light of the sky,--
+    That I, at length, may see my darling's face
+                              One minute's space.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Have I not wept to know myself so weak
+    That I can feel, not see, the dimpled cheek,
+    The lips, the eyes, the sunbeams that enfold
+                              Her locks of gold?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Have I not sworn that I will not be wed,
+    But mate my soul with hers on my death-bed?
+    The soul can see,--for souls are seraphim,--
+                              When eyes are dim.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Oh, hush! she comes. I know her. She is nigh.
+    She brings me death, true heart, and I will die.
+    She brings me love, for love and life are one
+                              Beyond the sun.
+
+
+V.
+
+    This is the measure, this, of all my joys:
+    Life is a curse and Death's a counterpoise.
+    Give me thy hand, O sweet one, let me know
+                              Which path I go.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I cannot die if thou be not a-near,
+    To lead me on to Life's appointed sphere.
+    O spirit-face, O angel, with thy breath
+                              Kiss me to death!
+
+
+
+
+MIRAGE.
+
+
+I.
+
+                'Tis a legend of a lover,
+                  'Tis a ballad to be sung,
+                In the gloaming,--under cover,--
+                  By a minstrel who is young;
+    By a singer who has passion, and who sways us with his tongue.
+
+
+II.
+
+                I, who know it, think upon it,
+                  Not unhappy, tho' in tears,
+                And I gather in a sonnet
+                  All the glory of the years;
+    And I kiss and clasp a shadow when the substance disappears.
+
+
+III.
+
+                Ah! I see her as she faced me,
+                  In the sinless summer days,
+                When her little hands embraced me,
+                  And I saddened at her gaze,
+    Thinking, Sweet One! will she love me when we walk in other ways?
+
+
+IV.
+
+                Will she cling to me as kindly
+                  When the childish faith is lost?
+                Will she pray for me as blindly,
+                  Or but weigh the wish and cost,
+    Looking back on our lost Eden from the girlhood she has cross'd?
+
+
+V.
+
+                Oh! I swear by all I honour,
+                  By the graves that I endow,
+                By the grace I set upon her,
+                  That I meant the early vow,--
+    Meant it much as men and women mean the same thing spoken now.
+
+
+VI.
+
+                But her maiden troth is broken,
+                  And her mind is ill at ease,
+                And she sends me back no token
+                  From her home beyond the seas;
+    And I know, though nought is spoken, that she thanks me on her knees.
+
+
+VII.
+
+                Yes, for pardon freely granted;
+                  For she wrong'd me, understand.
+                And my life is disenchanted,
+                  As I wander through the land
+    With the sorrows of dark morrows that await me in a band.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+                Hers was sweetest of sweet faces,
+                  Hers the tenderest eyes of all!
+                In her hair she had the traces
+                  Of a heavenly coronal,
+    Bringing sunshine to sad places where the sunlight could not fall.
+
+
+IX.
+
+                She was fairer than a vision;
+                  Like a vision, too, has flown.
+                I who flushed at her decision,
+                  Lo! I languish here alone;
+    And I tremble when I tell you that my anger was mine own.
+
+
+X.
+
+                Not for her, sweet sainted creature!
+                  Could I curse her to her face?
+                Could I look on form and feature,
+                  And deny the inner grace?
+    Like a little wax Madonna she was holy in the place.
+
+
+XI.
+
+                And I told her, in mad fashion,
+                  That I loved her,--would incline
+                All my life to this one passion,
+                  And would kneel as at a shrine;
+    And would love her late and early, and would teach her to be mine.
+
+
+XII.
+
+                Now in dreams alone I meet her
+                  With my lowly human praise;
+                She is sweeter and completer,
+                  And she smiles on me always;
+    But I dare not rise and greet her as I did in early days.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER'S NAME.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I love the sound! The sweetest under Heaven,
+      That name of mother,--and the proudest, too.
+    As babes we breathe it, and with seven times seven
+      Of youthful prayers, and blessings that accrue,
+    We still repeat the word, with tender steven.
+      Dearest of friends! dear mother! what we do
+    This side the grave, in purity of aim,
+    Is glorified at last by thy good name.
+
+
+II.
+
+    But how forlorn the word, how full of woe,
+      When she who bears it lies beneath the clod.
+    In vain the orphan child would call her so,--
+      She comes not back: her place is up with God.
+    The wintry winds are wailing o'er the snow;
+      The flowers are dead that once did grace the sod.
+    Ah, lose not heart! Some flowers may fade in gloom,
+    But Hope's a plant grows brightest on the tomb!
+
+
+
+
+A SONG OF SERVITUDE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    This is a song of serfs that I have made,
+      A song of sympathy for grief and joy:--
+    The old, the young, the lov'd and the betrayed,
+    All, all must serve, for all must be obeyed.
+
+
+II.
+
+    There are no tyrants but the serving ones,
+      There are no servants but the ruling men.
+    The Captain conquers with his army's guns,
+    But he himself is conquered by his sons.
+
+
+III.
+
+    What is a parent but a daughter's slave,
+      A son's retainer when the lad is ill?
+    The great Creator loves the good and brave,
+    And makes a flower the spokesman of a grave.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    The son is servant in his father's halls,
+      The daughter is her mother's maid-of-work.
+    The welkin wonders when the ocean calls,
+    And earth accepts the raindrop when it falls.
+
+
+V.
+
+    There are no "ups" in life, there are no "downs,"
+      For "high" and "low" are words of like degree;
+    He who is light of heart when Fortune frowns,
+    He is a king though nameless in the towns.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    None is so lofty as the sage who prays,
+      None so unhigh as he who will not kneel.
+    The breeze is servant to the summer days,
+    And he is bowed-to most who most obeys.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    These are the maxims that I take to heart,
+      Do thou accept them, reader, for thine own;
+    Love well thy work; be truthful in the mart,
+    And foes will praise thee when thy friends depart.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    None shall upbraid thee then for thine estate,
+      Or show thee meaner than thou art in truth.
+    Make friends with death; and God who is so great,
+    He will assist thee to a nobler fate.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    None are unfit to serve upon their knees
+      The saints of prayer, unseen but quick to hear.
+    The flowers are servants to the pilgrim bees,
+    And wintry winds are tyrants of the trees.
+
+
+X.
+
+    All things are good; all things incur a debt,
+      And all must pay the same, or soon or late
+    The sun will rise betimes, but he must set;
+    And Man must seek the laws he would forget.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    There are no mockeries in the universe,
+      No false accounts, no errors that will thrive.
+    The work we do, the good things we rehearse,
+    Are boons of Nature basely named a curse.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    "Give us our daily bread!" the children pray,
+      And mothers plead for them while thus they speak.
+    But "Give us work, O God!" we men should say,
+    That we may gain our bread from day to day.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    'Tis not alone the crown that makes the king;
+      'Tis service done, 'tis duty to his kind.
+    The lark that soars so high is quick to sing,
+    And proud to yield allegiance to the spring.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And we who serve ourselves, whate'er befall
+      Athwart the dangers of the day's behests,
+    Oh, let's not shirk, at joy or sorrow's call,
+    The service due to God who serves us all!
+
+
+
+
+SYLVIA IN THE WEST.
+
+
+I.
+
+    What shall be done? I cannot pray;
+      And none shall know the pangs I feel.
+    If prayers could alter night to day,--
+      Or black to white,--I might appeal;
+    I might attempt to sway thy heart,
+    And prove it mine, or claim a part.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I might attempt to urge on thee
+      At least the chance of some redress:--
+    An hour's revoke,--a moment's plea,--
+      A smile to make my sorrows less.
+    I might indeed be taught in time
+    To blush for hope, as for a crime!
+
+
+III.
+
+    But thou art stone, though soft and fleet,--
+      A statue, not a maiden, thou!
+    A man may hear thy bosom beat
+      When thou hast sworn some idle vow.
+    But not for love, no! not for this;
+    For thou wilt sell thy bridal kiss.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I mean, thy friends will sell thy love,
+      As loves are sold in England, here.
+    A man will buy my golden dove,--
+      I doubt he'll find his bargain dear!
+    He'll lose the wine; he'll buy the bowl,
+    The life, the limbs, but not the soul.
+
+
+V.
+
+    So, take thy mate and all his wealth,
+      And all the joys that wait on fame.
+    Thou'lt weep,--poor martyr'd one!--by stealth,
+      And think of me, and shriek my name;
+    Yes, in his arms! And wake, too late,
+    To coax and kiss the man you hate.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    By slow degrees, from year to year,
+      From week to week, from night to night,
+    He will be taught how dark and drear
+      Is barter'd love,--how sad to sight
+    A perjured face! He will be driven
+    To compass Hell,--and dream of Heaven.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    But stand at God's high altar there,
+      With saints around thee tall and sweet,
+    I'll match thy pride with my despair,
+      And drag thee down from glory's seat.
+    Yea, thou shalt kneel! Thy head shall bow
+    As mine is bent in anguish now.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    What! for thy sake have I forsworn
+      My just ambition,--all my joy,
+    And all my hope from morn to morn,
+      That seem'd a prize without alloy?
+    Have I done this? I have; and see!
+    I weep wild tears for thine and thee.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    But I can school my soul to strength,
+      And weep and wail as children do;
+    Be hard as stone, yet melt at length,
+      And curb my pride as thou can'st, too!
+    But I have faith, and thou hast none;
+    And I have joy, but thine is done.
+
+
+X.
+
+    No marriage-bells? No songs, you say?
+      No flowers to grace our bridal morn?
+    No wine? No kiss? No wedding-day?
+      I care not! Oaths are all forsworn;
+    And, when I clasp'd thy hand so white,
+    I meant to curse thee, girl, to-night.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    And so I shall,--Oh! doubt not that.
+      At stroke of twelve I'll curse thee twice.
+    When screams the owl, when swoops the bat,
+      When ghosts are out I'll curse thee thrice.
+    And thou shalt hear!--Aye, by my troth,
+    One song will suit the souls of both.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I curse thy face; I curse thy hair;
+      I curse thy lips that smile so well,
+    Thy life, thy love, and my despair,
+      My loveless couch, thy wedding-bell;
+    My soul and thine!--Ah, see! though black,
+    I take one half my curses back.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    For thou and I were form'd for hate,
+      For love, for scorn; no matter what.
+    I am thy Fere and thou my Fate,
+      And fire and flood shall harm us not.
+    Thou shalt be kill'd and hid from ken,
+    And fiends will sing thy requiem then.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Yet think not Death will serve thy stead;
+      I'll find thy grave, though wall'd in stone.
+    I'll move thy mould to make my bed,
+      And lie with thee long hours alone:--
+    Long, lifeless hours! Ah God, how free,
+    How pale, how cold, thy lips will be!
+
+
+XV.
+
+    But graves are cells of truth and love,
+      And men may talk no treason there.
+    A corpse will wear no wedding-glove,
+      A ghost will make no sign in air.
+    But ghosts can pray? Well, let them kneel;
+    They, too, must loathe the love they feel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Ah me! to sleep and yet to wake,
+      To live so long, and yet to die;
+    To sing sad songs for Sylvia's sake,
+      And yet no peace to gain thereby!
+    What have I done? What left unsaid?
+    Nay, I will count my tears instead.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Here is a word of wild design.
+      Here is a threat; 'twas meant to warn.
+    Here is a fierce and freezing line,
+      As hot as hate, as cold as scorn.
+    Ah, friend! forgive; forbear my rhymes,
+    But pray for me, sweet soul! sometimes.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Had I a curse to spare to-day,
+      (Which I have not) I'd use it now.
+    I'd curse my hair to turn it gray,
+      I'd teach my back to bend and bow;
+    I'd make myself so old and thin
+    That I should seem too sad to sin.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    And then we'd meet, we two, at night;
+      And I should know what saints have known.
+    Thou would'st not tremble, dear, for fright,
+      Or shriek to meet me there alone.
+    I should not then be spurned for this,
+    Or want a smile, or need a kiss.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I should not then be fierce as fire,
+      Or mad as sin, or sharp as knife;
+    My heart would throb with no desire,
+      For care would cool the flush of life;
+    And I should love thee, spotless one,
+    As pilgrims love some holy nun.
+
+
+XXI.
+
+    Ah, queen-like creature! smile on me;
+      Be kind, be good; I lov'd thee much.
+    I thank thee, see! on bended knee.
+      I seek salvation in thy touch.
+    And when I sleep I watch thee come,
+    And both are wild, and one is dumb.
+
+
+XXII.
+
+    I draw thee, ghost-like, to my heart;
+      I kiss thy lips and call thee mine.
+    Of thy sweet soul I form a part,
+      And my poor soul is part of thine.
+    Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!
+    But let me be thy servant now.
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+    What! did I curse thy golden hair?
+      Well, then, the sun will set at noon;
+    The face that keeps the world so fair
+      Is thine, not his; he darkens soon.
+    Thy smile awakes the bird of dawn,
+    And day departs when thou art gone.
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+    Oh! had I groves in some sweet star
+      That shines in Heaven the whole night through,--
+    A steed with wings,--a golden car,--
+      A something wild and strange and true:--
+    A fairy's wand,--an angel's crown,--
+    I'd merge them all in thy renown.
+
+
+XXV.
+
+    I'd give thee queens to wait on thee,
+      And kings to kneel to thee in prayer,
+    And seraph-boys by land and sea
+      To do thy bidding,--earth and air
+    To pay thee homage,--all the flowers,--
+    And all the nymphs in all the bowers.
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+    And this our love should last for aye,
+      And we should live these thousand years.
+    We'd meet in Mars on Christmas Day,
+      And make the tour of all the spheres.
+    We'd do strange things! Sweet stars would shine,
+    And Death would spare my love and thine.
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+    But these are dreams; and dreams are vain;
+      Mine most of all,--so heed them not.
+    Brave thoughts will die, though men complain,
+      And mine was bold! 'Tis now forgot.
+    Well; let me bless thee, ere I sleep,
+    And give thee all my joys to keep.
+
+
+XXVIII.
+
+    I bless the house where thou wast born,
+      I bless the hours of every night,
+    And every hour from flush of morn
+      Till death of day, for thy delight;
+    I bless the sunbeams as they shine,--
+    So like those golden locks of thine.
+
+
+XXIX.
+
+    I bless thy lips, thy lustrous eyes,
+    Thy face, thy feet, thy forehead fair,
+    The light that shines in summer skies,--
+    In garden walks when thou art there,--
+    And all the grass beneath thy feet,
+    And all the songs thou singest, Sweet!
+
+
+XXX.
+
+    But blessing thus,--ah, woe's the day!--
+      I know what tears I shall not shed,
+    What flowers will bloom, and, bright as they,
+      What bells will ring when I am dead.
+    Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!
+    But let me be thy minstrel now.
+
+
+
+
+EL�ANORE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    The forest flowers are faded all,
+    The winds complain, the snow-flakes fall,
+                  El�anore!
+    I turn to thee, as to a bower:--
+    Thou breathest beauty like a flower,
+    Thou smilest like a happy hour,
+                  El�anore!
+
+
+II.
+
+    I turn to thee. I bless afar
+    Thy name, which is my guiding-star,
+                  El�anore!
+    And yet, ah God! when thou art here
+    I faint, I hold my breath for fear.
+    Art thou some phantom wandering near,
+                  El�anore?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Oh, take me to thy bosom fair;
+    Oh, cover me with thy golden hair,
+                  El�anore!
+    There let me lie when I am dead,
+    Those morning beams about me spread,
+    The glory of thy face o'erhead,
+                  El�anore!
+
+[Illustration: MARIE]
+
+
+
+
+THE STATUE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    See where my lady stands,
+    Lifting her lustrous hands,--
+      Here let me bow.
+    Image of truth and grace!
+    Maid with the angel-face!
+    Earth was no dwelling-place
+      For such as thou.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Ah, thou unhappy stone,
+    Make now thy sorrows known;
+      Make known thy longing.
+    Thou art the form of one
+    Whom I, with hopes undone,
+    Buried at set of sun,--
+      All the friends thronging.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Thou art some Vision bright
+    Lost out of Heaven at night,
+      Far from thy race.
+    Oft when the others dance,
+    Come I, with wistful glance,
+    Fearful lest thou, perchance,
+      Leave the dark place.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    No! thou wilt never flee,
+    Earth has a charm for thee;--
+      Why should we sever?
+    Years have I seen thee so,
+    Making pretence to go,
+    Lifting thine arms of snow,--
+      Voiceless for ever!
+
+
+V.
+
+    Here bring I all my cares,
+    Here dream and say my prayers
+      While the bells toll.
+    O thou belov�d saint!
+    Let not my courage faint,
+    Let not a shame, or taint,
+      Injure my soul!
+
+
+
+
+PABLO DE SARASATE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Who comes, to-day, with sunlight on his face,
+    And eyes of fire, that have a sorrow's trace,
+    But are not sad with sadness of the years,
+                                Or hints of tears?
+
+
+II.
+
+    He is a king, or I mistake the sign,
+    A king of song,--a comrade of the Nine,--
+    The Muses' brother, and their youngest one,
+                                This side the sun.
+
+
+III.
+
+    See how he bends to greet his soul's desire,
+    His violin, which trembles like a lyre,
+    And seems to trust him, and to know his touch,
+                                Belov'd so much!
+
+
+IV.
+
+    He stands full height; he draws it to his breast,
+    Like one, in joy, who takes a wonder-guest,--
+    A weird, wild thing, bewitched from end to end,--
+                                To be his friend.
+
+
+V.
+
+    And who can doubt the right it has to lie
+    So near his heart, and there to sob and sigh,
+    And there to shake its octaves into notes
+                                With bird-like throats.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Ah! see how deftly, with his lifted bow,
+    He strikes the chords of ecstasy and woe,
+    And wakes the wailing of the sprite within
+                                That knows not sin.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    A thousand heads are turn'd to where he stands,
+    A thousand hopes are moulded to his hands,
+    And, like a storm-wind hurrying from the north,
+                                A shout breaks forth.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    It is the welcome that of old was given
+    To Paganini ere he join'd in Heaven
+    The angel-choirs of those who serve aright
+                                The God of Light.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    It is the large, loud utterance of a throng
+    That loves a faith-employ'd, impassion'd song;
+    A song that soothes the heart, and makes it sad,--
+                                Yet keeps us glad.
+
+
+X.
+
+    For look! how bearded men and women fair
+    Shed tears and smile, and half repeat a prayer
+    And half are shamed in their so mean estate,
+                                And he so great!
+
+
+XI.
+
+    This is the young Endymion out of Spain
+    Who, laurel-crown'd, has come to us again
+    To re-intone the songs of other times
+                                In far-off climes.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    To prove again that Music, by the plea
+    Of all men's love, has link'd from sea to sea
+    All shores of earth in one serene and grand
+                                Symphonic land.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Oh! hush the while! Oh! hush! A bird has sung
+    A Mayday bird has trill'd without a tongue,
+    And now, 'twould seem, has wandered out of sight
+                                For sheer delight.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    A phantom bird! 'Tis gone where all things go--
+    The wind, the rain, the sunshine, and the snow,
+    The hopes we nurs'd, the dead things lately pass'd--
+                                All dreams at last.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    The towers of light, the castles in the air,
+    The queenly things with diamonds in their hair,
+    The toys of sound, the flowers of magic art--
+                                All these depart.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    They seem'd to live; and lo! beyond recall,
+    They take the sweet sad Silence for a pall,
+    And, wrapt therein, consent to be dismiss'd,
+                                Though glory-kiss'd.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    O pride of Spain! O wizard with a wand
+    More fraught with fervours of the life beyond
+    Than books have taught us in these tawdry days,
+                                Take thou my praise.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Aye, take it, Pablo! Though so poor a thing,
+    'Twill serve to mind thee of an English spring
+    When wealth, and worth, and fashion, each and all,
+                                Obey'd thy thrall.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    The lark that sings its love-song in the cloud
+    Is God-inspired and glad,--but is not proud,--
+    And soon forgets the salvos of the breeze,
+                                As thou dost these.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    The shouts, the praises, and the swift acclaim,
+    That men have brought to magnify thy name,
+    Affect thee barely as an idle cheer
+                                Affects a seer.
+
+
+XXI.
+
+    But thou art ours, O Pablo! ours to-day,
+    Ours, and not ours, in thy triumphant sway;
+    And we must urge it by the right that brings
+                                Honour to kings.
+
+
+XXII.
+
+    Honour to thee, thou stately, thou divine
+    And far-famed minstrel of a mighty line!
+    Honour to thee, and peace, and musings high,
+                                Good-night! Good-bye!
+
+
+
+
+MY AMAZON.
+
+
+I.
+
+    My Love is a lady fair and free,
+    A lady fair from over the sea,
+    And she hath eyes that pierce my breast
+    And rob my spirit of peace and rest.
+
+
+II.
+
+    A youthful warrior, warm and young,
+    She takes me prisoner with her tongue,
+    Aye! and she keeps me,--on parole,--
+    Till paid the ransom of my soul.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I swear the foeman, arm'd for war
+    From _cap-�-pie_, with many a scar,
+    More mercy finds for prostrate foe
+    Than she who deals me never a blow.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    And so 'twill be, this many a day;
+    She comes to wound, if not to slay.
+    But in my dreams,--in honied sleep,--
+    'Tis I to smile, and she to weep!
+
+
+
+
+PRO PATRIA.
+
+AN ODE TO SWINBURNE.
+
+    ["We have not, alack! an ally to befriend us,
+    And the season is ripe to extirpate and end us.
+    Let the German touch hands with the Gaul,
+    And the fortress of England must fall.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Louder and louder the noise of defiance
+    Rings rage from the grave of a trustless alliance,
+    And bids us beware, and be warn'd,
+    As abhorr'd of all nations and scorn'd."
+
+    _A Word for the Nation, by A. C. Swinburne._]
+
+
+I.
+
+    Nay, good Sir Poet, read thy rhymes again,
+      And curb the tumults that are born in thee,
+    That now thy hand, relentful, may refrain
+    To deal the blow that Abel had of Cain.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Are we not Britons born, when all is said,
+      And thou the offspring of the knightly souls
+    Who fought for Charles when fears were harvested,
+    And Cromwell rose to power on Charles's head?
+
+
+III.
+
+    O reckless, roystering bard, that in a breath
+      Did'st find the way to flout thy fathers' flag!
+    Is't well, unheeding what thy Reason saith,
+    To seem to triumph in thy country's death?
+
+
+IV.
+
+    If none will speak for us, if none will say
+      How far thy muse has wrong'd us in its thought,
+    'Tis I will do it; I will say thee nay,
+    And hurl thee back the ravings of thy lay.
+
+
+V.
+
+    We own thy prowess; for we've learnt by rote
+      Song after song of thine; and thou art great.
+    But why this malice? Why this wanton note
+    Which seems to come like lava from thy throat?
+
+
+VI.
+
+    When Hugo spoke we owned his master-spell;
+      We knew he feared us more than he contemned.
+    He fleck'd with fire each sentence as it fell,
+    And tolled his rancours like a wedding-bell.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    And we were proud of him, as France was proud.
+      Ay! call'd him brother,--though he lov'd us not;
+    And we were thrill'd when, ruthless from a cloud,
+    The bolt of death outstretch'd him for a shroud.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Thou'rt great as he by fame and force of song,
+      But less than he as spokesman of his Land.
+    For thou hast rail'd at thine, to do it wrong,
+    And call'd it coward though its faith is strong.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    England a coward! O thou five foot five
+      Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest!
+    Is she not girt with glory and alive
+    To hear thee buzz thy scorn of all the hive?
+
+
+X.
+
+    Thou art a bee,--a bright, a golden thing
+      With too much honey; and the taste thereof
+    Is sometimes rough, and somewhat of a sting
+    Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Oh, thou hast wrong'd us; thou hast said of late
+      More than is good for listeners to repeat.
+    Nay, I have marvell'd at thy words of hate,
+    For friends and foes alike have deem'd us great.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    We are not vile. We, too, have hearts to feel;
+      And not in vain have men remember'd this.
+    Our hands are quick at times to clasp the steel,
+    And strike the blows that centuries cannot heal.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    The sea-ward rocks are proud to be assail'd
+      By wave and wind; for bluster kills itself,
+    But rocks endure. And England has prevail'd
+    Times out of number, when her foes have failed.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And once, thou know'st, a giant here was found,
+      Not bred in France, or elsewhere under sun.
+    And he was Shakespeare of the whole world round,
+    And he was king of men, though never crown'd.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    He lov'd the gracious earth from east to west,
+      And all the seas thereof and all its shores.
+    But most he lov'd the home that he possess'd,
+    And, right or wrong, his country seem'd the best.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    He was content with Albion's classic land.
+      He lov'd its flag. He veil'd its every fault.
+    Yes! he was proud to let its honour stand,
+    And bring to light the wonders it had plann'd.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Do thou thus much; and deal no further pain;
+      But sooner tear the tongue from out thy mouth,
+    And sooner let the life in thee be slain,
+    Than strike at One who strikes thee not again.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Thy land and mine, our England, is erect,
+      And like a lordly thing she looks on thee,
+    And sees thee number'd with her bards elect,
+    And will not harm the brow that she has deck'd.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    She lets thee live. She knows how rich and rare
+      Are songs like thine, and how the smallest bird
+    May make much music in the summer air,
+    And how a curse may turn into a prayer.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same
+      Accept our pardon; or, if this offend,
+    Why then no pardon, e'en in England's name.
+    We have our country still, and thou thy fame!
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE GRAVE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    A little mound of earth
+      Is all the land I own:
+    Death gave it me,--five feet by three,
+      And mark'd it with a stone.
+
+
+II.
+
+    My home, my garden-grave,
+      Where most I long to go!
+    The ground is mine by right divine,
+      And Heaven will have it so.
+
+
+III.
+
+    For here my darling sleeps,
+      Unseen,--arrayed in white,--
+    And o'er the grass the breezes pass,
+      And stars look down at night.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Here Beauty, Love, and Joy,
+      With her in silence dwell,
+    As Eastern slaves are thrown in graves
+      Of kings remember'd well.
+
+
+V.
+
+    But here let no man come,
+      My mourning rights to sever.
+    Who lieth here is cold and dumb.
+      Her dust is mine for ever!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A DIRGE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Art thou lonely in thy tomb?
+    Art thou cold in such a gloom?
+    Rouse thee, then, and make me room,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+II.
+
+    Phantoms vex thy virgin sleep,
+    Nameless things around thee creep,
+    Yet be patient, do not weep,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+III.
+
+    O be faithful! O be brave!
+    Naught shall harm thee in thy grave;
+    Let the restless spirits rave,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+IV.
+
+    When my pilgrimage is done,
+    When the grace of God is won,
+    I will come to thee, my nun,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+V.
+
+    Like a priest in flowing vest,
+    Like a pale, unbidden guest,
+    I will come to thee and rest,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+DAISIES OUT AT SEA.
+
+
+I.
+
+      These are the buds we bear beyond the surf,--
+            Enshrined in mould and turf,--
+      To take to fields far off, a land's salute
+            Of high and vast repute,--
+      The Shakespeare-land of every heart's desire,
+      Whereof, 'tis said, the fame shall not expire,
+    But shine in all men's thoughts as shines a beacon-fire.
+
+
+II.
+
+      O bright and gracious things that seem to glow
+            With frills of winter snow,
+      And little golden heads that know the sun,
+            And seasons half begun,
+      How blythe they look, how fresh and debonair,
+      In this their prison on the seaward air,
+    On which no lark has soar'd to improvise a prayer.
+
+
+III.
+
+      Have they no memory of the inland grass,--
+            The fields where breezes pass,
+      And where the full-eyed children, out at play,
+            Make all the land so gay?
+      Have they no thought of dews that, like a tear,
+      Were shed by Morning on the Night's cold bier,
+    In far-off English homes, belov'd by all men here?
+
+
+IV.
+
+      O gems of earth! O trinkets of the spring!
+            The sun, your gentle king,
+      Who counts your leaves and marshals ye apace,
+            In many a sacred place,
+      The godlike summer sun will miss ye all,
+      For he has foster'd all things, great and small,
+    Yea, all good things that live on earth's revolving ball.
+
+
+V.
+
+      But when, on deck, he sees with eye serene
+            The kirtles, tender-green,
+      And fair fresh faces of his hardy flowers,
+            How will he throb for hours,
+      And wish the lark, the laureate of the light,
+      Were near at hand, to see so fair a sight,
+    And chant the joys thereof in words we cannot write.
+
+
+VI.
+
+      Oh, I have lov'd ye more than may be told,
+            And deem'd it fairy-gold,--
+      And fairy-silver,--that ye bear withal;
+            Ye are so soft and small,
+      I weep for joy to find ye here to-day
+      So near to Heaven, and yet so far away,
+    In our good ocean-ship, whose bows are wet with spray.
+
+
+VII.
+
+      Ye are the cynosure of many eyes
+            Bright-blue as English skies,--
+      The sailors' eyes that scan ye in a row,
+            As if intent to show
+      That this dear freight of mould and meadow-flower
+      Which sails the sea, in sunshine and in shower,
+    Is England's gift of love, which storms shall not devour.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+      She sends ye forth in sadness and in joy,
+            As one may send a toy
+      To children's children, bred in other lands
+            By love-abiding hands.
+      And, day by day, ye sail upon the foam
+      To call to mind the sires' and mothers' home,
+    Where babes, now grown to men, were wont of yore to roam.
+
+
+IX.
+
+      In England's name, in Shakespeare's,--and in ours,
+            Who bear these trusted flowers,--
+      There shall be heard a cheer from many throats,
+            A rush and roar of notes,
+      As loud, and proud, as those of heavenward birds;
+      And they who till the ground and tend the herds
+    Will read our thoughts therein, and clothe the same in words.
+
+
+X.
+
+      For England's sake, for England once again,
+            In pride and power and pain,
+      For England, aye! for England in the girth
+            Of all her joy and worth,
+      A strong and clear, outspoken, undefined,
+      And uncontroll'd wild shout upon the wind,
+    Will greet these winsome flowers as friends of human-kind!
+
+
+
+
+Sonnets.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+ECSTASY.
+
+
+    I cannot sing to thee as I would sing
+      If I were quickened like the holy lark
+    With fire from Heaven and sunlight on his wing,
+      Who wakes the world with witcheries of the dark
+    Renewed in rapture in the reddening air.
+      A thing of splendour do I deem him then,
+    A feather'd frenzy with an angel's throat,
+    A something sweet that somewhere seems to float
+      'Twixt earth and sky, to be a sign to men.
+    He fills me with such wonder and despair!
+      I long to kiss thy locks, so golden bright,
+    As he doth kiss the tresses of the sun.
+    Oh! bid me sing to thee, my chosen one,
+      And do thou teach me, Love, to sing aright!
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+VISIONS.
+
+
+    The Poet meets Apollo on the hill,
+      And Pan and Flora and the Paphian Queen,
+    And infant na�ads bathing in the rill,
+      And dryad maids that dance upon the green,
+      And fauns and Oreads in the silver sheen
+    They wear in summer, when the air is still.
+    He quaffs the wine of life, and quaffs his fill,
+      And sees Creation through its mask terrene.
+    The dead are wise, for they alone can see
+      As see the bards,--as see, beyond the dust,
+      The eyes of babes. The dead alone are just.
+    There is no comfort in the bitter fee
+    That scholars pay for fame. True sage is he
+      Who doubts all doubt, and takes the soul on trust.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+THE DAISY.
+
+
+    See where it stands, the world-appointed flower,
+      Pure gold at centre, like the sun at noon,--
+    A mimic sun to light a true-love bower
+      For fair Queen Mab, now dead or in a swoon,
+      Whom late a poet saw beneath the moon.
+    It lifts its dainty face till sunset hour,
+    As if endowed with nympholeptic power,--
+      Then shuts its petals like a folding tune!
+    I love it more than words of mine can say,
+      And more than anchorite may breathe in prayer.
+      Methinks the lark has made it still his care
+    To brag of daisies to the lord of day.
+    Well! I will follow suit, as best I may,
+      Launching my love-songs on the summer air.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+PROBATION.
+
+
+    Could I, O Love! obtain a charter clear
+      To be thy bard, in all thy nights and days,
+    I would consult the stars, from year to year,
+      And talk with trees, and learn of them their ways,
+    And why the nymphs so seldom now appear
+      In human form, with rapt and earnest gaze;
+      And I would learn of thee why joy decays,
+    And why the Fauns have ceas'd to flourish here.
+    I would, in answer to the wind's "Alas!"
+      Explain the causes of a sorrow's flight;
+    I would peruse the writing on the grass
+      Which flowers have traced in blue and red and white;
+    And, reading these, I would, as from a pen,
+    Read thoughts of thine unguess'd by other men!
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+DANTE.
+
+
+    He liv'd and lov'd; he suffer'd; he was poor;
+      But he was gifted with the gifts of Heaven,
+      And those of all the week-days that are seven,
+    And those of all the centuries that endure.
+    He bow'd to none; he kept his honour sure.
+      He follow'd in the wake of those Eleven
+      Who walk'd with Christ, and lifted up his steven[A]
+    To keep the bulwarks of his faith secure.
+    He knew the secrets of the singing-time;
+      He track'd the sun; he ate the luscious fruit
+      Of grief and joy; and with his wonder-lute
+    He made himself a name in every clime.
+      The minds of men were madly stricken mute
+    And all the world lay subject to his rhyme!
+
+[A] Steven, a voice; old word revived.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+DIFFIDENCE.
+
+
+    I cannot deck my thought in proud attire,
+      Or make it fit for thee in any dress,
+    Or sing to thee the songs of thy desire,
+    In summer's heat, or by the winter's fire,
+      Or give thee cause to comfort or to bless.
+      For I have scann'd mine own unworthiness
+    And well I know the weakness of the lyre
+      Which I have striven to sway to thy caress.
+    Yet must I quell my tears and calm the smart
+      Of my vext soul, and steadfastly emerge
+      From lonesome thoughts, as from the tempest's surge.
+    I must control the beating of my heart,
+    And bid false pride be gone, who, with his art,
+      Has press'd, too long, a suit I dare not urge.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+FAIRIES.
+
+
+    Glory endures when calumny hath fled;
+      And fairies show themselves, in friendly guise,
+    To all who hold a trust beyond the dead,
+      And all who pray, albeit so worldly-wise,
+      With cheerful hearts or wildly-weeping eyes.
+    They come and go when children are in bed
+      To gladden them with dreams from out the skies
+    And sanctify all tears that they have shed!
+    Fairies are wing'd for wandering to and fro.
+      They live in legends; they survive the Greeks.
+    Wisdom is theirs; they live for us and grow,
+      Like things ambrosial, fairer than the freaks
+    Of signs and seasons which the poets know,
+      Or fires of sunset on the mountain-peaks.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+SPIRIT LOVE.
+
+
+    How great my joy! How grand my recompense!
+      I bow to thee; I keep thee in my sight.
+    I call thee mine, in love though not in sense
+    I share with thee the hermitage immense
+      Of holy dreams which come to us at night,
+    When, through the medium of the spirit-lens
+      We see the soul, in its primeval light,
+      And Reason spares the hopes it cannot blight.
+    It is the soul of thee, and not the form,
+      And not the face, I yearn-to in my sleep.
+    It is thyself. The body is the storm,
+      The soul the star beyond it in the deep
+      Of Nature's calm. And yonder on the steep
+    The Sun of Faith, quiescent, round, and warm!
+
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+AFTER TWO DAYS.
+
+
+    Another night has turned itself to day,
+      Another day has melted into eve,
+    And lo! again I tread the measured way
+      Of word and thought, the twain to interweave,
+      As flowers absorb the rays that they receive.
+    And, all along the woodland where I stray,
+    I think of thee, and Nature keeps me gay,
+      And sorrow soothes the soul it would bereave.
+    Nor will I fear that thou, so far apart,
+      So dear to me, so fair, and so benign,
+    Wilt un-desire the fealty of a heart
+      Which evermore is pledg'd to thee and thine,
+    And turns to thee, in regions where thou art,
+      To hymn the praises of thy face divine!
+
+
+
+
+X.
+
+BYRON.
+
+
+    He was a god descended from the skies
+      To fight the fight of Freedom o'er a grave,
+      And consecrate a hope he could not save;
+    For he was weak withal, and foolish-wise.
+    Dark were his thoughts, and strange his destinies,
+      And oftentimes his life he did deprave.
+    But all do pity him, though none despise.
+      He was a prince of song, though sorrow's slave.
+    He ask'd for tears,--and they were tinged with fire;
+      He ask'd for love, and love was sold to him.
+      He look'd for solace at the goblet's brim,
+    And found it not; then wept upon his lyre.
+    He sang the songs of all the world's desire,--
+      He wears the wreath no rivalry can dim!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XI.
+
+LOVE'S AMBITION.
+
+
+    I must invoke thee for my spirit's good,
+      And prove myself un-guilty of the crime
+    Of mere self-seeking, though with this imbued.
+    I sing as sings the mavis in a wood,
+      Content to be alive at harvest time.
+    Had I its wings I should not be withstood!
+      But I will weave my fancies into rhyme,
+      And greet afar the heights I cannot climb.
+    I will invoke thee, Love! though far away,
+      And pay thee homage, as becomes a knight
+      Who longs to keep his true-love in his sight.
+    Yea, I will soar to thee, in roundelay,
+    In shine and shower, and make a bold assay
+      Of each fond hope, to compass thee aright.
+
+
+
+
+XII.
+
+LOVE'S DEFEAT.
+
+
+    Do what I will, I cannot chant so well
+      As other men; and yet my soul is true.
+    My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell,
+      But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too,
+      Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.
+    I strike the lyre, I sound the hollow shell;
+    And why? For comfort, when my thoughts rebel,
+      And when I count the woes that must ensue.
+    But for this reason, and no other one,
+      I dare to look thy way, and bow my head
+    To thy sweet name, as sunflower to the sun,
+      Though, peradventure, not so wisely fed
+      With garden fancies. Tears must now be shed,
+    Unnumber'd tears, till life or love be done!
+
+
+
+
+XIII.
+
+A THUNDERSTORM AT NIGHT.
+
+
+    The lightning is the shorthand of the storm
+      That tells of chaos; and I read the same
+      As one may read the writing of a name,--
+    As one in Hell may see the sudden form
+      Of God's fore-finger pointed as in blame.
+    How weird the scene! The Dark is sulphur-warm
+    With hints of death; and in their vault enorme
+      The reeling stars coagulate in flame.
+    And now the torrents from their mountain-beds
+      Roar down uncheck'd; and serpents shaped of mist
+    Writhe up to Heaven with unforbidden heads;
+      And thunder-clouds, whose lightnings intertwist,
+    Rack all the sky, and tear it into shreds,
+      And shake the air like Titians that have kiss'd!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XIV.
+
+IN TUSCANY.
+
+
+    Dost thou remember, friend of vanish'd days,
+      How in the golden land of love and song,
+    We met in April in the crowded ways
+      Of that fair city where the soul is strong,
+    Aye! strong as fate, for good or evil praise?
+    And how the lord whom all the world obeys,--
+      The lord of light to whom the stars belong,--
+      Illumed the track that led thee through the throng?
+    Dost thou remember, in the wooded dale,
+      Beyond the town of Dante the Divine,
+      How all the air was flooded as with wine?
+    And how the lark, to drown the nightingale,
+    Peal'd out sweet notes? I live to tell the tale.
+      But thou? Oblivion signs thee with a sign!
+
+
+
+
+XV.
+
+A HERO.
+
+
+    The warrior knows how fitful is the fight,--
+      How sad to live,--how sweet perchance to die.
+    Is Fame his joy? He meets her on the height,
+      And when he falls he shouts his battle-cry;
+      His eyes are wet; our own will not be dry.
+    Nor shall we stint his praise, or our delight,
+    When he survives to serve his Land aright
+      And make his fame the watchword of the sky.
+    In all our hopes his love is with us still;
+      He tends our faith, he soothes us when we grieve.
+      His acts are just; his word we must believe,
+    And none shall spurn him, though his blood they spill
+    To pierce the heart whose pride they cannot kill.--
+      Death dies for him whose fame is his reprieve!
+
+
+
+
+XVI.
+
+REMORSE.
+
+
+    Go, get thee gone. I love thee not, I swear;
+      And if I lov'd thee well in days gone by,
+    And if I kiss'd, and trifled with thy hair,
+      And crown'd my love, to prove the same a lie,
+      My doom is this: my joy was quick to die.
+    The chain of custom in the drowsy lair
+    Of some slain vision, is a weight to bear,
+      And both abhorr'd it,--thou as well as I.
+    Ah, God! 'tis tearful true; and I repent;
+      And like a dead, live man I live for this:--
+      To stand, unvalued, on a dream's abyss,
+    And be my own most piteous monument.
+      What! did I rob thee, Lady, of a kiss?
+    There, take it back; and frown; and be content!
+
+
+
+
+XVII.
+
+THE MISSION OF THE BARD.
+
+
+    He is a seer. He wears the wedding-ring
+      Of Art and Nature; and his voice is bold.
+    He should be quicker than the birds to sing,
+      And fill'd with frenzy like the men of old
+    Who sang their songs for country and for king.
+      Nothing should daunt him, though the news were told
+      By fiends from Hell! He should be swift to hold
+    And swift to part with truth, as from a spring.
+      He should discourse of war and war's alarm,
+    And deeds of peace, and garlands to be sought,
+      And love, and lore, and death, and beauty's charm,
+    And warlike men subdued by tender thought,
+    And grief dismiss'd, and hatred set at nought,
+      And Freedom shielded by his strong right arm!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+DEATH.
+
+
+    It is the joy, it is the zest of life,
+      To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,
+    Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,
+      And not a serpent with a look of guile,
+      But one who greets us with a seraph's smile,--
+    An angel--guest to tend us after strife,
+      And keep us true to God when fears are rife,
+      And sceptic thought would daunt us or defile.
+    He walks the world as one empower'd to fill
+      The fields of space for Father and for Son.
+      He is our friend, though morbidly we shun
+    His tender touch,--a cure for every ill.
+      He is the king of peace, when all is done.
+    Earth and the air are moulded to his will.
+
+
+
+
+XIX.
+
+TO ONE I LOVE.
+
+
+    Oh, let me plead with thee to have a nook,
+      A garden nook, not far from thy domain,
+    That there, with harp, and voice, and poet-book,
+      I may be true to thee, and, passion-fain,
+      Rehearse the songs of nature once again:--
+    The songs of Cynthia wandering by the brook
+      To soothe the raptures of a lover's pain,
+    And those of Phyllis with her shepherd's crook!
+    I die to serve thee, and for this alone,--
+      To be thy bard-elect, from day to day,--
+    I would forego the right to fill a throne.
+      I would consent to be the famine-prey
+    Of some fierce pard, if ere the night were flown
+      I could subdue thy spirit to my sway.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XX.
+
+EX TENEBRA.
+
+
+    The winds have shower'd their rains upon the sod,
+      And flowers and trees have murmur'd as with lips.
+    The very silence has appeal'd to God.
+    In man's behalf, though smitten by His rod,
+      'Twould seem as if the blight of some eclipse
+      Had dull'd the skies,--as if, on mountain tips,
+    The winds of Heaven had spurn'd the life terrene,
+      And clouds were foundering like benighted ships.
+    But what is this, exultant, unforseen,
+      Which cleaves the dark? A fearful, burning thing!
+      Is it the moon? Or Saturn's scarlet ring
+    Hurl'd into space? It is the tempest-sun!
+      It is the advent of the Phoeban king
+    Which tells the valleys that the storm is done!
+
+
+
+
+XXI.
+
+VICTOR HUGO.
+
+
+    Victor the King! alive to-day, not dead!
+      Behold, I bring thee with a subject's hand
+      A poor pale wreath, the best at my command,
+    But all unfit to deck so grand a head.
+      It is the outcome of a neighbour land
+    Denounced of thee, and spurn'd for many years.
+    It is the token of a nation's tears
+      Which oft has joy'd in thee, and shall again.
+      Love for thy hate, applause for thy disdain,--
+    These are the flowers we spread upon thy hearse.
+    We give thee back, to-day, thy poet-curse;
+      We call thee friend; we ratify thy reign.
+    Kings change their sceptres for a funeral stone,
+    But thou hast turn'd thy tomb into a throne!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XXII.
+
+CYNTHIA.
+
+
+    O Lady Moon, elect of all the spheres
+      To be the guardian of the ocean-tides,
+    I charge thee, say, by all thy hopes and fears,
+      And by thy face, the oracle of brides,
+      Why evermore Remorse with thee abides?
+    Is life a bane to thee, and fraught with tears,
+      That thus forlorn and sad thou dost confer
+    With ghosts and shades? Perchance thou dost aspire
+    To bridal honours, and thy Phoebus-sire
+      Forbids the banns, whoe'er thy suitor be?
+    Is this thy grievance, O thou chief of nuns?
+      Or dost thou weep to know that Jupiter
+    Hath many moons--his daughters and his sons--
+      And Earth, thy mother, only one in thee?
+
+
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+PHILOMEL.
+
+
+    Lo, as a minstrel at the court of Love,
+      The nightingale, who knows his mate is nigh,
+    Thrills into rapture; and the stars above
+      Look down, affrighted, as they would reply.
+      There is contagion, and I know not why,
+    In all this clamour, all this fierce delight,
+      As if the sunset, when the day did swoon,
+      Had drawn some wild confession from the moon.
+    Have wrongs been done? Have crimes enacted been
+    To shame the weird retirement of the night?
+      O clamourous bird! O sad; sweet nightingale!
+    Withhold thy voice, and blame not Beauty's queen.
+      She may be pure, though dumb: and she is pale,
+    And wears a radiance on her brow serene.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+THE SONNET KING.
+
+
+    O Petrarch! I am here. I bow to thee,
+      Great king of sonnets, thron�d long ago
+    And lover-like, as Love enjoineth me,
+      And miser-like, enamoured of my woe,
+      I reckon up my teardrops as they flow.
+    I would not lose the power to shed a tear
+      For all the wealth of Plutus and his reign.
+      I would not be so base as not complain
+    When she I love is absent from my sight.
+    No, not for all the marvels of the night,
+      And all the varying splendours of the year.
+    Do thou assist me, thou! that art the light
+      Of all true lovers' souls, in all the sphere,
+    To make a May-time of my sorrows slain.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XXV.
+
+TOKEN FLOWERS.
+
+
+    Oh, not the daisy, for the love of God!
+      Take not the daisy; let it bloom apace
+      Untouch'd alike by splendour or disgrace
+    Of party feud. Its stem is not a rod;
+    And no one fears, or hates it, on the sod.
+      It laughs, exultant, in the Morning's face,
+      And everywhere doth fill a lowly place,
+    Though fraught with favours for the darkest clod.
+    'Tis said the primrose is a party flower,
+      And means coercion, and the coy renown
+      Of one who toil'd for country and for crown.
+    This may be so! But, in my Lady's bower,
+    It means content,--a hope,--a golden hour.
+      Primroses smile; and daisies cannot frown!
+
+
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+A PRAYER FOR ENGLAND.
+
+
+    Ah, fair Lord God of Heaven, to whom we call,--
+      By whom we live,--on whom our hopes are built,--
+      Do Thou, from year to year, e'en as Thou wilt,
+    Control the Realm, but suffer not to fall
+    Its ancient faith, its grandeur, and its thrall!
+      Do Thou preserve it, in the hours of guilt,
+      When foemen thirst for blood that should be spilt,
+    And keep it strong when traitors would appal.
+    Uphold us still, O God! and be the screen
+      And sword and buckler of our England's might,
+    That foemen's wiles, and woes which intervene,
+      May fade away, as fades a winter's night.
+    Thine ears have heard us, and Thine eyes have seen.
+      Wilt Thou not help us, Lord! to find the Light?
+
+
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+A VETERAN POET.
+
+
+    I knew thee first as one may know the fame
+      Of some apostle, as a man may know
+      The mid-day sun far-shining o'er the snow.
+    I hail'd thee prince of poets! I became
+    Vassal of thine, and warm'd me at the flame
+      Of thy pure thought, my spirit all aglow
+      With dreams of peace, and pomp, and lyric show,
+    And all the splendours, Master! of thy name.
+    But now, a man reveal'd, a guide for men,
+      I see thy face, I clasp thee by the hand;
+      And though the Muses in thy presence stand,
+    There's room for me to loiter in thy ken.
+    O lordly soul! O wizard of the pen!
+      What news from God? What word from Fairyland?
+
+
+
+
+A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY.
+
+
+
+
+A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,
+      Mother and maid, immortal, man's delight!
+    Fairest and first art thou in name and fame
+      And none shall rob thee of thy vested right.
+    Where is the man, though fifty times a king,
+    Shall stay the tide, or countermand the spring?
+    And where is he, though fifty times a knave,
+    Shall track thy steps to cast thee in a grave?
+
+
+II.
+
+    Old as the sun art thou, and young as morn,
+      And fresh as April when the breezes blow,
+    And girt with glory like the growing corn,
+      And undefiled like mountains made of snow.
+    Oh, thou'rt the summer of the souls of men,
+    And poor men's rights, approved by sword and pen,
+    Are made self-certain as the day at noon,
+    And fair to view as flowers that grow in June.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Look, where erect and tall thy Symbol waits,[B]
+      The gift of France to friends beyond the deep,
+    A lofty presence at the ocean-gates
+      With lips of peace and eyes that cannot weep;
+    A new-born Tellus with uplifted arm
+    To light the seas, and keep the land from harm--
+    To light the coast at downfall of the day,
+    And dower with dawn the darkening water-way.
+
+[B] Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty in New York harbour.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, stern of vow!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shall wear the lightning on thy brow!_
+
+
+V.
+
+    Who dares condemn thee with the puny breath
+      Of one poor life, O thou untouched of Fate!
+    Who seeks to lure thee to a felon's death,
+      And thou so splendid and so love-elate?
+    Who dares do this and live? Who dares assail
+    Thy star-kissed forehead, pure and marble-pale;
+    And thou so self-possessed 'mid all the stir,
+    And like to Pallas born of Mulciber?
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Oh, I've beheld the sun, at setting time,
+      Peep o'er the hills as if to say good-bye;
+    And I have hailed it with the sudden rhyme
+      Of some new thought, full-freighted with a sigh.
+    And I have mused:--E'en thus may Freedom fall,
+    And darkness shroud it like a wintry pall,
+    And night o'erwhelm it, and the shades thereof
+    Engulf the glories born of perfect love.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    But there's no fall for thee; there is no tomb;
+      And none shall stab thee, none shall stay thy hand.
+    Thy face is fair with love's eternal bloom,
+      And thou shalt have all things at thy command.
+    A tomb for thee? Ay, when the sun is slain
+    And lamps and fires make daylight on the plain,
+    Then may'st thou die, O Freedom! and for thee
+    A tomb be found where fears and dangers be.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, keen of sight!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shall tread the tempest in the night!_
+
+
+IX.
+
+    There shall be feasting and a sound of song
+      In thy great cities; and a voice divine
+    Shall tell of freedom all the winter long,
+      And fill the air with rapture as with wine.
+    The spring shall hear it, spring shall hear the sound,
+    And summer waft it o'er the flowerful ground;
+    And autumn pale shall shake her withered leaves
+    On festal morns and star-bespangled eves.
+
+
+X.
+
+    For thou'rt the smile of Heaven when earth is dim--
+      The face of God reflected in the sea--
+    The land's acclaim uplifted by the hymn
+      Of some glad lark triumphant on the lea.
+    Thou art all this and more! Thou art the goal
+    Of earth's elected ones from pole to pole,
+    The lute-string's voice, the world's primeval fire,
+    And each man's hope, and every man's desire.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    O proud and pure! O gentle and sublime!
+      For thee and thine, O Freedom! O my Joy!
+    For thee, Celestial! on the shores of time
+      A throne is built which no man shall destroy.
+    Thou shalt be seen for miles and miles around
+    And wield a sceptre, though of none be crowned.
+    The waves shall know thee, and the winds of Heaven
+    Shall sing thee songs with mixed and mighty steven.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, unconfined!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shalt speed more swiftly than the wind!_
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Who loves thee not is traitor to himself,
+      Traitor is he to God and to the grave,
+    Poor as a miser with his load of pelf,
+      And more unstable than a leeward wave.
+    Curs�d is he for aye, and his shall be
+    A name of shame from sea to furthest sea,
+    A name of scorn to all men under sun
+    Whose upright souls have learnt to loathe this one.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    A thousand times, O Freedom! have I turned
+      To thy rapt face, and wished that martyr-wise
+    I might achieve some glory, such as burned
+      Within the depths of Gordon's azure eyes.
+    Ah God! how sweet it were to give thee life,
+    To aid thy cause, self-sinking in the strife,
+    Loving thee best, O Freedom! and in tears
+    Giving thee thanks for death-accepted years.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    For thou art fearful, though so grand of soul,
+      Fearful and fearless and the friend of men.
+    The haughtiest kings shall bow to thy control,
+      And rich and poor shall take thy guidance then.
+    Who doubts the daylight when he sees afar
+    The fading lamp of some night-weary star,
+    Which prophet-like, has heard amid the dark
+    The first faint prelude of the nested lark?
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, prompt of thought!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shalt lash the storm till it be nought!_
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    O thou desired of men! O thou supreme
+      And true-toned spirit whom the bards revere!
+    At times thou com'st in likeness of a dream
+      To urge rebellion, with a face austere;
+    And by that power thou hast--e'en by that power
+    Which is the outcome of thy sovereign-dower--
+    Thou teachest slaves, down-trodden, how to stand
+    Lords of themselves in each chivalrous Land.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    The hosts of death, the squadrons of the law,
+      The arm'd appeal to pageantry and hate,
+    Shall serve, a space, to keep thy name in awe,
+      And then collapse, as old and out of date.
+    Yea! this shall be; for God has willed it so.
+    And none shall touch thy flag, to lay it low;
+    And none shall rend thy robe, that is to thee
+    As dawn to day, as sunlight to the sea.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    For love of thee, thou grand, thou gracious thing!
+      For love of thee all seas, and every shore,
+    And all domains whereof the poets sing,
+      Shall merge in Man's requirements evermore.
+    And there shall be, full soon, from north to south,
+    From east to west, by Wisdom's word of mouth
+    One code of laws that all shall understand,
+    And all the world shall be one Fatherland.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, sweet of breath!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shalt pluck Redemption out of Death!_
+
+
+
+
+Italian Poems
+
+BY ERIC MACKAY
+
+
+LA ZINGARELLA.
+
+IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO.
+
+I MIEI SALUTI.
+
+
+
+
+LA ZINGARELLA.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Dimmi, dimmi, o trovatore,
+        Tu che canti sul l�uto,
+        Bello e bruno e pien d'amore
+        Dalla valle in su venuto,
+        Non ti fermi sull' altura
+        Per mostrar la tua bravura?
+        Non mi canti sul burrone
+        Qualche lieta tua canzone?
+
+
+II.
+
+    --Zingarella, in sulla sera
+        Canta bene il rosignolo,
+        Piange e canta in sua preghiera
+        Salutando un dolce suolo.
+        Ma il l�uto al mio toccare
+        Pianger sa, non sa pregare ...
+        Deh! che vuoi col tuo sorriso,
+        Tu che sai di paradiso?
+
+
+III.
+
+    --V� sentire in tuo linguaggio
+        Come � fatto un uom fedele,
+        Se l'amor lo fa selvaggio,
+        Se il destin lo fa crudele.
+        Parla schietto; son profana
+        Ma ben leggo l'alma umana.
+        Parla pur dei tuoi v�aggi
+        Nei deserti e nei villaggi.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    --Canterotti, o zingarella,
+        Qualche allegra mia ballata,
+        Qualche estatica novella
+        D' una dama innamorata ...
+        --Dimmi tutto!--Canterotti
+        D' Ungheria le meste notti.
+        D' Ungheria?--Del Bosco Santo
+        Dove nacque il gran Sorranto.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Sappi in breve, son marchese
+        Castellano e cantatore,
+        Cattivai con questo arnese
+        D'una maga un d� l'amore.
+        --D' una maga?--Si, di quelle
+        Che san legger nelle stelle.
+        --E fu bella?--Non v' � guari
+        Dama, oh no, che le sia pari.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Come parca in fra le dita
+        Essa tenne il mio destino,
+        Fu la sfinge di mia vita
+        Col sorriso suo divino.
+        Avea biondi i suoi capelli,
+        Occhi neri e molto belli,
+        Braccia e collo in puritade
+        Come neve quando cade.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    --Taci, taci, o castellano;
+        Qui convien pregar per essa.
+        --Io l'amai d'amor sovrano!
+        Pronta fu la sua promessa.
+        L' aspettai; mi fu cortese,
+        Ma fugg� dal mio pa�se,
+        Travestita un d� di Maggio
+        Come biondo e giovin paggio.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Oh, giammai non fu sognata
+        Cosa uguale per bellezza
+        Chi la vide incoronata
+        Sorridea per tenerezza.
+        Chi la vide di mattina
+        La credeva una regina,
+        Qualche sogno di poeta,
+        Qualche incanto di profeta!
+
+
+IX.
+
+    --Traditor! col tuo l�uto
+        Tu l' hai fatto innamorare!
+        --Io giurai per San Bernuto
+        E pel Cristo in sull' altare,
+        Per Giuseppe e per Maria
+        Che farei la vita pia.
+        --E il facesti?--I sacri voti
+        Ricantai dei sacredoti.
+
+
+X.
+
+    --Or m'ascolta, o trovatore,
+        Or rispondi, e dimmi il vero:
+        Hai veduto il mesto fiore
+        Che si coglie in cimitero?
+        Hai veduto i fior di rose
+        Che s'intreccian per le spose,
+        Quando cantan desolati
+        Gli usignoli abbandonati?
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Crolli il capo; impallidisci;
+        Stendi a me la bianca mano;
+        Non rispondi; e forse ambisci
+        Della sposa ormai l'arcano?
+        Qui mor� la Gilda, maga
+        Sotto il nome di Menzaga;
+        Qu� mor�, nel suo pallore,
+        Per l'amor d'un trovatore!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Stravolto l'amante s'inchina;
+        Ei mira la mesta donzella.
+        Velata � la maga, ma bella,
+    Coll'occhio che pianger non sa.
+        --O donna, l'amor t'indovina ...
+        Tu, Gilda, t'ascondi col�!
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Nel mondo non v' � la sembianza
+        Di tale e di tanta beltade!
+        Non cresce per queste contrade
+    N� giglio n� spirto d'amor.
+        Tu sola tu sei la Speranza
+        Che tenni qua stretta sul cor.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Tu sola tu sei la mia dama,
+        La gioja e l'onor della vita;
+        Tu sola, donzella romita,
+    Del mondo la diva sei tu.
+        L'amor ti conosce, e la fama;
+        N� manca l'antica virt�.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Ma dove � la f� del passato
+        Che tanto brill� nella festa?
+        L'amore, l'onore, le gesta
+    D'un tempo che presto fugg�?
+        Fu vero? L'ho forse sognato?
+        Tu pur l'hai sognato cos�!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    La maga intenta ascolta il suo galante;
+        Ride, si scioglie il velo e guarda il Sire.
+        Rossa diventa e bianca in uno istante,
+        E poi s' asconde il viso e vuol fuggire.
+        Corre nei bracci suoi lo fido amante;
+        E favellar vorria nel suo gio�re...
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    --Deh! taci, oh taci! Al mondo ovunque � doglia.
+        Gilda son io. Ti bacio e son contenta.
+        Pianger non so se non per pazza voglia
+    Come la strega allor che si lamenta ...
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Cosa vuoi tu? Che vuoi che si mi guardi?
+        Diva non son, ma donna; e fui crudele.
+        --Baciami in bocca. O Dio! mi stringi ed ardi
+    Tanto d' amore e piangi e sei fedele?
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    --Ugo! M' ascolta, io son la tua meschina,
+        Forte ben si, ma doma in questi agoni;
+        Sono la schiava tua, la tua regina,
+    Quel che tu vuoi purch� non m'abbandoni!
+
+
+XX.
+
+    --O cara, o casta, o bella, o tu che bramo,
+        Dammi la morte unita a un tuo sorriso.
+        Eva sarai per me. Son io l'Adamo;
+    E quivi in terra avrassi il paradiso!
+
+
+
+
+IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO.
+
+
+I.
+
+      O mesto bambino col capo chinato,
+    Rispondi; rispondi. Che fece Renato?
+    Fu vinto Morello? Fu salvo Lindoro?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Son padre di loro.
+
+
+II.
+
+      Non veggo tornare dal Ponte d'Aviglio
+    Renato superbo del vinto periglio.
+    L' han forse promosso? Risorge la guerra?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--L' han messo sotterra.
+
+
+III.
+
+      O ciel! tu lo senti, tu vedi l'oltraggio;
+    Renato fu prence del nostro villaggio! ...
+    Ma dimmi, piccino. Che fece Morello?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Lo chiude l' avello.
+
+
+IV.
+
+      Ahi, crudo destino! Si grande, si forte,
+    Morello nasceva per vincer la morte.
+    Ma l' altro? Che fece sul campo serrato?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Mor� da soldato.
+
+
+V.
+
+      Gran Dio! che mi narri! Pur desso m' � tolto?
+    Renato m' � morto? Morello sepolto?
+    E piangi, ... tu pure? Gentile bambino!
+    Che dici? Rispondi!--Vi resta Giannino.
+
+
+VI.
+
+      Oh si, del figliuolo l'ignoto tesoro,
+    L'incognito figlio del biondo Lindoro.
+    Ma dove trovarlo nel nome di Dio?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Buon padre, son io.
+
+
+
+
+I MIEI SALUTI.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Ti saluto, Margherita
+        Fior di vita, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei la speme del mattino,
+        Sei la gioja del giardino.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Ti saluto, Rosignolo
+        Nel tuo duolo, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei l' amante della rosa
+        Che morendo si fa sposa.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Ti saluto, Sol di Maggio
+        Col tuo raggio, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei l' Apollo del passato,
+        Sei l' amore incoronato.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Ti saluto, Donna mia,
+        Casta e pia, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei la diva dei desiri,
+        Sei la Santa dei Sospiri.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+Words enclosed in round brackets, (thus), may be used to search for the
+affected text.
+
+Words used interchangeably in this book:
+
+  anear    a-near
+  seaward  sea-ward
+
+Page xvi
+
+(influence felt.)
+
+Changed iufluence to influence.
+
+
+Page xxvii
+
+*** equates to an asterism in text file.
+
+
+Page 99
+
+(Where Neptune dwelt,)
+
+Changed Nepture to Neptune.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Letters of a Violinist and Other
+Poems, by Eric Mackay
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST ***
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+
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+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems, by 
+Eric Mackay
+
+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: Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems
+
+Author: Eric Mackay
+
+Illustrator: James Fagan
+
+Release Date: October 6, 2011 [EBook #37649]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by K Nordquist, Leonard Johnson and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from scanned images of public domain
+material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center">
+<span class="font20">Love</span><br />
+
+<span class="font20 smcap">Letters</span><br />
+
+<span class="font9">of a</span><br />
+
+<span class="font20 smcap">Violinist</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center">ERIC MACKAY</p>
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 397px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="397" height="600" alt="Cover page" title="Cover Page" />
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="font15"><b>Love Letters</b></span></p>
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 392px;">
+<a href="images/f006.jpg">
+<img src="images/f006sm.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 338px;">
+<img src="images/title.jpg" width="338" height="600" alt="Title page" title="Title page" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+<h1 class="font12">LOVE LETTERS OF A<br /><br />
+
+VIOLINIST AND OTHER<br /><br />
+
+POEMS. BY ERIC MACKAY<br /><br /><br /></h1>
+
+
+<p class="center"><b>With Illustrations</b></p>
+
+<p class="center font7">BY</p>
+
+<p class="center">JAMES FAGAN<br /><br /><br /><br /></p>
+
+
+
+<p class="center"><b>New York:</b></p>
+
+<p class="center">BRENTANO'S</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Chicago &nbsp; &nbsp; Washington &nbsp; &nbsp; Paris</span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<p><i>Copyright, 1894, by</i></p>
+
+<p><i>BRENTANO'S</i><br /><br /><br /></p>
+
+
+
+<p>THE CAXTON PRESS</p>
+
+<p>NEW YORK</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class="center font15">TO MARIE</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/f011sm.png" width="500" height="107" alt="Page header" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="toc">
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="table of contents">
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap"><a href="#INTRODUCTORY_NOTICE">Introductory Notice</a></span></td><td align="right">xi</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Love Letters of a Violinist:</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_I">Letter First&mdash;<i>Prelude</i></a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_II">Letter Second&mdash;<i>Sorrow</i></a></td><td align="right">11</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_III">Letter Third&mdash;<i>Regrets</i></a></td><td align="right">21</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_IV">Letter Fourth&mdash;<i>Yearnings</i></a></td><td align="right">31</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_V">Letter Fifth&mdash;<i>Confessions</i></a></td><td align="right">41</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_VI">Letter Sixth&mdash;<i>Despair</i></a></td><td align="right">51</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_VII">Letter Seventh&mdash;<i>Hope</i></a></td><td align="right">61</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_VIII">Letter Eighth&mdash;<i>A Vision</i></a></td><td align="right">71</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_IX">Letter Ninth&mdash;<i>To-morrow</i></a></td><td align="right">81</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_X">Letter Tenth&mdash;<i>A Retrospect</i></a></td><td align="right">91</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_XI">Letter Eleventh&mdash;<i>Faith</i></a></td><td align="right">101</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#LETTER_XII">Letter Twelfth&mdash;<i>Victory</i></a></td><td align="right">111</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Miscellaneous_Poems">Miscellaneous Poems:</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#ANTEROS">Anteros</a></td><td align="right">123</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#THE_WAKING_OF_THE_LARK">The Waking of the Lark</a></td><td align="right">129</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#A_BALLAD_OF_KISSES">A Ballad of Kisses</a></td><td align="right">132</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#MARY_ARDEN">Mary Arden</a></td><td align="right">133</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#SACHAL">Sachal: A Waif of Battle</a></td><td align="right">141</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#THE_LADY_OF_THE_MAY">The Lady of the May</a></td><td align="right">146</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#AN_ODE_TO_ENGLISHMEN">An Ode to Englishmen</a></td><td align="right">149</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#ZULALIE">Zulalie</a></td><td align="right">153</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#BEETHOVEN_AT_THE_PIANO">Beethoven at the Piano</a></td><td align="right">155</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#A_RHAPSODY_OF_DEATH">A Rhapsody of Death</a></td><td align="right">159</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#A_PRAYER_FOR_LIGHT">A Prayer for Light</a></td><td align="right">163</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#MIRAGE">Mirage</a></td><td align="right">165</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#A_MOTHERS_NAME">A Mother's Name</a></td><td align="right">170</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#A_SONG_OF_SERVITUDE">A Song of Servitude</a></td><td align="right">171</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#SYLVIA_IN_THE_WEST">Sylvia in the West</a></td><td align="right">175</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#ELEANORE">El�anore</a></td><td align="right">187</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#THE_STATUE">The Statue</a></td><td align="right">189</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#PABLO_DE_SARASATE">Pablo de Sarasate</a></td><td align="right">191</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#MY_AMAZON">My Amazon</a></td><td align="right">197</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#PRO_PATRIA">Pro Patria</a></td><td align="right">199</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#THE_LITTLE_GRAVE">The Little Grave</a></td><td align="right">205</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#A_DIRGE">A Dirge</a></td><td align="right">207</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><a href="#DAISIES_OUT_AT_SEA">Daisies out at Sea</a></td><td align="right">209</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Sonnets">Sonnets</a></span>:</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><a href="#I">Ecstasy</a></td><td align="right">215</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><a href="#II">Visions</a></td><td align="right">217</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><a href="#III">The Daisy</a></td><td align="right">218</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#IV">Probation</a></td><td align="right">219</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><a href="#V">Dante</a></td><td align="right">221</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VI">Diffidence</a></td><td align="right">222</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VII">Fairies</a></td><td align="right">223</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VIII">Spirit Love</a></td><td align="right">225</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#IX">After Two Days</a></td><td align="right">226</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><a href="#X">Byron</a></td><td align="right">227</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XI">Love's Ambition</a></td><td align="right">228</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XII">Love's Defeat</a></td><td align="right">230</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XIII">A Thunderstorm at Night</a></td><td align="right">231</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XIV">In Tuscany</a></td><td align="right">232</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XV">A Hero</a></td><td align="right">234</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XVI">Remorse</a></td><td align="right">235</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XVII">The Mission of the Bard</a></td><td align="right">236</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XVIII">Death</a></td><td align="right">237</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XIX">To One I Love</a></td><td align="right">239</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XX">Ex Tenebra</a></td><td align="right">240</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXI">Victor Hugo</a></td><td align="right">241</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXII">Cynthia</a></td><td align="right">242</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXIII">Philomel</a></td><td align="right">244</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXIV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXIV">The Sonnet King</a></td><td align="right">245</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXV">Token Flowers</a></td><td align="right">246</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXVI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXVI">A Prayer for England</a></td><td align="right">248</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXVII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XXVII">A Veteran Poet</a></td><td align="right">249</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_CHORAL_ODE_TO_LIBERTY">A Choral Ode To Liberty</a></span></td><td align="right">251</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><span class="smcap"><a href="#Italian_Poems">Italian Poems:</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td align="left"><a href="#LA_ZINGARELLA">La Zingarella</a></td><td align="right">263</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td align="left"><a href="#IL_PONTE_DAVIGLIO">Il Ponte d'Aviglio</a></td><td align="right">271</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">&nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td align="left"><a href="#I_MIEI_SALUTI">I Miei Saluti</a></td><td align="right">273</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/f015sm.png" width="500" height="101" alt="Page decoration" title="Page decoration" />
+</div>
+<div class="intro">
+<h2><a name="INTRODUCTORY_NOTICE" id="INTRODUCTORY_NOTICE"></a>INTRODUCTORY NOTICE</h2>
+
+
+<p class="initial"><span class="smcap">At</span> the commencement of the year 1885, a captivating little volume of
+poems was mysteriously issued from the "Leadenhalle Presse" of Messrs.
+Field and Tuer&mdash;a quaint, vellum-bound, antique-looking book, tied up on
+all sides with strings of golden silk ribbon, and illustrated throughout
+with fanciful wood-cuts. It was entitled "Love Letters by a Violinist,"
+and those who were at first attracted by its title and suggestive
+outward appearance, untied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> the ribbons with a certain amount of
+curiosity. Love-letters were surely of a private, almost sacred
+character. What "Violinist" thus ventured to publish his heart-records
+openly? and were they worth reading? were the questions asked by the
+public, and last, not least, came the natural inquiry, "<i>Who</i> was the
+'Violinist'?" To this no satisfactory answer could be obtained, for
+nobody knew. But it was directly proved on perusal of the book that he
+was a poet, not a mere writer of verse. Speculations arose as to his
+identity, and Joseph Ellis, the poet, reviewed the work as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Behold a mystery&mdash;who shall uncase it? A small quarto, anonymous. The
+publisher professes entire ignorance of its origin. Wild guesses spring
+from the mask of a 'Violinist'&mdash;who can he be? <i>Unde derivatur?</i> A Tyro?
+The work is too skilful for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> such, though even a Byron. Young? Not old.
+Tennyson? No&mdash;he hath not the grace of style, at least for these verses.
+Browning? No&mdash;he could not unbend so far. Edwin Arnold might, possibly,
+have been equal to it, witness, <i>inter alia</i>, 'Violetta'; but he is
+unlikely. Lytton Bulwer, a voice from the tomb? No. His son, Owen
+Meredith? A random supposition, yet possible. Rossetti&mdash;again a voice
+from the tomb? No&mdash;he wanted the strength of wing. James Thomson, the
+younger, could have done it, but he was too stern. Then, our detective
+ingenuity proving incompetent, who? We seek the Delphic fane&mdash;the oracle
+replies <i>Swinburne</i>. Let us bow to the oracular voice, for in Swinburne
+we find all requisites for the work&mdash;fertility of thought, grace of
+language, ingenuity, skill in the <i>ars poetica</i>, wealth of words,
+sensuous nature, classic resources.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> * * * The writer of the
+'Love-Letters' is manifestly imbued with the tone and tune of Italian
+poetry, and has the merit of proving the English tongue capable of
+rivalling the Italian '<i>Canzoni d'Amore</i>.' * * * * He is a master of
+versification, so is Swinburne&mdash;he is praiseworthy for freshness of
+thought, novelty, and aptness in imagery, so is Swinburne. He is
+remarkable for sustained energy, so is Swinburne; and thus it may safely
+be said that, if not the writer of the 'Love-Letters,' he deserves to be
+accredited with that mysterious production, until the authorship is
+avowed. * * * * Unto Britannia, as erst to Italia, has been granted a a
+Petrarch."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile other leading voices in the Press joined the swelling chorus
+of praise. <i>The Morning Post</i> took up the theme, and, after vainly
+endeavouring to clear up the mystery of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> the authorship, went on to say:
+"The appearance of this book must be regarded as a literary phenomenon.
+We find ourselves lifted at once by the author's genius out of the
+work-a-day world of the England of to-day, and transported into an
+atmosphere as rare and ethereal as that in which the poet of Vaucluse
+lived and moved and had his being. * * * * In nearly every stanza there
+are unerring indications of a mind and heart steeped in that subtlest of
+all forms of beauty, the mythology of old Greece. The reader perceives
+at once that he has to do with a scholar and man of culture, as well as
+with an inspired singer, whose muse need not feel abashed in the
+presence of the highest poets of our own day."</p>
+
+<p>Such expressions as, "A new star of brilliant magnitude has risen above
+the literary horizon in the anonymous author of the exquisite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span> book of
+'Love-Letters,'" and "These poems are among the most graceful and
+beautiful productions of modern times," became frequent in the best
+literary journals, and private opinion concerning the book began to make
+its influence felt. The brilliant writer and astute critic, George
+Meredith, wrote to a friend on the subject as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The lines and metre of the poems are easy and interthreading and
+perfectly melodious. It is an astonishing production&mdash;the work of a true
+musician in our tongue."</p>
+
+<p><i>The Times'</i> special correspondent, Antonio Gallenga, expressed himself
+at some length on the merits of the "Violinist," and spoke of him "as
+one who could conjure up a host of noble thoughts and bright fancies,
+who rejoices in a great command of language, with a flow of verse and a
+wealth of rhymes. It is impossible to hear his confessions, to follow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span>
+him in his aspirations, to hear the tale of his visions, his trances,
+his dreams, without catching his enthusiasm and bestowing on him our
+sympathy. Each 'Love-Letter' is in twenty stanzas&mdash;each stanza in six
+lines. The poem is regular and symmetrical as Dante's 'Comedy,' with as
+stately and solemn, aye, and as arduous a measure." While the world of
+art and letters thus discussed the volume, reading it meanwhile with
+such eagerness that the whole edition was soon entirely exhausted, a
+particularly brilliant and well-written critique of it appeared in the
+New York <i>Independent</i>&mdash;a very prominent American journal, destined
+afterwards to declare the author's identity, and to be the first to do
+so. In the columns of this paper had been frequently seen some
+peculiarly graceful and impassioned poems, signed by one Eric
+Mackay&mdash;notable among these being a lyric entitled "The Waking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span> of the
+Lark" (included in our present volume), which, to quote the expression
+of a distinguished New York critic, "sent a thrill through the heart of
+America." There are no skylarks in the New World, but there is a deep
+tenderness felt by all Americans for the little</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i14">"Priest in grey apparel</div>
+<div class="i0">Who doth prepare to sing in air his sinless summer carol,"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>and Eric Mackay's exquisite outburst of tender enthusiasm for the
+English bird of the morning evoked from all parts of the States a chorus
+of critical delight and approbation. The Rev. T. T. Munger, of
+Massachusetts, wrote concerning it:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"This strikes me as the best poem I have seen for a long time. As I read
+it stanza after stanza, with not an imperfect verse, not a commonplace,
+but with a sustained increase of pure sentiment and glowing fancy, I was
+inclined to place it beside Shelley's. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span> not so intellectual as
+Shelley's, but I am not sure that it is not truer. Mackay's is the lark
+itself, Shelley's is himself listening to the lark. Besides Shelley
+makes the lark sing at evening&mdash;as I believe it does&mdash;but surely 'it to
+the morning doth belong,' and Shakespeare is truer in putting it at
+'Heaven's gate.' It is a great refreshment to us tired workers in the
+prose of life to come across such a poem as this, and seldom enough it
+happens nowadays. Tell Mr. Eric Mackay to sing us another song."</p>
+
+<p>Paul Hamilton Hayne, an American poet, praised it in an American paper;
+and the cultured Maurice Thompson writes:&mdash;"This lark-song touches the
+best mark of simplicity, sweetness, and naturalness in its modelling."</p>
+
+<p>This admired lyric was copied from the <i>Independent</i> into many other
+journals, together with several other poems by the same hand, such as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>
+"A Vision of Beethoven," the beautiful verses addressed to the Spanish
+violinist, Pablo de Sarasate, and a spirited reply to Algernon Charles
+Swinburne, reproaching him for the attack which the author of "Tristram
+of Lyonesse" had made on England's name and fame. One day a simple
+statement appeared in the <i>Independent</i> respecting the much discussed
+"Love-Letters by a Violinist," that the author was simply a gentleman of
+good position, the descendant of a distinguished and very ancient
+family, Eric Mackay, known among his personal friends and intimates as a
+man of brilliant and extensive learning, whose frequent and long
+residences abroad have made him somewhat of a foreigner, though by birth
+an Englishman. A fine linguist, a deep thinker, a profound student of
+the classics, Mr. Mackay may be ranked among the most cultured and
+accomplished men of his day, and still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span> young as he is, will undoubtedly
+be numbered with the choice few whose names are destined to live by the
+side of poets such as Keats, whom, as far as careful work, delicate
+feeling, and fiery tenderness go, Eric Mackay may be said to resemble,
+though there is a greater robustness and force in his muse, indicative
+of a strong mind in an equally strong and healthy body, which latter
+advantage the divine Keats had not, unfortunately for himself and the
+world. The innate, hardly restrained vigour of Mr. Mackay's nature shows
+itself in such passages as occur in the sonnets, "Remorse," "A
+Thunderstorm at Night;" also in the wild and terribly suggestive
+"Zulalie," while something of hot wrath and scorn leap out in such lines
+as those included in his ode to Swinburne, whom he addresses:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i14">"O thou five foot five</div>
+<div class="i0">Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">"Thou art a bee, a bright, a golden thing</div>
+<div class="i0">With too much honey, and the taste thereof</div>
+<div class="i0">Is sometimes rough, and something of a sting</div>
+<div class="i0">Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>and</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same</div>
+<div class="i0">Accept our pardon; or if this offend,</div>
+<div class="i0">Why, then, no pardon, e'en in England's name.</div>
+<div class="i0">We have our country still, and thou thy fame!"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>At the same time no one in all England does more justice and honor to
+Swinburne's genius than Eric Mackay.</p>
+
+<p>His own strength as a poet suggests to the reader the idea of a spirited
+horse reined in tightly and persistently,&mdash;a horse which prances wildly
+at times and frets and foams at the bit, and might, on the least
+provocation, run wild in a furious and headlong career, sweeping all
+conventionalities out of its road by a sheer, straight-ahead gallop. Mr.
+Mackay is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span> however, a careful, even precise rider, and he keeps a firm
+hand on his restless Pegasus&mdash;so firm that, as his taste always leads
+him to depict the most fanciful and fine emotions, his steady
+resoluteness of restraint commands not only our admiration but our
+respect. While passionate to an extreme in the "Love-Letters," he is
+never indelicate; the coarse, almost brutal, allusions made by some
+writers to certain phases of so-called love, which are best left
+unsuggested, never defile the pen of our present author, who may almost
+be called fastidious in such matters. How beautiful and all-sufficing to
+the mind is the line expressing the utter satisfaction of a victorious
+lover:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"<i>Crowned with a kiss and sceptred with a joy!</i>"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>No details are needed here&mdash;all is said. The "Violinist," though by
+turns regretful, sorrowful, and despairing, is supreme throughout. He
+speaks of the "lady of his song" as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"The lady for whose sake I shall be strong,</div>
+<div class="i0">But never weak or diffident again."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The supremacy of manhood is insisted on always; and the lover, though he
+entreats, implores, wonders and raves as all lovers do, never forgets
+his own dignity. He will take no second-best affection on his lady's
+part&mdash;this he plainly states in verse 19 of Letter V. Again, in the last
+letter of all, he asserts his mastery&mdash;and this is as it should be;
+absolute authority, as he knows, is the way to win and to keep a woman's
+affections. Such lovely fancies as</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">"Ph&oelig;bus loosens all his golden hair</div>
+<div class="i0">Right down the sky&mdash;and daisies turn and stare</div>
+<div class="i0">At things we see not with our human wit,"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>and</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i12">"A tuneful noise</div>
+<div class="i0">Broke from the copse where late a breeze was slain,</div>
+<div class="i0">And nightingales in ecstacy of pain</div>
+<div class="i0">Did break their hearts with singing the old joys,"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>abound all through the book. And here it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span> as well to mark the
+decision of our poet, even in trifles. The breeze he speaks of is not
+<i>hushed</i>, or <i>still</i>&mdash;none of the usual epithets are applied to it&mdash;it
+is "<i>slain</i>," as utterly and as pitifully as though it were a murdered
+child. This originality of conception is remarkable, and comes out in
+such lines as</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"I will unpack my mind of all its fears"&mdash;</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>where the word "<i>unpack</i>" is singularly appropriate, and again&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"O sweet To-morrow! Youngest of the sons</div>
+<div class="i0">Of old King Time, <i>to whom Creation runs</i></div>
+<div class="i0"><i>As men to God</i>."</div>
+<div class="i8">"Where a daisy grows,</div>
+<div class="i0">There grows a joy!"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>and beautiful and dainty to a high degree is the quaint "Retrospect,"
+where the lover enthusiastically draws the sun and moon into his
+ecstasies, and makes them seem to partake in his admiration of his
+lady's loveliness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A graver and more philosophic turn of mind will be found in "A Song of
+Servitude," and "A Rhapsody of Death;" but, judged from a critical
+standpoint, Eric Mackay is a purely passionate poet, straying amongst
+the most voluptuous imaginings, and sometimes seeming to despise the
+joys of Heaven itself for the sake of love. Thus he lays himself open to
+an accusation of blasphemy from ultra-religious persons, yet it must be
+remembered that in this respect he in no way exceeds the emotions of
+Romeo, and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, or any of those lovers
+whose passion has earned for their names an undying celebrity.</p>
+
+<p>In closing the present notice we can but express a hope that this volume
+of Eric Mackay's poems may meet with the welcome it deserves from true
+lovers of Art; for Art includes Poetry; and Poetry, as properly defined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span>
+is one of its grandest and most enduring forms.</p>
+
+<p class="citation">G. D.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8258; Some of the miscellaneous poems in this collection
+(including "Beethoven at the Piano") were published by the
+author a few years ago, under a pseudonym, now discarded.</p>
+</div>
+</div> <!-- intro -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 422px;">
+<img src="images/p001sm.png" width="422" height="600" alt="Prelude Letter I"
+ title="Prelude Letter I" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_I" id="LETTER_I"></a>LETTER I.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 2<br />Pg 3]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+PRELUDE.</h2>
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Teach</span> me to love thee as a man, in prayer,</div>
+<div class="i2">May love the picture of a sainted nun,</div>
+<div class="i2">And I will woo thee, when the day is done,</div>
+<div class="i0">With tears and vows, and fealty past compare,</div>
+<div class="i0">And seek the sunlight in thy golden hair,</div>
+<div class="i2">And kiss thy hand to claim thy benison.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I shall not need to gaze upon the skies,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or mark the message of the morning breeze,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or heed the notes of birds among the trees,</div>
+<div class="i0">If, taught by thee to yearn for Paradise,</div>
+<div class="i0">I may confront thee with adoring eyes</div>
+<div class="i2">And do thee homage on my bended knees.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For I would be thy pilgrim; I would bow</div>
+<div class="i2">Low as the grave, and, lingering in the same,</div>
+<div class="i2">Live like a spectre; or be burnt in flame</div>
+<div class="i0">To do thee good. A kingdom for a vow</div>
+<div class="i0">I'd freely give to be elected now</div>
+<div class="i2">The chief of all the servants of thy fame.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yea, like a Roman of the days of old,</div>
+<div class="i2">I would, for thee, construct a votive shrine,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fan the fire, and consecrate the wine;</div>
+<div class="i0">And have a statue there, of purest gold,</div>
+<div class="i0">And bow thereto, unlov'd and unconsoled,</div>
+<div class="i2">But proud withal to know the statue thine.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For it were sacrilege to stand erect,</div>
+<div class="i2">And face to face, within thy chamber lone,</div>
+<div class="i2">To urge again my right to what hath flown:</div>
+<div class="i0">A bygone trust, a passion coldly check'd!</div>
+<div class="i0">Were I a king of men, or laurel-deck'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">I were not fit to claim thee as mine own.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">What am I then? The sexton of a joy,</div>
+<div class="i2">So lately slain,&mdash;so lately on its bier</div>
+<div class="i2">Laid out in state,&mdash;I dare not, for the fear</div>
+<div class="i0">Of this dead thing, regard it as a toy.</div>
+<div class="i0">It was a splendid Hope without alloy,</div>
+<div class="i2">And now, behold! I greet it with a tear.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is my pastime, and my penance, too,</div>
+<div class="i2">My pride, my comfort, and my discontent,</div>
+<div class="i2">To count my sorrows ere the day is spent,</div>
+<div class="i0">And dream, at night, of love within the blue</div>
+<div class="i0">Of thy sweet eyes, and tremble through and through,</div>
+<div class="i2">And keep my house, as one that doth lament.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Have I not sinn'd? I have; and I am curst,</div>
+<div class="i2">And Misery makes the moments, as they fly,</div>
+<div class="i2">Harder than stone, and sorrier than a sigh.</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh, I did wrong thee when I met thee first,</div>
+<div class="i0">And in my soul a fantasy was nurs'd</div>
+<div class="i2">That seem'd an outcome of the upper sky.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I thought a poor musician might aspire;</div>
+<div class="i2">I thought he might obtain from thee a look,</div>
+<div class="i2">As Dian's self will smile upon a brook,</div>
+<div class="i0">And make it glad, though deaf to its desire,</div>
+<div class="i0">And tinge its ripples with a tender fire,</div>
+<div class="i2">And make it thankful in its lonely nook.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I thought to win thee ere the waning days</div>
+<div class="i2">Had caught the snow, ere yet a word of mine</div>
+<div class="i2">Had pall'd upon thee in the summer shine;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I was fain to meet thee in the ways</div>
+<div class="i0">Of wild romance, and cling to thee, and gaze,</div>
+<div class="i2">Between two kisses, on thy face divine.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Aye! on thy face, and on the rippling hair</div>
+<div class="i2">That makes a mantle round thee in the night,</div>
+<div class="i2">A royal robe, a network of the light,</div>
+<div class="i0">Which fairies brought for thee, to keep thee fair,</div>
+<div class="i0">And hide the glories of a beauty rare</div>
+<div class="i2">As those of sylphs, whereof the poets write.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I thought, by token of thy matchless form,</div>
+<div class="i2">To curb thy will, and make thee mine indeed,</div>
+<div class="i2">From head to foot. There is no other creed</div>
+<div class="i0">For men and maids, in safety or in storm,</div>
+<div class="i0">Than this of love. Repentance may be warm,</div>
+<div class="i2">But love is best, though broken like a reed.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"She shall be mine till death!" I wildly said,</div>
+<div class="i2">"Mine, and mine only." And I vow'd, apace,</div>
+<div class="i2">That I would have thee in my dwelling-place;</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, like a despot, I would see thee led</div>
+<div class="i0">Straight to the altar, with a tear unshed,</div>
+<div class="i2">A wordless woe imprinted on thy face.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I wanted thee. I yearned for thee afar.</div>
+<div class="i2">"She shall be mine," I cried, "and mine alone.</div>
+<div class="i2">A Gorgon grief may change me into stone</div>
+<div class="i0">If I be baulk'd." I hankered for a star,</div>
+<div class="i0">And soar'd, in thought, to where the angels are,</div>
+<div class="i2">To snatch my prize beyond the torrid zone.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I heeded not the teaching of the past.</div>
+<div class="i2">I heeded not the wisdom of the years.</div>
+<div class="i2">"She shall be mine," I urged, "till death appears.</div>
+<div class="i0">For death, I know, will conquer me at last."</div>
+<div class="i0">And then I found the sky was overcast;</div>
+<div class="i2">And then I felt the bitterness of tears.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"Behold!" I thought, "Behold, how fair to see</div>
+<div class="i2">Is this white wonder!" And I wish'd thee well</div>
+<div class="i2">But, like a demon out of darkest hell,</div>
+<div class="i0">I marr'd thy peace, and claim'd thee on the plea</div>
+<div class="i0">Of pride and passion; and there came to me</div>
+<div class="i2">The far-off warning of a wedding-bell.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A friend of thine was walking to her doom,</div>
+<div class="i2">A wife-elect, who, ere the summer sun</div>
+<div class="i2">Had plied its course, would weep for what was <ins title="to invest oneself with">don</ins>,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">A friend of thine and mine, who, in the gloom</div>
+<div class="i0">Of her own soul, had built herself a tomb,</div>
+<div class="i2">To tremble there, when tears had ceas'd to run.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">On this I brooded; but ah! not for this</div>
+<div class="i2">Did I abandon what I sought the while:</div>
+<div class="i2">The dear damnation of thy tender smile,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the tortures that were like a bliss,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the raptures of a holier kiss</div>
+<div class="i2">Than fair Miranda's on the magic isle.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I urged my suit. "My bond!" I did exclaim,</div>
+<div class="i2">"My pink and white, the hand I love to press,</div>
+<div class="i2">The golden hair that crowns her loveliness;</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the beauties which I cannot name;</div>
+<div class="i0">All, all are mine, and I will have the same,</div>
+<div class="i2">Though she should hate me for my love's excess."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I knew myself. I knew the withering fate</div>
+<div class="i2">That would consume me, if, amid my trust,</div>
+<div class="i2">I sued for Hope as beggars for a crust.</div>
+<div class="i0">"O God!" I cried, entranced though desolate,</div>
+<div class="i0">"Hallow my love, or turn it into hate."</div>
+<div class="i2">And then I bow'd, in anguish, to the dust.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- end cpoem -->
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 10<br />Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;">
+<img src="images/p011sm.png" width="396" height="600"
+ alt="Letter II Sorrow"
+ title="Letter II Sorrow" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_II" id="LETTER_II"></a>LETTER II.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 12<br />Pg 13]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+SORROW.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:30em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Yes</span>, I was mad. I know it. I was mad.</div>
+<div class="i2">For there is madness in the looks of love;</div>
+<div class="i2">And he who frights a tender, brooding dove</div>
+<div class="i0">Is not more base than I, and not so sad;</div>
+<div class="i0">For I had kill'd the hope that made me glad,</div>
+<div class="i2">And curs'd, in thought, the sunlight from above.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He was a fool, indeed, who lately tried</div>
+<div class="i2">To touch the moon, far-shining in the trees,</div>
+<div class="i2">He clomb the branches with his hands and knees.</div>
+<div class="i0">And craned his neck to kiss what he espied.</div>
+<div class="i0">But down he fell, unseemly in his pride,</div>
+<div class="i2">And told his follies to the fitful breeze.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I was convicted of as strange a thing,</div>
+<div class="i2">And wild as strange; for, in a hope forlorn,</div>
+<div class="i2">I fought with Fate. But now the flag is torn</div>
+<div class="i0">Which like a herald in the days of spring</div>
+<div class="i0">I held aloft. The birds have ceased to sing</div>
+<div class="i2">The dear old songs they sang from morn to morn.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">All holy things avoid me. Breezes pass</div>
+<div class="i2">And will not fan my cheek, as once they did.</div>
+<div class="i2">The gloaming hies away like one forbid;</div>
+<div class="i0">And day returns, and shadows on the grass</div>
+<div class="i0">Fall from the trees; and night and morn amass</div>
+<div class="i2">No joys for me this side the coffin-lid.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Absolve me, Sweet! Absolve me, or I die;</div>
+<div class="i2">And give me pardon, if no other boon.</div>
+<div class="i2">Aye, give me pardon, and the sun and moon,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the stars that wander through the sky</div>
+<div class="i0">Will be thy sponsors, and the gladden'd cry</div>
+<div class="i2">Of one poor heart will thank thee for it soon.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And mine Amati&mdash;my belov�d one&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The tender sprite who soothes, as best he may,</div>
+<div class="i2">My fever'd pulse, and makes a roundelay</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all my fears&mdash;e'en he, when all is done,</div>
+<div class="i0">Will be thy friend, and yield his place to none</div>
+<div class="i2">To wish thee well, and greet thee day by day.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For he is human, though, to look at him,</div>
+<div class="i2">To see his shape, to hear,&mdash;as from the throat</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some bright angel,&mdash;his ecstatic note,</div>
+<div class="i0">A sinful soul might dream of cherubim.</div>
+<div class="i0">Aye! and he watches when my senses swim,</div>
+<div class="i2">And I can trace the thoughts that o'er him float.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Often, indeed, I tell him more than man</div>
+<div class="i2">E'er tells to woman in the honied hours</div>
+<div class="i2">Of tranced night, in cities or in bowers;</div>
+<div class="i0">And more, perchance, than lovers in the span</div>
+<div class="i0">Of absent letters may, with scheming, plan</div>
+<div class="i2">For life's surrender in the fairy towers.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And he consoles me. There is none I find,</div>
+<div class="i2">None in the world, so venturesome and wild,</div>
+<div class="i2">And yet withal, so tender, true, and mild,</div>
+<div class="i0">As he can be. And those who think him blind</div>
+<div class="i0">Are much to blame. His ways are ever kind;</div>
+<div class="i2">And he can plead as softly as a child.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And when he talks to me I feel the touch</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some sweet hope, a feeling of content</div>
+<div class="i2">Almost akin to what by joy is meant.</div>
+<div class="i0">And then I brood on this; for Love is such,</div>
+<div class="i0">It makes us weep to want it overmuch,</div>
+<div class="i2">If wayward Fate withhold his full consent.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, come to me, thou friend of my desire,</div>
+<div class="i2">My lov'd Amati! At a word of thine</div>
+<div class="i2">I can be brave, and dash away the brine</div>
+<div class="i0">From off my cheek, and neutralise the fire</div>
+<div class="i0">That makes me mad, and use thee as a lyre</div>
+<div class="i2">To curb the anguish of this soul of mine.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Wood as thou art, my treasure, with the strings</div>
+<div class="i2">Fair on thy form, as fits thy parentage,</div>
+<div class="i2">I cannot deem that in a gilded cage</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy spirit lives. The bird that in thee sings</div>
+<div class="i0">Is not a mortal. No! Enthralment flings</div>
+<div class="i2">Its charms about thee like a poet's rage.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou hast no sex; but, in an elfish way,</div>
+<div class="i2">Thou dost entwine in one, as in a troth,</div>
+<div class="i2">The gleesome thoughts of man and maiden both.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy voice is fullest at the flush of day,</div>
+<div class="i0">But after midnight there is much to say</div>
+<div class="i2">In weird remembrance of an April oath.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And when the moon is seated on the throne</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some white cloud, with her attendants near&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The wondering stars that hold her name in fear&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh! then I know that mine Amati's tone</div>
+<div class="i0">Is all for me, and that he stands alone,</div>
+<div class="i2">First of his tribe, belov'd without a peer.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yea, this is so, my Lady! A fair form</div>
+<div class="i2">Made of the garner'd relics of a tree,</div>
+<div class="i2">In which of old a dryad of the lea</div>
+<div class="i0">Did live and die. He flourish'd in a storm,</div>
+<div class="i0">And learnt to warble when the days were warm</div>
+<div class="i2">And learnt at night the secrets of the sea.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And now he is all mine, for my caress</div>
+<div class="i2">And my strong bow,&mdash;an Ariel, as it seems,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A something sweeter than the sweetest dreams;</div>
+<div class="i0">A prison'd wizard that has come to bless</div>
+<div class="i0">And will not curse, though tortured, more or less,</div>
+<div class="i2">By some remembrance that athwart him streams.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is the thought of April. 'Tis the tie</div>
+<div class="i2">That made us one; for then the earth was fair</div>
+<div class="i2">With all things on't, and summer in the air</div>
+<div class="i0">Tingled for thee and me. A soft reply</div>
+<div class="i0">Came to thy lips, and I was like to die</div>
+<div class="i2">To hear thee make such coy confessions there.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was the dawn of love (or so I thought)</div>
+<div class="i2">The tender cooing of thy bosom-bird&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The beating heart that flutter'd at a word,</div>
+<div class="i0">And seem'd for me alone to be so fraught</div>
+<div class="i0">With wants unutter'd! All my being caught</div>
+<div class="i2">Glamor thereat, as at a boon conferr'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And I was lifted, in a minute's space,</div>
+<div class="i2">As nigh to Heaven as Heaven is nigh to thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">And in thy wistful glances I could see</div>
+<div class="i0">Something that seem'd a joy, and in thy face</div>
+<div class="i0">A splendour fit for angels in the place</div>
+<div class="i2">Where God has named them all in their degree.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah, none so blest as I, and none so proud,</div>
+<div class="i2">In that wild moment when a thrill was sent</div>
+<div class="i2">Right through my soul, as if from thee it went</div>
+<div class="i0">As flame from fire! But this was disallow'd;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I shall sooner wear a winter shroud</div>
+<div class="i2">Than thou revoke my doom of banishment.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 20<br />Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 490px;">
+<img src="images/p021sm.png" width="490" height="600"
+ alt="Letter III Regrets"
+ title="Letter III Regrets" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_III" id="LETTER_III"></a>LETTER III.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 22<br />Pg 23]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+REGRETS.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">When</span> I did wake, to-day, a bird of Heaven,</div>
+<div class="i2">A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering sprite,</div>
+<div class="i2">Did seem to sing a song for my delight;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, far away, did make its holy steven</div>
+<div class="i0">Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are seven;</div>
+<div class="i2">And I did weep thereat in my despite.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious king,</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all this splendour that we call the earth!</div>
+<div class="i2">For thee the lark distils his morning mirth,</div>
+<div class="i0">But who will hear the matins that I sing?</div>
+<div class="i0">Who will be glad to greet me in the spring,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or heed the voice of one so little worth?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Who will accept the thanks I would entone</div>
+<div class="i2">For having met thee? and for having seen</div>
+<div class="i2">Thy face an instant in the bower serene</div>
+<div class="i0">Of perfect faith? The splendour was thine own,</div>
+<div class="i0">The rapture mine; and Doubt was overthrown,</div>
+<div class="i2">And Grief forgot the keynote of its threne.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I rose in haste. I seiz'd, as in a trance,</div>
+<div class="i2">My violin, the friend I love the best</div>
+<div class="i2">(After thyself, sweet soul!) and wildly press'd,</div>
+<div class="i0">And firmly drew it, with a master's glance,</div>
+<div class="i0">Straight to my heart! The sunbeams seem'd to dance</div>
+<div class="i2">Athwart the strings, to rob me of my rest.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For then a living thing it did appear,</div>
+<div class="i2">And every chord had sympathies for me;</div>
+<div class="i2">And something like a lover's lowly plea</div>
+<div class="i0">Did shake its frame, and something like a tear</div>
+<div class="i0">Fell on my cheek, to mind me of the year</div>
+<div class="i2">When first we met, we two, beside the sea.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 403px;">
+<a href="images/p024.jpg">
+<img src="images/p024sm.jpg" width="403" height="600"
+ alt=""
+ title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I stood erect, I proudly lifted up</div>
+<div class="i2">The Sword of Song, the bow that trembled now,</div>
+<div class="i2">As if for joy, my grief to disallow.&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Are there not some who, in the choicest cup,</div>
+<div class="i0">Imbibe despair, and famish as they sup,</div>
+<div class="i2">Sear'd by a solace that was like a vow?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Are there not some who weep, and cannot tell</div>
+<div class="i2">Why it is thus? And others who repeat</div>
+<div class="i2">Stories of ice, to cool them in the heat?</div>
+<div class="i0">And some who quake for doubts they cannot quell,</div>
+<div class="i0">And yet are brave? And some who smile in Hell</div>
+<div class="i2">For thinking of the sin that was so sweet?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I have been one who, in the glow of youth,</div>
+<div class="i2">Have liv'd in books, and realised a bliss</div>
+<div class="i2">Unfelt by misers, when they count and kiss</div>
+<div class="i0">Their minted joys; and I have known, in sooth,</div>
+<div class="i0">The taste of water from the well of Truth,</div>
+<div class="i2">And found it good. But time has alter'd this.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I have been hated, scorn'd, and thrust away,</div>
+<div class="i2">By one who is the Regent of the flowers,</div>
+<div class="i2">By one who, in the magic of her powers,</div>
+<div class="i0">Changes the day to night, the night to day,</div>
+<div class="i0">And makes a potion of the solar ray</div>
+<div class="i2">Which drugs my heart, and deadens it for hours.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I have been taught that Happiness is coy,</div>
+<div class="i2">And will not come to all who bend the knee;</div>
+<div class="i2">That Faith is like the foam upon the sea,</div>
+<div class="i0">And Pride a snare, and Pomp a foolish toy,</div>
+<div class="i0">And Hope a moth whose wings we may destroy;</div>
+<div class="i2">And she I love has taught these things to me.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yes, thou, my Lady! Thou hast made me feel</div>
+<div class="i2">The pangs of that Prometheus who was chain'd</div>
+<div class="i2">And would not bow, but evermore maintain'd</div>
+<div class="i0">A fierce revolt. Have I refused to kneel?</div>
+<div class="i0">I do it gladly. But to mine appeal</div>
+<div class="i2">No answer comes, and none will be ordain'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Why, then, this rancour? Why so cold a thing</div>
+<div class="i2">As thy displeasure, O thou dearest One?</div>
+<div class="i2">I meant no wrong. I stole not from the sun</div>
+<div class="i0">The fire of Heaven; but I did seek to bring</div>
+<div class="i0">Glory from thee to me; and in the Spring</div>
+<div class="i2">I pray'd the prayer that left me thus undone.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I pray'd my prayer. I wove into my song</div>
+<div class="i2">Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the bleak,</div>
+<div class="i2">The wan despair that words can never speak.</div>
+<div class="i0">I pray'd as if my spirit did belong</div>
+<div class="i0">To some old master, who was wise and strong</div>
+<div class="i2">Because he lov'd, and suffer'd, and was weak.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I curb'd the notes, convulsive, to a sigh,</div>
+<div class="i2">And, when they falter'd most, I made them leap</div>
+<div class="i2">Fierce from my bow, as from a summer sleep</div>
+<div class="i0">A young she-devil. I was fired thereby</div>
+<div class="i0">To bolder efforts, and a muffled cry</div>
+<div class="i2">Came from the strings, as if a saint did weep.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I changed the theme. I dallied with the bow</div>
+<div class="i2">Just time enough to fit it to a mesh</div>
+<div class="i2">Of merry notes, and drew it back afresh</div>
+<div class="i0">To talk of truth and constancy and woe,</div>
+<div class="i0">And life, and love, and madness, and the glow</div>
+<div class="i2">Of mine own soul which burns into my flesh.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was the Lord of music, it was he</div>
+<div class="i2">Who seiz'd my hand. He forc'd me, as I play'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">To think of that ill-fated fairy-glade</div>
+<div class="i0">Where once we stroll'd at night; and wild and free</div>
+<div class="i0">My notes did ring; and quickly unto me</div>
+<div class="i2">There came the joy that maketh us afraid.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh! I shall die of tasting in my dreams</div>
+<div class="i2">Poison of love and ecstasy of pain;</div>
+<div class="i2">For I shall never kneel to thee again,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or sit in bowers, or wander by the streams</div>
+<div class="i0">Of golden vales, or of the morning beams</div>
+<div class="i2">Construct a wreath to crown thee on the plain!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yet it were easy, too, to compass this,</div>
+<div class="i2">So thou wert kind; and easy to my soul</div>
+<div class="i2">Were harder things if I could reach the goal</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all I crave, and consummate a bliss</div>
+<div class="i0">In mine own fashion, and compel a kiss</div>
+<div class="i2">More fraught with honour than a king's control.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is not much to say that I would die,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">It is not much to say that I would dare</div>
+<div class="i2">Torture, and doom, and death, could I but share</div>
+<div class="i0">One kiss with thee. For then, without a sigh,</div>
+<div class="i0">I'd teach thee pity, and be graced thereby,</div>
+<div class="i2">Wet with thy tears, and shrouded by thy hair.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is not much to say that this is so;</div>
+<div class="i2">Yet I would sell my substance and my breath,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the joy that comes from Nazareth,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the peace that all the angels know,</div>
+<div class="i0">To lie with thee, one minute, in the snow</div>
+<div class="i2">Of thy white bosom, ere I sank in death!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 30<br />Pg 31]</a></span></p>
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 474px;">
+<img src="images/p031sm.png" width="474" height="600"
+ alt="Letter IV Yearning"
+ title="Letter IV Yearning" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_IV" id="LETTER_IV"></a>LETTER IV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 32<br />Pg 33]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+YEARNINGS.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">The</span> earth is glad, I know, when night is spent,</div>
+<div class="i2">For then she wakes the birdlings in the bowers;</div>
+<div class="i2">And, one by one, the rosy-footed hours</div>
+<div class="i0">Start for the race; and from his crimson tent</div>
+<div class="i0">The soldier-sun looks o'er the firmament;</div>
+<div class="i2">And all his path is strewn with festal flowers.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But what his mission? What the happy quest</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all this toil? He journeys on his way</div>
+<div class="i2">As C�sar did, unbiass'd by the sway</div>
+<div class="i0">Of maid or man. His goal is in the west.</div>
+<div class="i0">Will he unbuckle there, and, in his rest,</div>
+<div class="i2">Dream of the gods who died in Nero's day?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Will he arraign the traitor in his camp?</div>
+<div class="i2">The Winter Comet who, with streaming hair,</div>
+<div class="i2">Attack'd the sweetest of the Pleiads fair</div>
+<div class="i0">And ravish'd her, and left her in the damp</div>
+<div class="i0">Of dull decay, nor re-illumined the lamp</div>
+<div class="i2">That show'd the place she occupied in air.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">No; 'tis not so! He seeks his lady-moon,</div>
+<div class="i2">The gentle orb for whom Endymion sigh'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">And trusts to find her by the ocean tide,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or near a forest in the coming June;</div>
+<div class="i0">For he has lov'd her since she late did swoon</div>
+<div class="i2">In that eclipse of which she nearly died.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He knew her then; he knew her in the glow</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all her charms. He knew that she was chaste,</div>
+<div class="i2">And that she wore a girdle at her waist</div>
+<div class="i0">Whiter than pearl. And when he eyed her so</div>
+<div class="i0">He knew that in the final overthrow</div>
+<div class="i2">He should prevail, and she should be embraced.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But were I minded thus, were I the sun,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou the moon, I would not bide so long</div>
+<div class="i2">To hear the marvels of thy wedding-song;</div>
+<div class="i0">For I would have the planets, every one,</div>
+<div class="i0">Conduct thee home, before the day was done,</div>
+<div class="i2">And call thee queen, and crown thee in the throng.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And, like Apollo, I would flash on thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">And rend thy veil, and call thee by the name</div>
+<div class="i2">That Daphne lov'd, the loadstar of his fame;</div>
+<div class="i0">And make myself for thee as white to see</div>
+<div class="i0">As whitest marble, and as wildly free</div>
+<div class="i2">As Leda's lover with his look of flame.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And there should then be f�tes that should not cease</div>
+<div class="i2">Till I had kiss'd thee, lov'd one! in a trance</div>
+<div class="i2">Lasting a life-time, through a life's romance;</div>
+<div class="i0">And every star should have a mate apiece,</div>
+<div class="i0">And I would teach them how, in ancient Greece,</div>
+<div class="i2">The gods were masters of the maidens' dance.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I should be bold to act; and thou should'st feel</div>
+<div class="i2">Terror and joy combined, in all the span</div>
+<div class="i2">Of thy sweet body, ere my fingers ran</div>
+<div class="i0">From curl to curl, to prompt thee how to kneel;</div>
+<div class="i0">And then, soul-stricken by thy mute appeal,</div>
+<div class="i2">I should be quick to answer like a man.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">What! have I sinn'd, dear Lady, have I sinn'd</div>
+<div class="i2">To talk so wildly? Have I sinn'd in this?</div>
+<div class="i2">An angel's mouth was surely meant to kiss!</div>
+<div class="i0">Or have I dreamt of courtship out in Inde</div>
+<div class="i0">In some wild wood? My soul is fever-thinn'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fierce and faint, and frauded of its bliss.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I will not weep. I will not in the night</div>
+<div class="i2">Weep or lament, or, bending on my knees,</div>
+<div class="i2">Appeal for pity! In the clustered trees</div>
+<div class="i0">The wind is boasting of its one delight;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I will boast of mine, in thy despite,</div>
+<div class="i2">And say I love thee more than all of these.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The rose in bloom, the linnet as it sings,</div>
+<div class="i2">The fox, the fawn, the cygnet on the mere,</div>
+<div class="i2">The dragon-fly that glitters like a spear,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">All these, and more, all these ecstatic things,</div>
+<div class="i0">Possess their mates; and some arrive on wings,</div>
+<div class="i2">And some on webs, to make their meanings clear.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yea, all these things, and more than I can tell,</div>
+<div class="i2">More than the most we know of, one and all,</div>
+<div class="i2">Do talk of Love. There is no other call</div>
+<div class="i0">From wind to wave, from rose to asphodel,</div>
+<div class="i0">Than Love's alone&mdash;the thing we cannot quell,</div>
+<div class="i2">Do what we will, from font to funeral.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">What have I done, I only on the earth,</div>
+<div class="i2">That I should wait a century for a word?</div>
+<div class="i2">A hundred years, I know, have been deferr'd</div>
+<div class="i0">Since last we met, and then it was in dearth</div>
+<div class="i0">Of gladsome peace; for, in a moment's girth,</div>
+<div class="i2">My shuddering soul was wounded like a bird.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I knew thy voice. I knew the veering sound</div>
+<div class="i2">Of that sweet oracle which once did tend</div>
+<div class="i2">To treat me grandly, as we treat a friend;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I would know't if darkly underground</div>
+<div class="i0">I lay as dead, or, down among the drown'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">I blindly stared, unvalued to the end.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There! take again the kiss I took from thee</div>
+<div class="i2">Last night in sleep. I met thee in a dream</div>
+<div class="i2">And drew thee closer than a monk may deem</div>
+<div class="i0">Good for the soul. I know not how it be,</div>
+<div class="i0">But this I know: if God be good to me</div>
+<div class="i2">I shall be raised again to thine esteem.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I touched thy neck. I kiss'd it. I was bold.</div>
+<div class="i2">And bold am I, to-day, to call to mind</div>
+<div class="i2">How, in the night, a murmur not unkind</div>
+<div class="i0">Broke on mine ear; a something new and old</div>
+<div class="i0">Quick in thy breath, as when a tale is told</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some great hope with madness intertwined.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And round my lips, in joy and yet in fear,</div>
+<div class="i2">There seemed to dart the stings of kisses warm.</div>
+<div class="i2">These were my honey-bees, and soon would swarm</div>
+<div class="i0">To choose their queen. But ere they did appear,</div>
+<div class="i0">I heard again that murmur in mine ear</div>
+<div class="i2">Which seem'd to speak of calm before a storm.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"What is it, love?" I whispered in my sleep,</div>
+<div class="i2">And turned to thee, as April unto May.</div>
+<div class="i2">"Art mine in truth, mine own, by night and day,</div>
+<div class="i0">Now and for ever?" And I heard thee weep,</div>
+<div class="i0">And then persuade; and then my soul did leap</div>
+<div class="i2">Swiftly to thine, in love's ecstatic sway.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I fondled thee! I drew thee to my heart,</div>
+<div class="i2">Well knowing in the dark that joy is dumb.</div>
+<div class="i2">And then a cry, a sigh, a sob, did come</div>
+<div class="i0">Forth from thy lips.... I waken'd, with a start,</div>
+<div class="i0">To find thee gone. The day had taken part</div>
+<div class="i2">Against the total of my blisses' sum.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 40<br />Pg 41]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 420px;">
+<img src="images/p041sm.png" width="420" height="600"
+ alt="Letter V Confessions"
+ title="Letter V Confessions" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_V" id="LETTER_V"></a>LETTER V.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 42<br />Pg 43]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+CONFESSIONS.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">O Lady</span> mine! O Lady of my Life!</div>
+<div class="i2">Mine and not mine, a being of the sky</div>
+<div class="i2">Turn'd into Woman, and I know not why&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Is't well, bethink thee, to maintain a strife</div>
+<div class="i0">With thy poor servant? War unto the knife,</div>
+<div class="i2">Because I greet thee with a lover's eye?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Is't well to visit me with thy disdain,</div>
+<div class="i2">And rack my soul, because, for love of thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">I was too prone to sink upon my knee,</div>
+<div class="i0">And too intent to make my meaning plain,</div>
+<div class="i0">And too resolved to make my loss a gain</div>
+<div class="i2">To do thee good, by Love's immortal plea?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O friend! forgive me for my dream of bliss.</div>
+<div class="i2">Forgive: forget; be just! Wilt not forgive?</div>
+<div class="i2">Not though my tears should fall, as through a sieve</div>
+<div class="i0">The salt sea-sand? What joy hast thou in this:</div>
+<div class="i0">To be a maid, and marvel at a kiss?</div>
+<div class="i2">Say! Must I die, to prove that I can live?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Shall this be so? E'en this? And all my love</div>
+<div class="i2">Wreck'd in an instant? No, a gentle heart</div>
+<div class="i2">Beats in thy bosom; and the shades depart</div>
+<div class="i0">From all fair gardens, and from skies above,</div>
+<div class="i0">When thou art near. For thou art like a dove,</div>
+<div class="i2">And dainty thoughts are with thee where thou art.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh! it is like the death of dearest kin,</div>
+<div class="i2">To wake and find the fancies of the brain</div>
+<div class="i2">Sear'd and confused. We languish in the strain</div>
+<div class="i0">Of some lost music, and we find within,</div>
+<div class="i0">Deep in the heart, the record of a sin,</div>
+<div class="i2">The thrill thereof, and all the blissful pain.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 415px;">
+<a href="images/p044.jpg">
+<img src="images/p044sm.jpg" width="415" height="600"
+ alt=""
+ title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For it is deadly sin to love too well,</div>
+<div class="i2">And unappeased, unhonour'd, unbesought,</div>
+<div class="i2">To feed on dreams; and yet 'tis aptly thought</div>
+<div class="i0">That all must love. E'en those who most rebel</div>
+<div class="i0">In Eros' camp have known his master-spell;</div>
+<div class="i2">And more shall learn than Eros yet has taught.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But I am mad to love. I am not wise.</div>
+<div class="i2">I am the worst of men to love the best</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all sweet women! An untimely jest,</div>
+<div class="i0">A thing made up of rhapsodies and sighs,</div>
+<div class="i0">And unordained on earth, and in the skies,</div>
+<div class="i2">And undesired in tumult and in rest.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">All this is true. I know it. I am he.</div>
+<div class="i2">I am that man. I am the hated friend</div>
+<div class="i2">Who once received a smile, and sought to mend</div>
+<div class="i0">His soul with hope. O tyrant! by the plea</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all thy grace, do thou accept from me</div>
+<div class="i2">At least the notes that know not to offend.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">See! I will strike again the major chord</div>
+<div class="i2">Of that great song, which, in his early days,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beethoven wrote; and thine shall be the praise,</div>
+<div class="i0">And thine the frenzy like a soldier's sword</div>
+<div class="i0">Flashing therein; and thine, O thou adored</div>
+<div class="i2">And bright true Lady! all the poet's lays.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">To thee, to thee, the songs of all my joy,</div>
+<div class="i2">To thee the songs that wildly seem to bless,</div>
+<div class="i2">And those that mind thee of a past caress.</div>
+<div class="i0">Lo! with a whisper to the Wing�d Boy</div>
+<div class="i0">Who rules my fate, I will my strength employ</div>
+<div class="i2">To make a matin-song of my distress.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But playing thus, and toying with the notes,</div>
+<div class="i2">I half forget the cause I have to weep;</div>
+<div class="i2">And, like a reaper in the realms of sleep,</div>
+<div class="i0">I hear the bird of morning where he floats</div>
+<div class="i0">High in the welkin, and in fairy boats</div>
+<div class="i2">I see the minstrels sail upon the deep.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">In mid-suspension of my leaping bow</div>
+<div class="i2">I almost hear the silence of the night;</div>
+<div class="i2">And, in my soul, I know the stars are bright</div>
+<div class="i0">Because they love, and that they nightly glow</div>
+<div class="i0">To make it clear that there is nought below,</div>
+<div class="i2">And nought above, so fair as Love's delight.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But shall I touch thy heart by speech alone,</div>
+<div class="i2">Without Amati? Shall I prove, by words,</div>
+<div class="i2">That hope is meant for men as well as birds;</div>
+<div class="i0">That I would take a scorpion, or a stone,</div>
+<div class="i0">In lieu of gold, and sacrifice a throne</div>
+<div class="i2">To be the keeper of thy flocks and herds?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah no, my Lady! though I sang to thee</div>
+<div class="i2">With fuller voice than sings the nightingale&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Fuller and softer in the moonlight pale</div>
+<div class="i0">Than lays of Keats, or Shelley, or the free</div>
+<div class="i0">And fire-lipp'd Byron&mdash;there would come to me</div>
+<div class="i2">No word of thine to thank me for the tale.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou would'st not heed. Thou would'st not any-when,</div>
+<div class="i2">In bower or grove&mdash;or in the holy nook</div>
+<div class="i2">Which shields thy bed&mdash;thou would'st not care to look</div>
+<div class="i0">For thoughts of mine, though faithful in their ken</div>
+<div class="i0">As are the minds of England's fighting men</div>
+<div class="i2">When they inscribe their names in Honour's book.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou would'st not care to scan my face, and through</div>
+<div class="i2">This face of mine, the soul, for scraps of thought.</div>
+<div class="i2">Yet 'tis a face that somewhere has been taught</div>
+<div class="i0">To smile in tears. Mine eyes are somewhat blue</div>
+<div class="i0">And quick to flash (if what I hear be true)</div>
+<div class="i2">And dark, at times, as velvet newly wrought.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But wilt thou own it? Wilt thou in the scroll</div>
+<div class="i2">Of my sad life, perceive, as in a hive,</div>
+<div class="i2">A thousand happy fancies that contrive</div>
+<div class="i0">To seek thee out? Thy bosom is the goal</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all my thoughts, and quick to thy control</div>
+<div class="i2">They wend their way, elate to be alive.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But there is something I could never bring</div>
+<div class="i2">My soul to compass. No! could I compel</div>
+<div class="i2">Thy plighted troth, I would not have thee tell</div>
+<div class="i0">A lie to God. I'll have no wedding-ring</div>
+<div class="i0">With loveless hands around my neck to cling;</div>
+<div class="i2">For this were worse than all the fires of hell.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I would not take thee from a lover's lips,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or from the rostrum of a roaring crowd,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or from the memory of a husband's shroud,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or from the goblet where a C�sar sips.</div>
+<div class="i0">I would not touch thee with my finger tips,</div>
+<div class="i2">But I would die to serve thee,&mdash;and be proud.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And could I enter Heaven, and find therein,</div>
+<div class="i2">In all the wide dominions of the air,</div>
+<div class="i2">No trace of thee among the natives there,</div>
+<div class="i0">I would not bide with them&mdash;No! not to win</div>
+<div class="i0">A seraph's lyre&mdash;but I would sin a sin,</div>
+<div class="i2">And free my soul, and seek thee otherwhere!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 50<br />Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 462px;">
+<img src="images/p051sm.png" width="462" height="600"
+ alt="Letter VI Despair"
+ title="Letter VI Despair" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_VI" id="LETTER_VI"></a>LETTER VI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 52<br />Pg 53]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+DESPAIR.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">I am</span> undone. My hopes have beggar'd me,</div>
+<div class="i2">For I have lov'd where loving was denied.</div>
+<div class="i2">To-day is dark, and Yesterday has died,</div>
+<div class="i0">And when To-morrow comes, erect and free,</div>
+<div class="i0">Like some great king, whose tyrant will he be,</div>
+<div class="i2">And whose defender in the days of pride?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I am not cold, and yet November bands</div>
+<div class="i2">Compress my heart. I know the month is May,</div>
+<div class="i2">And that the sun will warm me if I stay.</div>
+<div class="i0">But who is this? Oh, who is this that stands</div>
+<div class="i0">Straight in my path, and with his bony hands</div>
+<div class="i2">Appeals to me to turn some other way?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is the phantom of my murder'd joy,</div>
+<div class="i2">Which once again has come to persecute,</div>
+<div class="i2">And tell me tales which late I did refute.</div>
+<div class="i0">But lo! I now must heed them, as a boy</div>
+<div class="i0">Takes up, in tears, the remnants of a toy,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or bard forlorn the fragments of a lute.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is the ghost that, day by day, did come</div>
+<div class="i2">To tempt my spirit to the mountain-peak;</div>
+<div class="i2">It is the thing that wept, and would not speak,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, with a sign, to show that it was dumb,</div>
+<div class="i0">Did seem to hint at Death that was the sum</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all we know, and all we strive to seek.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And now it comes again, and with its eye</div>
+<div class="i2">Bloodshot and blear, though pallid in its face,</div>
+<div class="i2">Doth point, exacting, to the very place</div>
+<div class="i0">Where I do keep, that no one may descry,</div>
+<div class="i0">A lady's glove, a ribbon, and a dry,</div>
+<div class="i2">A perjur'd rose, which oft I did embrace.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It means, perchance, that I must make an end</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all these things, and burn them as a fee</div>
+<div class="i2">To my Despair, when down upon my knee.</div>
+<div class="i0">O piteous thing! have pity; be my friend;</div>
+<div class="i0">Or say, at least, that blessings will descend</div>
+<div class="i2">On her I love, on her if not on me!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The Shape did smile; and, wildly, with a start,</div>
+<div class="i2">Did shrivel up, as when a fire is spent,</div>
+<div class="i2">Whereof the smoke obscured the firmament.</div>
+<div class="i0">And then I knew it had but tried my heart,</div>
+<div class="i0">To teach me how to play a manly part,</div>
+<div class="i2">And strengthen me in all my good intent.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And here I stand alone, e'en like a leaf</div>
+<div class="i2">In sudden frost, as quiet as the wing</div>
+<div class="i2">Of wounded bird, which knows it cannot sing.</div>
+<div class="i0">A child may moan, but not a mountain chief.</div>
+<div class="i0">If we be sad, if we possess a grief,</div>
+<div class="i2">The grief should be the slave, and not the king.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yes, I will pause, and pluck from out the Past</div>
+<div class="i2">The full discernment of my sorry cheer,</div>
+<div class="i2">And why the sunlight seems no longer clear,</div>
+<div class="i0">And why, in spite of anguish, and the vast,</div>
+<div class="i0">The sickly blank that o'er my life is cast,</div>
+<div class="i2">I cannot kneel to-day, or shed a tear.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was thy friendship. It was this I had,</div>
+<div class="i2">This and no more. I was a fool to doubt,</div>
+<div class="i2">I was a fool to strive to put to rout</div>
+<div class="i0">My many foes:&mdash;thy musings tender-glad,</div>
+<div class="i0">Which all had said:&mdash;"Avoid him! he is mad&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Mad with his love, and Love's erratic shout."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I should have known,&mdash;I should have guess'd in time,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">That, like a soft mirage at twilight hour,</div>
+<div class="i2">My dream would melt, and rob me of its dower.</div>
+<div class="i0">I should have guess'd that all the heights sublime,</div>
+<div class="i0">Which look'd like spires and cities built in rhyme,</div>
+<div class="i2">Would droop and die, like petals from a flower.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I should have known, indeed, that to the brave</div>
+<div class="i2">All things are servants. But my lost Delight</div>
+<div class="i2">Was like the ship that founders in a night,</div>
+<div class="i0">And leaves no mark. How then? Is Passion's grave</div>
+<div class="i0">All that is left beside the sobbing wave?</div>
+<div class="i2">The foam thereof, the saltness, and the blight?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I had a fleet of ships, and where are they?</div>
+<div class="i2">Where are they all? and where the merchandise</div>
+<div class="i2">I treasured once&mdash;an empire's golden prize,</div>
+<div class="i0">The empire of a soul, which, in a day,</div>
+<div class="i0">Lost all its wealth? I was deceiv'd, I say,</div>
+<div class="i2">For I had reckon'd on propitious skies.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I look'd afar, and saw no sign of wrack.</div>
+<div class="i2">I look'd anear, and felt the summer breeze</div>
+<div class="i2">Warm on my cheek; and forth upon the seas</div>
+<div class="i0">I sent my ships; and would not have them back,</div>
+<div class="i0">Though some averr'd a storm was on the track</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all I lov'd, and all I own'd of these.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">One ship was "Joy," the second "Truth," the third</div>
+<div class="i2">"Love in a Dream," and, last not least of all,</div>
+<div class="i2">"Hope," and "Content," and "Pride that hath a Fall."</div>
+<div class="i0">And they were goodly vessels, by my word,</div>
+<div class="i0">With sails as strong as pinions of a bird,</div>
+<div class="i2">And crew that answer'd well to Duty's call.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">In one of these&mdash;in "Hope"&mdash;where I did fly</div>
+<div class="i2">A lofty banner,&mdash;in that ship I found</div>
+<div class="i2">Doom's-day at last, and all my crew were drown'd.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yes, I was wreck'd in this, and here I lie,</div>
+<div class="i0">Here on the beach, forlorn and like to die,</div>
+<div class="i2">With none to pray for me on holy ground.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O sweet my Lady! If thou pass this way,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou behold me where I lie beset</div>
+<div class="i2">By wind and wave, and powerless to forget,</div>
+<div class="i0">Wilt not approach me thoughtfully and say:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">"This man was true. He lov'd me night and day</div>
+<div class="i2">And though I spurn'd at him, he loves me yet."</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Wilt not withhold thy blame, at least to-night,</div>
+<div class="i2">And shed for me a tear, as one may grieve</div>
+<div class="i2">For people known in books, for men who weave</div>
+<div class="i0">Ropes out of sand, to lead them to the light?</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh! treat me thus, and, by thy hand so white,</div>
+<div class="i2">I will forego the dreams to which I cleave.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Be just to me, and say, when all is o'er,</div>
+<div class="i2">When some such book is calmly laid aside:</div>
+<div class="i2">"The shadow-men have liv'd and lov'd and died;</div>
+<div class="i0">The shadow-women will be vexed no more.</div>
+<div class="i0">But there is One for whom my heart is sore,</div>
+<div class="i2">Because he took a shadow for his guide."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Say only this; but pray for me withal,</div>
+<div class="i2">And let a pitying thought possess thee then,</div>
+<div class="i2">Whether at home, at sea, or in a glen</div>
+<div class="i0">In some wild nook. It were a joy to fall</div>
+<div class="i0">Dead at thy feet, as at a trumpet's call,</div>
+<div class="i2">For I should then be peerless among men!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 60<br />Pg 61]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 421px;">
+<img src="images/p061sm.png" width="421" height="600"
+ alt="Letter VII Hope"
+ title="Letter VII Hope" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_VII" id="LETTER_VII"></a>LETTER VII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 62<br />Pg 63]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+HOPE.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">O tears</span> of mine! Ye start I know not why,</div>
+<div class="i2">Unless, indeed, to prove that I am glad,</div>
+<div class="i2">Albeit fast wedded to a thought so sad</div>
+<div class="i0">I scarce can deem that my despair will die,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or that the sun, careering up the sky,</div>
+<div class="i2">Will warm again a world that seem'd so mad.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And yet, who knows? The world is, to the mind,</div>
+<div class="i2">Much as we make it; and the things we tend</div>
+<div class="i2">Wear, for the nonce, the liveries that we lend.</div>
+<div class="i0">And some such things are fair, though ill-defined,</div>
+<div class="i0">And some are scathing, like the wintry wind;</div>
+<div class="i2">And some begin, and some will never end.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">How can I think, ye tears! that I have been</div>
+<div class="i2">The thing I was&mdash;so doubting, so unfit,</div>
+<div class="i2">And so unblest, with brows for ever knit,</div>
+<div class="i0">And hair unkempt, and face becoming lean</div>
+<div class="i0">And cold and pale, as if I late had seen</div>
+<div class="i2">Medusa's head, and all the scowls of it?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, why is this? Oh, why have I so long</div>
+<div class="i2">Brooded on grief, and made myself a bane</div>
+<div class="i2">To golden fields and all the happy plain</div>
+<div class="i0">Where once I met the Lady of my Song,</div>
+<div class="i0">The lady for whose sake I shall be strong,</div>
+<div class="i2">But never weak or diffident again?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I was too shorn of hope. I did employ</div>
+<div class="i2">Words like a mourner; and to Her I bow'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">As one might kneel to Glory in its shroud.</div>
+<div class="i0">But I am crown'd to-day, and not so coy&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Crown'd with a kiss, and sceptred with a joy;</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the world shall see that I am proud.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I shall be sated now. I shall receive</div>
+<div class="i2">More than the guerdon of my wildest thought,</div>
+<div class="i2">More than the most that ecstasy has taught</div>
+<div class="i0">To saints in Heaven; and more than poets weave</div>
+<div class="i0">In madcap verse, to warn us, or deceive;</div>
+<div class="i2">And more than Adam knew ere Eve was brought.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I know the meaning now of all the signs,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the joys I dreamt of in my dreams.</div>
+<div class="i2">I realise the comfort of the streams</div>
+<div class="i0">When they reflect the shadows of the pines.</div>
+<div class="i0">I know that there is hope for celandines,</div>
+<div class="i2">And that a tree is merrier than it seems.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I know the mighty hills have much to tell;</div>
+<div class="i2">And that they quake, at times, in undertone,</div>
+<div class="i2">And talk to stars, because so much alone</div>
+<div class="i0">And so unlov'd. I know that, in the dell,</div>
+<div class="i0">Flowers are betroth'd, and that a wedding-bell</div>
+<div class="i2">Rings in the breeze on which a moth has flown.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I know such things, because to loving hearts</div>
+<div class="i2">Nature is keen, and pleasures, long delay'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">Quicken the pulse, and turn a truant shade</div>
+<div class="i0">Into a sprite, equipp'd with all the darts</div>
+<div class="i0">That once were Cupid's; and the day departs,</div>
+<div class="i2">And sun and moon conjoin, as man with maid.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The lover knows how grand a thing is love,</div>
+<div class="i2">How grand, how sweet a thing, and how divine</div>
+<div class="i2">More than the pouring out of choicest wine;</div>
+<div class="i0">More than the whiteness of the whitest dove;</div>
+<div class="i0">More than the glittering of the stars above;</div>
+<div class="i2">And such a love, O Love! is thine and mine.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">To me the world, to-day, has grown so fair</div>
+<div class="i2">I dare not trust myself to think of it.</div>
+<div class="i2">Visions of light around me seem to flit,</div>
+<div class="i0">And Ph&oelig;bus loosens all his golden hair</div>
+<div class="i0">Right down the sky; and daisies turn and stare</div>
+<div class="i2">At things we see not with our human wit.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 393px;">
+<a href="images/p066.jpg">
+<img src="images/p066sm.jpg" width="393" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And here, beside me, there are mosses green</div>
+<div class="i2">In shelter'd nooks, and gnats in bright array,</div>
+<div class="i2">And lordly beetles out for holiday;</div>
+<div class="i0">And spiders small that work in silver sheen</div>
+<div class="i0">To make a kirtle for the Fairy Queen,</div>
+<div class="i2">That she may don it on the First of May.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I hear, in thought, I hear the very words</div>
+<div class="i2">That Arethusa, turn'd into a brook,</div>
+<div class="i2">Spoke to Diana, when her leave she took</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all she lov'd&mdash;low-weeping as the birds</div>
+<div class="i0">Shrill'd out of tune, and all the frighten'd herds</div>
+<div class="i2">Scamper'd to death, in spite of pipe and crook.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I know, to-day, why winds were made to sigh</div>
+<div class="i2">And why they hide themselves, and why they gloat</div>
+<div class="i2">In some old ruin! Mote confers with mote,</div>
+<div class="i0">And shell with shell; and corals live and die,</div>
+<div class="i0">And die and live, below the deep. And why?</div>
+<div class="i2">To make a necklace for my lady's throat.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And yet the world, in all its varied girth,</div>
+<div class="i2">Lacks what we look for. There is something base</div>
+<div class="i2">In mere existence&mdash;something in the face</div>
+<div class="i0">Of men and women which accepts the earth,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all its havings, as its right of birth,</div>
+<div class="i2">But not its quittance, not its resting-place.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There have been moments, at the set of sun,</div>
+<div class="i2">When I have long'd for wings upon the wind,</div>
+<div class="i2">That I might seek a planet to my mind,</div>
+<div class="i0">More full-develop'd than this present one;</div>
+<div class="i0">With more of scope, when all is said and done,</div>
+<div class="i2">To satisfy the wants of human kind.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A world with thee, a home in some remote</div>
+<div class="i2">And unknown region, which no sage's ken</div>
+<div class="i2">Has compass'd yet; of which no human pen</div>
+<div class="i0">Has traced the limits; where no terrors float</div>
+<div class="i0">In wind or wave, and where the soul may note</div>
+<div class="i2">A thousand raptures unreveal'd to men.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">To be transported in a magic car,</div>
+<div class="i2">On some transcendent night in early June,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beyond the horn'd projections of the moon;</div>
+<div class="i0">To have our being in a bridal star,</div>
+<div class="i0">In lands of light, where only angels are,</div>
+<div class="i2">Athwart the spaces where the comets swoon.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">To be all this: to have in our estate</div>
+<div class="i2">Worlds without stint, and quit them for the clay</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some new planet where a summer's day</div>
+<div class="i0">Lasts fifty years; and there to celebrate</div>
+<div class="i0">Our Golden Wedding, by the will of Fate&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">This were a subject for a seraph's lay.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This were a life to live,&mdash;a life indeed,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A thing to die for; if, in truth, we die</div>
+<div class="i2">When we but put our mortal vestments by.</div>
+<div class="i0">This were a climax for a lover's need</div>
+<div class="i0">Sweeter than songs, and holier than the creed</div>
+<div class="i2">Of half the zealots who have sought the sky.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 70<br />Pg 71]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 459px;">
+<img src="images/p071sm.png" width="459" height="600"
+ alt="Letter VIII A Vision"
+ title="Letter VIII A Vision" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_VIII" id="LETTER_VIII"></a>LETTER VIII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 72<br />Pg 73]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A VISION.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Yes,</span> I will tell thee what, a week ago,</div>
+<div class="i2">I dreamt of thee, and all the joy therein</div>
+<div class="i2">Which I conceiv'd, and all the holy din</div>
+<div class="i0">Of throbbing music, which appear'd to flow</div>
+<div class="i0">From room to room, as if to make me know</div>
+<div class="i2">The power thereof to lead me out of sin.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Methought I saw thee in a ray of light,</div>
+<div class="i2">This side a grove&mdash;a dream within a dream&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">With eyes of tender pleading, and the gleam</div>
+<div class="i0">Of far-off summers in thy tresses bright;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I did tremble at the gracious sight,</div>
+<div class="i2">As one who sees a na�ad in a stream.</div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I follow'd thee. I knew that, in the wood,</div>
+<div class="i2">Where thus we met, there was a trysting-place.</div>
+<div class="i2">I follow'd thee, as mortals in a chase</div>
+<div class="i0">Follow the deer. I knew that it was good</div>
+<div class="i0">To track thy step, and promptly understood</div>
+<div class="i2">The fitful blush that flutter'd to thy face.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I followed thee to where a brook did run</div>
+<div class="i2">Close to a grot; and there I knelt to thee.</div>
+<div class="i2">And then a score of birds flew over me,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Birds which arrived because the day was done,</div>
+<div class="i0">To sing the Sanctus of the setting sun;</div>
+<div class="i2">And then I heard thy voice upon the lea.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"Follow!" it cried. I rose and follow'd fast;</div>
+<div class="i2">And, in my dream, I felt the dream was true,</div>
+<div class="i2">And that, full soon, Titania, with her crew</div>
+<div class="i0">Of imps and fays, would meet me on the blast.</div>
+<div class="i0">But this was hindered; and I quickly passed</div>
+<div class="i2">Into the valley where the cedars grew.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And what a scene, O God! and what repose,</div>
+<div class="i2">And what sad splendour in the burning west:</div>
+<div class="i2">A languid sun low-dropping to his rest,</div>
+<div class="i0">And incense rising, as of old it rose,</div>
+<div class="i0">To do him honour at the daylight's close,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The birds entranced, and all the winds repress'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I followed thee. I came to where a shrine</div>
+<div class="i2">Stood in the trees, and where an oaken gate</div>
+<div class="i2">Swung in the air, so turbulent of late.</div>
+<div class="i0">I touch'd thy hand; it quiver'd into mine;</div>
+<div class="i0">And then I look'd into thy face benign,</div>
+<div class="i2">And saw the smile for which the angels wait.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And lo! the moon had sailed into the main</div>
+<div class="i2">Of that blue sky, as if therein did poise</div>
+<div class="i2">A silver boat; and then a tuneful noise</div>
+<div class="i0">Broke from the copse where late a breeze was slain;</div>
+<div class="i0">And nightingales, in ecstasy of pain,</div>
+<div class="i2">Did break their hearts with singing the old joys.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"Is this the spot?" I cried, "is this the spot</div>
+<div class="i2">Where I must tell thee all my heart's desire?</div>
+<div class="i2">Is this the time when I must drink the fire,</div>
+<div class="i0">And eat the snow, and find it fever-hot?</div>
+<div class="i0">I freeze with heat, and yet I fear it not;</div>
+<div class="i2">And all my pulses thrill me like a lyre."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A wondrous light was thrown upon thy face;</div>
+<div class="i2">It was the light within; it was the ray</div>
+<div class="i2">Of thine own soul. And then a voice did say,</div>
+<div class="i0">"Glory to God the King, and Jesu's grace</div>
+<div class="i0">Here and hereafter!" and about the place</div>
+<div class="i2">A radiance shone surpassing that of day.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was thy voice. It was the voice I prize</div>
+<div class="i2">More than the sound of April in the dales,</div>
+<div class="i2">More than the songs of larks and nightingales,</div>
+<div class="i0">And more than the teachings of the worldly-wise.</div>
+<div class="i0">"Glory to God," it said, "for in the skies,</div>
+<div class="i2">And here on earth, 'tis He alone prevails."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 407px;">
+<a href="images/p076.jpg">
+<img src="images/p076sm.jpg" width="407" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And then I asked thee: "Shall I tell thee now</div>
+<div class="i2">All that I think of, when, by land and sea,</div>
+<div class="i2">The days and nights illume the world for me?</div>
+<div class="i0">And how I muse on marriage, as I bow</div>
+<div class="i0">In God's own places, with a throbbing brow?</div>
+<div class="i2">And how, at night, I dream of kissing thee?"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But thou did'st answer: "First behold this man!</div>
+<div class="i2">He is thy lord, for love's and lady's sake;</div>
+<div class="i2">He is thy master, or I much mistake."</div>
+<div class="i0">And I perceiv'd, hard by, a phantom wan</div>
+<div class="i0">And wild and kingly, who did, walking, span</div>
+<div class="i2">The open space that lay beside the brake.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was Beethoven. It was he who came</div>
+<div class="i2">From monstrous shades, to journey yet awhile</div>
+<div class="i2">In pleasant nooks, and vainly seek the smile</div>
+<div class="i0">Of one lov'd woman&mdash;she to whom his fame</div>
+<div class="i0">Had been a glory had she sought the same,</div>
+<div class="i2">And lov'd a soul so grand, so free from guile.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was the Kaiser of the land of song,</div>
+<div class="i2">The giant-singer who did storm the gates</div>
+<div class="i2">Of Heaven and Hell, a man to whom the Fates</div>
+<div class="i0">Were fierce as furies, and who suffer'd wrong</div>
+<div class="i0">And ached and bore it, and was brave and strong,</div>
+<div class="i2">But gaunt as ocean when its rage abates.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I knew his tread. I knew him by his look</div>
+<div class="i2">Of pent-up sorrow&mdash;by his hair unkempt</div>
+<div class="i2">And torn attire&mdash;and by his smile exempt</div>
+<div class="i0">From all but pleading. Yet his body shook</div>
+<div class="i0">With some great joy; and onward he betook</div>
+<div class="i2">His echoing steps the way that I had dreamt.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I bow'd my head. The lordly being pass'd.</div>
+<div class="i2">He was my king, and I did bow to him.</div>
+<div class="i2">And when I rais'd mine eyes they were as dim</div>
+<div class="i0">As tears could make them. And the moon, aghast,</div>
+<div class="i0">Glared in the sky; and westward came a blast</div>
+<div class="i2">Which shook the earth like shouts of cherubim.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I held my breath. I could have fled the place,</div>
+<div class="i2">As men have fled before the wrath of God.</div>
+<div class="i2">But I beheld my Lady where she trod</div>
+<div class="i0">The darken'd path; and I did cry apace:</div>
+<div class="i0">"Help me, my Lady!" and thy lustrous face</div>
+<div class="i2">Gladden'd the air, and quicken'd all the sod.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Then did I hear again that voice of cheer.</div>
+<div class="i2">"Lovest thou me," it said, "or music best?"</div>
+<div class="i2">I seized thy hand, I drew thee to my breast,</div>
+<div class="i0">"Thee, only thee!" I cried. "From year to year,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thee, only thee&mdash;not fame!" And silver-clear,</div>
+<div class="i2">Thy voice responded: "God will grant the rest."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I kiss'd thine eyes. I kiss'd them where the blue</div>
+<div class="i2">Peep'd smiling forth; and proudly as before</div>
+<div class="i2">I heard the tones that thrill'd me to the core.</div>
+<div class="i0">"If thou love me," they said, "if thou be true,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou shalt have fame, and love, and music too!"</div>
+<div class="i2">Entranced I kiss'd the lips that I adore.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 80<br />Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 456px;">
+<img src="images/p081sm.png" width="456" height="600"
+ alt="Letter IX To-morrow"
+ title="Letter IX To-morrow" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_IX" id="LETTER_IX"></a>LETTER IX.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 82<br />Pg 83]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+TO-MORROW.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">O Love!</span> O Love! O Gateway of Delight!</div>
+<div class="i2">Thou porch of peace, thou pageant of the prime</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all God's creatures! I am here to climb</div>
+<div class="i0">Thine upward steps, and daily and by night</div>
+<div class="i0">To gaze beyond them, and to search aright</div>
+<div class="i2">The far-off splendour of thy track sublime.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For, in thy precincts, on the further side,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beyond the turret where the bells are rung,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beyond the chapel where the rites are sung,</div>
+<div class="i0">There is a garden fit for any bride.</div>
+<div class="i0">O Love! by thee, by thee are sanctified</div>
+<div class="i2">The joys thereof to keep our spirits young.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">By thee, dear Love! by thee, if all be well&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And we be wise enough to own the touch</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some bright folly that has thrill'd us much&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">By thee, till death, we may regain the spell</div>
+<div class="i0">Of wizard Merlin, and in every dell</div>
+<div class="i2">Confront a Muse, and bow to it as such.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Love! Happy Love! Behold me where I stand</div>
+<div class="i2">This side thy portal, with my straining eyes</div>
+<div class="i2">Turn'd to the Future. Cloudless are the skies,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, far adown the road which thou hast spann'd,</div>
+<div class="i0">I see the groves of that elected land</div>
+<div class="i2">Which is the place I call my paradise.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But what is this? The plains are known to me;</div>
+<div class="i2">The hills are known, the fields, the little fence,</div>
+<div class="i2">The noisy brook as clear as innocence,</div>
+<div class="i0">And this old oak, the wonder of the lea,</div>
+<div class="i0">Which stops the wind to know if there shall be</div>
+<div class="i2">Sorrow for men, or pride, or recompense.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I know these things, yet hold it little blame</div>
+<div class="i2">To know them not, though in their proud array,</div>
+<div class="i2">The flowers advance to make the world so gay.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ah, what a change! The things I know by name</div>
+<div class="i0">Look unfamiliar all, and, like a flame,</div>
+<div class="i2">The roses burn upon the hedge to-day.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The grass is velvet. There are pearls thereon,</div>
+<div class="i2">And golden signs, and braid that doth appear</div>
+<div class="i2">Made for a bridal. This is fairy gear</div>
+<div class="i0">If I mistake not. I shall know anon.</div>
+<div class="i0">Nature herself will teach me how to con</div>
+<div class="i2">The new-found words to thank the glowing year.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This is the path that led me to the brook;</div>
+<div class="i2">And this the mead, and this the mossy slope,</div>
+<div class="i2">And this the place where breezes did elope</div>
+<div class="i0">With giddy moths, enamour'd of a look;</div>
+<div class="i0">And here I sat alone, or with a book,</div>
+<div class="i2">Dreaming the dreams of constancy and hope.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I loved the river well; but not till now</div>
+<div class="i2">Did I perceive the marvels of the shore.</div>
+<div class="i2">This is a cave, and this an emerald floor;</div>
+<div class="i0">And here Sir Englantine might make a vow,</div>
+<div class="i0">And here a king, a guilty king, might bow</div>
+<div class="i2">Before a child, and break his word no more.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The day is dying. I shall see him die,</div>
+<div class="i2">And I shall watch the sunset, and the red</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all that splendour when the day is dead.</div>
+<div class="i0">And I shall see the stars upon the sky,</div>
+<div class="i0">And think them torches that are lit on high</div>
+<div class="i2">To light the Lord Apollo to his bed.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And sweet To-morrow, like a golden bark,</div>
+<div class="i2">Will call for me, and lead me on apace</div>
+<div class="i2">To where I shall behold, in all her grace,</div>
+<div class="i0">Mine own true Lady, whom a happy lark</div>
+<div class="i0">Did late salute, appointing, after dark,</div>
+<div class="i2">A nightingale to carol in his place.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, come to me! Oh, come, belov�d day,</div>
+<div class="i2">O sweet To-morrow! Youngest of the sons</div>
+<div class="i2">Of old King Time, to whom Creation runs</div>
+<div class="i0">As men to God. Oh, quickly with thy ray</div>
+<div class="i0">Anoint my head, and teach me how to pray,</div>
+<div class="i2">As gentle Jesus taught the little ones.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I am aweary of the waiting hours,</div>
+<div class="i2">I am aweary of the tardy night.</div>
+<div class="i2">The hungry moments rob me of delight,</div>
+<div class="i0">The crawling minutes steal away my powers;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I am sick at heart, as one who cowers,</div>
+<div class="i2">In lonely haunts, remov'd from human sight.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">How shall I think the night was meant for sleep,</div>
+<div class="i2">When I must count the dreadful hours thereof,</div>
+<div class="i2">And cannot beat them down, or bid them doff</div>
+<div class="i0">Their hateful masks? A man may wake and weep</div>
+<div class="i0">From hour to hour, and, in the silence deep,</div>
+<div class="i2">See shadows move, and almost hear them scoff.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, come to me, To-morrow! like a friend,</div>
+<div class="i2">And not as one who bideth for the clock.</div>
+<div class="i2">Be swift to come, and I will hear thee knock,</div>
+<div class="i0">And though the night refuse to make an end</div>
+<div class="i0">Of her dull peace, I promptly will descend</div>
+<div class="i2">And let thee in, and thank thee for the shock.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Dear, good To-morrow! in my life, till now,</div>
+<div class="i2">I did not think to need thee quite so soon.</div>
+<div class="i2">I did not think that I should hate the moon,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or new or old, or that my fevered brow</div>
+<div class="i0">Requir'd the sun to cool it. I will bow</div>
+<div class="i2">To this new day, that he may grant the boon.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yes, 'twill consent. The day will dawn at last.</div>
+<div class="i2">Day and the tide approach. They cannot rest.</div>
+<div class="i2">They must approach. They must by every test</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all men's knowledge, neither slow nor fast,</div>
+<div class="i0">Approach and front us. When the night is past,</div>
+<div class="i2">The morrow's dawn will lead me to my quest.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Then shall I tremble greatly, and be glad,</div>
+<div class="i2">For I shall meet my true-love all alone,</div>
+<div class="i2">And none shall tell me of her dainty zone,</div>
+<div class="i0">And none shall say how sweetly she is clad;</div>
+<div class="i0">But I shall know it. Men may call me mad;</div>
+<div class="i2">But I shall know how bright the world has grown.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There is a grammar of the lips and eyes,</div>
+<div class="i2">And I have learnt it. There are tokens sure</div>
+<div class="i2">Of trust in love; and I have found them pure.</div>
+<div class="i0">Is love the guerdon then? Is love the prize?</div>
+<div class="i0">It is! It is! We find it in the skies,</div>
+<div class="i2">And here on earth 'tis all that will endure.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">All things for love. All things in some divine</div>
+<div class="i2">And wish'd for way, conspire, as Nature knows,</div>
+<div class="i2">To some great good. Where'er a daisy grows</div>
+<div class="i0">There grows a joy. The forest-trees combine</div>
+<div class="i0">To talk of peace when mortals would repine;</div>
+<div class="i2">And he is false to God who flouts the rose.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 90<br />Pg 91]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 476px;">
+<img src="images/p091sm.png" width="476" height="600"
+ alt="Letter X A Retrospect"
+ title="Letter X A Retrospect" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_X" id="LETTER_X"></a>LETTER X.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 92<br />Pg 93]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A RETROSPECT.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">I walk</span> again beside the roaring sea,</div>
+<div class="i2">And once again I harken to the speech</div>
+<div class="i2">Of waves exulting on the madden'd beach.</div>
+<div class="i0">A sound of awful joy it seems to me,</div>
+<div class="i0">A shuddering sound of God's eternity,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Telling of things beyond the sage's reach.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I walk alone. I see the bounding waves</div>
+<div class="i2">Curl'd into foam. I watch them as they leap</div>
+<div class="i2">Like wild sea-horses loosen'd from the deep.</div>
+<div class="i0">And well I know that they have seen the graves</div>
+<div class="i0">Of shipwreck'd sailors; for Disaster paves</div>
+<div class="i2">The fearful fields where reapers cannot reap.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Out there, in islands where the summer sun</div>
+<div class="i2">Goes down in tempest, there are loathsome things</div>
+<div class="i2">That crawl to shore, and flap unsightly wings.</div>
+<div class="i0">But here there are no monsters that can run</div>
+<div class="i0">To catch the limbs of bathers; no! not one;</div>
+<div class="i2">And here the wind is harmless when it stings.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There is a glamour all about the bay,</div>
+<div class="i2">As if the nymphs of Greece had tarried here.</div>
+<div class="i2">The sands are golden, and the rocks appear</div>
+<div class="i0">Crested with silver; and the breezes play</div>
+<div class="i0">Snatches of song they humm'd when far away,</div>
+<div class="i2">And then are hush'd, as if from sudden fear.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">They think of thee. They hunt; they meditate.</div>
+<div class="i2">They will not quit the shore till they have seen</div>
+<div class="i2">The very spot where thou did'st stand serene</div>
+<div class="i0">In all thy beauty; and of me they prate,</div>
+<div class="i0">Knowing I love thee. And, like one elate,</div>
+<div class="i2">The grand old sea remembers what hath been.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 411px;">
+<a href="images/p094.jpg">
+<img src="images/p094sm.jpg" width="411" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">How many hours, how many days we met</div>
+<div class="i2">Here on the beach, in that delirious time</div>
+<div class="i2">When all the waves appear'd to break in rhyme.</div>
+<div class="i0">Life was a joy, and love was like a debt</div>
+<div class="i0">Paid and repaid in kisses&mdash;good to get,</div>
+<div class="i2">And good to lose&mdash;unhoarded, yet sublime.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">We wander'd here. We saw the tide advance,</div>
+<div class="i2">We saw it ebb. We saw the widow'd shore</div>
+<div class="i2">Waiting for Ocean with its organ roar,</div>
+<div class="i0">Knowing that, day by day, through happy chance,</div>
+<div class="i0">She would be wooed anew, amid the dance</div>
+<div class="i2">Of bridal waves high-bounding as before.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And I remember how, at flush of morn,</div>
+<div class="i2">Thou didst depart alone, to find a nook</div>
+<div class="i2">Where none could see thee; where a lover's look</div>
+<div class="i0">Were profanation worse than any scorn;</div>
+<div class="i0">And how I went my way, among the corn,</div>
+<div class="i2">To wait for thee beside the Shepherd's brook.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And lo! from out a cave thou didst emerge,</div>
+<div class="i2">Sweet as thyself, the flower of Womankind.</div>
+<div class="i2">I know 'twas thus; for, in my secret mind,</div>
+<div class="i0">I see thee now. I see thee in the surge</div>
+<div class="i0">Of those wild waves, well knowing that they urge</div>
+<div class="i2">Some idle wish, untalk'd-of to the wind.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I think the beach was thankful to have known</div>
+<div class="i2">Thy warm, white body, and the blessedness</div>
+<div class="i2">Of thy first shiver; and I well can guess</div>
+<div class="i0">How, when thy limbs were toss'd and overthrown,</div>
+<div class="i0">The sea was pleased, and every smallest stone,</div>
+<div class="i2">And every wave, was proud of thy caress.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A maiden diving, with dishevell'd hair,</div>
+<div class="i2">Sheer from a rock; a syren of the deep</div>
+<div class="i2">Call'd into action, ere a wave could leap</div>
+<div class="i0">Breast-high to daunt her; Daphne, by a prayer,</div>
+<div class="i0">Lured from a forest for the sea to bear&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">This were a dream to fill a poet's sleep.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This were a thing for Ph&oelig;bus to have eyed;</div>
+<div class="i2">And he did eye it. Yea, the Deathless One</div>
+<div class="i2">Did eye thy beauty. It was madly done.</div>
+<div class="i0">He saw thee in the rising of the tide.</div>
+<div class="i0">He saw thee well. The truth is not denied;</div>
+<div class="i2">The shore was proud to show thee to the sun.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Never since Venus, at a god's decree,</div>
+<div class="i2">Uprose from ocean, has there lived on earth</div>
+<div class="i2">A face like thine, a form of so much worth;</div>
+<div class="i0">And nowhere has the moon-obeying sea</div>
+<div class="i0">Known such perfection, down from head to knee,</div>
+<div class="i2">And knee to foot, since that Olympian birth.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And, sooth, the moon was anxious to have placed</div>
+<div class="i2">Her head beside thee, on the waters bright.</div>
+<div class="i2">But she was foil'd; for thou so late at night</div>
+<div class="i0">Wouldst not go forth: no! not to be embraced</div>
+<div class="i0">By Nature's Queen, though, round about the waist,</div>
+<div class="i2">She would have ring'd thee with her softest light.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah me! had I a lute of sovereign power</div>
+<div class="i2">I would enlarge on this, and plainly show</div>
+<div class="i2">That there is nothing like thee here below,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Nothing so comely, nothing in its dower</div>
+<div class="i0">Of youth and grace, so like a human flower,</div>
+<div class="i2">And white withal, and guiltless as the snow.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For thou art fair as lilies, with the flush</div>
+<div class="i2">That roses have while waiting for a kiss;</div>
+<div class="i2">And when thou smilest nothing comes amiss.</div>
+<div class="i0">The earth is glad to see thy dimpled blush.</div>
+<div class="i0">Had I the lute of Orpheus I would hush</div>
+<div class="i2">All meaner sounds to tell the stars of this.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I would, I swear, by Pallas' own consent,</div>
+<div class="i2">Inform all creatures whom the stars behold</div>
+<div class="i2">That thou art mine, and that a pen of gold,</div>
+<div class="i0">With ink of fire, though by an angel lent,</div>
+<div class="i0">Were all too poor to tell my true content,</div>
+<div class="i2">And how I love thee seven times seventy fold.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And sure am I that, in the ancient days,</div>
+<div class="i2">Achilles heard no voice so passing sweet,</div>
+<div class="i2">And none so trancing, none that could compete</div>
+<div class="i0">With thine for fervour; none, in watery ways</div>
+<div class="i0">Where Neptune dwelt, so worthy of the praise</div>
+<div class="i2">Of Thetis' son, the sure and swift of feet.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He never met upon the plains of Troy</div>
+<div class="i2">Goddess or maiden so divinely fraught.</div>
+<div class="i2">Not Helen's self, for whom the Trojans fought,</div>
+<div class="i0">Was like to thee. Her love had much alloy,</div>
+<div class="i0">But thine has none. Her beauty was a toy,</div>
+<div class="i2">But thine's a gem, unsullied and unbought.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And ne'er was seen by poet, in a sweven,</div>
+<div class="i2">An eye like thine, a face so fair to see</div>
+<div class="i2">As that which makes the sunlight sweet to me.</div>
+<div class="i0">Nor need I wait for death, or for the levin</div>
+<div class="i0">In yonder cloud, to find the path to Heaven.</div>
+<div class="i2">It fronts me here. 'Tis manifest in thee!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 100<br />Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 463px;">
+<img src="images/p101sm.png" width="463" height="600"
+ alt="Letter XI Faith"
+ title="Letter XI Faith" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_XI" id="LETTER_XI"></a>LETTER XI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 102<br />Pg 103]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+FAITH.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Now</span> will I sing to God a song of praise,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thank the morning for the light it brings,</div>
+<div class="i2">Aye! and the earth for every flower that springs,</div>
+<div class="i0">And every tree that, in the jocund days,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thrills to the blast. My voice I will upraise</div>
+<div class="i2">To thank the world for every bird that sings.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I will unpack my mind of all its fears,</div>
+<div class="i2">I will advance to where the matin fires</div>
+<div class="i2">Absorb the hills. My hopes and my desires</div>
+<div class="i0">Will lead me safe; and day will have no tears</div>
+<div class="i0">And night no torture, as in former years,</div>
+<div class="i2">To warp my nature when my soul aspires.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I will endure. I will not strive to peep</div>
+<div class="i2">Behind the barriers of the days to come,</div>
+<div class="i2">Nor, adding up the figures of a sum,</div>
+<div class="i0">Dispose of prayers as men dispose of sleep.</div>
+<div class="i0">I cannot count the stars, or walk the deep;</div>
+<div class="i2">But I can pray, and Faith shall not be dumb.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I take myself and thee as mine estate&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Thee and myself. The world is centred there.</div>
+<div class="i2">If thou be well I know the skies are fair;</div>
+<div class="i0">If not, they press me down with leaden weight,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all is dark; and morning comes too late;</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the birds are tuneless in the air.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I need but thee: thee only. Thou alone</div>
+<div class="i2">Art all my joy: a something to the sight</div>
+<div class="i2">As grand as Silence, and as snowy white.</div>
+<div class="i0">And do thou pardon if I make it known,</div>
+<div class="i0">As oft I do, with mine Amati's tone,</div>
+<div class="i2">Amid the stillness of the starry night.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, give me pity of thy heart and mind,</div>
+<div class="i2">Mine own sweet Lady, if I vex thee now.</div>
+<div class="i2">If the repeating of my constant vow</div>
+<div class="i0">Be undesired, have pity! I were blind,</div>
+<div class="i0">And deaf and dumb, and mad, were I inclined</div>
+<div class="i2">To curb my feelings when to thee I bow.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Forgive the challenge of my longing lips</div>
+<div class="i2">If these offend thee; and forgive me, too,</div>
+<div class="i2">If I perceive, within thine eyes of blue,</div>
+<div class="i0">More than I utter&mdash;more than, in eclipse,</div>
+<div class="i0">A man may note atween the argent tips</div>
+<div class="i2">Of frighted Dian whom the Fates pursue.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is the thing I dream of; 'tis the thing</div>
+<div class="i2">We know as rapture, when, with sudden thrill,</div>
+<div class="i2">It snares the heart and subjugates the will;</div>
+<div class="i0">I mean the pride, the power, by which we cling</div>
+<div class="i0">To natures nobler than the ones we bring,</div>
+<div class="i2">To keep entire the fire we cannot chill.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Coyest of nymphs, my Lady! whom I seek</div>
+<div class="i2">As sailors seek salvation out at sea,</div>
+<div class="i2">And poets fame, and soldiers victory,</div>
+<div class="i0">Behold! I note the blush upon thy cheek,</div>
+<div class="i0">The flag of truce that tells me thou art meek</div>
+<div class="i2">And soon wilt yield thy fortress up to me.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is thy soul; it is thy soul in arms</div>
+<div class="i2">Which thus I conquer. All thy furtive sighs,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the glances of thy wistful eyes,</div>
+<div class="i0">Proclaim the swift surrender of thy charms.</div>
+<div class="i0">I kiss thy hand; and tremors and alarms</div>
+<div class="i2">Discard, in parting, all their late disguise.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">They were not foes. They knew me, one and all;</div>
+<div class="i2">They knew I lov'd thee, and they lured me on</div>
+<div class="i2">To try my fortune, and to wait thereon</div>
+<div class="i0">For just reward. The scaling of the wall</div>
+<div class="i0">Was not the meed; there came the festival,</div>
+<div class="i2">And now there comes the crown that I must don.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O my Belov�d! I am king of thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou my queen; and I will wear the crown</div>
+<div class="i2">A little moment, for thy love's renown.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, for a moment, it shall circle me,</div>
+<div class="i0">And then be thine, so thou, upon thy knee,</div>
+<div class="i2">Do seek the same, with all thy tresses down.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For woman still is mistress of the man,</div>
+<div class="i2">Though man be master. 'Tis the woman's right</div>
+<div class="i2">To choose her king, and crown him in her sight,</div>
+<div class="i0">And make him feel the pressure of the span</div>
+<div class="i0">Of her soft arms, as only woman can;</div>
+<div class="i2">For, with her weakness, she excels his might.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is her joy indeed to be so frail</div>
+<div class="i2">That he must shield her; he of all the world</div>
+<div class="i2">Whom most she loves; and then, if he be hurl'd</div>
+<div class="i0">To depths of sorrow, she will more avail</div>
+<div class="i0">Than half a senate. Troubles may assail,</div>
+<div class="i2">But she will guide him by her lips impearl'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A woman clung to C�sar; he was great,</div>
+<div class="i2">And great the power he gain'd by sea and land.</div>
+<div class="i2">But when he wrong'd her, when he spurn'd the hand</div>
+<div class="i0">Which once he knelt to, when he scoff'd at Fate,</div>
+<div class="i0">Glory dispers'd, and left him desolate;</div>
+<div class="i2">For God remember'd all that first was plann'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The cannon's roar, the wisdom of the sage,</div>
+<div class="i2">The strength of armies, and the thrall of kings&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">All these are weak compared to weaker things.</div>
+<div class="i0">Napoleon fell because, in puny rage,</div>
+<div class="i0">He wrong'd his house; and earth became a cage</div>
+<div class="i2">For this poor eagle with his batter'd wings.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Believe me, Love! I honour, night and day,</div>
+<div class="i2">The name of Woman. 'Tis the nobler sex.</div>
+<div class="i2">Villains may shame it; sorrows may perplex;</div>
+<div class="i0">But still 'tis watchful. Man may take away</div>
+<div class="i0">All its possessions, all its worldly sway,</div>
+<div class="i2">And yet be worshipp'd by the soul he wrecks.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A word of love to Woman is as sweet</div>
+<div class="i2">As nectar'd rapture in a golden bowl;</div>
+<div class="i2">And when she quaffs the heavens asunder roll,</div>
+<div class="i0">And God looks through. And, from his judgment-seat,</div>
+<div class="i0">He blesses those who part, and those who meet,</div>
+<div class="i2">And those who join the links of soul with soul.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And are there none untrue? God knows there are!</div>
+<div class="i2">Aye, there are those who learn in time the laugh</div>
+<div class="i2">That ends in madness&mdash;women who for chaff</div>
+<div class="i0">Have sold their corn&mdash;who seek no guiding-star,</div>
+<div class="i0">And find no faith to light them from afar;</div>
+<div class="i2">Of whom 'tis said: "They need no epitaph."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">All this is known; but lo! for sake of One</div>
+<div class="i2">Who lives in glory&mdash;for my mother's sake,</div>
+<div class="i2">For thine, and hers, O Love!&mdash;I pity take</div>
+<div class="i0">On all poor women. Jesu's will be done!</div>
+<div class="i0">Honour for all, and infamy for none,</div>
+<div class="i2">This side the borders of the burning lake.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 110<br />Pg 111]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 462px;">
+<img src="images/p111sm.png" width="462" height="600"
+ alt="Letter XII Victory"
+ title="Letter XII Victory" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="LETTER_XII" id="LETTER_XII"></a>LETTER XII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 112<br />Pg 113]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+VICTORY.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:32em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Now</span> have I reach'd the goal of my desire,</div>
+<div class="i2">For thou hast sworn&mdash;as sweetly as a bell</div>
+<div class="i2">Makes out its chime&mdash;the oath I love to tell,</div>
+<div class="i0">The fealty-oath of which I never tire.</div>
+<div class="i0">The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre,</div>
+<div class="i2">And sings, and rings, the thoughts that o'er it swell.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The air is fill'd with voices. I have found</div>
+<div class="i2">Comfort at last, enthralment, and a joy</div>
+<div class="i2">Past all belief; a peace without alloy.</div>
+<div class="i0">There is a splendour all about the ground</div>
+<div class="i0">As if from Eden, when the world was drown'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">Something had come which death could not destroy.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It seems, indeed, as if to me were sent</div>
+<div class="i2">A smile from Heaven&mdash;as if to-day the clods</div>
+<div class="i2">Were lined with silk&mdash;the trees divining rods,</div>
+<div class="i0">And roses gems for some high tournament.</div>
+<div class="i0">I should not be so proud, or so content,</div>
+<div class="i2">If I could sup, to-night, with all the gods.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A shrin�d saint would change his place with me</div>
+<div class="i2">If he but knew the worth of what I feel.</div>
+<div class="i2">He is enrobed indeed, and for his weal</div>
+<div class="i0">Hath much concern; but how forlorn is he!</div>
+<div class="i0">How pale his pomp! He cannot sue to thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">But I am sainted every time I kneel.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I walk'd abroad, to-day, ere yet the dark</div>
+<div class="i2">Had left the hills, and down the beaten road</div>
+<div class="i2">I saunter'd forth a mile from mine abode.</div>
+<div class="i0">I heard, afar, the watchdog's sudden bark,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, near at hand, the tuning of a lark,</div>
+<div class="i2">Safe in its nest, but weighted with an ode.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The moon was pacing up the sky serene,</div>
+<div class="i2">Pallid and pure, as if she late had shown</div>
+<div class="i2">Her outmost side, and fear'd to make it known;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, like a nun, she gazed upon the scene</div>
+<div class="i0">From bars of cloud that seemed to stand between,</div>
+<div class="i2">And pray'd and smiled, and smiled and pray'd alone.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The stars had fled. Not one remain'd behind</div>
+<div class="i2">To warn or comfort; or to make amends</div>
+<div class="i2">For hope delay'd,&mdash;for ecstasy that ends</div>
+<div class="i0">At dawn's approach. The firmament was blind</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all its eyes; and, wanton up the wind,</div>
+<div class="i2">There came the shuddering that the twilight sends.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The hills exulted at the Morning's birth,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And clouds assembled, quick, as heralds run</div>
+<div class="i2">Before a king to say the fight is won.</div>
+<div class="i0">The rich, warm daylight fell upon the earth</div>
+<div class="i0">Like wine outpour'd in madness, or in mirth,</div>
+<div class="i2">To celebrate the rising of the sun.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And when the soaring lark had done its prayer,</div>
+<div class="i2">The holy thing, self-poised amid the blue</div>
+<div class="i2">Of that great sky, did seem, a space or two,</div>
+<div class="i0">To pause and think, and then did clip the air</div>
+<div class="i0">And dropped to earth to claim his guerdon there.</div>
+<div class="i2">"Thank God!" I cried, "My dearest dream is true!"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I was too happy, then, to leap and dance;</div>
+<div class="i2">But I could ponder; I could gaze and gaze</div>
+<div class="i2">From earth to sky and back to woodland ways.</div>
+<div class="i0">The bird had thrill'd my heart, and cheer'd my glance,</div>
+<div class="i0">For he had found to-day his nest-romance,</div>
+<div class="i2">And lov'd a mate, and crown'd her with his praise.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O Love! my Love! I would not for a throne,</div>
+<div class="i2">I would not for the thrones of all the kings</div>
+<div class="i2">Who yet have liv'd, or for a seraph's wings,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or for the nod of Jove when night hath flown,</div>
+<div class="i0">Consent to rule an empire all alone.</div>
+<div class="i2">No! I must have the grace of our two rings.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I must possess thee from the crowning curl</div>
+<div class="i2">Down to the feet, and from the beaming eye</div>
+<div class="i2">Down to the bosom where my treasures lie.</div>
+<div class="i0">From blush to blush, and from the rows of pearl</div>
+<div class="i0">That light thy smile, I must possess thee, girl,</div>
+<div class="i2">And be thy lord and master till I die.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This, and no less: the keeper of thy fame,</div>
+<div class="i2">The proud controller of each silken tress,</div>
+<div class="i2">And each dear item of thy loveliness,</div>
+<div class="i0">And every oath, and every dainty name</div>
+<div class="i0">Known to a bride: a picture in a frame</div>
+<div class="i2">Of golden hair, to turn to and caress.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And though I know thee prone, in vacant hours,</div>
+<div class="i2">To laugh and talk with those who circumvent</div>
+<div class="i2">And make mad speeches; though I know the bent</div>
+<div class="i0">Of some such men, and though in ladies' bowers</div>
+<div class="i0">They brag of swords&mdash;I know my proven powers;</div>
+<div class="i2">I know myself and thee, and am content.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I know myself; and why should I demur?</div>
+<div class="i2">The lily, bowing to the breeze's play,</div>
+<div class="i2">Is not forgetful of the sun in May.</div>
+<div class="i0">She is his nymph, and with a servitor</div>
+<div class="i0">She doth but jest. The sun looks down at her,</div>
+<div class="i2">And knows her true, and loves her day by day.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">E'en so I thee, O Lady of my Heart!</div>
+<div class="i2">O Lady white as lilies on the lea,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fair as foam upon the ocean free</div>
+<div class="i0">Whereon the sun hath sent a shining dart!</div>
+<div class="i0">E'en so I love thee, blameless as thou art,</div>
+<div class="i2">And with my soul's desire I compass thee.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For thou art Woman in the sweetest sense</div>
+<div class="i2">Of true endowment, and a bride indeed</div>
+<div class="i2">Fit for Apollo. This is Woman's need:</div>
+<div class="i0">To be a beacon when the air is dense,</div>
+<div class="i0">A bower of peace, a life-long recompense&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">This is the sum of Woman's worldly creed.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And what is Man the while? And what his will?</div>
+<div class="i2">And what the furtherance of his earthly hope?</div>
+<div class="i2">To turn to Faith, to turn, as to a rope</div>
+<div class="i0">A drowning sailor; all his blood to spill</div>
+<div class="i0">For One he loves, to keep her out of ill&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">This is the will of Man, and this his scope.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">'Tis like the tranquil sea, that knows anon</div>
+<div class="i2">It can be wild, and keep away from home</div>
+<div class="i2">A thousand ships&mdash;and lash itself to foam&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And beat the shore, and all that lies thereon&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And catch the thunder ere the flash has gone</div>
+<div class="i2">Forth from the cloud that spans it like a dome.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This is the will of Man, and this is mine.</div>
+<div class="i2">But lo! I love thee more than wealth or fame,</div>
+<div class="i2">More than myself, and more than those who came</div>
+<div class="i0">With Christ's commission from the goal divine.</div>
+<div class="i0">Soul of my soul, and mine as I am thine,</div>
+<div class="i2">I cling to thee, my Life! as fire to flame.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="Miscellaneous_Poems" id="Miscellaneous_Poems"></a>Miscellaneous Poems.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 120<br />Pg 121]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 386px;">
+<img src="images/p122sm.png" width="386" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="ANTEROS" id="ANTEROS"></a>ANTEROS.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">This</span> is the feast-day of my soul and me,</div>
+<div class="i2">For I am half a god and half a man.</div>
+<div class="i0">These are the hours in which are heard by sea,</div>
+<div class="i0">By land and wave, and in the realms of space,</div>
+<div class="i2">The lute-like sounds which sanctify my span,</div>
+<div class="i0">And give me power to sway the human race.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I am the king whom men call Lucifer,</div>
+<div class="i2">I am the genius of the nether spheres.</div>
+<div class="i0">Give me my Christian name, and I demur.</div>
+<div class="i0">Call me a Greek, and straightway I rejoice.</div>
+<div class="i2">Yea, I am Anteros, and with my tears</div>
+<div class="i0">I salt the earth that gladdens at my voice.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I am old Anteros; a young, old god;</div>
+<div class="i2">A sage who smiles and limps upon a crutch.</div>
+<div class="i0">But I can turn my crutch into a rod,</div>
+<div class="i0">And change my rod into a crown of wood.</div>
+<div class="i2">Yea, I am he who conquers with a touch,</div>
+<div class="i0">And plays with poisons till he makes them good.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The sun, uprising with his golden hair,</div>
+<div class="i2">Is mine apostle; and he serves me well.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thoughts and desires of mine, beyond compare,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thrill at his touch. The moon, so lost in thought,</div>
+<div class="i2">Has pined for love; and wanderers out of hell,</div>
+<div class="i0">And saints from heaven, have known what I have taught.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Great are my griefs; my joys are multiplex;</div>
+<div class="i2">And beasts and birds and men my subjects are;</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, all created things that have a sex,</div>
+<div class="i0">And flies and flowers and monsters of the mere;</div>
+<div class="i2">All these, and more, proclaim me from afar,</div>
+<div class="i0">And sing my marriage songs from year to year.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There are no bridals but the ones I make;</div>
+<div class="i2">For men are quicken'd when they turn to me.</div>
+<div class="i0">The soul obeys me for its body's sake,</div>
+<div class="i0">And each is form'd for each, as day for night.</div>
+<div class="i2">'Tis but the soul can pay the body's fee</div>
+<div class="i0">To win the wisdom of a fool's delight.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yea, this is so. My clerks have set it down,</div>
+<div class="i2">And birds have blabbed it to the winds of heaven.</div>
+<div class="i0">The flowers have guessed it, and, in bower and town,</div>
+<div class="i0">Lovers have sung the songs that I have made.</div>
+<div class="i2">Give me your lives, O mortals, and, for leaven,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye shall receive the fires that cannot fade.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O men! O maidens! O ye listless ones!</div>
+<div class="i2">Ye who desert my temples in the East,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye who reject the rays of summer suns,</div>
+<div class="i0">And cling to shadows in the wilderness;</div>
+<div class="i2">Why are ye sad? Why frown ye at the feast,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye who have eyes to see and lips to press?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Why, for a wisdom that ye will not prove,</div>
+<div class="i2">A joy that crushes and a love that stings,</div>
+<div class="i0">A freak, a frenzy in a fated groove,</div>
+<div class="i0">A thing of nothing born of less than nought&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Why in your hearts do ye desire these things,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye who abhor the joys that ye have sought?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">See, see! I weep, but I can jest at times;</div>
+<div class="i2">Yea, I can dance and toss my tears away.</div>
+<div class="i0">The sighs I breathe are fragrant as the rhymes</div>
+<div class="i0">Of men and maids whose hearts are overthrown.</div>
+<div class="i2">I am the God for whom all maidens pray,</div>
+<div class="i0">But none shall have me for herself alone.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">No; I have love enough, here where I stand,</div>
+<div class="i2">To marry fifty maids in their degree;</div>
+<div class="i0">Aye, fifty times five thousand in a band,</div>
+<div class="i0">And every bride the proxy of a score.</div>
+<div class="i2">Want ye a mate for millions? I am he.</div>
+<div class="i0">Glory is mine, and glee-time evermore.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O men! O masters! O ye kings of grief!</div>
+<div class="i2">Ye who control the world but not the grave,</div>
+<div class="i0">What have ye done to make delight so brief,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye who have spurn'd the minstrel and the lyre?</div>
+<div class="i2">I will not say: "Be patient." Ye are brave;</div>
+<div class="i0">And ye shall guess the pangs of my desire.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There shall be traitors in the court of love,</div>
+<div class="i2">And tears and torture and the bliss of pain.</div>
+<div class="i0">The maids of men shall seek the gods above,</div>
+<div class="i0">And drink the nectar of the golden lake.</div>
+<div class="i2">Blessed are they for whom the gods are fain;</div>
+<div class="i0">They shall be glad for love's and pity's sake.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">They shall be taught the songs the syrens know,</div>
+<div class="i2">The wave's lament, the west wind's psalmistry,</div>
+<div class="i0">The secrets of the south and of the snow,</div>
+<div class="i0">The wherewithal of day, and death, and night.</div>
+<div class="i2">O men! O maidens! pray no prayer for me,</div>
+<div class="i0">But sing to me the songs of my delight.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Aye, sing to me the songs I love to hear,</div>
+<div class="i2">And let the sound thereof ascend to heaven.</div>
+<div class="i0">And let the singers, with a voice of cheer,</div>
+<div class="i0">Announce my name to all the ends of earth;</div>
+<div class="i2">And let my servants, seventy times and seven,</div>
+<div class="i0">Re-shout the raptures of my Samian mirth!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Let joy prevail, and Frenzy, like a flame,</div>
+<div class="i2">Seize all the souls of men for sake of me.</div>
+<div class="i0">For I will have Contention put to shame,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the hearts of all things comforted.</div>
+<div class="i2">There are no laws but mine on land and sea,</div>
+<div class="i0">And men shall crown me when their kings are dead.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 415px;">
+<a href="images/p128.jpg">
+<img src="images/p128sm.jpg" width="415" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="THE_WAKING_OF_THE_LARK" id="THE_WAKING_OF_THE_LARK"></a>THE WAKING OF THE LARK.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:36em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">O bonnie</span> bird, that in the brake, exultant, dost prepare thee&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">As poets do whose thoughts are true, for wings that will upbear thee&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i5">Oh! tell me, tell me, bonnie bird,</div>
+<div class="i5">Canst thou not pipe of hope deferred?</div>
+<div class="i0">Or canst thou sing of naught but Spring among the golden meadows?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Methinks a bard (and thou art one) should suit his song to sorrow,</div>
+<div class="i0">And tell of pain, as well as gain, that waits us on the morrow;</div>
+<div class="i5">But thou art not a prophet, thou,</div>
+<div class="i5">If naught but joy can touch thee now;</div>
+<div class="i0">If, in thy heart, thou hast no vow that speaks of Nature's anguish.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh! I have held my sorrows dear, and felt, tho' poor and slighted,</div>
+<div class="i0">The songs we love are those we hear when love is unrequited.</div>
+<div class="i5">But thou art still the slave of dawn,</div>
+<div class="i5">And canst not sing till night be gone,</div>
+<div class="i0">Till o'er the pathway of the fawn the sunbeams shine and quiver.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou art the minion of the sun that rises in his splendour,</div>
+<div class="i0">And canst not spare for Dian fair the songs that should attend her.</div>
+<div class="i5">The moon, so sad and silver-pale,</div>
+<div class="i5">Is mistress of the nightingale;</div>
+<div class="i0">And thou wilt sing on hill and dale no ditties in the darkness.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For Queen and King thou wilt not spare one note of thine outpouring;</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou art as free as breezes be on Nature's velvet flooring.</div>
+<div class="i5">The daisy, with its hood undone,</div>
+<div class="i5">The grass, the sunlight, and the sun&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">These are the joys, thou holy one, that pay thee for thy singing.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, hush! Oh, hush! how wild a gush of rapture in the distance,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">A roll of rhymes, a toll of chimes, a cry for love's assistance;</div>
+<div class="i5">A sound that wells from happy throats,</div>
+<div class="i5">A flood of song where beauty floats,</div>
+<div class="i0">And where our thoughts, like golden boats, do seem to cross a river.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This is the advent of the lark&mdash;the priest in gray apparel&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Who doth prepare to trill in air his sinless Summer carol;</div>
+<div class="i5">This is the prelude to the lay</div>
+<div class="i5">The birds did sing in C�sar's day,</div>
+<div class="i0">And will again, for aye and aye, in praise of God's creation.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O dainty thing, on wonder's wing, by life and love elated,</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh! sing aloud from cloud to cloud, till day be consecrated;</div>
+<div class="i5">Till from the gateways of the morn,</div>
+<div class="i5">The sun, with all his light unshorn,</div>
+<div class="i0">His robes of darkness round him torn, doth scale the lofty heavens!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_BALLAD_OF_KISSES" id="A_BALLAD_OF_KISSES"></a>A BALLAD OF KISSES.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">There</span> are three kisses that I call to mind,</div>
+<div class="i2">And I will sing their secrets as I go.</div>
+<div class="i0">The first, a kiss too courteous to be kind,</div>
+<div class="i2">Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know;</div>
+<div class="i2">As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet,</div>
+<div class="i2">And evermore my soul will loathe the same.</div>
+<div class="i0">The toys and joys of fate I may forget,</div>
+<div class="i2">But not the touch of that divided shame:</div>
+<div class="i2">It clove my lips; it burnt me like a flame.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The third, the final kiss, is one I use</div>
+<div class="i2">Morning and noon and night; and not amiss.</div>
+<div class="i0">Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse!</div>
+<div class="i2">And when I die, be love, enrapt in bliss,</div>
+<div class="i2">Re-sanctified in Heaven by such a kiss.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MARY_ARDEN" id="MARY_ARDEN"></a>MARY ARDEN.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">O thou</span> to whom, athwart the perish'd days</div>
+<div class="i0">And parted nights long sped, we lift our gaze,</div>
+<div class="i0">Behold! I greet thee with a modern rhyme,</div>
+<div class="i0">Love-lit and reverent as befits the time,</div>
+<div class="i2">To solemnize the feast-day of thy son.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And who was he who flourish'd in the smiles</div>
+<div class="i0">Of thy fair face? 'Twas Shakespeare of the Isles,</div>
+<div class="i0">Shakespeare of England, whom the world has known</div>
+<div class="i0">As thine, and ours, and Glory's, in the zone</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all the seas and all the lands of earth.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He was un-famous when he came to thee,</div>
+<div class="i0">But sound, and sweet, and good for eyes to see,</div>
+<div class="i0">And born at Stratford, on St. George's Day,</div>
+<div class="i0">A week before the wondrous month of May;</div>
+<div class="i2">And God therein was gracious to us all.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He lov'd thee, Lady! and he lov'd the world;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, like a flag, his fealty was unfurl'd;</div>
+<div class="i0">And Kings who flourished ere thy son was born</div>
+<div class="i0">Shall live through him, from morn to furthest morn,</div>
+<div class="i2">In all the far-off cycles yet to come.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He gave us Falstaff, and a hundred quips,</div>
+<div class="i0">A hundred mottoes from immortal lips;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, year by year, we smile to keep away</div>
+<div class="i0">The generous tears that mind us of the sway</div>
+<div class="i2">Of his great singing, and the pomp thereof.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">His was the nectar of the gods of Greece,</div>
+<div class="i0">The lute of Orpheus, and the Golden Fleece</div>
+<div class="i0">Of grand endeavour; and the thunder-roll</div>
+<div class="i0">Of words majestic, which, from pole to pole,</div>
+<div class="i2">Have borne the tidings of our English tongue.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He gave us Hamlet; and he taught us more</div>
+<div class="i0">Than schools have taught us; and his fairy-lore</div>
+<div class="i0">Was fraught with science; and he called from death</div>
+<div class="i0">Verona's Lovers, with the burning breath</div>
+<div class="i2">Of their great passion that has filled the spheres.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He made us know Cordelia, and the man</div>
+<div class="i0">Who murder'd sleep, and baleful Caliban;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, one by one, athwart the gloom appear'd</div>
+<div class="i0">Maidens and men and myths who were revered</div>
+<div class="i2">In olden days, before the earth was sad.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Aye! this is true. It was ordain�d so;</div>
+<div class="i0">He was thine own, three hundred years ago;</div>
+<div class="i0">But ours to-day; and ours till earth be red</div>
+<div class="i0">With doom-day splendour for the quick and dead,</div>
+<div class="i2">And days and nights are scattered like the leaves.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It was for this he lived, for this he died;</div>
+<div class="i0">To raise to Heaven the face that never lied,</div>
+<div class="i0">To lean to earth the lips that should become</div>
+<div class="i0">Fraught with conviction when the mouth was dumb,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the firm, fine body turn'd to clay.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He lived to seal, and sanctify the lives</div>
+<div class="i0">Of perish'd maids, and uncreated wives,</div>
+<div class="i0">And gave them each a space wherein to dwell;</div>
+<div class="i0">And for his mother's sake he loved them well,</div>
+<div class="i2">And made them types, undying, of all truth.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O fair and fond young mother of the boy</div>
+<div class="i0">Who wrought all this&mdash;O Mary!&mdash;in thy joy</div>
+<div class="i0">Did'st thou perceive, when, fitful from his rest,</div>
+<div class="i0">He turn'd to thee, that his would be the best</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all men's chanting since the world began?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Did'st thou, O Mary! with the eye of trust</div>
+<div class="i0">Perceive, prophetic, through the dark and dust</div>
+<div class="i0">Of things terrene, the glory of thy son,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the pride therein that should be won</div>
+<div class="i2">By toilsome men, content to be his slaves?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Did'st thou, good mother! in the tender ways</div>
+<div class="i0">That women find to fill the fleeting days,</div>
+<div class="i0">Behold afar the Giant who should rise</div>
+<div class="i0">With foot on earth, and forehead in the skies,</div>
+<div class="i2">To write his name, and thine, among the stars?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I love to think it; and, in dreams at night</div>
+<div class="i0">I see thee stand, erect, and all in white,</div>
+<div class="i0">With hands out-yearning to that mighty form,</div>
+<div class="i0">As if to draw him back from out the storm,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A child again, and thine to nurse withal.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I see thee, pale and pure, with flowing hair,</div>
+<div class="i0">And big, bright eyes, far-searching in the air</div>
+<div class="i0">For thy sweet babe, and, in a trice of time,</div>
+<div class="i0">I see the child advance to thee, and climb,</div>
+<div class="i2">And call thee "Mother!" in ecstatic tones.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yet, if my thought be vain&mdash;if, by a touch</div>
+<div class="i0">Of this weak hand, I vex thee overmuch&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Forbear the blame, sweet Spirit! and endow</div>
+<div class="i0">My heart with fervour while to thee I bow</div>
+<div class="i2">Athwart the threshold of my fading dream.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For, though so seeming-bold in this my song,</div>
+<div class="i0">I turn to thee with reverence, in the throng</div>
+<div class="i0">Of words and thoughts, as shepherds scann'd, afar,</div>
+<div class="i0">The famed effulgence of that eastern star</div>
+<div class="i2">Which usher'd in the Crown'd One of the heavens.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">In dreams of rapture I have seen thee pass</div>
+<div class="i0">Along the banks of Avon, by the grass,</div>
+<div class="i0">As fair as that fair Juliet whom thy son</div>
+<div class="i0">Endow'd with life, but with the look of one</div>
+<div class="i2">Who knows the nearest way to some new grave.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And often, too, I've seen thee in the flush</div>
+<div class="i0">Of thy full beauty, while the mother's "Hush!"</div>
+<div class="i0">Hung on thy lip, and all thy tangled hair</div>
+<div class="i0">Re-clothed a bosom that in part was bare</div>
+<div class="i2">Because a tiny hand had toy'd therewith!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XXI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh! by the June-tide splendour of thy face</div>
+<div class="i0">When, eight weeks old, the child in thine embrace</div>
+<div class="i0">Did leap and laugh, O Mary! by the same,</div>
+<div class="i0">I bow to thee, subservient to thy fame,</div>
+<div class="i2">And call thee England's Pride for evermore!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SACHAL" id="SACHAL"></a>SACHAL.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A WAIF OF BATTLE.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:26em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4 initial"><span class="smcap">Lo!</span> at my feet,</div>
+<div class="i2">A something pale of hue;</div>
+<div class="i2">A something sad to view;</div>
+<div class="i0">Dead or alive I dare not call it sweet.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Not white as snow;</div>
+<div class="i2">Not transient as a tear!</div>
+<div class="i2">A warrior left it here,</div>
+<div class="i0">It was his passport ere he met the foe.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Here is a name,</div>
+<div class="i2">A word upon the book;</div>
+<div class="i2">If ye but kneel to look,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye'll find the letters "Sachal" on the same.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">His Land to cherish,</div>
+<div class="i2">He died at twenty-seven.</div>
+<div class="i2">There are no wars in Heaven,</div>
+<div class="i0">But when he fought he gain'd the right to perish.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Where was he born?</div>
+<div class="i2">In France, at Puy le D�me.</div>
+<div class="i2">A wanderer from his home,</div>
+<div class="i0">He found a Fatherland beyond the morn.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">'Twas France's plan;</div>
+<div class="i2">The cause he did not ask.</div>
+<div class="i2">His life was but a mask,</div>
+<div class="i0">And he upraised it, martyr'd at Sedan.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">And prone in death,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beyond the name of France,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beyond his hero-glance,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">He thought, belike, of her who gave him breath.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">O thou dead son!</div>
+<div class="i2">O Sachal! far away,</div>
+<div class="i2">But not forgot to-day,</div>
+<div class="i0">I had a mother, too, but now have none.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Our hopes are brave.</div>
+<div class="i2">Our faiths are braver still.</div>
+<div class="i2">The soul shall no man kill;</div>
+<div class="i0">For God will find us, each one in his grave.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">A land more vast</div>
+<div class="i2">Than Europe's kingdoms are,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A brighter, nobler star</div>
+<div class="i0">Than victory's fearful light,&mdash;is thine at last.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">And should'st thou meet</div>
+<div class="i2">Yon Germans up on high,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Thy foes when death was nigh,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Nor thou nor they will sound the soul's retreat.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">For all are just,</div>
+<div class="i2">Yea, all are patriots there,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou, O Fils de Pierre!</div>
+<div class="i0">Hast found thy marshal's baton in the dust.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Oh, farewell, friend;</div>
+<div class="i2">My friend, albeit unknown,</div>
+<div class="i2">Save in thy death alone,</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh, fare thee well till sin and sorrow end.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">In realms of joy</div>
+<div class="i2">We'll meet; aye, every one:</div>
+<div class="i2">Mother and sire and son,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And my poor mother, too, will claim her boy.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Death leads to God.</div>
+<div class="i2">Death is the Sword of Fate,</div>
+<div class="i2">Death is the Golden Gate</div>
+<div class="i0">That opens up to glory, through the sod.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">And thou that road,</div>
+<div class="i2">O Sachal! thou hast found;</div>
+<div class="i2">A king is not so crown'd</div>
+<div class="i0">As thou art, soldier! in thy blest abode.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Deathless in death,</div>
+<div class="i2">Exalted, not destroy'd,</div>
+<div class="i2">Thou art in Heaven employ'd</div>
+<div class="i0">To swell the songs of angels with thy breath.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<a href="images/p145.jpg">
+<img src="images/p145sm.jpg" width="600" height="428"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<h2><a name="THE_LADY_OF_THE_MAY" id="THE_LADY_OF_THE_MAY"></a>THE LADY OF THE MAY.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:24em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">O stars</span> that fade in amber skies</div>
+<div class="i2">Because ye dread the light of day,</div>
+<div class="i0">O moon so lonely and so wise,</div>
+<div class="i2">Look down, and love my Love alw�y;</div>
+<div class="i2">Salute the Lady of the May.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O lark that soarest in the light</div>
+<div class="i2">To hail thy lord in his array,</div>
+<div class="i0">Look down; be just; and sing aright.</div>
+<div class="i2">A lover claims thy song to-day</div>
+<div class="i2">To greet his Lady of the May.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"O lady! lady!" sings the lark,</div>
+<div class="i2">"Thy lover's hest I do obey;</div>
+<div class="i0">For thou art splendid after dark,</div>
+<div class="i2">And where thou smilest, there is day;</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou'rt the Lady of the May.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"The nightingale's a friend of mine,</div>
+<div class="i2">And yesternight she flew my way.</div>
+<div class="i0">'Awake,' she cried, 'at morning shine</div>
+<div class="i2">And sing for me thy blythest lay</div>
+<div class="i2">To greet the Lady of the May.'</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"'And tell her, tell her, gentle one,</div>
+<div class="i2">While thou attun'st thy morning lay,</div>
+<div class="i0">That I will sing at set of sun</div>
+<div class="i2">Another song for thy sweet fay,</div>
+<div class="i2">Because she's Lady of the May.'</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"And lo I come," the lark in air,</div>
+<div class="i2">Self-pois'd and free, did seem to say,</div>
+<div class="i0">"I come to greet thy lady's hair</div>
+<div class="i2">And call its beams the light of day</div>
+<div class="i2">Which decks thy Lady of the May."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, thank thee, bird that singest well!</div>
+<div class="i2">For all thou say'st and still would'st say</div>
+<div class="i0">And for the thoughts which Philomel</div>
+<div class="i2">Intends to trill, in roundelay,</div>
+<div class="i2">To greet my Lady of the May.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">We two (my Love and I) are one,</div>
+<div class="i2">And so shall be, for aye and aye.</div>
+<div class="i0">Go, take my homage to the sun,</div>
+<div class="i2">And bid him shine his best to-day,</div>
+<div class="i2">To crown my Lady of the May!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="AN_ODE_TO_ENGLISHMEN" id="AN_ODE_TO_ENGLISHMEN"></a>AN ODE TO ENGLISHMEN.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">I who</span> have sung of love and lady bright</div>
+<div class="i0">And mirth and music and the world's delight,</div>
+<div class="i2">Behold! to-day, I sound a sterner note</div>
+<div class="i0">To move the minds of foemen when they fight.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Have I not said: There is no sweeter thing,</div>
+<div class="i0">And none diviner than the wedding-ring?</div>
+<div class="i2">And, all intent to make my meaning plain,</div>
+<div class="i0">Have I not kiss'd the lips of Love, the King?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yea, this is so. But lo! to-day there comes</div>
+<div class="i0">The far-off sound of trumpets and of drums;</div>
+<div class="i2">And I must parley with the men of toil</div>
+<div class="i0">Who rise in ranks exultant from the slums.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I must arraign each man; yea, all the host;</div>
+<div class="i0">And each true soul shall learn the least and most</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all his wrongs,&mdash;if wrongs indeed they be;</div>
+<div class="i0">And he shall face the flag that guards the coast.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He shall salute it! He shall find therein</div>
+<div class="i0">Salve for his wounds and solace for his sin.</div>
+<div class="i2">Brother and guide is he who loves his Land;</div>
+<div class="i0">But he is kinless who denies his kin.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Has he a heart to feel, a knee to bend,</div>
+<div class="i0">And will not trust his country to the end?</div>
+<div class="i2">If this be so, God help him to a tear!</div>
+<div class="i0">He shall be foiled, as foeman and as friend.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Bears he a sword? I care not. He is base;</div>
+<div class="i0">Unfit to wield it, and of meaner place</div>
+<div class="i2">Than tongue can tell of, in the Senate House;</div>
+<div class="i0">And he shall find no balm for his disgrace.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O men! I charge ye, in the name of Him</div>
+<div class="i0">Who rules the world, and guards the cherubim,</div>
+<div class="i2">I charge ye, pause, ere from the lighted track</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye turn, distraught, to pathways that are dim.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Who gave your fathers, and your fathers' sons</div>
+<div class="i0">The rights ye claim, amid the roar of guns,</div>
+<div class="i2">And 'mid the flash thereof from sea to sea?</div>
+<div class="i0">Your country! through her lov'd, her chosen ones.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, ye are dastards if ye lift a hand,</div>
+<div class="i0">Dastards and fools, if, loveless in a band,</div>
+<div class="i2">Ye touch in wrath the bulwark of the realm.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye shall be baulk'd, and Chivalry shall stand.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I have a sword, I also, and I swear</div>
+<div class="i0">By my heart's faith, and by my Lady's hair,</div>
+<div class="i2">That I will strike the first of ye that moves,</div>
+<div class="i0">If by a sign ye wrong the flag ye bear.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">In Freedom's name, in her's to whom we bow,</div>
+<div class="i0">In her great name, I charge ye, palter now</div>
+<div class="i2">With no traducer of your country's cause.</div>
+<div class="i0">Accurst of God is he who breaks his vow!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p153sm.png" width="600" height="223"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="ZULALIE" id="ZULALIE"></a>ZULALIE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:24em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4 initial"><span class="smcap">I am</span> the sprite</div>
+<div class="i4">That reigns at night,</div>
+<div class="i0">My body is fair for man's delight.</div>
+<div class="i4">I leap and laugh</div>
+<div class="i4">As the wine I quaff,</div>
+<div class="i0">And I am the queen of Astrofelle.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">I curse and swear</div>
+<div class="i4">In my demon-lair;</div>
+<div class="i0">I shake wild sunbeams out of my hair.</div>
+<div class="i4">I madden the old,</div>
+<div class="i4">I gladden the bold,</div>
+<div class="i0">And I am the queen of Astrofelle.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">Of churchyard stone</div>
+<div class="i4">I have made my throne;</div>
+<div class="i0">My locks are looped with a dead man's bone.</div>
+<div class="i4">Mine eyes are red</div>
+<div class="i4">With the tears I shed,</div>
+<div class="i0">And I am the queen of Astrofelle.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">In cities and camps</div>
+<div class="i4">I have lighted my lamps,</div>
+<div class="i0">My kisses are caught by kings and tramps.</div>
+<div class="i4">With rant and revel</div>
+<div class="i4">My hair I dishevel,</div>
+<div class="i0">And I am the queen of Astrofelle.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i4">My kisses are stains,</div>
+<div class="i4">Mine arms are chains,</div>
+<div class="i0">My forehead is fair and false like Cain's.</div>
+<div class="i4">My gain is loss,</div>
+<div class="i4">Mine honour is dross,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I am the queen of Astrofelle!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 383px;">
+<a href="images/p154.jpg">
+<img src="images/p154sm.jpg" width="383" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="BEETHOVEN_AT_THE_PIANO" id="BEETHOVEN_AT_THE_PIANO"></a>BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:38em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">See</span> where Beethoven sits alone&mdash;a dream of days elysian,</div>
+<div class="i0">A crownless king upon a throne, reflected in a vision&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The man who strikes the potent chords which make the world, in wonder,</div>
+<div class="i0">Acknowledge him, though poor and dim, the mouthpiece of the thunder.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He feels the music of the skies the while his heart is breaking;</div>
+<div class="i0">He sings the songs of Paradise, where love has no forsaking.</div>
+<div class="i0">And, though so deaf he cannot hear the tempest as a token,</div>
+<div class="i0">He makes the music of his mind the grandest ever spoken.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He doth not hear the whispered word of love in his seclusion,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or voice of friend, or song of bird, in Nature's sad confusion;</div>
+<div class="i0">But he hath made, for Love's sweet sake, so wild a declamation</div>
+<div class="i0">That all true lovers of the earth have claim'd him of their nation.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He had a Juliet in his youth, as Romeo had before him,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, Romeo-like, he sought to die that she might then adore him;</div>
+<div class="i0">But she was weak, as women are whose faith has not been proven,</div>
+<div class="i0">And would not change her name for his&mdash;Guiciardi for Beethoven.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O minstrel, whom a maiden spurned, but whom a world has treasured!</div>
+<div class="i0">O sovereign of a greater realm than man has ever measured!</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou hast not lost the lips of love, but thou hast gain'd, in glory,</div>
+<div class="i0">The love of all who know the thrall of thine immortal story.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou art the bard whom none discard, but whom all men discover</div>
+<div class="i0">To be a god, as Orpheus was, albeit a lonely lover;</div>
+<div class="i0">A king to call the stones to life beside the roaring ocean,</div>
+<div class="i0">And bid the stars discourse to trees in words of man's emotion.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A king of joys, a prince of tears, an emperor of the seasons,</div>
+<div class="i0">Whose songs are like the sway of years in Love's immortal reasons;</div>
+<div class="i0">A bard who knows no life but this: to love and be rejected,</div>
+<div class="i0">And reproduce in earthly strains the prayers of the elected.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O poet heart! O seraph soul! by men and maids ador�d!</div>
+<div class="i0">O Titan with the lion's mane, and with the splendid forehead!</div>
+<div class="i0">We men who bow to thee in grief must tremble in our gladness,</div>
+<div class="i0">To know what tears were turned to pearls to crown thee in thy sadness.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">An Angel by direct descent, a German by alliance,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou didst intone the wonder-chords which made Despair a science.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, thou didst strike so grand a note that, in its large vibration,</div>
+<div class="i0">It seemed the roaring of the sea in nature's jubilation.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O Sire of Song! Sonata-King! Sublime and loving master;</div>
+<div class="i0">The sweetest soul that ever struck an octave in disaster;</div>
+<div class="i0">In thee were found the fires of thought&mdash;the splendours of endeavour,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And thou shalt sway the minds of men for ever and for ever!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_RHAPSODY_OF_DEATH" id="A_RHAPSODY_OF_DEATH"></a>A RHAPSODY OF DEATH.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:34em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2 initial"><span class="smcap">That</span> phantoms fair, with radiant hair,</div>
+<div class="i3">May seek at midnight hour</div>
+<div class="i2">The sons of men, belov'd again,</div>
+<div class="i3">And give them holy power;</div>
+<div class="i0">That souls survive the mortal hive, and sinless come and go,</div>
+<div class="i0">Is true as death, the prophet saith; and God will have it so.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">For who be ye who doubt and prate?</div>
+<div class="i3">O sages! make it clear</div>
+<div class="i2">If ye be more than men of fate,</div>
+<div class="i3">Or less than men of cheer;</div>
+<div class="i0">If ye be less than bird or beast? O brothers! make it plain</div>
+<div class="i0">If ye be bankrupts at a feast, or sharers in a gain.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">You say there is no future state;</div>
+<div class="i3">The clue ye fail to find.</div>
+<div class="i2">The flesh is here, and bones appear</div>
+<div class="i3">When graves are undermined.</div>
+<div class="i0">But of the soul, in time of dole, what answer can ye frame&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Ye who have heard no spirit-word to guide ye to the same.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Ah! facts are good, and reason's good,</div>
+<div class="i3">But fancy's stronger far;</div>
+<div class="i2">In weal or woe we only know</div>
+<div class="i3">We know not what we are.</div>
+<div class="i0">The sunset seems a raging fire, the clouds roll back, afraid;</div>
+<div class="i0">The rainbow seems a broken lyre on which the storm has play'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">But these, ye urge, are outward signs.</div>
+<div class="i3">Such signs are not for you.</div>
+<div class="i2">The sight's deceiv'd and truth bereav'd</div>
+<div class="i3">By diamonds of the dew.</div>
+<div class="i0">The sage's mind is more refined, his rapture more complete;</div>
+<div class="i0">He almost knows the little rose that blossoms at his feet!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">The sage can kill a thousand things,</div>
+<div class="i3">And tell the names of all;</div>
+<div class="i2">And wrench away the wearied wings</div>
+<div class="i3">Of eagles when they fall;</div>
+<div class="i0">And calmly trace the lily's grace, or fell the strongest tree,</div>
+<div class="i0">And almost feel, if not reveal, the secrets of the sea.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">But can he set, by day or night,</div>
+<div class="i3">The clock-work of the skies?</div>
+<div class="i2">Or bring the dead man back to sight</div>
+<div class="i3">With soul-invested eyes?</div>
+<div class="i0">Can he describe the ways of life, the wondrous ways of death,</div>
+<div class="i0">And whence it came, and what the flame that feeds the vital breath?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">If he could do such deeds as these,</div>
+<div class="i3">He might, though poor and low,</div>
+<div class="i2">Explain the cause of Nature's laws,</div>
+<div class="i3">Which none shall ever know;</div>
+<div class="i0">He might recall the vanish'd years by lifting of his hand,</div>
+<div class="i0">And bid the wind go north or south to prove what he has plann'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">But God is just. He burdens not</div>
+<div class="i3">The shoulders of the sage;</div>
+<div class="i2">He pities him whose sight is dim;</div>
+<div class="i3">He turns no second page.</div>
+<div class="i0">There are two pages to the book. We men have read the one;</div>
+<div class="i0">The other needs a spirit-look, in lands beyond the sun.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">The other needs a poet's eye,</div>
+<div class="i3">Like that of Milton blind;</div>
+<div class="i2">The light of Faith which cannot die,</div>
+<div class="i3">Though doubts perplex the mind;</div>
+<div class="i0">The eyesight of a little child; a martyr's eye in dole,</div>
+<div class="i0">Which sees afar the golden star that shines upon the soul!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem end -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_PRAYER_FOR_LIGHT" id="A_PRAYER_FOR_LIGHT"></a>A PRAYER FOR LIGHT.</h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Oh,</span> give me light, to-day, or let me die,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The light of love, the love-light of the sky,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">That I, at length, may see my darling's face</div>
+<div class="i12">One minute's space.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Have I not wept to know myself so weak</div>
+<div class="i0">That I can feel, not see, the dimpled cheek,</div>
+<div class="i0">The lips, the eyes, the sunbeams that enfold</div>
+<div class="i12">Her locks of gold?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Have I not sworn that I will not be wed,</div>
+<div class="i0">But mate my soul with hers on my death-bed?</div>
+<div class="i0">The soul can see,&mdash;for souls are seraphim,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i12">When eyes are dim.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, hush! she comes. I know her. She is nigh.</div>
+<div class="i0">She brings me death, true heart, and I will die.</div>
+<div class="i0">She brings me love, for love and life are one</div>
+<div class="i12">Beyond the sun.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This is the measure, this, of all my joys:</div>
+<div class="i0">Life is a curse and Death's a counterpoise.</div>
+<div class="i0">Give me thy hand, O sweet one, let me know</div>
+<div class="i12">Which path I go.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I cannot die if thou be not a-near,</div>
+<div class="i0">To lead me on to Life's appointed sphere.</div>
+<div class="i0">O spirit-face, O angel, with thy breath</div>
+<div class="i12">Kiss me to death!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="MIRAGE" id="MIRAGE"></a>MIRAGE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:36em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6 initial"><span class="smcap">'Tis</span> a legend of a lover,</div>
+<div class="i7">'Tis a ballad to be sung,</div>
+<div class="i6">In the gloaming,&mdash;under cover,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i7">By a minstrel who is young;</div>
+<div class="i0">By a singer who has passion, and who sways us with his tongue.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">I, who know it, think upon it,</div>
+<div class="i7">Not unhappy, tho' in tears,</div>
+<div class="i6">And I gather in a sonnet</div>
+<div class="i7">All the glory of the years;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I kiss and clasp a shadow when the substance disappears.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Ah! I see her as she faced me,</div>
+<div class="i7">In the sinless summer days,</div>
+<div class="i6">When her little hands embraced me,</div>
+<div class="i7">And I saddened at her gaze,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thinking, Sweet One! will she love me when we walk in other ways?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Will she cling to me as kindly</div>
+<div class="i7">When the childish faith is lost?</div>
+<div class="i6">Will she pray for me as blindly,</div>
+<div class="i7">Or but weigh the wish and cost,</div>
+<div class="i0">Looking back on our lost Eden from the girlhood she has cross'd?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Oh! I swear by all I honour,</div>
+<div class="i7">By the graves that I endow,</div>
+<div class="i6">By the grace I set upon her,</div>
+<div class="i7">That I meant the early vow,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Meant it much as men and women mean the same thing spoken now.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">But her maiden troth is broken,</div>
+<div class="i7">And her mind is ill at ease,</div>
+<div class="i6">And she sends me back no token</div>
+<div class="i7">From her home beyond the seas;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I know, though nought is spoken, that she thanks me on her knees.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Yes, for pardon freely granted;</div>
+<div class="i7">For she wrong'd me, understand.</div>
+<div class="i6">And my life is disenchanted,</div>
+<div class="i7">As I wander through the land</div>
+<div class="i0">With the sorrows of dark morrows that await me in a band.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Hers was sweetest of sweet faces,</div>
+<div class="i7">Hers the tenderest eyes of all!</div>
+<div class="i6">In her hair she had the traces</div>
+<div class="i7">Of a heavenly coronal,</div>
+<div class="i0">Bringing sunshine to sad places where the sunlight could not fall.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">She was fairer than a vision;</div>
+<div class="i7">Like a vision, too, has flown.</div>
+<div class="i6">I who flushed at her decision,</div>
+<div class="i7">Lo! I languish here alone;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I tremble when I tell you that my anger was mine own.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Not for her, sweet sainted creature!</div>
+<div class="i7">Could I curse her to her face?</div>
+<div class="i6">Could I look on form and feature,</div>
+<div class="i7">And deny the inner grace?</div>
+<div class="i0">Like a little wax Madonna she was holy in the place.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">And I told her, in mad fashion,</div>
+<div class="i7">That I loved her,&mdash;would incline</div>
+<div class="i6">All my life to this one passion,</div>
+<div class="i7">And would kneel as at a shrine;</div>
+<div class="i0">And would love her late and early, and would teach her to be mine.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i6">Now in dreams alone I meet her</div>
+<div class="i7">With my lowly human praise;</div>
+<div class="i6">She is sweeter and completer,</div>
+<div class="i7">And she smiles on me always;</div>
+<div class="i0">But I dare not rise and greet her as I did in early days.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p170sm.png" width="600" height="221"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="A_MOTHERS_NAME" id="A_MOTHERS_NAME"></a>A MOTHER'S NAME.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">I love</span> the sound! The sweetest under Heaven,</div>
+<div class="i2">That name of mother,&mdash;and the proudest, too.</div>
+<div class="i0">As babes we breathe it, and with seven times seven</div>
+<div class="i2">Of youthful prayers, and blessings that accrue,</div>
+<div class="i0">We still repeat the word, with tender steven.</div>
+<div class="i2">Dearest of friends! dear mother! what we do</div>
+<div class="i0">This side the grave, in purity of aim,</div>
+<div class="i0">Is glorified at last by thy good name.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But how forlorn the word, how full of woe,</div>
+<div class="i2">When she who bears it lies beneath the clod.</div>
+<div class="i0">In vain the orphan child would call her so,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">She comes not back: her place is up with God.</div>
+<div class="i0">The wintry winds are wailing o'er the snow;</div>
+<div class="i2">The flowers are dead that once did grace the sod.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ah, lose not heart! Some flowers may fade in gloom,</div>
+<div class="i0">But Hope's a plant grows brightest on the tomb!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_SONG_OF_SERVITUDE" id="A_SONG_OF_SERVITUDE"></a>A SONG OF SERVITUDE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">This</span> is a song of serfs that I have made,</div>
+<div class="i2">A song of sympathy for grief and joy:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The old, the young, the lov'd and the betrayed,</div>
+<div class="i0">All, all must serve, for all must be obeyed.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There are no tyrants but the serving ones,</div>
+<div class="i2">There are no servants but the ruling men.</div>
+<div class="i0">The Captain conquers with his army's guns,</div>
+<div class="i0">But he himself is conquered by his sons.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">What is a parent but a daughter's slave,</div>
+<div class="i2">A son's retainer when the lad is ill?</div>
+<div class="i0">The great Creator loves the good and brave,</div>
+<div class="i0">And makes a flower the spokesman of a grave.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The son is servant in his father's halls,</div>
+<div class="i2">The daughter is her mother's maid-of-work.</div>
+<div class="i0">The welkin wonders when the ocean calls,</div>
+<div class="i0">And earth accepts the raindrop when it falls.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There are no "ups" in life, there are no "downs,"</div>
+<div class="i2">For "high" and "low" are words of like degree;</div>
+<div class="i0">He who is light of heart when Fortune frowns,</div>
+<div class="i0">He is a king though nameless in the towns.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">None is so lofty as the sage who prays,</div>
+<div class="i2">None so unhigh as he who will not kneel.</div>
+<div class="i0">The breeze is servant to the summer days,</div>
+<div class="i0">And he is bowed-to most who most obeys.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">These are the maxims that I take to heart,</div>
+<div class="i2">Do thou accept them, reader, for thine own;</div>
+<div class="i0">Love well thy work; be truthful in the mart,</div>
+<div class="i0">And foes will praise thee when thy friends depart.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">None shall upbraid thee then for thine estate,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or show thee meaner than thou art in truth.</div>
+<div class="i0">Make friends with death; and God who is so great,</div>
+<div class="i0">He will assist thee to a nobler fate.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">None are unfit to serve upon their knees</div>
+<div class="i2">The saints of prayer, unseen but quick to hear.</div>
+<div class="i0">The flowers are servants to the pilgrim bees,</div>
+<div class="i0">And wintry winds are tyrants of the trees.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">All things are good; all things incur a debt,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all must pay the same, or soon or late</div>
+<div class="i0">The sun will rise betimes, but he must set;</div>
+<div class="i0">And Man must seek the laws he would forget.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There are no mockeries in the universe,</div>
+<div class="i2">No false accounts, no errors that will thrive.</div>
+<div class="i0">The work we do, the good things we rehearse,</div>
+<div class="i0">Are boons of Nature basely named a curse.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">"Give us our daily bread!" the children pray,</div>
+<div class="i2">And mothers plead for them while thus they speak.</div>
+<div class="i0">But "Give us work, O God!" we men should say,</div>
+<div class="i0">That we may gain our bread from day to day.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">'Tis not alone the crown that makes the king;</div>
+<div class="i2">'Tis service done, 'tis duty to his kind.</div>
+<div class="i0">The lark that soars so high is quick to sing,</div>
+<div class="i0">And proud to yield allegiance to the spring.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And we who serve ourselves, whate'er befall</div>
+<div class="i2">Athwart the dangers of the day's behests,</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh, let's not shirk, at joy or sorrow's call,</div>
+<div class="i0">The service due to God who serves us all!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="SYLVIA_IN_THE_WEST" id="SYLVIA_IN_THE_WEST"></a>SYLVIA IN THE WEST.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:26em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">What</span> shall be done? I cannot pray;</div>
+<div class="i2">And none shall know the pangs I feel.</div>
+<div class="i0">If prayers could alter night to day,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Or black to white,&mdash;I might appeal;</div>
+<div class="i0">I might attempt to sway thy heart,</div>
+<div class="i0">And prove it mine, or claim a part.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I might attempt to urge on thee</div>
+<div class="i2">At least the chance of some redress:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">An hour's revoke,&mdash;a moment's plea,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A smile to make my sorrows less.</div>
+<div class="i0">I might indeed be taught in time</div>
+<div class="i0">To blush for hope, as for a crime!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But thou art stone, though soft and fleet,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A statue, not a maiden, thou!</div>
+<div class="i0">A man may hear thy bosom beat</div>
+<div class="i2">When thou hast sworn some idle vow.</div>
+<div class="i0">But not for love, no! not for this;</div>
+<div class="i0">For thou wilt sell thy bridal kiss.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I mean, thy friends will sell thy love,</div>
+<div class="i2">As loves are sold in England, here.</div>
+<div class="i0">A man will buy my golden dove,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">I doubt he'll find his bargain dear!</div>
+<div class="i0">He'll lose the wine; he'll buy the bowl,</div>
+<div class="i0">The life, the limbs, but not the soul.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">So, take thy mate and all his wealth,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the joys that wait on fame.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou'lt weep,&mdash;poor martyr'd one!&mdash;by stealth,</div>
+<div class="i2">And think of me, and shriek my name;</div>
+<div class="i0">Yes, in his arms! And wake, too late,</div>
+<div class="i0">To coax and kiss the man you hate.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">By slow degrees, from year to year,</div>
+<div class="i2">From week to week, from night to night,</div>
+<div class="i0">He will be taught how dark and drear</div>
+<div class="i2">Is barter'd love,&mdash;how sad to sight</div>
+<div class="i0">A perjured face! He will be driven</div>
+<div class="i0">To compass Hell,&mdash;and dream of Heaven.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But stand at God's high altar there,</div>
+<div class="i2">With saints around thee tall and sweet,</div>
+<div class="i0">I'll match thy pride with my despair,</div>
+<div class="i2">And drag thee down from glory's seat.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, thou shalt kneel! Thy head shall bow</div>
+<div class="i0">As mine is bent in anguish now.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">What! for thy sake have I forsworn</div>
+<div class="i2">My just ambition,&mdash;all my joy,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all my hope from morn to morn,</div>
+<div class="i2">That seem'd a prize without alloy?</div>
+<div class="i0">Have I done this? I have; and see!</div>
+<div class="i0">I weep wild tears for thine and thee.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But I can school my soul to strength,</div>
+<div class="i2">And weep and wail as children do;</div>
+<div class="i0">Be hard as stone, yet melt at length,</div>
+<div class="i2">And curb my pride as thou can'st, too!</div>
+<div class="i0">But I have faith, and thou hast none;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I have joy, but thine is done.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">No marriage-bells? No songs, you say?</div>
+<div class="i2">No flowers to grace our bridal morn?</div>
+<div class="i0">No wine? No kiss? No wedding-day?</div>
+<div class="i2">I care not! Oaths are all forsworn;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, when I clasp'd thy hand so white,</div>
+<div class="i0">I meant to curse thee, girl, to-night.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And so I shall,&mdash;Oh! doubt not that.</div>
+<div class="i2">At stroke of twelve I'll curse thee twice.</div>
+<div class="i0">When screams the owl, when swoops the bat,</div>
+<div class="i2">When ghosts are out I'll curse thee thrice.</div>
+<div class="i0">And thou shalt hear!&mdash;Aye, by my troth,</div>
+<div class="i0">One song will suit the souls of both.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I curse thy face; I curse thy hair;</div>
+<div class="i2">I curse thy lips that smile so well,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy life, thy love, and my despair,</div>
+<div class="i2">My loveless couch, thy wedding-bell;</div>
+<div class="i0">My soul and thine!&mdash;Ah, see! though black,</div>
+<div class="i0">I take one half my curses back.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For thou and I were form'd for hate,</div>
+<div class="i2">For love, for scorn; no matter what.</div>
+<div class="i0">I am thy Fere and thou my Fate,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fire and flood shall harm us not.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou shalt be kill'd and hid from ken,</div>
+<div class="i0">And fiends will sing thy requiem then.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Yet think not Death will serve thy stead;</div>
+<div class="i2">I'll find thy grave, though wall'd in stone.</div>
+<div class="i0">I'll move thy mould to make my bed,</div>
+<div class="i2">And lie with thee long hours alone:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Long, lifeless hours! Ah God, how free,</div>
+<div class="i0">How pale, how cold, thy lips will be!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But graves are cells of truth and love,</div>
+<div class="i2">And men may talk no treason there.</div>
+<div class="i0">A corpse will wear no wedding-glove,</div>
+<div class="i2">A ghost will make no sign in air.</div>
+<div class="i0">But ghosts can pray? Well, let them kneel;</div>
+<div class="i0">They, too, must loathe the love they feel.</div>
+<div class="i2">. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah me! to sleep and yet to wake,</div>
+<div class="i2">To live so long, and yet to die;</div>
+<div class="i0">To sing sad songs for Sylvia's sake,</div>
+<div class="i2">And yet no peace to gain thereby!</div>
+<div class="i0">What have I done? What left unsaid?</div>
+<div class="i0">Nay, I will count my tears instead.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Here is a word of wild design.</div>
+<div class="i2">Here is a threat; 'twas meant to warn.</div>
+<div class="i0">Here is a fierce and freezing line,</div>
+<div class="i2">As hot as hate, as cold as scorn.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ah, friend! forgive; forbear my rhymes,</div>
+<div class="i0">But pray for me, sweet soul! sometimes.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Had I a curse to spare to-day,</div>
+<div class="i2">(Which I have not) I'd use it now.</div>
+<div class="i0">I'd curse my hair to turn it gray,</div>
+<div class="i2">I'd teach my back to bend and bow;</div>
+<div class="i0">I'd make myself so old and thin</div>
+<div class="i0">That I should seem too sad to sin.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And then we'd meet, we two, at night;</div>
+<div class="i2">And I should know what saints have known.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou would'st not tremble, dear, for fright,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or shriek to meet me there alone.</div>
+<div class="i0">I should not then be spurned for this,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or want a smile, or need a kiss.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I should not then be fierce as fire,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or mad as sin, or sharp as knife;</div>
+<div class="i0">My heart would throb with no desire,</div>
+<div class="i2">For care would cool the flush of life;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I should love thee, spotless one,</div>
+<div class="i0">As pilgrims love some holy nun.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XXI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah, queen-like creature! smile on me;</div>
+<div class="i2">Be kind, be good; I lov'd thee much.</div>
+<div class="i0">I thank thee, see! on bended knee.</div>
+<div class="i2">I seek salvation in thy touch.</div>
+<div class="i0">And when I sleep I watch thee come,</div>
+<div class="i0">And both are wild, and one is dumb.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I draw thee, ghost-like, to my heart;</div>
+<div class="i2">I kiss thy lips and call thee mine.</div>
+<div class="i0">Of thy sweet soul I form a part,</div>
+<div class="i2">And my poor soul is part of thine.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!</div>
+<div class="i0">But let me be thy servant now.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">What! did I curse thy golden hair?</div>
+<div class="i2">Well, then, the sun will set at noon;</div>
+<div class="i0">The face that keeps the world so fair</div>
+<div class="i2">Is thine, not his; he darkens soon.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy smile awakes the bird of dawn,</div>
+<div class="i0">And day departs when thou art gone.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XXIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh! had I groves in some sweet star</div>
+<div class="i2">That shines in Heaven the whole night through,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">A steed with wings,&mdash;a golden car,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">A something wild and strange and true:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">A fairy's wand,&mdash;an angel's crown,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">I'd merge them all in thy renown.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I'd give thee queens to wait on thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">And kings to kneel to thee in prayer,</div>
+<div class="i0">And seraph-boys by land and sea</div>
+<div class="i2">To do thy bidding,&mdash;earth and air</div>
+<div class="i0">To pay thee homage,&mdash;all the flowers,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the nymphs in all the bowers.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And this our love should last for aye,</div>
+<div class="i2">And we should live these thousand years.</div>
+<div class="i0">We'd meet in Mars on Christmas Day,</div>
+<div class="i2">And make the tour of all the spheres.</div>
+<div class="i0">We'd do strange things! Sweet stars would shine,</div>
+<div class="i0">And Death would spare my love and thine.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XXVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But these are dreams; and dreams are vain;</div>
+<div class="i2">Mine most of all,&mdash;so heed them not.</div>
+<div class="i0">Brave thoughts will die, though men complain,</div>
+<div class="i2">And mine was bold! 'Tis now forgot.</div>
+<div class="i0">Well; let me bless thee, ere I sleep,</div>
+<div class="i0">And give thee all my joys to keep.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I bless the house where thou wast born,</div>
+<div class="i2">I bless the hours of every night,</div>
+<div class="i0">And every hour from flush of morn</div>
+<div class="i2">Till death of day, for thy delight;</div>
+<div class="i0">I bless the sunbeams as they shine,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">So like those golden locks of thine.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I bless thy lips, thy lustrous eyes,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy face, thy feet, thy forehead fair,</div>
+<div class="i0">The light that shines in summer skies,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">In garden walks when thou art there,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the grass beneath thy feet,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the songs thou singest, Sweet!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XXX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But blessing thus,&mdash;ah, woe's the day!&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">I know what tears I shall not shed,</div>
+<div class="i0">What flowers will bloom, and, bright as they,</div>
+<div class="i2">What bells will ring when I am dead.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!</div>
+<div class="i0">But let me be thy minstrel now.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="ELEANORE" id="ELEANORE"></a>EL�ANORE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 186<br />Pg 187]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:22em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">The</span> forest flowers are faded all,</div>
+<div class="i0">The winds complain, the snow-flakes fall,</div>
+<div class="i14">El�anore!</div>
+<div class="i0">I turn to thee, as to a bower:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou breathest beauty like a flower,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou smilest like a happy hour,</div>
+<div class="i14">El�anore!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I turn to thee. I bless afar</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy name, which is my guiding-star,</div>
+<div class="i14">El�anore!</div>
+<div class="i0">And yet, ah God! when thou art here</div>
+<div class="i0">I faint, I hold my breath for fear.</div>
+<div class="i0">Art thou some phantom wandering near,</div>
+<div class="i14">El�anore?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, take me to thy bosom fair;</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh, cover me with thy golden hair,</div>
+<div class="i14">El�anore!</div>
+<div class="i0">There let me lie when I am dead,</div>
+<div class="i0">Those morning beams about me spread,</div>
+<div class="i0">The glory of thy face o'erhead,</div>
+<div class="i14">El�anore!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 413px;">
+<a href="images/p188.jpg">
+<img src="images/p188sm.jpg" width="413" height="600"
+ alt="MARIE" title="MARIE" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="THE_STATUE" id="THE_STATUE"></a>THE STATUE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:18em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">See</span> where my lady stands,</div>
+<div class="i0">Lifting her lustrous hands,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Here let me bow.</div>
+<div class="i0">Image of truth and grace!</div>
+<div class="i0">Maid with the angel-face!</div>
+<div class="i0">Earth was no dwelling-place</div>
+<div class="i2">For such as thou.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah, thou unhappy stone,</div>
+<div class="i0">Make now thy sorrows known;</div>
+<div class="i2">Make known thy longing.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou art the form of one</div>
+<div class="i0">Whom I, with hopes undone,</div>
+<div class="i0">Buried at set of sun,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">All the friends thronging.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou art some Vision bright</div>
+<div class="i0">Lost out of Heaven at night,</div>
+<div class="i2">Far from thy race.</div>
+<div class="i0">Oft when the others dance,</div>
+<div class="i0">Come I, with wistful glance,</div>
+<div class="i0">Fearful lest thou, perchance,</div>
+<div class="i2">Leave the dark place.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">No! thou wilt never flee,</div>
+<div class="i0">Earth has a charm for thee;&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Why should we sever?</div>
+<div class="i0">Years have I seen thee so,</div>
+<div class="i0">Making pretence to go,</div>
+<div class="i0">Lifting thine arms of snow,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Voiceless for ever!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Here bring I all my cares,</div>
+<div class="i0">Here dream and say my prayers</div>
+<div class="i2">While the bells toll.</div>
+<div class="i0">O thou belov�d saint!</div>
+<div class="i0">Let not my courage faint,</div>
+<div class="i0">Let not a shame, or taint,</div>
+<div class="i2">Injure my soul!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="PABLO_DE_SARASATE" id="PABLO_DE_SARASATE"></a>PABLO DE SARASATE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:28em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Who</span> comes, to-day, with sunlight on his face,</div>
+<div class="i0">And eyes of fire, that have a sorrow's trace,</div>
+<div class="i0">But are not sad with sadness of the years,</div>
+<div class="i14">Or hints of tears?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He is a king, or I mistake the sign,</div>
+<div class="i0">A king of song,&mdash;a comrade of the Nine,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The Muses' brother, and their youngest one,</div>
+<div class="i14">This side the sun.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">See how he bends to greet his soul's desire,</div>
+<div class="i0">His violin, which trembles like a lyre,</div>
+<div class="i0">And seems to trust him, and to know his touch,</div>
+<div class="i14">Belov'd so much!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He stands full height; he draws it to his breast,</div>
+<div class="i0">Like one, in joy, who takes a wonder-guest,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">A weird, wild thing, bewitched from end to end,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i14">To be his friend.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And who can doubt the right it has to lie</div>
+<div class="i0">So near his heart, and there to sob and sigh,</div>
+<div class="i0">And there to shake its octaves into notes</div>
+<div class="i14">With bird-like throats.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ah! see how deftly, with his lifted bow,</div>
+<div class="i0">He strikes the chords of ecstasy and woe,</div>
+<div class="i0">And wakes the wailing of the sprite within</div>
+<div class="i14">That knows not sin.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A thousand heads are turn'd to where he stands,</div>
+<div class="i0">A thousand hopes are moulded to his hands,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, like a storm-wind hurrying from the north,</div>
+<div class="i14">A shout breaks forth.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is the welcome that of old was given</div>
+<div class="i0">To Paganini ere he join'd in Heaven</div>
+<div class="i0">The angel-choirs of those who serve aright</div>
+<div class="i14">The God of Light.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">It is the large, loud utterance of a throng</div>
+<div class="i0">That loves a faith-employ'd, impassion'd song;</div>
+<div class="i0">A song that soothes the heart, and makes it sad,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i14">Yet keeps us glad.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For look! how bearded men and women fair</div>
+<div class="i0">Shed tears and smile, and half repeat a prayer</div>
+<div class="i0">And half are shamed in their so mean estate,</div>
+<div class="i14">And he so great!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">This is the young Endymion out of Spain</div>
+<div class="i0">Who, laurel-crown'd, has come to us again</div>
+<div class="i0">To re-intone the songs of other times</div>
+<div class="i14">In far-off climes.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">To prove again that Music, by the plea</div>
+<div class="i0">Of all men's love, has link'd from sea to sea</div>
+<div class="i0">All shores of earth in one serene and grand</div>
+<div class="i14">Symphonic land.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh! hush the while! Oh! hush! A bird has sung</div>
+<div class="i0">A Mayday bird has trill'd without a tongue,</div>
+<div class="i0">And now, 'twould seem, has wandered out of sight</div>
+<div class="i14">For sheer delight.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A phantom bird! 'Tis gone where all things go&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The wind, the rain, the sunshine, and the snow,</div>
+<div class="i0">The hopes we nurs'd, the dead things lately pass'd&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i14">All dreams at last.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The towers of light, the castles in the air,</div>
+<div class="i0">The queenly things with diamonds in their hair,</div>
+<div class="i0">The toys of sound, the flowers of magic art&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i14">All these depart.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">They seem'd to live; and lo! beyond recall,</div>
+<div class="i0">They take the sweet sad Silence for a pall,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, wrapt therein, consent to be dismiss'd,</div>
+<div class="i14">Though glory-kiss'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O pride of Spain! O wizard with a wand</div>
+<div class="i0">More fraught with fervours of the life beyond</div>
+<div class="i0">Than books have taught us in these tawdry days,</div>
+<div class="i14">Take thou my praise.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Aye, take it, Pablo! Though so poor a thing,</div>
+<div class="i0">'Twill serve to mind thee of an English spring</div>
+<div class="i0">When wealth, and worth, and fashion, each and all,</div>
+<div class="i14">Obey'd thy thrall.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The lark that sings its love-song in the cloud</div>
+<div class="i0">Is God-inspired and glad,&mdash;but is not proud,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And soon forgets the salvos of the breeze,</div>
+<div class="i14">As thou dost these.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The shouts, the praises, and the swift acclaim,</div>
+<div class="i0">That men have brought to magnify thy name,</div>
+<div class="i0">Affect thee barely as an idle cheer</div>
+<div class="i14">Affects a seer.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But thou art ours, O Pablo! ours to-day,</div>
+<div class="i0">Ours, and not ours, in thy triumphant sway;</div>
+<div class="i0">And we must urge it by the right that brings</div>
+<div class="i14">Honour to kings.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XXII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Honour to thee, thou stately, thou divine</div>
+<div class="i0">And far-famed minstrel of a mighty line!</div>
+<div class="i0">Honour to thee, and peace, and musings high,</div>
+<div class="i14">Good-night! Good-bye!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="MY_AMAZON" id="MY_AMAZON"></a>MY AMAZON.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:24em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">My</span> Love is a lady fair and free,</div>
+<div class="i0">A lady fair from over the sea,</div>
+<div class="i0">And she hath eyes that pierce my breast</div>
+<div class="i0">And rob my spirit of peace and rest.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A youthful warrior, warm and young,</div>
+<div class="i0">She takes me prisoner with her tongue,</div>
+<div class="i0">Aye! and she keeps me,&mdash;on parole,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Till paid the ransom of my soul.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">I swear the foeman, arm'd for war</div>
+<div class="i0">From <i>cap-�-pie</i>, with many a scar,</div>
+<div class="i0">More mercy finds for prostrate foe</div>
+<div class="i0">Than she who deals me never a blow.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And so 'twill be, this many a day;</div>
+<div class="i0">She comes to wound, if not to slay.</div>
+<div class="i0">But in my dreams,&mdash;in honied sleep,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">'Tis I to smile, and she to weep!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="PRO_PATRIA" id="PRO_PATRIA"></a>PRO PATRIA.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></h2>
+
+<p class="center">AN ODE TO SWINBURNE.</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem font9" style="width:26em;">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">["We have not, alack! an ally to befriend us,</div>
+<div class="i0">And the season is ripe to extirpate and end us.</div>
+<div class="i0">Let the German touch hands with the Gaul,</div>
+<div class="i0">And the fortress of England must fall.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Louder and louder the noise of defiance</div>
+<div class="i0">Rings rage from the grave of a trustless alliance,</div>
+<div class="i0">And bids us beware, and be warn'd,</div>
+<div class="i0">As abhorr'd of all nations and scorn'd."</div>
+</div></div>
+<p class="citation"><i>A Word for the Nation, by A. C. Swinburne.</i>]</p>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Nay,</span> good Sir Poet, read thy rhymes again,</div>
+<div class="i2">And curb the tumults that are born in thee,</div>
+<div class="i0">That now thy hand, relentful, may refrain</div>
+<div class="i0">To deal the blow that Abel had of Cain.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Are we not Britons born, when all is said,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou the offspring of the knightly souls</div>
+<div class="i0">Who fought for Charles when fears were harvested,</div>
+<div class="i0">And Cromwell rose to power on Charles's head?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O reckless, roystering bard, that in a breath</div>
+<div class="i2">Did'st find the way to flout thy fathers' flag!</div>
+<div class="i0">Is't well, unheeding what thy Reason saith,</div>
+<div class="i0">To seem to triumph in thy country's death?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">If none will speak for us, if none will say</div>
+<div class="i2">How far thy muse has wrong'd us in its thought,</div>
+<div class="i0">'Tis I will do it; I will say thee nay,</div>
+<div class="i0">And hurl thee back the ravings of thy lay.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">We own thy prowess; for we've learnt by rote</div>
+<div class="i2">Song after song of thine; and thou art great.</div>
+<div class="i0">But why this malice? Why this wanton note</div>
+<div class="i0">Which seems to come like lava from thy throat?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">When Hugo spoke we owned his master-spell;</div>
+<div class="i2">We knew he feared us more than he contemned.</div>
+<div class="i0">He fleck'd with fire each sentence as it fell,</div>
+<div class="i0">And tolled his rancours like a wedding-bell.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And we were proud of him, as France was proud.</div>
+<div class="i2">Ay! call'd him brother,&mdash;though he lov'd us not;</div>
+<div class="i0">And we were thrill'd when, ruthless from a cloud,</div>
+<div class="i0">The bolt of death outstretch'd him for a shroud.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou'rt great as he by fame and force of song,</div>
+<div class="i2">But less than he as spokesman of his Land.</div>
+<div class="i0">For thou hast rail'd at thine, to do it wrong,</div>
+<div class="i0">And call'd it coward though its faith is strong.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">England a coward! O thou five foot five</div>
+<div class="i2">Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest!</div>
+<div class="i0">Is she not girt with glory and alive</div>
+<div class="i0">To hear thee buzz thy scorn of all the hive?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thou art a bee,&mdash;a bright, a golden thing</div>
+<div class="i2">With too much honey; and the taste thereof</div>
+<div class="i0">Is sometimes rough, and somewhat of a sting</div>
+<div class="i0">Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, thou hast wrong'd us; thou hast said of late</div>
+<div class="i2">More than is good for listeners to repeat.</div>
+<div class="i0">Nay, I have marvell'd at thy words of hate,</div>
+<div class="i0">For friends and foes alike have deem'd us great.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">We are not vile. We, too, have hearts to feel;</div>
+<div class="i2">And not in vain have men remember'd this.</div>
+<div class="i0">Our hands are quick at times to clasp the steel,</div>
+<div class="i0">And strike the blows that centuries cannot heal.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The sea-ward rocks are proud to be assail'd</div>
+<div class="i2">By wave and wind; for bluster kills itself,</div>
+<div class="i0">But rocks endure. And England has prevail'd</div>
+<div class="i0">Times out of number, when her foes have failed.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">And once, thou know'st, a giant here was found,</div>
+<div class="i2">Not bred in France, or elsewhere under sun.</div>
+<div class="i0">And he was Shakespeare of the whole world round,</div>
+<div class="i0">And he was king of men, though never crown'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He lov'd the gracious earth from east to west,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the seas thereof and all its shores.</div>
+<div class="i0">But most he lov'd the home that he possess'd,</div>
+<div class="i0">And, right or wrong, his country seem'd the best.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">He was content with Albion's classic land.</div>
+<div class="i2">He lov'd its flag. He veil'd its every fault.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yes! he was proud to let its honour stand,</div>
+<div class="i0">And bring to light the wonders it had plann'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Do thou thus much; and deal no further pain;</div>
+<div class="i2">But sooner tear the tongue from out thy mouth,</div>
+<div class="i0">And sooner let the life in thee be slain,</div>
+<div class="i0">Than strike at One who strikes thee not again.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Thy land and mine, our England, is erect,</div>
+<div class="i2">And like a lordly thing she looks on thee,</div>
+<div class="i0">And sees thee number'd with her bards elect,</div>
+<div class="i0">And will not harm the brow that she has deck'd.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">She lets thee live. She knows how rich and rare</div>
+<div class="i2">Are songs like thine, and how the smallest bird</div>
+<div class="i0">May make much music in the summer air,</div>
+<div class="i0">And how a curse may turn into a prayer.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same</div>
+<div class="i2">Accept our pardon; or, if this offend,</div>
+<div class="i0">Why then no pardon, e'en in England's name.</div>
+<div class="i0">We have our country still, and thou thy fame!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_GRAVE" id="THE_LITTLE_GRAVE"></a>THE LITTLE GRAVE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:22em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">A little</span> mound of earth</div>
+<div class="i2">Is all the land I own:</div>
+<div class="i0">Death gave it me,&mdash;five feet by three,</div>
+<div class="i2">And mark'd it with a stone.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">My home, my garden-grave,</div>
+<div class="i2">Where most I long to go!</div>
+<div class="i0">The ground is mine by right divine,</div>
+<div class="i2">And Heaven will have it so.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For here my darling sleeps,</div>
+<div class="i2">Unseen,&mdash;arrayed in white,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">And o'er the grass the breezes pass,</div>
+<div class="i2">And stars look down at night.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Here Beauty, Love, and Joy,</div>
+<div class="i2">With her in silence dwell,</div>
+<div class="i0">As Eastern slaves are thrown in graves</div>
+<div class="i2">Of kings remember'd well.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But here let no man come,</div>
+<div class="i2">My mourning rights to sever.</div>
+<div class="i0">Who lieth here is cold and dumb.</div>
+<div class="i2">Her dust is mine for ever!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 407px;">
+<a href="images/p206.jpg">
+<img src="images/p206sm.jpg" width="407" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</a>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="A_DIRGE" id="A_DIRGE"></a>A DIRGE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:24em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0 initial"><span class="smcap">Art</span> thou lonely in thy tomb?</div>
+<div class="i0">Art thou cold in such a gloom?</div>
+<div class="i0">Rouse thee, then, and make me room,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i10">Miserere Domine!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Phantoms vex thy virgin sleep,</div>
+<div class="i0">Nameless things around thee creep,</div>
+<div class="i0">Yet be patient, do not weep,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i10">Miserere Domine!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O be faithful! O be brave!</div>
+<div class="i0">Naught shall harm thee in thy grave;</div>
+<div class="i0">Let the restless spirits rave,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i10">Miserere Domine!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">When my pilgrimage is done,</div>
+<div class="i0">When the grace of God is won,</div>
+<div class="i0">I will come to thee, my nun,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i10">Miserere Domine!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Like a priest in flowing vest,</div>
+<div class="i0">Like a pale, unbidden guest,</div>
+<div class="i0">I will come to thee and rest,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i10">Miserere Domine!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p209sm.png" width="600" height="245"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="DAISIES_OUT_AT_SEA" id="DAISIES_OUT_AT_SEA"></a>DAISIES OUT AT SEA.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:32em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2 initial"><span class="smcap">These</span> are the buds we bear beyond the surf,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i6">Enshrined in mould and turf,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">To take to fields far off, a land's salute</div>
+<div class="i6">Of high and vast repute,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The Shakespeare-land of every heart's desire,</div>
+<div class="i2">Whereof, 'tis said, the fame shall not expire,</div>
+<div class="i0">But shine in all men's thoughts as shines a beacon-fire.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">O bright and gracious things that seem to glow</div>
+<div class="i6">With frills of winter snow,</div>
+<div class="i2">And little golden heads that know the sun,</div>
+<div class="i6">And seasons half begun,</div>
+<div class="i2">How blythe they look, how fresh and debonair,</div>
+<div class="i2">In this their prison on the seaward air,</div>
+<div class="i0">On which no lark has soar'd to improvise a prayer.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Have they no memory of the inland grass,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i6">The fields where breezes pass,</div>
+<div class="i2">And where the full-eyed children, out at play,</div>
+<div class="i6">Make all the land so gay?</div>
+<div class="i2">Have they no thought of dews that, like a tear,</div>
+<div class="i2">Were shed by Morning on the Night's cold bier,</div>
+<div class="i0">In far-off English homes, belov'd by all men here?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">O gems of earth! O trinkets of the spring!</div>
+<div class="i6">The sun, your gentle king,</div>
+<div class="i2">Who counts your leaves and marshals ye apace,</div>
+<div class="i6">In many a sacred place,</div>
+<div class="i2">The godlike summer sun will miss ye all,</div>
+<div class="i2">For he has foster'd all things, great and small,</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, all good things that live on earth's revolving ball.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">But when, on deck, he sees with eye serene</div>
+<div class="i6">The kirtles, tender-green,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fair fresh faces of his hardy flowers,</div>
+<div class="i6">How will he throb for hours,</div>
+<div class="i2">And wish the lark, the laureate of the light,</div>
+<div class="i2">Were near at hand, to see so fair a sight,</div>
+<div class="i0">And chant the joys thereof in words we cannot write.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Oh, I have lov'd ye more than may be told,</div>
+<div class="i6">And deem'd it fairy-gold,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And fairy-silver,&mdash;that ye bear withal;</div>
+<div class="i6">Ye are so soft and small,</div>
+<div class="i2">I weep for joy to find ye here to-day</div>
+<div class="i2">So near to Heaven, and yet so far away,</div>
+<div class="i0">In our good ocean-ship, whose bows are wet with spray.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Ye are the cynosure of many eyes</div>
+<div class="i6">Bright-blue as English skies,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The sailors' eyes that scan ye in a row,</div>
+<div class="i6">As if intent to show</div>
+<div class="i2">That this dear freight of mould and meadow-flower</div>
+<div class="i2">Which sails the sea, in sunshine and in shower,</div>
+<div class="i0">Is England's gift of love, which storms shall not devour.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">She sends ye forth in sadness and in joy,</div>
+<div class="i6">As one may send a toy</div>
+<div class="i2">To children's children, bred in other lands</div>
+<div class="i6">By love-abiding hands.</div>
+<div class="i2">And, day by day, ye sail upon the foam</div>
+<div class="i2">To call to mind the sires' and mothers' home,</div>
+<div class="i0">Where babes, now grown to men, were wont of yore to roam.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">In England's name, in Shakespeare's,&mdash;and in ours,</div>
+<div class="i6">Who bear these trusted flowers,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">There shall be heard a cheer from many throats,</div>
+<div class="i6">A rush and roar of notes,</div>
+<div class="i2">As loud, and proud, as those of heavenward birds;</div>
+<div class="i2">And they who till the ground and tend the herds</div>
+<div class="i0">Will read our thoughts therein, and clothe the same in words.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">For England's sake, for England once again,</div>
+<div class="i6">In pride and power and pain,</div>
+<div class="i2">For England, aye! for England in the girth</div>
+<div class="i6">Of all her joy and worth,</div>
+<div class="i2">A strong and clear, outspoken, undefined,</div>
+<div class="i2">And uncontroll'd wild shout upon the wind,</div>
+<div class="i0">Will greet these winsome flowers as friends of human-kind!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="Sonnets" id="Sonnets"></a>Sonnets.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213<br />Pg 214]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;">
+<img src="images/p215sm.png" width="475" height="600"
+ alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I.<br /><br />
+
+ECSTASY.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></h2>
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">I cannot</span> sing to thee as I would sing</div>
+<div class="i2">If I were quickened like the holy lark</div>
+<div class="i0">With fire from Heaven and sunlight on his wing,</div>
+<div class="i2">Who wakes the world with witcheries of the dark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">Renewed in rapture in the reddening air.</div>
+<div class="i2">A thing of splendour do I deem him then,</div>
+<div class="i0">A feather'd frenzy with an angel's throat,</div>
+<div class="i0">A something sweet that somewhere seems to float</div>
+<div class="i2">'Twixt earth and sky, to be a sign to men.</div>
+<div class="i0">He fills me with such wonder and despair!</div>
+<div class="i2">I long to kiss thy locks, so golden bright,</div>
+<div class="i0">As he doth kiss the tresses of the sun.</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh! bid me sing to thee, my chosen one,</div>
+<div class="i2">And do thou teach me, Love, to sing aright!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+VISIONS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Poet meets Apollo on the hill,</div>
+<div class="i2">And Pan and Flora and the Paphian Queen,</div>
+<div class="i0">And infant na�ads bathing in the rill,</div>
+<div class="i2">And dryad maids that dance upon the green,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fauns and Oreads in the silver sheen</div>
+<div class="i0">They wear in summer, when the air is still.</div>
+<div class="i0">He quaffs the wine of life, and quaffs his fill,</div>
+<div class="i2">And sees Creation through its mask terrene.</div>
+<div class="i0">The dead are wise, for they alone can see</div>
+<div class="i2">As see the bards,&mdash;as see, beyond the dust,</div>
+<div class="i2">The eyes of babes. The dead alone are just.</div>
+<div class="i0">There is no comfort in the bitter fee</div>
+<div class="i0">That scholars pay for fame. True sage is he</div>
+<div class="i2">Who doubts all doubt, and takes the soul on trust.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+THE DAISY.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">See</span> where it stands, the world-appointed flower,</div>
+<div class="i2">Pure gold at centre, like the sun at noon,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">A mimic sun to light a true-love bower</div>
+<div class="i2">For fair Queen Mab, now dead or in a swoon,</div>
+<div class="i2">Whom late a poet saw beneath the moon.</div>
+<div class="i0">It lifts its dainty face till sunset hour,</div>
+<div class="i0">As if endowed with nympholeptic power,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Then shuts its petals like a folding tune!</div>
+<div class="i0">I love it more than words of mine can say,</div>
+<div class="i2">And more than anchorite may breathe in prayer.</div>
+<div class="i2">Methinks the lark has made it still his care</div>
+<div class="i0">To brag of daisies to the lord of day.</div>
+<div class="i0">Well! I will follow suit, as best I may,</div>
+<div class="i2">Launching my love-songs on the summer air.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 513px;">
+<img src="images/p219sm.png" width="513" height="600" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span><br /><br />
+PROBATION.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Could</span> I, O Love! obtain a charter clear</div>
+<div class="i2">To be thy bard, in all thy nights and days,</div>
+<div class="i0">I would consult the stars, from year to year,</div>
+<div class="i2">And talk with trees, and learn of them their ways,</div>
+<div class="i0">And why the nymphs so seldom now appear</div>
+<div class="i2">In human form, with rapt and earnest gaze;</div>
+<div class="i2">And I would learn of thee why joy decays,</div>
+<div class="i0">And why the Fauns have ceas'd to flourish here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">I would, in answer to the wind's "Alas!"</div>
+<div class="i2">Explain the causes of a sorrow's flight;</div>
+<div class="i0">I would peruse the writing on the grass</div>
+<div class="i2">Which flowers have traced in blue and red and white;</div>
+<div class="i0">And, reading these, I would, as from a pen,</div>
+<div class="i0">Read thoughts of thine unguess'd by other men!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+DANTE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> liv'd and lov'd; he suffer'd; he was poor;</div>
+<div class="i2">But he was gifted with the gifts of Heaven,</div>
+<div class="i2">And those of all the week-days that are seven,</div>
+<div class="i0">And those of all the centuries that endure.</div>
+<div class="i0">He bow'd to none; he kept his honour sure.</div>
+<div class="i2">He follow'd in the wake of those Eleven</div>
+<div class="i2">Who walk'd with Christ, and lifted up his steven<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></div>
+<div class="i0">To keep the bulwarks of his faith secure.</div>
+<div class="i0">He knew the secrets of the singing-time;</div>
+<div class="i2">He track'd the sun; he ate the luscious fruit</div>
+<div class="i2">Of grief and joy; and with his wonder-lute</div>
+<div class="i0">He made himself a name in every clime.</div>
+<div class="i2">The minds of men were madly stricken mute</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the world lay subject to his rhyme!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Steven, a voice; old word revived.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+DIFFIDENCE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">I cannot</span> deck my thought in proud attire,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or make it fit for thee in any dress,</div>
+<div class="i0">Or sing to thee the songs of thy desire,</div>
+<div class="i0">In summer's heat, or by the winter's fire,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or give thee cause to comfort or to bless.</div>
+<div class="i2">For I have scann'd mine own unworthiness</div>
+<div class="i0">And well I know the weakness of the lyre</div>
+<div class="i2">Which I have striven to sway to thy caress.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yet must I quell my tears and calm the smart</div>
+<div class="i2">Of my vext soul, and steadfastly emerge</div>
+<div class="i2">From lonesome thoughts, as from the tempest's surge.</div>
+<div class="i0">I must control the beating of my heart,</div>
+<div class="i0">And bid false pride be gone, who, with his art,</div>
+<div class="i2">Has press'd, too long, a suit I dare not urge.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p223sm.png" width="600" height="563" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+FAIRIES.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Glory</span> endures when calumny hath fled;</div>
+<div class="i2">And fairies show themselves, in friendly guise,</div>
+<div class="i0">To all who hold a trust beyond the dead,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all who pray, albeit so worldly-wise,</div>
+<div class="i2">With cheerful hearts or wildly-weeping eyes.</div>
+<div class="i0">They come and go when children are in bed</div>
+<div class="i2">To gladden them with dreams from out the skies</div>
+<div class="i0">And sanctify all tears that they have shed!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">Fairies are wing'd for wandering to and fro.</div>
+<div class="i2">They live in legends; they survive the Greeks.</div>
+<div class="i0">Wisdom is theirs; they live for us and grow,</div>
+<div class="i2">Like things ambrosial, fairer than the freaks</div>
+<div class="i0">Of signs and seasons which the poets know,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or fires of sunset on the mountain-peaks.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+SPIRIT LOVE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">How</span> great my joy! How grand my recompense!</div>
+<div class="i2">I bow to thee; I keep thee in my sight.</div>
+<div class="i0">I call thee mine, in love though not in sense</div>
+<div class="i0">I share with thee the hermitage immense</div>
+<div class="i2">Of holy dreams which come to us at night,</div>
+<div class="i0">When, through the medium of the spirit-lens</div>
+<div class="i2">We see the soul, in its primeval light,</div>
+<div class="i2">And Reason spares the hopes it cannot blight.</div>
+<div class="i0">It is the soul of thee, and not the form,</div>
+<div class="i2">And not the face, I yearn-to in my sleep.</div>
+<div class="i0">It is thyself. The body is the storm,</div>
+<div class="i2">The soul the star beyond it in the deep</div>
+<div class="i2">Of Nature's calm. And yonder on the steep</div>
+<div class="i0">The Sun of Faith, quiescent, round, and warm!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+AFTER TWO DAYS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Another</span> night has turned itself to day,</div>
+<div class="i2">Another day has melted into eve,</div>
+<div class="i0">And lo! again I tread the measured way</div>
+<div class="i2">Of word and thought, the twain to interweave,</div>
+<div class="i2">As flowers absorb the rays that they receive.</div>
+<div class="i0">And, all along the woodland where I stray,</div>
+<div class="i0">I think of thee, and Nature keeps me gay,</div>
+<div class="i2">And sorrow soothes the soul it would bereave.</div>
+<div class="i0">Nor will I fear that thou, so far apart,</div>
+<div class="i2">So dear to me, so fair, and so benign,</div>
+<div class="i0">Wilt un-desire the fealty of a heart</div>
+<div class="i2">Which evermore is pledg'd to thee and thine,</div>
+<div class="i0">And turns to thee, in regions where thou art,</div>
+<div class="i2">To hymn the praises of thy face divine!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+BYRON.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> was a god descended from the skies</div>
+<div class="i2">To fight the fight of Freedom o'er a grave,</div>
+<div class="i2">And consecrate a hope he could not save;</div>
+<div class="i0">For he was weak withal, and foolish-wise.</div>
+<div class="i0">Dark were his thoughts, and strange his destinies,</div>
+<div class="i2">And oftentimes his life he did deprave.</div>
+<div class="i0">But all do pity him, though none despise.</div>
+<div class="i2">He was a prince of song, though sorrow's slave.</div>
+<div class="i0">He ask'd for tears,&mdash;and they were tinged with fire;</div>
+<div class="i2">He ask'd for love, and love was sold to him.</div>
+<div class="i2">He look'd for solace at the goblet's brim,</div>
+<div class="i0">And found it not; then wept upon his lyre.</div>
+<div class="i0">He sang the songs of all the world's desire,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">He wears the wreath no rivalry can dim!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p228sm.png" width="600" height="479" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+LOVE'S AMBITION.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">I must</span> invoke thee for my spirit's good,</div>
+<div class="i2">And prove myself un-guilty of the crime</div>
+<div class="i0">Of mere self-seeking, though with this imbued.</div>
+<div class="i0">I sing as sings the mavis in a wood,</div>
+<div class="i2">Content to be alive at harvest time.</div>
+<div class="i0">Had I its wings I should not be withstood!</div>
+<div class="i2">But I will weave my fancies into rhyme,</div>
+<div class="i2">And greet afar the heights I cannot climb.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">I will invoke thee, Love! though far away,</div>
+<div class="i2">And pay thee homage, as becomes a knight</div>
+<div class="i2">Who longs to keep his true-love in his sight.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea, I will soar to thee, in roundelay,</div>
+<div class="i0">In shine and shower, and make a bold assay</div>
+<div class="i2">Of each fond hope, to compass thee aright.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+LOVE'S DEFEAT.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Do</span> what I will, I cannot chant so well</div>
+<div class="i2">As other men; and yet my soul is true.</div>
+<div class="i0">My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell,</div>
+<div class="i2">But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too,</div>
+<div class="i2">Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.</div>
+<div class="i0">I strike the lyre, I sound the hollow shell;</div>
+<div class="i0">And why? For comfort, when my thoughts rebel,</div>
+<div class="i2">And when I count the woes that must ensue.</div>
+<div class="i0">But for this reason, and no other one,</div>
+<div class="i2">I dare to look thy way, and bow my head</div>
+<div class="i0">To thy sweet name, as sunflower to the sun,</div>
+<div class="i2">Though, peradventure, not so wisely fed</div>
+<div class="i2">With garden fancies. Tears must now be shed,</div>
+<div class="i0">Unnumber'd tears, till life or love be done!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A THUNDERSTORM AT NIGHT.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> lightning is the shorthand of the storm</div>
+<div class="i2">That tells of chaos; and I read the same</div>
+<div class="i2">As one may read the writing of a name,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">As one in Hell may see the sudden form</div>
+<div class="i2">Of God's fore-finger pointed as in blame.</div>
+<div class="i0">How weird the scene! The Dark is sulphur-warm</div>
+<div class="i0">With hints of death; and in their vault enorme</div>
+<div class="i2">The reeling stars coagulate in flame.</div>
+<div class="i0">And now the torrents from their mountain-beds</div>
+<div class="i2">Roar down uncheck'd; and serpents shaped of mist</div>
+<div class="i0">Writhe up to Heaven with unforbidden heads;</div>
+<div class="i2">And thunder-clouds, whose lightnings intertwist,</div>
+<div class="i0">Rack all the sky, and tear it into shreds,</div>
+<div class="i2">And shake the air like Titians that have kiss'd!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p232sm.png" width="600" height="518" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+IN TUSCANY.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dost</span> thou remember, friend of vanish'd days,</div>
+<div class="i2">How in the golden land of love and song,</div>
+<div class="i0">We met in April in the crowded ways</div>
+<div class="i2">Of that fair city where the soul is strong,</div>
+<div class="i0">Aye! strong as fate, for good or evil praise?</div>
+<div class="i0">And how the lord whom all the world obeys,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The lord of light to whom the stars belong,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Illumed the track that led thee through the throng?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">Dost thou remember, in the wooded dale,</div>
+<div class="i2">Beyond the town of Dante the Divine,</div>
+<div class="i2">How all the air was flooded as with wine?</div>
+<div class="i0">And how the lark, to drown the nightingale,</div>
+<div class="i0">Peal'd out sweet notes? I live to tell the tale.</div>
+<div class="i2">But thou? Oblivion signs thee with a sign!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A HERO.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> warrior knows how fitful is the fight,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">How sad to live,&mdash;how sweet perchance to die.</div>
+<div class="i0">Is Fame his joy? He meets her on the height,</div>
+<div class="i2">And when he falls he shouts his battle-cry;</div>
+<div class="i2">His eyes are wet; our own will not be dry.</div>
+<div class="i0">Nor shall we stint his praise, or our delight,</div>
+<div class="i0">When he survives to serve his Land aright</div>
+<div class="i2">And make his fame the watchword of the sky.</div>
+<div class="i0">In all our hopes his love is with us still;</div>
+<div class="i2">He tends our faith, he soothes us when we grieve.</div>
+<div class="i2">His acts are just; his word we must believe,</div>
+<div class="i0">And none shall spurn him, though his blood they spill</div>
+<div class="i0">To pierce the heart whose pride they cannot kill.&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Death dies for him whose fame is his reprieve!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+REMORSE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Go,</span> get thee gone. I love thee not, I swear;</div>
+<div class="i2">And if I lov'd thee well in days gone by,</div>
+<div class="i0">And if I kiss'd, and trifled with thy hair,</div>
+<div class="i2">And crown'd my love, to prove the same a lie,</div>
+<div class="i2">My doom is this: my joy was quick to die.</div>
+<div class="i0">The chain of custom in the drowsy lair</div>
+<div class="i0">Of some slain vision, is a weight to bear,</div>
+<div class="i2">And both abhorr'd it,&mdash;thou as well as I.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ah, God! 'tis tearful true; and I repent;</div>
+<div class="i2">And like a dead, live man I live for this:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">To stand, unvalued, on a dream's abyss,</div>
+<div class="i0">And be my own most piteous monument.</div>
+<div class="i2">What! did I rob thee, Lady, of a kiss?</div>
+<div class="i0">There, take it back; and frown; and be content!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+THE MISSION OF THE BARD.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> is a seer. He wears the wedding-ring</div>
+<div class="i2">Of Art and Nature; and his voice is bold.</div>
+<div class="i0">He should be quicker than the birds to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fill'd with frenzy like the men of old</div>
+<div class="i0">Who sang their songs for country and for king.</div>
+<div class="i2">Nothing should daunt him, though the news were told</div>
+<div class="i2">By fiends from Hell! He should be swift to hold</div>
+<div class="i0">And swift to part with truth, as from a spring.</div>
+<div class="i2">He should discourse of war and war's alarm,</div>
+<div class="i0">And deeds of peace, and garlands to be sought,</div>
+<div class="i2">And love, and lore, and death, and beauty's charm,</div>
+<div class="i0">And warlike men subdued by tender thought,</div>
+<div class="i0">And grief dismiss'd, and hatred set at nought,</div>
+<div class="i2">And Freedom shielded by his strong right arm!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 530px;">
+<img src="images/p237sm.png" width="530" height="600" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+DEATH.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> is the joy, it is the zest of life,</div>
+<div class="i2">To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,</div>
+<div class="i0">Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,</div>
+<div class="i2">And not a serpent with a look of guile,</div>
+<div class="i2">But one who greets us with a seraph's smile,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">An angel&mdash;guest to tend us after strife,</div>
+<div class="i2">And keep us true to God when fears are rife,</div>
+<div class="i2">And sceptic thought would daunt us or defile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">He walks the world as one empower'd to fill</div>
+<div class="i2">The fields of space for Father and for Son.</div>
+<div class="i2">He is our friend, though morbidly we shun</div>
+<div class="i0">His tender touch,&mdash;a cure for every ill.</div>
+<div class="i2">He is the king of peace, when all is done.</div>
+<div class="i0">Earth and the air are moulded to his will.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+TO ONE I LOVE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh,</span> let me plead with thee to have a nook,</div>
+<div class="i2">A garden nook, not far from thy domain,</div>
+<div class="i0">That there, with harp, and voice, and poet-book,</div>
+<div class="i2">I may be true to thee, and, passion-fain,</div>
+<div class="i2">Rehearse the songs of nature once again:&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The songs of Cynthia wandering by the brook</div>
+<div class="i2">To soothe the raptures of a lover's pain,</div>
+<div class="i0">And those of Phyllis with her shepherd's crook!</div>
+<div class="i0">I die to serve thee, and for this alone,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">To be thy bard-elect, from day to day,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">I would forego the right to fill a throne.</div>
+<div class="i2">I would consent to be the famine-prey</div>
+<div class="i0">Of some fierce pard, if ere the night were flown</div>
+<div class="i2">I could subdue thy spirit to my sway.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p240sm.png" width="600" height="207" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+EX TENEBRA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> winds have shower'd their rains upon the sod,</div>
+<div class="i2">And flowers and trees have murmur'd as with lips.</div>
+<div class="i0">The very silence has appeal'd to God.</div>
+<div class="i0">In man's behalf, though smitten by His rod,</div>
+<div class="i2">'Twould seem as if the blight of some eclipse</div>
+<div class="i2">Had dull'd the skies,&mdash;as if, on mountain tips,</div>
+<div class="i0">The winds of Heaven had spurn'd the life terrene,</div>
+<div class="i2">And clouds were foundering like benighted ships.</div>
+<div class="i0">But what is this, exultant, unforseen,</div>
+<div class="i2">Which cleaves the dark? A fearful, burning thing!</div>
+<div class="i2">Is it the moon? Or Saturn's scarlet ring</div>
+<div class="i0">Hurl'd into space? It is the tempest-sun!</div>
+<div class="i2">It is the advent of the Ph&oelig;ban king</div>
+<div class="i0">Which tells the valleys that the storm is done!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+VICTOR HUGO.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Victor</span> the King! alive to-day, not dead!</div>
+<div class="i2">Behold, I bring thee with a subject's hand</div>
+<div class="i2">A poor pale wreath, the best at my command,</div>
+<div class="i0">But all unfit to deck so grand a head.</div>
+<div class="i2">It is the outcome of a neighbour land</div>
+<div class="i0">Denounced of thee, and spurn'd for many years.</div>
+<div class="i0">It is the token of a nation's tears</div>
+<div class="i2">Which oft has joy'd in thee, and shall again.</div>
+<div class="i2">Love for thy hate, applause for thy disdain,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">These are the flowers we spread upon thy hearse.</div>
+<div class="i0">We give thee back, to-day, thy poet-curse;</div>
+<div class="i2">We call thee friend; we ratify thy reign.</div>
+<div class="i0">Kings change their sceptres for a funeral stone,</div>
+<div class="i0">But thou hast turn'd thy tomb into a throne!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/p242sm.png" width="600" height="464" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+CYNTHIA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">O Lady</span> Moon, elect of all the spheres</div>
+<div class="i2">To be the guardian of the ocean-tides,</div>
+<div class="i0">I charge thee, say, by all thy hopes and fears,</div>
+<div class="i2">And by thy face, the oracle of brides,</div>
+<div class="i2">Why evermore Remorse with thee abides?</div>
+<div class="i0">Is life a bane to thee, and fraught with tears,</div>
+<div class="i2">That thus forlorn and sad thou dost confer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">With ghosts and shades? Perchance thou dost aspire</div>
+<div class="i0">To bridal honours, and thy Ph&oelig;bus-sire</div>
+<div class="i2">Forbids the banns, whoe'er thy suitor be?</div>
+<div class="i0">Is this thy grievance, O thou chief of nuns?</div>
+<div class="i2">Or dost thou weep to know that Jupiter</div>
+<div class="i0">Hath many moons&mdash;his daughters and his sons&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And Earth, thy mother, only one in thee?</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+PHILOMEL.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lo,</span> as a minstrel at the court of Love,</div>
+<div class="i2">The nightingale, who knows his mate is nigh,</div>
+<div class="i0">Thrills into rapture; and the stars above</div>
+<div class="i2">Look down, affrighted, as they would reply.</div>
+<div class="i2">There is contagion, and I know not why,</div>
+<div class="i0">In all this clamour, all this fierce delight,</div>
+<div class="i2">As if the sunset, when the day did swoon,</div>
+<div class="i2">Had drawn some wild confession from the moon.</div>
+<div class="i0">Have wrongs been done? Have crimes enacted been</div>
+<div class="i0">To shame the weird retirement of the night?</div>
+<div class="i2">O clamourous bird! O sad; sweet nightingale!</div>
+<div class="i0">Withhold thy voice, and blame not Beauty's queen.</div>
+<div class="i2">She may be pure, though dumb: and she is pale,</div>
+<div class="i0">And wears a radiance on her brow serene.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+THE SONNET KING.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">O Petrarch!</span> I am here. I bow to thee,</div>
+<div class="i2">Great king of sonnets, thron�d long ago</div>
+<div class="i0">And lover-like, as Love enjoineth me,</div>
+<div class="i2">And miser-like, enamoured of my woe,</div>
+<div class="i2">I reckon up my teardrops as they flow.</div>
+<div class="i0">I would not lose the power to shed a tear</div>
+<div class="i2">For all the wealth of Plutus and his reign.</div>
+<div class="i2">I would not be so base as not complain</div>
+<div class="i0">When she I love is absent from my sight.</div>
+<div class="i0">No, not for all the marvels of the night,</div>
+<div class="i2">And all the varying splendours of the year.</div>
+<div class="i0">Do thou assist me, thou! that art the light</div>
+<div class="i2">Of all true lovers' souls, in all the sphere,</div>
+<div class="i0">To make a May-time of my sorrows slain.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 523px;">
+<img src="images/p246sm.png" width="523" height="600" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+TOKEN FLOWERS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh,</span> not the daisy, for the love of God!</div>
+<div class="i2">Take not the daisy; let it bloom apace</div>
+<div class="i2">Untouch'd alike by splendour or disgrace</div>
+<div class="i0">Of party feud. Its stem is not a rod;</div>
+<div class="i0">And no one fears, or hates it, on the sod.</div>
+<div class="i2">It laughs, exultant, in the Morning's face,</div>
+<div class="i2">And everywhere doth fill a lowly place,</div>
+<div class="i0">Though fraught with favours for the darkest clod.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">'Tis said the primrose is a party flower,</div>
+<div class="i2">And means coercion, and the coy renown</div>
+<div class="i2">Of one who toil'd for country and for crown.</div>
+<div class="i0">This may be so! But, in my Lady's bower,</div>
+<div class="i0">It means content,&mdash;a hope,&mdash;a golden hour.</div>
+<div class="i2">Primroses smile; and daisies cannot frown!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A PRAYER FOR ENGLAND.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ah,</span> fair Lord God of Heaven, to whom we call,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">By whom we live,&mdash;on whom our hopes are built,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">Do Thou, from year to year, e'en as Thou wilt,</div>
+<div class="i0">Control the Realm, but suffer not to fall</div>
+<div class="i0">Its ancient faith, its grandeur, and its thrall!</div>
+<div class="i2">Do Thou preserve it, in the hours of guilt,</div>
+<div class="i2">When foemen thirst for blood that should be spilt,</div>
+<div class="i0">And keep it strong when traitors would appal.</div>
+<div class="i0">Uphold us still, O God! and be the screen</div>
+<div class="i2">And sword and buckler of our England's might,</div>
+<div class="i0">That foemen's wiles, and woes which intervene,</div>
+<div class="i2">May fade away, as fades a winter's night.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thine ears have heard us, and Thine eyes have seen.</div>
+<div class="i2">Wilt Thou not help us, Lord! to find the Light?</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span><br /><br />
+
+A VETERAN POET.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">I knew</span> thee first as one may know the fame</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some apostle, as a man may know</div>
+<div class="i2">The mid-day sun far-shining o'er the snow.</div>
+<div class="i0">I hail'd thee prince of poets! I became</div>
+<div class="i0">Vassal of thine, and warm'd me at the flame</div>
+<div class="i2">Of thy pure thought, my spirit all aglow</div>
+<div class="i2">With dreams of peace, and pomp, and lyric show,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the splendours, Master! of thy name.</div>
+<div class="i0">But now, a man reveal'd, a guide for men,</div>
+<div class="i2">I see thy face, I clasp thee by the hand;</div>
+<div class="i2">And though the Muses in thy presence stand,</div>
+<div class="i0">There's room for me to loiter in thy ken.</div>
+<div class="i0">O lordly soul! O wizard of the pen!</div>
+<div class="i2">What news from God? What word from Fairyland?</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="A_CHORAL_ODE_TO_LIBERTY" id="A_CHORAL_ODE_TO_LIBERTY"></a>A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250<br />Pg 251]</a></span></h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">O sunlike</span> Liberty, with eyes of flame,</div>
+<div class="i2">Mother and maid, immortal, man's delight!</div>
+<div class="i0">Fairest and first art thou in name and fame</div>
+<div class="i2">And none shall rob thee of thy vested right.</div>
+<div class="i0">Where is the man, though fifty times a king,</div>
+<div class="i0">Shall stay the tide, or countermand the spring?</div>
+<div class="i0">And where is he, though fifty times a knave,</div>
+<div class="i0">Shall track thy steps to cast thee in a grave?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Old as the sun art thou, and young as morn,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fresh as April when the breezes blow,</div>
+<div class="i0">And girt with glory like the growing corn,</div>
+<div class="i2">And undefiled like mountains made of snow.</div>
+<div class="i0">Oh, thou'rt the summer of the souls of men,</div>
+<div class="i0">And poor men's rights, approved by sword and pen,</div>
+<div class="i0">Are made self-certain as the day at noon,</div>
+<div class="i0">And fair to view as flowers that grow in June.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Look, where erect and tall thy Symbol waits,<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></div>
+<div class="i2">The gift of France to friends beyond the deep,</div>
+<div class="i0">A lofty presence at the ocean-gates</div>
+<div class="i2">With lips of peace and eyes that cannot weep;</div>
+<div class="i0">A new-born Tellus with uplifted arm</div>
+<div class="i0">To light the seas, and keep the land from harm&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">To light the coast at downfall of the day,</div>
+<div class="i0">And dower with dawn the darkening water-way.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty in New York harbour.</p></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><i>O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>Mother and maid, immortal, stern of vow!</i></div>
+<div class="i0"><i>Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>And thou shall wear the lightning on thy brow!</i></div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Who dares condemn thee with the puny breath</div>
+<div class="i2">Of one poor life, O thou untouched of Fate!</div>
+<div class="i0">Who seeks to lure thee to a felon's death,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou so splendid and so love-elate?</div>
+<div class="i0">Who dares do this and live? Who dares assail</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy star-kissed forehead, pure and marble-pale;</div>
+<div class="i0">And thou so self-possessed 'mid all the stir,</div>
+<div class="i0">And like to Pallas born of Mulciber?</div>
+</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, I've beheld the sun, at setting time,</div>
+<div class="i2">Peep o'er the hills as if to say good-bye;</div>
+<div class="i0">And I have hailed it with the sudden rhyme</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some new thought, full-freighted with a sigh.</div>
+<div class="i0">And I have mused:&mdash;E'en thus may Freedom fall,</div>
+<div class="i0">And darkness shroud it like a wintry pall,</div>
+<div class="i0">And night o'erwhelm it, and the shades thereof</div>
+<div class="i0">Engulf the glories born of perfect love.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">But there's no fall for thee; there is no tomb;</div>
+<div class="i2">And none shall stab thee, none shall stay thy hand.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thy face is fair with love's eternal bloom,</div>
+<div class="i2">And thou shalt have all things at thy command.</div>
+<div class="i0">A tomb for thee? Ay, when the sun is slain</div>
+<div class="i0">And lamps and fires make daylight on the plain,</div>
+<div class="i0">Then may'st thou die, O Freedom! and for thee</div>
+<div class="i0">A tomb be found where fears and dangers be.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><i>O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>Mother and maid, immortal, keen of sight!</i></div>
+<div class="i0"><i>Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>And thou shall tread the tempest in the night!</i></div>
+</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">There shall be feasting and a sound of song</div>
+<div class="i2">In thy great cities; and a voice divine</div>
+<div class="i0">Shall tell of freedom all the winter long,</div>
+<div class="i2">And fill the air with rapture as with wine.</div>
+<div class="i0">The spring shall hear it, spring shall hear the sound,</div>
+<div class="i0">And summer waft it o'er the flowerful ground;</div>
+<div class="i0">And autumn pale shall shake her withered leaves</div>
+<div class="i0">On festal morns and star-bespangled eves.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For thou'rt the smile of Heaven when earth is dim&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">The face of God reflected in the sea&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">The land's acclaim uplifted by the hymn</div>
+<div class="i2">Of some glad lark triumphant on the lea.</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou art all this and more! Thou art the goal</div>
+<div class="i0">Of earth's elected ones from pole to pole,</div>
+<div class="i0">The lute-string's voice, the world's primeval fire,</div>
+<div class="i0">And each man's hope, and every man's desire.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O proud and pure! O gentle and sublime!</div>
+<div class="i2">For thee and thine, O Freedom! O my Joy!</div>
+<div class="i0">For thee, Celestial! on the shores of time</div>
+<div class="i2">A throne is built which no man shall destroy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">Thou shalt be seen for miles and miles around</div>
+<div class="i0">And wield a sceptre, though of none be crowned.</div>
+<div class="i0">The waves shall know thee, and the winds of Heaven</div>
+<div class="i0">Shall sing thee songs with mixed and mighty steven.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><i>O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>Mother and maid, immortal, unconfined!</i></div>
+<div class="i0"><i>Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>And thou shalt speed more swiftly than the wind!</i></div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Who loves thee not is traitor to himself,</div>
+<div class="i2">Traitor is he to God and to the grave,</div>
+<div class="i0">Poor as a miser with his load of pelf,</div>
+<div class="i2">And more unstable than a leeward wave.</div>
+<div class="i0">Curs�d is he for aye, and his shall be</div>
+<div class="i0">A name of shame from sea to furthest sea,</div>
+<div class="i0">A name of scorn to all men under sun</div>
+<div class="i0">Whose upright souls have learnt to loathe this one.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">A thousand times, O Freedom! have I turned</div>
+<div class="i2">To thy rapt face, and wished that martyr-wise</div>
+<div class="i0">I might achieve some glory, such as burned</div>
+<div class="i2">Within the depths of Gordon's azure eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">Ah God! how sweet it were to give thee life,</div>
+<div class="i0">To aid thy cause, self-sinking in the strife,</div>
+<div class="i0">Loving thee best, O Freedom! and in tears</div>
+<div class="i0">Giving thee thanks for death-accepted years.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For thou art fearful, though so grand of soul,</div>
+<div class="i2">Fearful and fearless and the friend of men.</div>
+<div class="i0">The haughtiest kings shall bow to thy control,</div>
+<div class="i2">And rich and poor shall take thy guidance then.</div>
+<div class="i0">Who doubts the daylight when he sees afar</div>
+<div class="i0">The fading lamp of some night-weary star,</div>
+<div class="i0">Which prophet-like, has heard amid the dark</div>
+<div class="i0">The first faint prelude of the nested lark?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><i>O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>Mother and maid, immortal, prompt of thought!</i></div>
+<div class="i0"><i>Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>And thou shalt lash the storm till it be nought!</i></div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">O thou desired of men! O thou supreme</div>
+<div class="i2">And true-toned spirit whom the bards revere!</div>
+<div class="i0">At times thou com'st in likeness of a dream</div>
+<div class="i2">To urge rebellion, with a face austere;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">And by that power thou hast&mdash;e'en by that power</div>
+<div class="i0">Which is the outcome of thy sovereign-dower&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i0">Thou teachest slaves, down-trodden, how to stand</div>
+<div class="i0">Lords of themselves in each chivalrous Land.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">The hosts of death, the squadrons of the law,</div>
+<div class="i2">The arm'd appeal to pageantry and hate,</div>
+<div class="i0">Shall serve, a space, to keep thy name in awe,</div>
+<div class="i2">And then collapse, as old and out of date.</div>
+<div class="i0">Yea! this shall be; for God has willed it so.</div>
+<div class="i0">And none shall touch thy flag, to lay it low;</div>
+<div class="i0">And none shall rend thy robe, that is to thee</div>
+<div class="i0">As dawn to day, as sunlight to the sea.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">For love of thee, thou grand, thou gracious thing!</div>
+<div class="i2">For love of thee all seas, and every shore,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all domains whereof the poets sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">Shall merge in Man's requirements evermore.</div>
+<div class="i0">And there shall be, full soon, from north to south,</div>
+<div class="i0">From east to west, by Wisdom's word of mouth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i0">One code of laws that all shall understand,</div>
+<div class="i0">And all the world shall be one Fatherland.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><i>O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>Mother and maid, immortal, sweet of breath!</i></div>
+<div class="i0"><i>Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,</i></div>
+<div class="i2"><i>And thou shalt pluck Redemption out of Death!</i></div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="Italian_Poems" id="Italian_Poems"></a>Italian Poems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259<br />Pg 260]</a></span></h2>
+
+<p class="center">BY ERIC MACKAY</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">LA ZINGARELLA.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261<br />Pg 262]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO.</p>
+
+<p class="center">I MIEI SALUTI.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="LA_ZINGARELLA" id="LA_ZINGARELLA"></a>LA ZINGARELLA.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:26em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dimmi,</span> dimmi, o trovatore,</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu che canti sul l�uto,</div>
+<div class="i2">Bello e bruno e pien d'amore</div>
+<div class="i2">Dalla valle in su venuto,</div>
+<div class="i2">Non ti fermi sull' altura</div>
+<div class="i2">Per mostrar la tua bravura?</div>
+<div class="i2">Non mi canti sul burrone</div>
+<div class="i2">Qualche lieta tua canzone?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Zingarella, in sulla sera</div>
+<div class="i2">Canta bene il rosignolo,</div>
+<div class="i2">Piange e canta in sua preghiera</div>
+<div class="i2">Salutando un dolce suolo.</div>
+<div class="i2">Ma il l�uto al mio toccare</div>
+<div class="i2">Pianger sa, non sa pregare ...</div>
+<div class="i2">Deh! che vuoi col tuo sorriso,</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu che sai di paradiso?</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;V� sentire in tuo linguaggio</div>
+<div class="i2">Come � fatto un uom fedele,</div>
+<div class="i2">Se l'amor lo fa selvaggio,</div>
+<div class="i2">Se il destin lo fa crudele.</div>
+<div class="i2">Parla schietto; son profana</div>
+<div class="i2">Ma ben leggo l'alma umana.</div>
+<div class="i2">Parla pur dei tuoi v�aggi</div>
+<div class="i2">Nei deserti e nei villaggi.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Canterotti, o zingarella,</div>
+<div class="i2">Qualche allegra mia ballata,</div>
+<div class="i2">Qualche estatica novella</div>
+<div class="i2">D' una dama innamorata ...</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;Dimmi tutto!&mdash;Canterotti</div>
+<div class="i2">D' Ungheria le meste notti.</div>
+<div class="i2">D' Ungheria?&mdash;Del Bosco Santo</div>
+<div class="i2">Dove nacque il gran Sorranto.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Sappi in breve, son marchese</div>
+<div class="i2">Castellano e cantatore,</div>
+<div class="i2">Cattivai con questo arnese</div>
+<div class="i2">D'una maga un d� l'amore.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;D' una maga?&mdash;Si, di quelle</div>
+<div class="i2">Che san legger nelle stelle.</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;E fu bella?&mdash;Non v' � guari</div>
+<div class="i2">Dama, oh no, che le sia pari.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Come parca in fra le dita</div>
+<div class="i2">Essa tenne il mio destino,</div>
+<div class="i2">Fu la sfinge di mia vita</div>
+<div class="i2">Col sorriso suo divino.</div>
+<div class="i2">Avea biondi i suoi capelli,</div>
+<div class="i2">Occhi neri e molto belli,</div>
+<div class="i2">Braccia e collo in puritade</div>
+<div class="i2">Come neve quando cade.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Taci, taci, o castellano;</div>
+<div class="i2">Qui convien pregar per essa.</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;Io l'amai d'amor sovrano!</div>
+<div class="i2">Pronta fu la sua promessa.</div>
+<div class="i2">L' aspettai; mi fu cortese,</div>
+<div class="i2">Ma fugg� dal mio pa�se,</div>
+<div class="i2">Travestita un d� di Maggio</div>
+<div class="i2">Come biondo e giovin paggio.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">VIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Oh, giammai non fu sognata</div>
+<div class="i2">Cosa uguale per bellezza</div>
+<div class="i2">Chi la vide incoronata</div>
+<div class="i2">Sorridea per tenerezza.</div>
+<div class="i2">Chi la vide di mattina</div>
+<div class="i2">La credeva una regina,</div>
+<div class="i2">Qualche sogno di poeta,</div>
+<div class="i2">Qualche incanto di profeta!</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Traditor! col tuo l�uto</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu l' hai fatto innamorare!</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;Io giurai per San Bernuto</div>
+<div class="i2">E pel Cristo in sull' altare,</div>
+<div class="i2">Per Giuseppe e per Maria</div>
+<div class="i2">Che farei la vita pia.</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;E il facesti?&mdash;I sacri voti</div>
+<div class="i2">Ricantai dei sacredoti.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">X.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Or m'ascolta, o trovatore,</div>
+<div class="i2">Or rispondi, e dimmi il vero:</div>
+<div class="i2">Hai veduto il mesto fiore</div>
+<div class="i2">Che si coglie in cimitero?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></div>
+<div class="i2">Hai veduto i fior di rose</div>
+<div class="i2">Che s'intreccian per le spose,</div>
+<div class="i2">Quando cantan desolati</div>
+<div class="i2">Gli usignoli abbandonati?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Crolli il capo; impallidisci;</div>
+<div class="i2">Stendi a me la bianca mano;</div>
+<div class="i2">Non rispondi; e forse ambisci</div>
+<div class="i2">Della sposa ormai l'arcano?</div>
+<div class="i2">Qui mor� la Gilda, maga</div>
+<div class="i2">Sotto il nome di Menzaga;</div>
+<div class="i2">Qu� mor�, nel suo pallore,</div>
+<div class="i2">Per l'amor d'un trovatore!</div>
+<div class="i2">. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Stravolto l'amante s'inchina;</div>
+<div class="i2">Ei mira la mesta donzella.</div>
+<div class="i2">Velata � la maga, ma bella,</div>
+<div class="i0">Coll'occhio che pianger non sa.</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;O donna, l'amor t'indovina ...</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu, Gilda, t'ascondi col�!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Nel mondo non v' � la sembianza</div>
+<div class="i2">Di tale e di tanta beltade!</div>
+<div class="i2">Non cresce per queste contrade</div>
+<div class="i0">N� giglio n� spirto d'amor.</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu sola tu sei la Speranza</div>
+<div class="i2">Che tenni qua stretta sul cor.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Tu sola tu sei la mia dama,</div>
+<div class="i2">La gioja e l'onor della vita;</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu sola, donzella romita,</div>
+<div class="i0">Del mondo la diva sei tu.</div>
+<div class="i2">L'amor ti conosce, e la fama;</div>
+<div class="i2">N� manca l'antica virt�.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ma dove � la f� del passato</div>
+<div class="i2">Che tanto brill� nella festa?</div>
+<div class="i2">L'amore, l'onore, le gesta</div>
+<div class="i0">D'un tempo che presto fugg�?</div>
+<div class="i2">Fu vero? L'ho forse sognato?</div>
+<div class="i2">Tu pur l'hai sognato cos�!</div>
+<div class="i2"> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . </div>
+<div class="i2"> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . </div>
+</div></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XVI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">La maga intenta ascolta il suo galante;</div>
+<div class="i2">Ride, si scioglie il velo e guarda il Sire.</div>
+<div class="i2">Rossa diventa e bianca in uno istante,</div>
+<div class="i2">E poi s' asconde il viso e vuol fuggire.</div>
+<div class="i2">Corre nei bracci suoi lo fido amante;</div>
+<div class="i2">E favellar vorria nel suo gio�re ...</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Deh! taci, oh taci! Al mondo ovunque � doglia.</div>
+<div class="i2">Gilda son io. Ti bacio e son contenta.</div>
+<div class="i2">Pianger non so se non per pazza voglia</div>
+<div class="i0">Come la strega allor che si lamenta ...</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XVIII.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Cosa vuoi tu? Che vuoi che si mi guardi?</div>
+<div class="i2">Diva non son, ma donna; e fui crudele.</div>
+<div class="i2">&mdash;Baciami in bocca. O Dio! mi stringi ed ardi</div>
+<div class="i0">Tanto d' amore e piangi e sei fedele?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">XIX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;Ugo! M' ascolta, io son la tua meschina,</div>
+<div class="i2">Forte ben si, ma doma in questi agoni;</div>
+<div class="i2">Sono la schiava tua, la tua regina,</div>
+<div class="i0">Quel che tu vuoi purch� non m'abbandoni!</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">XX.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">&mdash;O cara, o casta, o bella, o tu che bramo,</div>
+<div class="i2">Dammi la morte unita a un tuo sorriso.</div>
+<div class="i2">Eva sarai per me. Son io l'Adamo;</div>
+<div class="i0">E quivi in terra avrassi il paradiso!</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="IL_PONTE_DAVIGLIO" id="IL_PONTE_DAVIGLIO"></a>IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:28em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2"><span class="smcap">O mesto</span> bambino col capo chinato,</div>
+<div class="i0">Rispondi; rispondi. Che fece Renato?</div>
+<div class="i0">Fu vinto Morello? Fu salvo Lindoro?</div>
+<div class="i0">Rispondi; rispondi!&mdash;Son padre di loro.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Non veggo tornare dal Ponte d'Aviglio</div>
+<div class="i0">Renato superbo del vinto periglio.</div>
+<div class="i0">L' han forse promosso? Risorge la guerra?</div>
+<div class="i0">Rispondi; rispondi!&mdash;L' han messo sotterra.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">O ciel! tu lo senti, tu vedi l'oltraggio;</div>
+<div class="i0">Renato fu prence del nostro villaggio!...</div>
+<div class="i0">Ma dimmi, piccino. Che fece Morello?</div>
+<div class="i0">Rispondi; rispondi!&mdash;Lo chiude l' avello.</div>
+</div></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
+
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Ahi, crudo destino! Si grande, si forte,</div>
+<div class="i0">Morello nasceva per vincer la morte.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ma l' altro? Che fece sul campo serrato?</div>
+<div class="i0">Rispondi; rispondi!&mdash;Mor� da soldato.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Gran Dio! che mi narri! Pur desso m' � tolto?</div>
+<div class="i0">Renato m' � morto? Morello sepolto?</div>
+<div class="i0">E piangi, ... tu pure? Gentile bambino!</div>
+<div class="i0">Che dici? Rispondi!&mdash;Vi resta Giannino.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">VI.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i2">Oh si, del figliuolo l'ignoto tesoro,</div>
+<div class="i0">L'incognito figlio del biondo Lindoro.</div>
+<div class="i0">Ma dove trovarlo nel nome di Dio?</div>
+<div class="i0">Rispondi; rispondi!&mdash;Buon padre, son io.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h2><a name="I_MIEI_SALUTI" id="I_MIEI_SALUTI"></a>I MIEI SALUTI.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width:20em;">
+<p class="center">I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ti</span> saluto, Margherita</div>
+<div class="i2">Fior di vita, ... ti saluto!</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei la speme del mattino,</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei la gioja del giardino.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ti saluto, Rosignolo</div>
+<div class="i2">Nel tuo duolo, ... ti saluto!</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei l' amante della rosa</div>
+<div class="i2">Che morendo si fa sposa.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ti saluto, Sol di Maggio</div>
+<div class="i2">Col tuo raggio, ... ti saluto!</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei l' Apollo del passato,</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei l' amore incoronato.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div class="i0">Ti saluto, Donna mia,</div>
+<div class="i2">Casta e pia, ... ti saluto!</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei la diva dei desiri,</div>
+<div class="i2">Sei la Santa dei Sospiri.</div>
+</div></div>
+</div> <!-- cpoem -->
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="notes">
+<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2>
+
+
+<p>Words used interchangeably in this book:</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align="left">anear</td><td>a-near</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">seaward</td><td>sea-ward</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<p><a href="#Page_xvi">Page xvi</a></p>
+
+<p>(influence felt.)</p>
+
+<p>Changed iufluence to influence.</p>
+
+
+<p><a href="#Page_99">Page 99</a></p>
+
+<p>(Where Neptune dwelt,)</p>
+
+<p>Changed Nepture to Neptune.</p>
+</div> <!-- notes -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Letters of a Violinist and Other
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@@ -0,0 +1,7017 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems, by
+Eric Mackay
+
+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: Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems
+
+Author: Eric Mackay
+
+Illustrator: James Fagan
+
+Release Date: October 6, 2011 [EBook #37649]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by K Nordquist, Leonard Johnson and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from scanned images of public domain
+material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LOVE
+
+LETTERS
+
+OF A
+
+VIOLINIST
+
+
+
+ERIC MACKAY
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+Love Letters
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+LOVE LETTERS OF A
+
+VIOLINIST AND OTHER
+
+POEMS. BY ERIC MACKAY
+
+
+With Illustrations
+
+BY
+
+JAMES FAGAN
+
+
+
+New York:
+
+BRENTANO'S
+
+CHICAGO WASHINGTON PARIS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_Copyright, 1894, by_
+
+_BRENTANO'S_
+
+
+
+THE CAXTON PRESS
+
+NEW YORK
+
+
+TO MARIE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                          PAGE
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTICE                         xi
+
+LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST:
+
+    Letter First--_Prelude_                  1
+
+    Letter Second--_Sorrow_                 11
+
+    Letter Third--_Regrets_                 21
+
+    Letter Fourth--_Yearnings_              31
+
+    Letter Fifth--_Confessions_             41
+
+    Letter Sixth--_Despair_                 51
+
+    Letter Seventh--_Hope_                  61
+
+    Letter Eighth--_A Vision_               71
+
+    Letter Ninth--_To-morrow_               81
+
+    Letter Tenth--_A Retrospect_            91
+
+    Letter Eleventh--_Faith_               101
+
+    Letter Twelfth--_Victory_              111
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:
+
+    Anteros                                123
+
+    The Waking of the Lark                 129
+
+    A Ballad of Kisses                     132
+
+    Mary Arden                             133
+
+    Sachal: A Waif of Battle               141
+
+    The Lady of the May                    146
+
+    An Ode to Englishmen                   149
+
+    Zulalie                                153
+
+    Beethoven at the Piano                 155
+
+    A Rhapsody of Death                    159
+
+    A Prayer for Light                     163
+
+    Mirage                                 165
+
+    A Mother's Name                        170
+
+    A Song of Servitude                    171
+
+    Sylvia in the West                     175
+
+    Eleanore                               187
+
+    The Statue                             189
+
+    Pablo de Sarasate                      191
+
+    My Amazon                              197
+
+    Pro Patria                             199
+
+    The Little Grave                       205
+
+    A Dirge                                207
+
+    Daisies out at Sea                     209
+
+SONNETS:
+
+    I. Ecstasy                             215
+
+   II. Visions                             217
+
+  III. The Daisy                           218
+
+   IV. Probation                           219
+
+    V. Dante                               221
+
+   VI. Diffidence                          222
+
+  VII. Fairies                             223
+
+ VIII. Spirit Love                         225
+
+   IX. After Two Days                      226
+
+    X. Byron                               227
+
+   XI. Love's Ambition                     228
+
+  XII. Love's Defeat                       230
+
+ XIII. A Thunderstorm at Night             231
+
+  XIV. In Tuscany                          232
+
+   XV. A Hero                              234
+
+  XVI. Remorse                             235
+
+ XVII. The Mission of the Bard             236
+
+XVIII. Death                               237
+
+  XIX. To One I Love                       239
+
+   XX. Ex Tenebra                          240
+
+  XXI. Victor Hugo                         241
+
+ XXII. Cynthia                             242
+
+XXIII. Philomel                            244
+
+ XXIV. The Sonnet King                     245
+
+  XXV. Token Flowers                       246
+
+ XXVI. A Prayer for England                248
+
+XXVII. A Veteran Poet                      249
+
+A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY                    251
+
+ITALIAN POEMS:
+
+    La Zingarella                          263
+
+    Il Ponte d'Aviglio                     271
+
+    I Miei Saluti                          273
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTICE
+
+
+At the commencement of the year 1885, a captivating little volume of
+poems was mysteriously issued from the "Leadenhalle Presse" of Messrs.
+Field and Tuer--a quaint, vellum-bound, antique-looking book, tied up on
+all sides with strings of golden silk ribbon, and illustrated throughout
+with fanciful wood-cuts. It was entitled "Love Letters by a Violinist,"
+and those who were at first attracted by its title and suggestive
+outward appearance, untied the ribbons with a certain amount of
+curiosity. Love-letters were surely of a private, almost sacred
+character. What "Violinist" thus ventured to publish his heart-records
+openly? and were they worth reading? were the questions asked by the
+public, and last, not least, came the natural inquiry, "_Who_ was the
+'Violinist'?" To this no satisfactory answer could be obtained, for
+nobody knew. But it was directly proved on perusal of the book that he
+was a poet, not a mere writer of verse. Speculations arose as to his
+identity, and Joseph Ellis, the poet, reviewed the work as follows:--
+
+"Behold a mystery--who shall uncase it? A small quarto, anonymous. The
+publisher professes entire ignorance of its origin. Wild guesses spring
+from the mask of a 'Violinist'--who can he be? _Unde derivatur?_ A Tyro?
+The work is too skilful for such, though even a Byron. Young? Not old.
+Tennyson? No--he hath not the grace of style, at least for these verses.
+Browning? No--he could not unbend so far. Edwin Arnold might, possibly,
+have been equal to it, witness, _inter alia_, 'Violetta'; but he is
+unlikely. Lytton Bulwer, a voice from the tomb? No. His son, Owen
+Meredith? A random supposition, yet possible. Rossetti--again a voice
+from the tomb? No--he wanted the strength of wing. James Thomson, the
+younger, could have done it, but he was too stern. Then, our detective
+ingenuity proving incompetent, who? We seek the Delphic fane--the oracle
+replies _Swinburne_. Let us bow to the oracular voice, for in Swinburne
+we find all requisites for the work--fertility of thought, grace of
+language, ingenuity, skill in the _ars poetica_, wealth of words,
+sensuous nature, classic resources. * * * The writer of the
+'Love-Letters' is manifestly imbued with the tone and tune of Italian
+poetry, and has the merit of proving the English tongue capable of
+rivalling the Italian '_Canzoni d'Amore_.' * * * * He is a master of
+versification, so is Swinburne--he is praiseworthy for freshness of
+thought, novelty, and aptness in imagery, so is Swinburne. He is
+remarkable for sustained energy, so is Swinburne; and thus it may safely
+be said that, if not the writer of the 'Love-Letters,' he deserves to be
+accredited with that mysterious production, until the authorship is
+avowed. * * * * Unto Britannia, as erst to Italia, has been granted a a
+Petrarch."
+
+Meanwhile other leading voices in the Press joined the swelling chorus
+of praise. _The Morning Post_ took up the theme, and, after vainly
+endeavouring to clear up the mystery of the authorship, went on to say:
+"The appearance of this book must be regarded as a literary phenomenon.
+We find ourselves lifted at once by the author's genius out of the
+work-a-day world of the England of to-day, and transported into an
+atmosphere as rare and ethereal as that in which the poet of Vaucluse
+lived and moved and had his being. * * * * In nearly every stanza there
+are unerring indications of a mind and heart steeped in that subtlest of
+all forms of beauty, the mythology of old Greece. The reader perceives
+at once that he has to do with a scholar and man of culture, as well as
+with an inspired singer, whose muse need not feel abashed in the
+presence of the highest poets of our own day."
+
+Such expressions as, "A new star of brilliant magnitude has risen above
+the literary horizon in the anonymous author of the exquisite book of
+'Love-Letters,'" and "These poems are among the most graceful and
+beautiful productions of modern times," became frequent in the best
+literary journals, and private opinion concerning the book began to make
+its influence felt. The brilliant writer and astute critic, George
+Meredith, wrote to a friend on the subject as follows:--
+
+"The lines and metre of the poems are easy and interthreading and
+perfectly melodious. It is an astonishing production--the work of a true
+musician in our tongue."
+
+_The Times'_ special correspondent, Antonio Gallenga, expressed himself
+at some length on the merits of the "Violinist," and spoke of him "as
+one who could conjure up a host of noble thoughts and bright fancies,
+who rejoices in a great command of language, with a flow of verse and a
+wealth of rhymes. It is impossible to hear his confessions, to follow
+him in his aspirations, to hear the tale of his visions, his trances,
+his dreams, without catching his enthusiasm and bestowing on him our
+sympathy. Each 'Love-Letter' is in twenty stanzas--each stanza in six
+lines. The poem is regular and symmetrical as Dante's 'Comedy,' with as
+stately and solemn, aye, and as arduous a measure." While the world of
+art and letters thus discussed the volume, reading it meanwhile with
+such eagerness that the whole edition was soon entirely exhausted, a
+particularly brilliant and well-written critique of it appeared in the
+New York _Independent_--a very prominent American journal, destined
+afterwards to declare the author's identity, and to be the first to do
+so. In the columns of this paper had been frequently seen some
+peculiarly graceful and impassioned poems, signed by one Eric
+Mackay--notable among these being a lyric entitled "The Waking of the
+Lark" (included in our present volume), which, to quote the expression
+of a distinguished New York critic, "sent a thrill through the heart of
+America." There are no skylarks in the New World, but there is a deep
+tenderness felt by all Americans for the little
+
+                                  "Priest in grey apparel
+    Who doth prepare to sing in air his sinless summer carol,"
+
+and Eric Mackay's exquisite outburst of tender enthusiasm for the
+English bird of the morning evoked from all parts of the States a chorus
+of critical delight and approbation. The Rev. T. T. Munger, of
+Massachusetts, wrote concerning it:--
+
+"This strikes me as the best poem I have seen for a long time. As I read
+it stanza after stanza, with not an imperfect verse, not a commonplace,
+but with a sustained increase of pure sentiment and glowing fancy, I was
+inclined to place it beside Shelley's. It is not so intellectual as
+Shelley's, but I am not sure that it is not truer. Mackay's is the lark
+itself, Shelley's is himself listening to the lark. Besides Shelley
+makes the lark sing at evening--as I believe it does--but surely 'it to
+the morning doth belong,' and Shakespeare is truer in putting it at
+'Heaven's gate.' It is a great refreshment to us tired workers in the
+prose of life to come across such a poem as this, and seldom enough it
+happens nowadays. Tell Mr. Eric Mackay to sing us another song."
+
+Paul Hamilton Hayne, an American poet, praised it in an American paper;
+and the cultured Maurice Thompson writes:--"This lark-song touches the
+best mark of simplicity, sweetness, and naturalness in its modelling."
+
+This admired lyric was copied from the _Independent_ into many other
+journals, together with several other poems by the same hand, such as
+"A Vision of Beethoven," the beautiful verses addressed to the Spanish
+violinist, Pablo de Sarasate, and a spirited reply to Algernon Charles
+Swinburne, reproaching him for the attack which the author of "Tristram
+of Lyonesse" had made on England's name and fame. One day a simple
+statement appeared in the _Independent_ respecting the much discussed
+"Love-Letters by a Violinist," that the author was simply a gentleman of
+good position, the descendant of a distinguished and very ancient
+family, Eric Mackay, known among his personal friends and intimates as a
+man of brilliant and extensive learning, whose frequent and long
+residences abroad have made him somewhat of a foreigner, though by birth
+an Englishman. A fine linguist, a deep thinker, a profound student of
+the classics, Mr. Mackay may be ranked among the most cultured and
+accomplished men of his day, and still young as he is, will undoubtedly
+be numbered with the choice few whose names are destined to live by the
+side of poets such as Keats, whom, as far as careful work, delicate
+feeling, and fiery tenderness go, Eric Mackay may be said to resemble,
+though there is a greater robustness and force in his muse, indicative
+of a strong mind in an equally strong and healthy body, which latter
+advantage the divine Keats had not, unfortunately for himself and the
+world. The innate, hardly restrained vigour of Mr. Mackay's nature shows
+itself in such passages as occur in the sonnets, "Remorse," "A
+Thunderstorm at Night;" also in the wild and terribly suggestive
+"Zulalie," while something of hot wrath and scorn leap out in such lines
+as those included in his ode to Swinburne, whom he addresses:--
+
+                                "O thou five foot five
+    Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+      "Thou art a bee, a bright, a golden thing
+    With too much honey, and the taste thereof
+    Is sometimes rough, and something of a sting
+    Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+and
+
+    "Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same
+    Accept our pardon; or if this offend,
+    Why, then, no pardon, e'en in England's name.
+    We have our country still, and thou thy fame!"
+
+At the same time no one in all England does more justice and honor to
+Swinburne's genius than Eric Mackay.
+
+His own strength as a poet suggests to the reader the idea of a spirited
+horse reined in tightly and persistently,--a horse which prances wildly
+at times and frets and foams at the bit, and might, on the least
+provocation, run wild in a furious and headlong career, sweeping all
+conventionalities out of its road by a sheer, straight-ahead gallop. Mr.
+Mackay is, however, a careful, even precise rider, and he keeps a firm
+hand on his restless Pegasus--so firm that, as his taste always leads
+him to depict the most fanciful and fine emotions, his steady
+resoluteness of restraint commands not only our admiration but our
+respect. While passionate to an extreme in the "Love-Letters," he is
+never indelicate; the coarse, almost brutal, allusions made by some
+writers to certain phases of so-called love, which are best left
+unsuggested, never defile the pen of our present author, who may almost
+be called fastidious in such matters. How beautiful and all-sufficing to
+the mind is the line expressing the utter satisfaction of a victorious
+lover:--
+
+    "_Crowned with a kiss and sceptred with a joy!_"
+
+No details are needed here--all is said. The "Violinist," though by
+turns regretful, sorrowful, and despairing, is supreme throughout. He
+speaks of the "lady of his song" as
+
+    "The lady for whose sake I shall be strong,
+    But never weak or diffident again."
+
+The supremacy of manhood is insisted on always; and the lover, though he
+entreats, implores, wonders and raves as all lovers do, never forgets
+his own dignity. He will take no second-best affection on his lady's
+part--this he plainly states in verse 19 of Letter V. Again, in the last
+letter of all, he asserts his mastery--and this is as it should be;
+absolute authority, as he knows, is the way to win and to keep a woman's
+affections. Such lovely fancies as
+
+      "Phoebus loosens all his golden hair
+    Right down the sky--and daisies turn and stare
+    At things we see not with our human wit,"
+
+and
+
+                            "A tuneful noise
+    Broke from the copse where late a breeze was slain,
+    And nightingales in ecstacy of pain
+    Did break their hearts with singing the old joys,"
+
+abound all through the book. And here it is as well to mark the
+decision of our poet, even in trifles. The breeze he speaks of is not
+_hushed_, or _still_--none of the usual epithets are applied to it--it
+is "_slain_," as utterly and as pitifully as though it were a murdered
+child. This originality of conception is remarkable, and comes out in
+such lines as
+
+    "I will unpack my mind of all its fears"--
+
+where the word "_unpack_" is singularly appropriate, and again--
+
+    "O sweet To-morrow! Youngest of the sons
+    Of old King Time, _to whom Creation runs_
+    As men to God_."
+                    "Where a daisy grows,
+    There grows a joy!"
+
+and beautiful and dainty to a high degree is the quaint "Retrospect,"
+where the lover enthusiastically draws the sun and moon into his
+ecstasies, and makes them seem to partake in his admiration of his
+lady's loveliness.
+
+A graver and more philosophic turn of mind will be found in "A Song of
+Servitude," and "A Rhapsody of Death;" but, judged from a critical
+standpoint, Eric Mackay is a purely passionate poet, straying amongst
+the most voluptuous imaginings, and sometimes seeming to despise the
+joys of Heaven itself for the sake of love. Thus he lays himself open to
+an accusation of blasphemy from ultra-religious persons, yet it must be
+remembered that in this respect he in no way exceeds the emotions of
+Romeo, and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, or any of those lovers
+whose passion has earned for their names an undying celebrity.
+
+In closing the present notice we can but express a hope that this volume
+of Eric Mackay's poems may meet with the welcome it deserves from true
+lovers of Art; for Art includes Poetry; and Poetry, as properly defined
+is one of its grandest and most enduring forms.
+
+                                                                  G. D.
+
+    *** Some of the miscellaneous poems in this collection
+    (including "Beethoven at the Piano") were published by the
+    author a few years ago, under a pseudonym, now discarded.
+
+[Illustration: PRELUDE Letter I]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER I.
+
+PRELUDE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Teach me to love thee as a man, in prayer,
+      May love the picture of a sainted nun,
+      And I will woo thee, when the day is done,
+    With tears and vows, and fealty past compare,
+    And seek the sunlight in thy golden hair,
+      And kiss thy hand to claim thy benison.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I shall not need to gaze upon the skies,
+      Or mark the message of the morning breeze,
+      Or heed the notes of birds among the trees,
+    If, taught by thee to yearn for Paradise,
+    I may confront thee with adoring eyes
+      And do thee homage on my bended knees.
+
+
+III.
+
+    For I would be thy pilgrim; I would bow
+      Low as the grave, and, lingering in the same,
+      Live like a spectre; or be burnt in flame
+    To do thee good. A kingdom for a vow
+    I'd freely give to be elected now
+      The chief of all the servants of thy fame.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Yea, like a Roman of the days of old,
+      I would, for thee, construct a votive shrine,
+      And fan the fire, and consecrate the wine;
+    And have a statue there, of purest gold,
+    And bow thereto, unlov'd and unconsoled,
+      But proud withal to know the statue thine.
+
+
+V.
+
+    For it were sacrilege to stand erect,
+      And face to face, within thy chamber lone,
+      To urge again my right to what hath flown:
+    A bygone trust, a passion coldly check'd!
+    Were I a king of men, or laurel-deck'd,
+      I were not fit to claim thee as mine own.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    What am I then? The sexton of a joy,
+      So lately slain,--so lately on its bier
+      Laid out in state,--I dare not, for the fear
+    Of this dead thing, regard it as a toy.
+    It was a splendid Hope without alloy,
+      And now, behold! I greet it with a tear.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    It is my pastime, and my penance, too,
+      My pride, my comfort, and my discontent,
+      To count my sorrows ere the day is spent,
+    And dream, at night, of love within the blue
+    Of thy sweet eyes, and tremble through and through,
+      And keep my house, as one that doth lament.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Have I not sinn'd? I have; and I am curst,
+      And Misery makes the moments, as they fly,
+      Harder than stone, and sorrier than a sigh.
+    Oh, I did wrong thee when I met thee first,
+    And in my soul a fantasy was nurs'd
+      That seem'd an outcome of the upper sky.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I thought a poor musician might aspire;
+      I thought he might obtain from thee a look,
+      As Dian's self will smile upon a brook,
+    And make it glad, though deaf to its desire,
+    And tinge its ripples with a tender fire,
+      And make it thankful in its lonely nook.
+
+
+X.
+
+    I thought to win thee ere the waning days
+      Had caught the snow, ere yet a word of mine
+      Had pall'd upon thee in the summer shine;
+    And I was fain to meet thee in the ways
+    Of wild romance, and cling to thee, and gaze,
+      Between two kisses, on thy face divine.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Aye! on thy face, and on the rippling hair
+      That makes a mantle round thee in the night,
+      A royal robe, a network of the light,
+    Which fairies brought for thee, to keep thee fair,
+    And hide the glories of a beauty rare
+      As those of sylphs, whereof the poets write.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I thought, by token of thy matchless form,
+      To curb thy will, and make thee mine indeed,
+      From head to foot. There is no other creed
+    For men and maids, in safety or in storm,
+    Than this of love. Repentance may be warm,
+      But love is best, though broken like a reed.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    "She shall be mine till death!" I wildly said,
+      "Mine, and mine only." And I vow'd, apace,
+      That I would have thee in my dwelling-place;
+    Yea, like a despot, I would see thee led
+    Straight to the altar, with a tear unshed,
+      A wordless woe imprinted on thy face.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I wanted thee. I yearned for thee afar.
+      "She shall be mine," I cried, "and mine alone.
+      A Gorgon grief may change me into stone
+    If I be baulk'd." I hankered for a star,
+    And soar'd, in thought, to where the angels are,
+      To snatch my prize beyond the torrid zone.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I heeded not the teaching of the past.
+      I heeded not the wisdom of the years.
+      "She shall be mine," I urged, "till death appears.
+    For death, I know, will conquer me at last."
+    And then I found the sky was overcast;
+      And then I felt the bitterness of tears.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    "Behold!" I thought, "Behold, how fair to see
+      Is this white wonder!" And I wish'd thee well
+      But, like a demon out of darkest hell,
+    I marr'd thy peace, and claim'd thee on the plea
+    Of pride and passion; and there came to me
+      The far-off warning of a wedding-bell.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    A friend of thine was walking to her doom,
+      A wife-elect, who, ere the summer sun
+      Had plied its course, would weep for what was don,--
+    A friend of thine and mine, who, in the gloom
+    Of her own soul, had built herself a tomb,
+      To tremble there, when tears had ceas'd to run.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    On this I brooded; but ah! not for this
+      Did I abandon what I sought the while:
+      The dear damnation of thy tender smile,
+    And all the tortures that were like a bliss,
+    And all the raptures of a holier kiss
+      Than fair Miranda's on the magic isle.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    I urged my suit. "My bond!" I did exclaim,
+      "My pink and white, the hand I love to press,
+      The golden hair that crowns her loveliness;
+    And all the beauties which I cannot name;
+    All, all are mine, and I will have the same,
+      Though she should hate me for my love's excess."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I knew myself. I knew the withering fate
+      That would consume me, if, amid my trust,
+      I sued for Hope as beggars for a crust.
+    "O God!" I cried, entranced though desolate,
+    "Hallow my love, or turn it into hate."
+      And then I bow'd, in anguish, to the dust.
+
+[Illustration: Letter II SORROW]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER II.
+
+SORROW.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Yes, I was mad. I know it. I was mad.
+      For there is madness in the looks of love;
+      And he who frights a tender, brooding dove
+    Is not more base than I, and not so sad;
+    For I had kill'd the hope that made me glad,
+      And curs'd, in thought, the sunlight from above.
+
+
+II.
+
+    He was a fool, indeed, who lately tried
+      To touch the moon, far-shining in the trees,
+      He clomb the branches with his hands and knees.
+    And craned his neck to kiss what he espied.
+    But down he fell, unseemly in his pride,
+      And told his follies to the fitful breeze.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I was convicted of as strange a thing,
+      And wild as strange; for, in a hope forlorn,
+      I fought with Fate. But now the flag is torn
+    Which like a herald in the days of spring
+    I held aloft. The birds have ceased to sing
+      The dear old songs they sang from morn to morn.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    All holy things avoid me. Breezes pass
+      And will not fan my cheek, as once they did.
+      The gloaming hies away like one forbid;
+    And day returns, and shadows on the grass
+    Fall from the trees; and night and morn amass
+      No joys for me this side the coffin-lid.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Absolve me, Sweet! Absolve me, or I die;
+      And give me pardon, if no other boon.
+      Aye, give me pardon, and the sun and moon,
+    And all the stars that wander through the sky
+    Will be thy sponsors, and the gladden'd cry
+      Of one poor heart will thank thee for it soon.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    And mine Amati--my beloved one--
+      The tender sprite who soothes, as best he may,
+      My fever'd pulse, and makes a roundelay
+    Of all my fears--e'en he, when all is done,
+    Will be thy friend, and yield his place to none
+      To wish thee well, and greet thee day by day.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    For he is human, though, to look at him,
+      To see his shape, to hear,--as from the throat
+      Of some bright angel,--his ecstatic note,
+    A sinful soul might dream of cherubim.
+    Aye! and he watches when my senses swim,
+      And I can trace the thoughts that o'er him float.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Often, indeed, I tell him more than man
+      E'er tells to woman in the honied hours
+      Of tranced night, in cities or in bowers;
+    And more, perchance, than lovers in the span
+    Of absent letters may, with scheming, plan
+      For life's surrender in the fairy towers.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    And he consoles me. There is none I find,
+      None in the world, so venturesome and wild,
+      And yet withal, so tender, true, and mild,
+    As he can be. And those who think him blind
+    Are much to blame. His ways are ever kind;
+      And he can plead as softly as a child.
+
+
+X.
+
+    And when he talks to me I feel the touch
+      Of some sweet hope, a feeling of content
+      Almost akin to what by joy is meant.
+    And then I brood on this; for Love is such,
+    It makes us weep to want it overmuch,
+      If wayward Fate withhold his full consent.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Oh, come to me, thou friend of my desire,
+      My lov'd Amati! At a word of thine
+      I can be brave, and dash away the brine
+    From off my cheek, and neutralise the fire
+    That makes me mad, and use thee as a lyre
+      To curb the anguish of this soul of mine.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Wood as thou art, my treasure, with the strings
+      Fair on thy form, as fits thy parentage,
+      I cannot deem that in a gilded cage
+    Thy spirit lives. The bird that in thee sings
+    Is not a mortal. No! Enthralment flings
+      Its charms about thee like a poet's rage.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Thou hast no sex; but, in an elfish way,
+      Thou dost entwine in one, as in a troth,
+      The gleesome thoughts of man and maiden both.
+    Thy voice is fullest at the flush of day,
+    But after midnight there is much to say
+      In weird remembrance of an April oath.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And when the moon is seated on the throne
+      Of some white cloud, with her attendants near--
+      The wondering stars that hold her name in fear--
+    Oh! then I know that mine Amati's tone
+    Is all for me, and that he stands alone,
+      First of his tribe, belov'd without a peer.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Yea, this is so, my Lady! A fair form
+      Made of the garner'd relics of a tree,
+      In which of old a dryad of the lea
+    Did live and die. He flourish'd in a storm,
+    And learnt to warble when the days were warm
+      And learnt at night the secrets of the sea.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    And now he is all mine, for my caress
+      And my strong bow,--an Ariel, as it seems,--
+      A something sweeter than the sweetest dreams;
+    A prison'd wizard that has come to bless
+    And will not curse, though tortured, more or less,
+      By some remembrance that athwart him streams.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    It is the thought of April. 'Tis the tie
+      That made us one; for then the earth was fair
+      With all things on't, and summer in the air
+    Tingled for thee and me. A soft reply
+    Came to thy lips, and I was like to die
+      To hear thee make such coy confessions there.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    It was the dawn of love (or so I thought)
+      The tender cooing of thy bosom-bird--
+      The beating heart that flutter'd at a word,
+    And seem'd for me alone to be so fraught
+    With wants unutter'd! All my being caught
+      Glamor thereat, as at a boon conferr'd.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    And I was lifted, in a minute's space,
+      As nigh to Heaven as Heaven is nigh to thee,
+      And in thy wistful glances I could see
+    Something that seem'd a joy, and in thy face
+    A splendour fit for angels in the place
+      Where God has named them all in their degree.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    Ah, none so blest as I, and none so proud,
+      In that wild moment when a thrill was sent
+      Right through my soul, as if from thee it went
+    As flame from fire! But this was disallow'd;
+    And I shall sooner wear a winter shroud
+      Than thou revoke my doom of banishment.
+
+[Illustration: Letter III REGRETS]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER III.
+
+REGRETS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    When I did wake, to-day, a bird of Heaven,
+      A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering sprite,
+      Did seem to sing a song for my delight;
+    And, far away, did make its holy steven
+    Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are seven;
+      And I did weep thereat in my despite.
+
+
+II.
+
+    O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious king,
+      Of all this splendour that we call the earth!
+      For thee the lark distils his morning mirth,
+    But who will hear the matins that I sing?
+    Who will be glad to greet me in the spring,
+      Or heed the voice of one so little worth?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Who will accept the thanks I would entone
+      For having met thee? and for having seen
+      Thy face an instant in the bower serene
+    Of perfect faith? The splendour was thine own,
+    The rapture mine; and Doubt was overthrown,
+      And Grief forgot the keynote of its threne.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I rose in haste. I seiz'd, as in a trance,
+      My violin, the friend I love the best
+      (After thyself, sweet soul!) and wildly press'd,
+    And firmly drew it, with a master's glance,
+    Straight to my heart! The sunbeams seem'd to dance
+      Athwart the strings, to rob me of my rest.
+
+
+V.
+
+    For then a living thing it did appear,
+      And every chord had sympathies for me;
+      And something like a lover's lowly plea
+    Did shake its frame, and something like a tear
+    Fell on my cheek, to mind me of the year
+      When first we met, we two, beside the sea.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I stood erect, I proudly lifted up
+      The Sword of Song, the bow that trembled now,
+      As if for joy, my grief to disallow.--
+    Are there not some who, in the choicest cup,
+    Imbibe despair, and famish as they sup,
+      Sear'd by a solace that was like a vow?
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Are there not some who weep, and cannot tell
+      Why it is thus? And others who repeat
+      Stories of ice, to cool them in the heat?
+    And some who quake for doubts they cannot quell,
+    And yet are brave? And some who smile in Hell
+      For thinking of the sin that was so sweet?
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    I have been one who, in the glow of youth,
+      Have liv'd in books, and realised a bliss
+      Unfelt by misers, when they count and kiss
+    Their minted joys; and I have known, in sooth,
+    The taste of water from the well of Truth,
+      And found it good. But time has alter'd this.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I have been hated, scorn'd, and thrust away,
+      By one who is the Regent of the flowers,
+      By one who, in the magic of her powers,
+    Changes the day to night, the night to day,
+    And makes a potion of the solar ray
+      Which drugs my heart, and deadens it for hours.
+
+
+X.
+
+    I have been taught that Happiness is coy,
+      And will not come to all who bend the knee;
+      That Faith is like the foam upon the sea,
+    And Pride a snare, and Pomp a foolish toy,
+    And Hope a moth whose wings we may destroy;
+      And she I love has taught these things to me.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Yes, thou, my Lady! Thou hast made me feel
+      The pangs of that Prometheus who was chain'd
+      And would not bow, but evermore maintain'd
+    A fierce revolt. Have I refused to kneel?
+    I do it gladly. But to mine appeal
+      No answer comes, and none will be ordain'd.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Why, then, this rancour? Why so cold a thing
+      As thy displeasure, O thou dearest One?
+      I meant no wrong. I stole not from the sun
+    The fire of Heaven; but I did seek to bring
+    Glory from thee to me; and in the Spring
+      I pray'd the prayer that left me thus undone.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I pray'd my prayer. I wove into my song
+      Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the bleak,
+      The wan despair that words can never speak.
+    I pray'd as if my spirit did belong
+    To some old master, who was wise and strong
+      Because he lov'd, and suffer'd, and was weak.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I curb'd the notes, convulsive, to a sigh,
+      And, when they falter'd most, I made them leap
+      Fierce from my bow, as from a summer sleep
+    A young she-devil. I was fired thereby
+    To bolder efforts, and a muffled cry
+      Came from the strings, as if a saint did weep.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I changed the theme. I dallied with the bow
+      Just time enough to fit it to a mesh
+      Of merry notes, and drew it back afresh
+    To talk of truth and constancy and woe,
+    And life, and love, and madness, and the glow
+      Of mine own soul which burns into my flesh.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    It was the Lord of music, it was he
+      Who seiz'd my hand. He forc'd me, as I play'd,
+      To think of that ill-fated fairy-glade
+    Where once we stroll'd at night; and wild and free
+    My notes did ring; and quickly unto me
+      There came the joy that maketh us afraid.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Oh! I shall die of tasting in my dreams
+      Poison of love and ecstasy of pain;
+      For I shall never kneel to thee again,
+    Or sit in bowers, or wander by the streams
+    Of golden vales, or of the morning beams
+      Construct a wreath to crown thee on the plain!
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Yet it were easy, too, to compass this,
+      So thou wert kind; and easy to my soul
+      Were harder things if I could reach the goal
+    Of all I crave, and consummate a bliss
+    In mine own fashion, and compel a kiss
+      More fraught with honour than a king's control.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    It is not much to say that I would die,--
+      It is not much to say that I would dare
+      Torture, and doom, and death, could I but share
+    One kiss with thee. For then, without a sigh,
+    I'd teach thee pity, and be graced thereby,
+      Wet with thy tears, and shrouded by thy hair.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    It is not much to say that this is so;
+      Yet I would sell my substance and my breath,
+      And all the joy that comes from Nazareth,
+    And all the peace that all the angels know,
+    To lie with thee, one minute, in the snow
+      Of thy white bosom, ere I sank in death!
+
+[Illustration: Letter IV YEARNING]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER IV.
+
+YEARNINGS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    The earth is glad, I know, when night is spent,
+      For then she wakes the birdlings in the bowers;
+      And, one by one, the rosy-footed hours
+    Start for the race; and from his crimson tent
+    The soldier-sun looks o'er the firmament;
+      And all his path is strewn with festal flowers.
+
+
+II.
+
+    But what his mission? What the happy quest
+      Of all this toil? He journeys on his way
+      As Caesar did, unbiass'd by the sway
+    Of maid or man. His goal is in the west.
+    Will he unbuckle there, and, in his rest,
+      Dream of the gods who died in Nero's day?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Will he arraign the traitor in his camp?
+      The Winter Comet who, with streaming hair,
+      Attack'd the sweetest of the Pleiads fair
+    And ravish'd her, and left her in the damp
+    Of dull decay, nor re-illumined the lamp
+      That show'd the place she occupied in air.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    No; 'tis not so! He seeks his lady-moon,
+      The gentle orb for whom Endymion sigh'd,
+      And trusts to find her by the ocean tide,
+    Or near a forest in the coming June;
+    For he has lov'd her since she late did swoon
+      In that eclipse of which she nearly died.
+
+
+V.
+
+    He knew her then; he knew her in the glow
+      Of all her charms. He knew that she was chaste,
+      And that she wore a girdle at her waist
+    Whiter than pearl. And when he eyed her so
+    He knew that in the final overthrow
+      He should prevail, and she should be embraced.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    But were I minded thus, were I the sun,
+      And thou the moon, I would not bide so long
+      To hear the marvels of thy wedding-song;
+    For I would have the planets, every one,
+    Conduct thee home, before the day was done,
+      And call thee queen, and crown thee in the throng.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    And, like Apollo, I would flash on thee,
+      And rend thy veil, and call thee by the name
+      That Daphne lov'd, the loadstar of his fame;
+    And make myself for thee as white to see
+    As whitest marble, and as wildly free
+      As Leda's lover with his look of flame.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And there should then be fetes that should not cease
+      Till I had kiss'd thee, lov'd one! in a trance
+      Lasting a life-time, through a life's romance;
+    And every star should have a mate apiece,
+    And I would teach them how, in ancient Greece,
+      The gods were masters of the maidens' dance.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I should be bold to act; and thou should'st feel
+      Terror and joy combined, in all the span
+      Of thy sweet body, ere my fingers ran
+    From curl to curl, to prompt thee how to kneel;
+    And then, soul-stricken by thy mute appeal,
+      I should be quick to answer like a man.
+
+
+X.
+
+    What! have I sinn'd, dear Lady, have I sinn'd
+      To talk so wildly? Have I sinn'd in this?
+      An angel's mouth was surely meant to kiss!
+    Or have I dreamt of courtship out in Inde
+    In some wild wood? My soul is fever-thinn'd,
+      And fierce and faint, and frauded of its bliss.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    I will not weep. I will not in the night
+      Weep or lament, or, bending on my knees,
+      Appeal for pity! In the clustered trees
+    The wind is boasting of its one delight;
+    And I will boast of mine, in thy despite,
+      And say I love thee more than all of these.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    The rose in bloom, the linnet as it sings,
+      The fox, the fawn, the cygnet on the mere,
+      The dragon-fly that glitters like a spear,--
+    All these, and more, all these ecstatic things,
+    Possess their mates; and some arrive on wings,
+      And some on webs, to make their meanings clear.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Yea, all these things, and more than I can tell,
+      More than the most we know of, one and all,
+      Do talk of Love. There is no other call
+    From wind to wave, from rose to asphodel,
+    Than Love's alone--the thing we cannot quell,
+      Do what we will, from font to funeral.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    What have I done, I only on the earth,
+      That I should wait a century for a word?
+      A hundred years, I know, have been deferr'd
+    Since last we met, and then it was in dearth
+    Of gladsome peace; for, in a moment's girth,
+      My shuddering soul was wounded like a bird.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I knew thy voice. I knew the veering sound
+      Of that sweet oracle which once did tend
+      To treat me grandly, as we treat a friend;
+    And I would know't if darkly underground
+    I lay as dead, or, down among the drown'd,
+      I blindly stared, unvalued to the end.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    There! take again the kiss I took from thee
+      Last night in sleep. I met thee in a dream
+      And drew thee closer than a monk may deem
+    Good for the soul. I know not how it be,
+    But this I know: if God be good to me
+      I shall be raised again to thine esteem.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    I touched thy neck. I kiss'd it. I was bold.
+      And bold am I, to-day, to call to mind
+      How, in the night, a murmur not unkind
+    Broke on mine ear; a something new and old
+    Quick in thy breath, as when a tale is told
+      Of some great hope with madness intertwined.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    And round my lips, in joy and yet in fear,
+      There seemed to dart the stings of kisses warm.
+      These were my honey-bees, and soon would swarm
+    To choose their queen. But ere they did appear,
+    I heard again that murmur in mine ear
+      Which seem'd to speak of calm before a storm.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    "What is it, love?" I whispered in my sleep,
+      And turned to thee, as April unto May.
+      "Art mine in truth, mine own, by night and day,
+    Now and for ever?" And I heard thee weep,
+    And then persuade; and then my soul did leap
+      Swiftly to thine, in love's ecstatic sway.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I fondled thee! I drew thee to my heart,
+      Well knowing in the dark that joy is dumb.
+      And then a cry, a sigh, a sob, did come
+    Forth from thy lips.... I waken'd, with a start,
+    To find thee gone. The day had taken part
+      Against the total of my blisses' sum.
+
+[Illustration: Letter V CONFESSIONS]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER V.
+
+CONFESSIONS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O Lady mine! O Lady of my Life!
+      Mine and not mine, a being of the sky
+      Turn'd into Woman, and I know not why--
+    Is't well, bethink thee, to maintain a strife
+    With thy poor servant? War unto the knife,
+      Because I greet thee with a lover's eye?
+
+
+II.
+
+    Is't well to visit me with thy disdain,
+      And rack my soul, because, for love of thee,
+      I was too prone to sink upon my knee,
+    And too intent to make my meaning plain,
+    And too resolved to make my loss a gain
+      To do thee good, by Love's immortal plea?
+
+
+III.
+
+    O friend! forgive me for my dream of bliss.
+      Forgive: forget; be just! Wilt not forgive?
+      Not though my tears should fall, as through a sieve
+    The salt sea-sand? What joy hast thou in this:
+    To be a maid, and marvel at a kiss?
+      Say! Must I die, to prove that I can live?
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Shall this be so? E'en this? And all my love
+      Wreck'd in an instant? No, a gentle heart
+      Beats in thy bosom; and the shades depart
+    From all fair gardens, and from skies above,
+    When thou art near. For thou art like a dove,
+      And dainty thoughts are with thee where thou art.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Oh! it is like the death of dearest kin,
+      To wake and find the fancies of the brain
+      Sear'd and confused. We languish in the strain
+    Of some lost music, and we find within,
+    Deep in the heart, the record of a sin,
+      The thrill thereof, and all the blissful pain.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+VI.
+
+    For it is deadly sin to love too well,
+      And unappeased, unhonour'd, unbesought,
+      To feed on dreams; and yet 'tis aptly thought
+    That all must love. E'en those who most rebel
+    In Eros' camp have known his master-spell;
+      And more shall learn than Eros yet has taught.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    But I am mad to love. I am not wise.
+      I am the worst of men to love the best
+      Of all sweet women! An untimely jest,
+    A thing made up of rhapsodies and sighs,
+    And unordained on earth, and in the skies,
+      And undesired in tumult and in rest.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    All this is true. I know it. I am he.
+      I am that man. I am the hated friend
+      Who once received a smile, and sought to mend
+    His soul with hope. O tyrant! by the plea
+    Of all thy grace, do thou accept from me
+      At least the notes that know not to offend.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    See! I will strike again the major chord
+      Of that great song, which, in his early days,
+      Beethoven wrote; and thine shall be the praise,
+    And thine the frenzy like a soldier's sword
+    Flashing therein; and thine, O thou adored
+      And bright true Lady! all the poet's lays.
+
+
+X.
+
+    To thee, to thee, the songs of all my joy,
+      To thee the songs that wildly seem to bless,
+      And those that mind thee of a past caress.
+    Lo! with a whisper to the Winged Boy
+    Who rules my fate, I will my strength employ
+      To make a matin-song of my distress.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    But playing thus, and toying with the notes,
+      I half forget the cause I have to weep;
+      And, like a reaper in the realms of sleep,
+    I hear the bird of morning where he floats
+    High in the welkin, and in fairy boats
+      I see the minstrels sail upon the deep.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    In mid-suspension of my leaping bow
+      I almost hear the silence of the night;
+      And, in my soul, I know the stars are bright
+    Because they love, and that they nightly glow
+    To make it clear that there is nought below,
+      And nought above, so fair as Love's delight.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    But shall I touch thy heart by speech alone,
+      Without Amati? Shall I prove, by words,
+      That hope is meant for men as well as birds;
+    That I would take a scorpion, or a stone,
+    In lieu of gold, and sacrifice a throne
+      To be the keeper of thy flocks and herds?
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Ah no, my Lady! though I sang to thee
+      With fuller voice than sings the nightingale--
+      Fuller and softer in the moonlight pale
+    Than lays of Keats, or Shelley, or the free
+    And fire-lipp'd Byron--there would come to me
+      No word of thine to thank me for the tale.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Thou would'st not heed. Thou would'st not any-when,
+      In bower or grove--or in the holy nook
+      Which shields thy bed--thou would'st not care to look
+    For thoughts of mine, though faithful in their ken
+    As are the minds of England's fighting men
+      When they inscribe their names in Honour's book.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Thou would'st not care to scan my face, and through
+      This face of mine, the soul, for scraps of thought.
+      Yet 'tis a face that somewhere has been taught
+    To smile in tears. Mine eyes are somewhat blue
+    And quick to flash (if what I hear be true)
+      And dark, at times, as velvet newly wrought.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    But wilt thou own it? Wilt thou in the scroll
+      Of my sad life, perceive, as in a hive,
+      A thousand happy fancies that contrive
+    To seek thee out? Thy bosom is the goal
+    Of all my thoughts, and quick to thy control
+      They wend their way, elate to be alive.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    But there is something I could never bring
+      My soul to compass. No! could I compel
+      Thy plighted troth, I would not have thee tell
+    A lie to God. I'll have no wedding-ring
+    With loveless hands around my neck to cling;
+      For this were worse than all the fires of hell.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    I would not take thee from a lover's lips,
+      Or from the rostrum of a roaring crowd,
+      Or from the memory of a husband's shroud,
+    Or from the goblet where a Caesar sips.
+    I would not touch thee with my finger tips,
+      But I would die to serve thee,--and be proud.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    And could I enter Heaven, and find therein,
+      In all the wide dominions of the air,
+      No trace of thee among the natives there,
+    I would not bide with them--No! not to win
+    A seraph's lyre--but I would sin a sin,
+      And free my soul, and seek thee otherwhere!
+
+[Illustration: Letter VI DESPAIR]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER VI.
+
+DESPAIR.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I am undone. My hopes have beggar'd me,
+      For I have lov'd where loving was denied.
+      To-day is dark, and Yesterday has died,
+    And when To-morrow comes, erect and free,
+    Like some great king, whose tyrant will he be,
+      And whose defender in the days of pride?
+
+
+II.
+
+    I am not cold, and yet November bands
+      Compress my heart. I know the month is May,
+      And that the sun will warm me if I stay.
+    But who is this? Oh, who is this that stands
+    Straight in my path, and with his bony hands
+      Appeals to me to turn some other way?
+
+
+III.
+
+    It is the phantom of my murder'd joy,
+      Which once again has come to persecute,
+      And tell me tales which late I did refute.
+    But lo! I now must heed them, as a boy
+    Takes up, in tears, the remnants of a toy,
+      Or bard forlorn the fragments of a lute.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    It is the ghost that, day by day, did come
+      To tempt my spirit to the mountain-peak;
+      It is the thing that wept, and would not speak,
+    And, with a sign, to show that it was dumb,
+    Did seem to hint at Death that was the sum
+      Of all we know, and all we strive to seek.
+
+
+V.
+
+    And now it comes again, and with its eye
+      Bloodshot and blear, though pallid in its face,
+      Doth point, exacting, to the very place
+    Where I do keep, that no one may descry,
+    A lady's glove, a ribbon, and a dry,
+      A perjur'd rose, which oft I did embrace.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    It means, perchance, that I must make an end
+      Of all these things, and burn them as a fee
+      To my Despair, when down upon my knee.
+    O piteous thing! have pity; be my friend;
+    Or say, at least, that blessings will descend
+      On her I love, on her if not on me!
+
+
+VII.
+
+    The Shape did smile; and, wildly, with a start,
+      Did shrivel up, as when a fire is spent,
+      Whereof the smoke obscured the firmament.
+    And then I knew it had but tried my heart,
+    To teach me how to play a manly part,
+      And strengthen me in all my good intent.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And here I stand alone, e'en like a leaf
+      In sudden frost, as quiet as the wing
+      Of wounded bird, which knows it cannot sing.
+    A child may moan, but not a mountain chief.
+    If we be sad, if we possess a grief,
+      The grief should be the slave, and not the king.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Yes, I will pause, and pluck from out the Past
+      The full discernment of my sorry cheer,
+      And why the sunlight seems no longer clear,
+    And why, in spite of anguish, and the vast,
+    The sickly blank that o'er my life is cast,
+      I cannot kneel to-day, or shed a tear.
+
+
+X.
+
+    It was thy friendship. It was this I had,
+      This and no more. I was a fool to doubt,
+      I was a fool to strive to put to rout
+    My many foes:--thy musings tender-glad,
+    Which all had said:--"Avoid him! he is mad--
+      Mad with his love, and Love's erratic shout."
+
+
+XI.
+
+    I should have known,--I should have guess'd in time,--
+      That, like a soft mirage at twilight hour,
+      My dream would melt, and rob me of its dower.
+    I should have guess'd that all the heights sublime,
+    Which look'd like spires and cities built in rhyme,
+      Would droop and die, like petals from a flower.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I should have known, indeed, that to the brave
+      All things are servants. But my lost Delight
+      Was like the ship that founders in a night,
+    And leaves no mark. How then? Is Passion's grave
+    All that is left beside the sobbing wave?
+      The foam thereof, the saltness, and the blight?
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I had a fleet of ships, and where are they?
+      Where are they all? and where the merchandise
+      I treasured once--an empire's golden prize,
+    The empire of a soul, which, in a day,
+    Lost all its wealth? I was deceiv'd, I say,
+      For I had reckon'd on propitious skies.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I look'd afar, and saw no sign of wrack.
+      I look'd anear, and felt the summer breeze
+      Warm on my cheek; and forth upon the seas
+    I sent my ships; and would not have them back,
+    Though some averr'd a storm was on the track
+      Of all I lov'd, and all I own'd of these.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    One ship was "Joy," the second "Truth," the third
+      "Love in a Dream," and, last not least of all,
+      "Hope," and "Content," and "Pride that hath a Fall."
+    And they were goodly vessels, by my word,
+    With sails as strong as pinions of a bird,
+      And crew that answer'd well to Duty's call.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    In one of these--in "Hope"--where I did fly
+      A lofty banner,--in that ship I found
+      Doom's-day at last, and all my crew were drown'd.
+    Yes, I was wreck'd in this, and here I lie,
+    Here on the beach, forlorn and like to die,
+      With none to pray for me on holy ground.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    O sweet my Lady! If thou pass this way,
+      And thou behold me where I lie beset
+      By wind and wave, and powerless to forget,
+    Wilt not approach me thoughtfully and say:--
+    "This man was true. He lov'd me night and day
+      And though I spurn'd at him, he loves me yet."
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Wilt not withhold thy blame, at least to-night,
+      And shed for me a tear, as one may grieve
+      For people known in books, for men who weave
+    Ropes out of sand, to lead them to the light?
+    Oh! treat me thus, and, by thy hand so white,
+      I will forego the dreams to which I cleave.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    Be just to me, and say, when all is o'er,
+      When some such book is calmly laid aside:
+      "The shadow-men have liv'd and lov'd and died;
+    The shadow-women will be vexed no more.
+    But there is One for whom my heart is sore,
+      Because he took a shadow for his guide."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    Say only this; but pray for me withal,
+      And let a pitying thought possess thee then,
+      Whether at home, at sea, or in a glen
+    In some wild nook. It were a joy to fall
+    Dead at thy feet, as at a trumpet's call,
+      For I should then be peerless among men!
+
+[Illustration: Letter VII HOPE]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER VII.
+
+HOPE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O tears of mine! Ye start I know not why,
+      Unless, indeed, to prove that I am glad,
+      Albeit fast wedded to a thought so sad
+    I scarce can deem that my despair will die,
+    Or that the sun, careering up the sky,
+      Will warm again a world that seem'd so mad.
+
+
+II.
+
+    And yet, who knows? The world is, to the mind,
+      Much as we make it; and the things we tend
+      Wear, for the nonce, the liveries that we lend.
+    And some such things are fair, though ill-defined,
+    And some are scathing, like the wintry wind;
+      And some begin, and some will never end.
+
+
+III.
+
+    How can I think, ye tears! that I have been
+      The thing I was--so doubting, so unfit,
+      And so unblest, with brows for ever knit,
+    And hair unkempt, and face becoming lean
+    And cold and pale, as if I late had seen
+      Medusa's head, and all the scowls of it?
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Oh, why is this? Oh, why have I so long
+      Brooded on grief, and made myself a bane
+      To golden fields and all the happy plain
+    Where once I met the Lady of my Song,
+    The lady for whose sake I shall be strong,
+      But never weak or diffident again?
+
+
+V.
+
+    I was too shorn of hope. I did employ
+      Words like a mourner; and to Her I bow'd,
+      As one might kneel to Glory in its shroud.
+    But I am crown'd to-day, and not so coy--
+    Crown'd with a kiss, and sceptred with a joy;
+      And all the world shall see that I am proud.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I shall be sated now. I shall receive
+      More than the guerdon of my wildest thought,
+      More than the most that ecstasy has taught
+    To saints in Heaven; and more than poets weave
+    In madcap verse, to warn us, or deceive;
+      And more than Adam knew ere Eve was brought.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    I know the meaning now of all the signs,
+      And all the joys I dreamt of in my dreams.
+      I realise the comfort of the streams
+    When they reflect the shadows of the pines.
+    I know that there is hope for celandines,
+      And that a tree is merrier than it seems.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    I know the mighty hills have much to tell;
+      And that they quake, at times, in undertone,
+      And talk to stars, because so much alone
+    And so unlov'd. I know that, in the dell,
+    Flowers are betroth'd, and that a wedding-bell
+      Rings in the breeze on which a moth has flown.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I know such things, because to loving hearts
+      Nature is keen, and pleasures, long delay'd,
+      Quicken the pulse, and turn a truant shade
+    Into a sprite, equipp'd with all the darts
+    That once were Cupid's; and the day departs,
+      And sun and moon conjoin, as man with maid.
+
+
+X.
+
+    The lover knows how grand a thing is love,
+      How grand, how sweet a thing, and how divine
+      More than the pouring out of choicest wine;
+    More than the whiteness of the whitest dove;
+    More than the glittering of the stars above;
+      And such a love, O Love! is thine and mine.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    To me the world, to-day, has grown so fair
+      I dare not trust myself to think of it.
+      Visions of light around me seem to flit,
+    And Phoebus loosens all his golden hair
+    Right down the sky; and daisies turn and stare
+      At things we see not with our human wit.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+XII.
+
+    And here, beside me, there are mosses green
+      In shelter'd nooks, and gnats in bright array,
+      And lordly beetles out for holiday;
+    And spiders small that work in silver sheen
+    To make a kirtle for the Fairy Queen,
+      That she may don it on the First of May.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I hear, in thought, I hear the very words
+      That Arethusa, turn'd into a brook,
+      Spoke to Diana, when her leave she took
+    Of all she lov'd--low-weeping as the birds
+    Shrill'd out of tune, and all the frighten'd herds
+      Scamper'd to death, in spite of pipe and crook.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    I know, to-day, why winds were made to sigh
+      And why they hide themselves, and why they gloat
+      In some old ruin! Mote confers with mote,
+    And shell with shell; and corals live and die,
+    And die and live, below the deep. And why?
+      To make a necklace for my lady's throat.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    And yet the world, in all its varied girth,
+      Lacks what we look for. There is something base
+      In mere existence--something in the face
+    Of men and women which accepts the earth,
+    And all its havings, as its right of birth,
+      But not its quittance, not its resting-place.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    There have been moments, at the set of sun,
+      When I have long'd for wings upon the wind,
+      That I might seek a planet to my mind,
+    More full-develop'd than this present one;
+    With more of scope, when all is said and done,
+      To satisfy the wants of human kind.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    A world with thee, a home in some remote
+      And unknown region, which no sage's ken
+      Has compass'd yet; of which no human pen
+    Has traced the limits; where no terrors float
+    In wind or wave, and where the soul may note
+      A thousand raptures unreveal'd to men.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    To be transported in a magic car,
+      On some transcendent night in early June,
+      Beyond the horn'd projections of the moon;
+    To have our being in a bridal star,
+    In lands of light, where only angels are,
+      Athwart the spaces where the comets swoon.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    To be all this: to have in our estate
+      Worlds without stint, and quit them for the clay
+      Of some new planet where a summer's day
+    Lasts fifty years; and there to celebrate
+    Our Golden Wedding, by the will of Fate--
+      This were a subject for a seraph's lay.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    This were a life to live,--a life indeed,--
+      A thing to die for; if, in truth, we die
+      When we but put our mortal vestments by.
+    This were a climax for a lover's need
+    Sweeter than songs, and holier than the creed
+      Of half the zealots who have sought the sky.
+
+[Illustration: Letter VIII A VISION]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER VIII.
+
+A VISION.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Yes, I will tell thee what, a week ago,
+      I dreamt of thee, and all the joy therein
+      Which I conceiv'd, and all the holy din
+    Of throbbing music, which appear'd to flow
+    From room to room, as if to make me know
+      The power thereof to lead me out of sin.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Methought I saw thee in a ray of light,
+      This side a grove--a dream within a dream--
+      With eyes of tender pleading, and the gleam
+    Of far-off summers in thy tresses bright;
+    And I did tremble at the gracious sight,
+      As one who sees a naiad in a stream.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I follow'd thee. I knew that, in the wood,
+      Where thus we met, there was a trysting-place.
+      I follow'd thee, as mortals in a chase
+    Follow the deer. I knew that it was good
+    To track thy step, and promptly understood
+      The fitful blush that flutter'd to thy face.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I followed thee to where a brook did run
+      Close to a grot; and there I knelt to thee.
+      And then a score of birds flew over me,--
+    Birds which arrived because the day was done,
+    To sing the Sanctus of the setting sun;
+      And then I heard thy voice upon the lea.
+
+
+V.
+
+    "Follow!" it cried. I rose and follow'd fast;
+      And, in my dream, I felt the dream was true,
+      And that, full soon, Titania, with her crew
+    Of imps and fays, would meet me on the blast.
+    But this was hindered; and I quickly passed
+      Into the valley where the cedars grew.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    And what a scene, O God! and what repose,
+      And what sad splendour in the burning west:
+      A languid sun low-dropping to his rest,
+    And incense rising, as of old it rose,
+    To do him honour at the daylight's close,--
+      The birds entranced, and all the winds repress'd.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    I followed thee. I came to where a shrine
+      Stood in the trees, and where an oaken gate
+      Swung in the air, so turbulent of late.
+    I touch'd thy hand; it quiver'd into mine;
+    And then I look'd into thy face benign,
+      And saw the smile for which the angels wait.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And lo! the moon had sailed into the main
+      Of that blue sky, as if therein did poise
+      A silver boat; and then a tuneful noise
+    Broke from the copse where late a breeze was slain;
+    And nightingales, in ecstasy of pain,
+      Did break their hearts with singing the old joys.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    "Is this the spot?" I cried, "is this the spot
+      Where I must tell thee all my heart's desire?
+      Is this the time when I must drink the fire,
+    And eat the snow, and find it fever-hot?
+    I freeze with heat, and yet I fear it not;
+      And all my pulses thrill me like a lyre."
+
+
+X.
+
+    A wondrous light was thrown upon thy face;
+      It was the light within; it was the ray
+      Of thine own soul. And then a voice did say,
+    "Glory to God the King, and Jesu's grace
+    Here and hereafter!" and about the place
+      A radiance shone surpassing that of day.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    It was thy voice. It was the voice I prize
+      More than the sound of April in the dales,
+      More than the songs of larks and nightingales,
+    And more than the teachings of the worldly-wise.
+    "Glory to God," it said, "for in the skies,
+      And here on earth, 'tis He alone prevails."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+XII.
+
+    And then I asked thee: "Shall I tell thee now
+      All that I think of, when, by land and sea,
+      The days and nights illume the world for me?
+    And how I muse on marriage, as I bow
+    In God's own places, with a throbbing brow?
+      And how, at night, I dream of kissing thee?"
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    But thou did'st answer: "First behold this man!
+      He is thy lord, for love's and lady's sake;
+      He is thy master, or I much mistake."
+    And I perceiv'd, hard by, a phantom wan
+    And wild and kingly, who did, walking, span
+      The open space that lay beside the brake.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    It was Beethoven. It was he who came
+      From monstrous shades, to journey yet awhile
+      In pleasant nooks, and vainly seek the smile
+    Of one lov'd woman--she to whom his fame
+    Had been a glory had she sought the same,
+      And lov'd a soul so grand, so free from guile.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    It was the Kaiser of the land of song,
+      The giant-singer who did storm the gates
+      Of Heaven and Hell, a man to whom the Fates
+    Were fierce as furies, and who suffer'd wrong
+    And ached and bore it, and was brave and strong,
+      But gaunt as ocean when its rage abates.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    I knew his tread. I knew him by his look
+      Of pent-up sorrow--by his hair unkempt
+      And torn attire--and by his smile exempt
+    From all but pleading. Yet his body shook
+    With some great joy; and onward he betook
+      His echoing steps the way that I had dreamt.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    I bow'd my head. The lordly being pass'd.
+      He was my king, and I did bow to him.
+      And when I rais'd mine eyes they were as dim
+    As tears could make them. And the moon, aghast,
+    Glared in the sky; and westward came a blast
+      Which shook the earth like shouts of cherubim.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    I held my breath. I could have fled the place,
+      As men have fled before the wrath of God.
+      But I beheld my Lady where she trod
+    The darken'd path; and I did cry apace:
+    "Help me, my Lady!" and thy lustrous face
+      Gladden'd the air, and quicken'd all the sod.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    Then did I hear again that voice of cheer.
+      "Lovest thou me," it said, "or music best?"
+      I seized thy hand, I drew thee to my breast,
+    "Thee, only thee!" I cried. "From year to year,
+    Thee, only thee--not fame!" And silver-clear,
+      Thy voice responded: "God will grant the rest."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I kiss'd thine eyes. I kiss'd them where the blue
+      Peep'd smiling forth; and proudly as before
+      I heard the tones that thrill'd me to the core.
+    "If thou love me," they said, "if thou be true,
+    Thou shalt have fame, and love, and music too!"
+      Entranced I kiss'd the lips that I adore.
+
+[Illustration: Letter IX TO-MORROW]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER IX.
+
+TO-MORROW.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O Love! O Love! O Gateway of Delight!
+      Thou porch of peace, thou pageant of the prime
+      Of all God's creatures! I am here to climb
+    Thine upward steps, and daily and by night
+    To gaze beyond them, and to search aright
+      The far-off splendour of thy track sublime.
+
+
+II.
+
+    For, in thy precincts, on the further side,
+      Beyond the turret where the bells are rung,
+      Beyond the chapel where the rites are sung,
+    There is a garden fit for any bride.
+    O Love! by thee, by thee are sanctified
+      The joys thereof to keep our spirits young.
+
+
+III.
+
+    By thee, dear Love! by thee, if all be well--
+      And we be wise enough to own the touch
+      Of some bright folly that has thrill'd us much--
+    By thee, till death, we may regain the spell
+    Of wizard Merlin, and in every dell
+      Confront a Muse, and bow to it as such.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Love! Happy Love! Behold me where I stand
+      This side thy portal, with my straining eyes
+      Turn'd to the Future. Cloudless are the skies,
+    And, far adown the road which thou hast spann'd,
+    I see the groves of that elected land
+      Which is the place I call my paradise.
+
+
+V.
+
+    But what is this? The plains are known to me;
+      The hills are known, the fields, the little fence,
+      The noisy brook as clear as innocence,
+    And this old oak, the wonder of the lea,
+    Which stops the wind to know if there shall be
+      Sorrow for men, or pride, or recompense.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I know these things, yet hold it little blame
+      To know them not, though in their proud array,
+      The flowers advance to make the world so gay.
+    Ah, what a change! The things I know by name
+    Look unfamiliar all, and, like a flame,
+      The roses burn upon the hedge to-day.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    The grass is velvet. There are pearls thereon,
+      And golden signs, and braid that doth appear
+      Made for a bridal. This is fairy gear
+    If I mistake not. I shall know anon.
+    Nature herself will teach me how to con
+      The new-found words to thank the glowing year.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    This is the path that led me to the brook;
+      And this the mead, and this the mossy slope,
+      And this the place where breezes did elope
+    With giddy moths, enamour'd of a look;
+    And here I sat alone, or with a book,
+      Dreaming the dreams of constancy and hope.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    I loved the river well; but not till now
+      Did I perceive the marvels of the shore.
+      This is a cave, and this an emerald floor;
+    And here Sir Englantine might make a vow,
+    And here a king, a guilty king, might bow
+      Before a child, and break his word no more.
+
+
+X.
+
+    The day is dying. I shall see him die,
+      And I shall watch the sunset, and the red
+      Of all that splendour when the day is dead.
+    And I shall see the stars upon the sky,
+    And think them torches that are lit on high
+      To light the Lord Apollo to his bed.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    And sweet To-morrow, like a golden bark,
+      Will call for me, and lead me on apace
+      To where I shall behold, in all her grace,
+    Mine own true Lady, whom a happy lark
+    Did late salute, appointing, after dark,
+      A nightingale to carol in his place.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Oh, come to me! Oh, come, beloved day,
+      O sweet To-morrow! Youngest of the sons
+      Of old King Time, to whom Creation runs
+    As men to God. Oh, quickly with thy ray
+    Anoint my head, and teach me how to pray,
+      As gentle Jesus taught the little ones.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    I am aweary of the waiting hours,
+      I am aweary of the tardy night.
+      The hungry moments rob me of delight,
+    The crawling minutes steal away my powers;
+    And I am sick at heart, as one who cowers,
+      In lonely haunts, remov'd from human sight.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    How shall I think the night was meant for sleep,
+      When I must count the dreadful hours thereof,
+      And cannot beat them down, or bid them doff
+    Their hateful masks? A man may wake and weep
+    From hour to hour, and, in the silence deep,
+      See shadows move, and almost hear them scoff.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Oh, come to me, To-morrow! like a friend,
+      And not as one who bideth for the clock.
+      Be swift to come, and I will hear thee knock,
+    And though the night refuse to make an end
+    Of her dull peace, I promptly will descend
+      And let thee in, and thank thee for the shock.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Dear, good To-morrow! in my life, till now,
+      I did not think to need thee quite so soon.
+      I did not think that I should hate the moon,
+    Or new or old, or that my fevered brow
+    Requir'd the sun to cool it. I will bow
+      To this new day, that he may grant the boon.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Yes, 'twill consent. The day will dawn at last.
+      Day and the tide approach. They cannot rest.
+      They must approach. They must by every test
+    Of all men's knowledge, neither slow nor fast,
+    Approach and front us. When the night is past,
+      The morrow's dawn will lead me to my quest.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Then shall I tremble greatly, and be glad,
+      For I shall meet my true-love all alone,
+      And none shall tell me of her dainty zone,
+    And none shall say how sweetly she is clad;
+    But I shall know it. Men may call me mad;
+      But I shall know how bright the world has grown.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    There is a grammar of the lips and eyes,
+      And I have learnt it. There are tokens sure
+      Of trust in love; and I have found them pure.
+    Is love the guerdon then? Is love the prize?
+    It is! It is! We find it in the skies,
+      And here on earth 'tis all that will endure.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    All things for love. All things in some divine
+      And wish'd for way, conspire, as Nature knows,
+      To some great good. Where'er a daisy grows
+    There grows a joy. The forest-trees combine
+    To talk of peace when mortals would repine;
+      And he is false to God who flouts the rose.
+
+[Illustration: Letter X A RETROSPECT]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER X.
+
+A RETROSPECT.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I walk again beside the roaring sea,
+      And once again I harken to the speech
+      Of waves exulting on the madden'd beach.
+    A sound of awful joy it seems to me,
+    A shuddering sound of God's eternity,--
+      Telling of things beyond the sage's reach.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I walk alone. I see the bounding waves
+      Curl'd into foam. I watch them as they leap
+      Like wild sea-horses loosen'd from the deep.
+    And well I know that they have seen the graves
+    Of shipwreck'd sailors; for Disaster paves
+      The fearful fields where reapers cannot reap.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Out there, in islands where the summer sun
+      Goes down in tempest, there are loathsome things
+      That crawl to shore, and flap unsightly wings.
+    But here there are no monsters that can run
+    To catch the limbs of bathers; no! not one;
+      And here the wind is harmless when it stings.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    There is a glamour all about the bay,
+      As if the nymphs of Greece had tarried here.
+      The sands are golden, and the rocks appear
+    Crested with silver; and the breezes play
+    Snatches of song they humm'd when far away,
+      And then are hush'd, as if from sudden fear.
+
+
+V.
+
+    They think of thee. They hunt; they meditate.
+      They will not quit the shore till they have seen
+      The very spot where thou did'st stand serene
+    In all thy beauty; and of me they prate,
+    Knowing I love thee. And, like one elate,
+      The grand old sea remembers what hath been.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+VI.
+
+    How many hours, how many days we met
+      Here on the beach, in that delirious time
+      When all the waves appear'd to break in rhyme.
+    Life was a joy, and love was like a debt
+    Paid and repaid in kisses--good to get,
+      And good to lose--unhoarded, yet sublime.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    We wander'd here. We saw the tide advance,
+      We saw it ebb. We saw the widow'd shore
+      Waiting for Ocean with its organ roar,
+    Knowing that, day by day, through happy chance,
+    She would be wooed anew, amid the dance
+      Of bridal waves high-bounding as before.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    And I remember how, at flush of morn,
+      Thou didst depart alone, to find a nook
+      Where none could see thee; where a lover's look
+    Were profanation worse than any scorn;
+    And how I went my way, among the corn,
+      To wait for thee beside the Shepherd's brook.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    And lo! from out a cave thou didst emerge,
+      Sweet as thyself, the flower of Womankind.
+      I know 'twas thus; for, in my secret mind,
+    I see thee now. I see thee in the surge
+    Of those wild waves, well knowing that they urge
+      Some idle wish, untalk'd-of to the wind.
+
+
+X.
+
+    I think the beach was thankful to have known
+      Thy warm, white body, and the blessedness
+      Of thy first shiver; and I well can guess
+    How, when thy limbs were toss'd and overthrown,
+    The sea was pleased, and every smallest stone,
+      And every wave, was proud of thy caress.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    A maiden diving, with dishevell'd hair,
+      Sheer from a rock; a syren of the deep
+      Call'd into action, ere a wave could leap
+    Breast-high to daunt her; Daphne, by a prayer,
+    Lured from a forest for the sea to bear--
+      This were a dream to fill a poet's sleep.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    This were a thing for Phoebus to have eyed;
+      And he did eye it. Yea, the Deathless One
+      Did eye thy beauty. It was madly done.
+    He saw thee in the rising of the tide.
+    He saw thee well. The truth is not denied;
+      The shore was proud to show thee to the sun.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Never since Venus, at a god's decree,
+      Uprose from ocean, has there lived on earth
+      A face like thine, a form of so much worth;
+    And nowhere has the moon-obeying sea
+    Known such perfection, down from head to knee,
+      And knee to foot, since that Olympian birth.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And, sooth, the moon was anxious to have placed
+      Her head beside thee, on the waters bright.
+      But she was foil'd; for thou so late at night
+    Wouldst not go forth: no! not to be embraced
+    By Nature's Queen, though, round about the waist,
+      She would have ring'd thee with her softest light.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Ah me! had I a lute of sovereign power
+      I would enlarge on this, and plainly show
+      That there is nothing like thee here below,--
+    Nothing so comely, nothing in its dower
+    Of youth and grace, so like a human flower,
+      And white withal, and guiltless as the snow.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    For thou art fair as lilies, with the flush
+      That roses have while waiting for a kiss;
+      And when thou smilest nothing comes amiss.
+    The earth is glad to see thy dimpled blush.
+    Had I the lute of Orpheus I would hush
+      All meaner sounds to tell the stars of this.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    I would, I swear, by Pallas' own consent,
+      Inform all creatures whom the stars behold
+      That thou art mine, and that a pen of gold,
+    With ink of fire, though by an angel lent,
+    Were all too poor to tell my true content,
+      And how I love thee seven times seventy fold.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    And sure am I that, in the ancient days,
+      Achilles heard no voice so passing sweet,
+      And none so trancing, none that could compete
+    With thine for fervour; none, in watery ways
+    Where Neptune dwelt, so worthy of the praise
+      Of Thetis' son, the sure and swift of feet.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    He never met upon the plains of Troy
+      Goddess or maiden so divinely fraught.
+      Not Helen's self, for whom the Trojans fought,
+    Was like to thee. Her love had much alloy,
+    But thine has none. Her beauty was a toy,
+      But thine's a gem, unsullied and unbought.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    And ne'er was seen by poet, in a sweven,
+      An eye like thine, a face so fair to see
+      As that which makes the sunlight sweet to me.
+    Nor need I wait for death, or for the levin
+    In yonder cloud, to find the path to Heaven.
+      It fronts me here. 'Tis manifest in thee!
+
+[Illustration: Letter XI FAITH]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER XI.
+
+FAITH.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Now will I sing to God a song of praise,
+      And thank the morning for the light it brings,
+      Aye! and the earth for every flower that springs,
+    And every tree that, in the jocund days,
+    Thrills to the blast. My voice I will upraise
+      To thank the world for every bird that sings.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I will unpack my mind of all its fears,
+      I will advance to where the matin fires
+      Absorb the hills. My hopes and my desires
+    Will lead me safe; and day will have no tears
+    And night no torture, as in former years,
+      To warp my nature when my soul aspires.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I will endure. I will not strive to peep
+      Behind the barriers of the days to come,
+      Nor, adding up the figures of a sum,
+    Dispose of prayers as men dispose of sleep.
+    I cannot count the stars, or walk the deep;
+      But I can pray, and Faith shall not be dumb.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I take myself and thee as mine estate--
+      Thee and myself. The world is centred there.
+      If thou be well I know the skies are fair;
+    If not, they press me down with leaden weight,
+    And all is dark; and morning comes too late;
+      And all the birds are tuneless in the air.
+
+
+V.
+
+    I need but thee: thee only. Thou alone
+      Art all my joy: a something to the sight
+      As grand as Silence, and as snowy white.
+    And do thou pardon if I make it known,
+    As oft I do, with mine Amati's tone,
+      Amid the stillness of the starry night.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Oh, give me pity of thy heart and mind,
+      Mine own sweet Lady, if I vex thee now.
+      If the repeating of my constant vow
+    Be undesired, have pity! I were blind,
+    And deaf and dumb, and mad, were I inclined
+      To curb my feelings when to thee I bow.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Forgive the challenge of my longing lips
+      If these offend thee; and forgive me, too,
+      If I perceive, within thine eyes of blue,
+    More than I utter--more than, in eclipse,
+    A man may note atween the argent tips
+      Of frighted Dian whom the Fates pursue.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    It is the thing I dream of; 'tis the thing
+      We know as rapture, when, with sudden thrill,
+      It snares the heart and subjugates the will;
+    I mean the pride, the power, by which we cling
+    To natures nobler than the ones we bring,
+      To keep entire the fire we cannot chill.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Coyest of nymphs, my Lady! whom I seek
+      As sailors seek salvation out at sea,
+      And poets fame, and soldiers victory,
+    Behold! I note the blush upon thy cheek,
+    The flag of truce that tells me thou art meek
+      And soon wilt yield thy fortress up to me.
+
+
+X.
+
+    It is thy soul; it is thy soul in arms
+      Which thus I conquer. All thy furtive sighs,
+      And all the glances of thy wistful eyes,
+    Proclaim the swift surrender of thy charms.
+    I kiss thy hand; and tremors and alarms
+      Discard, in parting, all their late disguise.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    They were not foes. They knew me, one and all;
+      They knew I lov'd thee, and they lured me on
+      To try my fortune, and to wait thereon
+    For just reward. The scaling of the wall
+    Was not the meed; there came the festival,
+      And now there comes the crown that I must don.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    O my Beloved! I am king of thee,
+      And thou my queen; and I will wear the crown
+      A little moment, for thy love's renown.
+    Yea, for a moment, it shall circle me,
+    And then be thine, so thou, upon thy knee,
+      Do seek the same, with all thy tresses down.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    For woman still is mistress of the man,
+      Though man be master. 'Tis the woman's right
+      To choose her king, and crown him in her sight,
+    And make him feel the pressure of the span
+    Of her soft arms, as only woman can;
+      For, with her weakness, she excels his might.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    It is her joy indeed to be so frail
+      That he must shield her; he of all the world
+      Whom most she loves; and then, if he be hurl'd
+    To depths of sorrow, she will more avail
+    Than half a senate. Troubles may assail,
+      But she will guide him by her lips impearl'd.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    A woman clung to Caesar; he was great,
+      And great the power he gain'd by sea and land.
+      But when he wrong'd her, when he spurn'd the hand
+    Which once he knelt to, when he scoff'd at Fate,
+    Glory dispers'd, and left him desolate;
+      For God remember'd all that first was plann'd.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    The cannon's roar, the wisdom of the sage,
+      The strength of armies, and the thrall of kings--
+      All these are weak compared to weaker things.
+    Napoleon fell because, in puny rage,
+    He wrong'd his house; and earth became a cage
+      For this poor eagle with his batter'd wings.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Believe me, Love! I honour, night and day,
+      The name of Woman. 'Tis the nobler sex.
+      Villains may shame it; sorrows may perplex;
+    But still 'tis watchful. Man may take away
+    All its possessions, all its worldly sway,
+      And yet be worshipp'd by the soul he wrecks.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    A word of love to Woman is as sweet
+      As nectar'd rapture in a golden bowl;
+      And when she quaffs the heavens asunder roll,
+    And God looks through. And, from his judgment-seat,
+    He blesses those who part, and those who meet,
+      And those who join the links of soul with soul.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    And are there none untrue? God knows there are!
+      Aye, there are those who learn in time the laugh
+      That ends in madness--women who for chaff
+    Have sold their corn--who seek no guiding-star,
+    And find no faith to light them from afar;
+      Of whom 'tis said: "They need no epitaph."
+
+
+XX.
+
+    All this is known; but lo! for sake of One
+      Who lives in glory--for my mother's sake,
+      For thine, and hers, O Love!--I pity take
+    On all poor women. Jesu's will be done!
+    Honour for all, and infamy for none,
+      This side the borders of the burning lake.
+
+[Illustration: Letter XII VICTORY]
+
+
+
+
+LETTER XII.
+
+VICTORY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Now have I reach'd the goal of my desire,
+      For thou hast sworn--as sweetly as a bell
+      Makes out its chime--the oath I love to tell,
+    The fealty-oath of which I never tire.
+    The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre,
+      And sings, and rings, the thoughts that o'er it swell.
+
+
+II.
+
+    The air is fill'd with voices. I have found
+      Comfort at last, enthralment, and a joy
+      Past all belief; a peace without alloy.
+    There is a splendour all about the ground
+    As if from Eden, when the world was drown'd,
+      Something had come which death could not destroy.
+
+
+III.
+
+    It seems, indeed, as if to me were sent
+      A smile from Heaven--as if to-day the clods
+      Were lined with silk--the trees divining rods,
+    And roses gems for some high tournament.
+    I should not be so proud, or so content,
+      If I could sup, to-night, with all the gods.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    A shrined saint would change his place with me
+      If he but knew the worth of what I feel.
+      He is enrobed indeed, and for his weal
+    Hath much concern; but how forlorn is he!
+    How pale his pomp! He cannot sue to thee,
+      But I am sainted every time I kneel.
+
+
+V.
+
+    I walk'd abroad, to-day, ere yet the dark
+      Had left the hills, and down the beaten road
+      I saunter'd forth a mile from mine abode.
+    I heard, afar, the watchdog's sudden bark,
+    And, near at hand, the tuning of a lark,
+      Safe in its nest, but weighted with an ode.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    The moon was pacing up the sky serene,
+      Pallid and pure, as if she late had shown
+      Her outmost side, and fear'd to make it known;
+    And, like a nun, she gazed upon the scene
+    From bars of cloud that seemed to stand between,
+      And pray'd and smiled, and smiled and pray'd alone.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    The stars had fled. Not one remain'd behind
+      To warn or comfort; or to make amends
+      For hope delay'd,--for ecstasy that ends
+    At dawn's approach. The firmament was blind
+    Of all its eyes; and, wanton up the wind,
+      There came the shuddering that the twilight sends.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    The hills exulted at the Morning's birth,--
+      And clouds assembled, quick, as heralds run
+      Before a king to say the fight is won.
+    The rich, warm daylight fell upon the earth
+    Like wine outpour'd in madness, or in mirth,
+      To celebrate the rising of the sun.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    And when the soaring lark had done its prayer,
+      The holy thing, self-poised amid the blue
+      Of that great sky, did seem, a space or two,
+    To pause and think, and then did clip the air
+    And dropped to earth to claim his guerdon there.
+      "Thank God!" I cried, "My dearest dream is true!"
+
+
+X.
+
+    I was too happy, then, to leap and dance;
+      But I could ponder; I could gaze and gaze
+      From earth to sky and back to woodland ways.
+    The bird had thrill'd my heart, and cheer'd my glance,
+    For he had found to-day his nest-romance,
+      And lov'd a mate, and crown'd her with his praise.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    O Love! my Love! I would not for a throne,
+      I would not for the thrones of all the kings
+      Who yet have liv'd, or for a seraph's wings,
+    Or for the nod of Jove when night hath flown,
+    Consent to rule an empire all alone.
+      No! I must have the grace of our two rings.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I must possess thee from the crowning curl
+      Down to the feet, and from the beaming eye
+      Down to the bosom where my treasures lie.
+    From blush to blush, and from the rows of pearl
+    That light thy smile, I must possess thee, girl,
+      And be thy lord and master till I die.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    This, and no less: the keeper of thy fame,
+      The proud controller of each silken tress,
+      And each dear item of thy loveliness,
+    And every oath, and every dainty name
+    Known to a bride: a picture in a frame
+      Of golden hair, to turn to and caress.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And though I know thee prone, in vacant hours,
+      To laugh and talk with those who circumvent
+      And make mad speeches; though I know the bent
+    Of some such men, and though in ladies' bowers
+    They brag of swords--I know my proven powers;
+      I know myself and thee, and am content.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I know myself; and why should I demur?
+      The lily, bowing to the breeze's play,
+      Is not forgetful of the sun in May.
+    She is his nymph, and with a servitor
+    She doth but jest. The sun looks down at her,
+      And knows her true, and loves her day by day.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    E'en so I thee, O Lady of my Heart!
+      O Lady white as lilies on the lea,
+      And fair as foam upon the ocean free
+    Whereon the sun hath sent a shining dart!
+    E'en so I love thee, blameless as thou art,
+      And with my soul's desire I compass thee.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    For thou art Woman in the sweetest sense
+      Of true endowment, and a bride indeed
+      Fit for Apollo. This is Woman's need:
+    To be a beacon when the air is dense,
+    A bower of peace, a life-long recompense--
+      This is the sum of Woman's worldly creed.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    And what is Man the while? And what his will?
+      And what the furtherance of his earthly hope?
+      To turn to Faith, to turn, as to a rope
+    A drowning sailor; all his blood to spill
+    For One he loves, to keep her out of ill--
+      This is the will of Man, and this his scope.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    'Tis like the tranquil sea, that knows anon
+      It can be wild, and keep away from home
+      A thousand ships--and lash itself to foam--
+    And beat the shore, and all that lies thereon--
+    And catch the thunder ere the flash has gone
+      Forth from the cloud that spans it like a dome.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    This is the will of Man, and this is mine.
+      But lo! I love thee more than wealth or fame,
+      More than myself, and more than those who came
+    With Christ's commission from the goal divine.
+    Soul of my soul, and mine as I am thine,
+      I cling to thee, my Life! as fire to flame.
+
+
+
+
+Miscellaneous Poems.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ANTEROS.
+
+
+I.
+
+    This is the feast-day of my soul and me,
+      For I am half a god and half a man.
+    These are the hours in which are heard by sea,
+    By land and wave, and in the realms of space,
+      The lute-like sounds which sanctify my span,
+    And give me power to sway the human race.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I am the king whom men call Lucifer,
+      I am the genius of the nether spheres.
+    Give me my Christian name, and I demur.
+    Call me a Greek, and straightway I rejoice.
+      Yea, I am Anteros, and with my tears
+    I salt the earth that gladdens at my voice.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I am old Anteros; a young, old god;
+      A sage who smiles and limps upon a crutch.
+    But I can turn my crutch into a rod,
+    And change my rod into a crown of wood.
+      Yea, I am he who conquers with a touch,
+    And plays with poisons till he makes them good.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    The sun, uprising with his golden hair,
+      Is mine apostle; and he serves me well.
+    Thoughts and desires of mine, beyond compare,
+    Thrill at his touch. The moon, so lost in thought,
+      Has pined for love; and wanderers out of hell,
+    And saints from heaven, have known what I have taught.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Great are my griefs; my joys are multiplex;
+      And beasts and birds and men my subjects are;
+    Yea, all created things that have a sex,
+    And flies and flowers and monsters of the mere;
+      All these, and more, proclaim me from afar,
+    And sing my marriage songs from year to year.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    There are no bridals but the ones I make;
+      For men are quicken'd when they turn to me.
+    The soul obeys me for its body's sake,
+    And each is form'd for each, as day for night.
+      'Tis but the soul can pay the body's fee
+    To win the wisdom of a fool's delight.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Yea, this is so. My clerks have set it down,
+      And birds have blabbed it to the winds of heaven.
+    The flowers have guessed it, and, in bower and town,
+    Lovers have sung the songs that I have made.
+      Give me your lives, O mortals, and, for leaven,
+    Ye shall receive the fires that cannot fade.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O men! O maidens! O ye listless ones!
+      Ye who desert my temples in the East,
+    Ye who reject the rays of summer suns,
+    And cling to shadows in the wilderness;
+      Why are ye sad? Why frown ye at the feast,
+    Ye who have eyes to see and lips to press?
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Why, for a wisdom that ye will not prove,
+      A joy that crushes and a love that stings,
+    A freak, a frenzy in a fated groove,
+    A thing of nothing born of less than nought--
+      Why in your hearts do ye desire these things,
+    Ye who abhor the joys that ye have sought?
+
+
+X.
+
+    See, see! I weep, but I can jest at times;
+      Yea, I can dance and toss my tears away.
+    The sighs I breathe are fragrant as the rhymes
+    Of men and maids whose hearts are overthrown.
+      I am the God for whom all maidens pray,
+    But none shall have me for herself alone.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    No; I have love enough, here where I stand,
+      To marry fifty maids in their degree;
+    Aye, fifty times five thousand in a band,
+    And every bride the proxy of a score.
+      Want ye a mate for millions? I am he.
+    Glory is mine, and glee-time evermore.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    O men! O masters! O ye kings of grief!
+      Ye who control the world but not the grave,
+    What have ye done to make delight so brief,
+    Ye who have spurn'd the minstrel and the lyre?
+      I will not say: "Be patient." Ye are brave;
+    And ye shall guess the pangs of my desire.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    There shall be traitors in the court of love,
+      And tears and torture and the bliss of pain.
+    The maids of men shall seek the gods above,
+    And drink the nectar of the golden lake.
+      Blessed are they for whom the gods are fain;
+    They shall be glad for love's and pity's sake.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    They shall be taught the songs the syrens know,
+      The wave's lament, the west wind's psalmistry,
+    The secrets of the south and of the snow,
+    The wherewithal of day, and death, and night.
+      O men! O maidens! pray no prayer for me,
+    But sing to me the songs of my delight.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Aye, sing to me the songs I love to hear,
+      And let the sound thereof ascend to heaven.
+    And let the singers, with a voice of cheer,
+    Announce my name to all the ends of earth;
+      And let my servants, seventy times and seven,
+    Re-shout the raptures of my Samian mirth!
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Let joy prevail, and Frenzy, like a flame,
+      Seize all the souls of men for sake of me.
+    For I will have Contention put to shame,
+    And all the hearts of all things comforted.
+      There are no laws but mine on land and sea,
+    And men shall crown me when their kings are dead.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE WAKING OF THE LARK.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O bonnie bird, that in the brake, exultant, dost prepare thee--
+    As poets do whose thoughts are true, for wings that will upbear thee--
+              Oh! tell me, tell me, bonnie bird,
+              Canst thou not pipe of hope deferred?
+    Or canst thou sing of naught but Spring among the golden meadows?
+
+
+II.
+
+    Methinks a bard (and thou art one) should suit his song to sorrow,
+    And tell of pain, as well as gain, that waits us on the morrow;
+              But thou art not a prophet, thou,
+              If naught but joy can touch thee now;
+    If, in thy heart, thou hast no vow that speaks of Nature's anguish.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Oh! I have held my sorrows dear, and felt, tho' poor and slighted,
+    The songs we love are those we hear when love is unrequited.
+              But thou art still the slave of dawn,
+              And canst not sing till night be gone,
+    Till o'er the pathway of the fawn the sunbeams shine and quiver.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Thou art the minion of the sun that rises in his splendour,
+    And canst not spare for Dian fair the songs that should attend her.
+              The moon, so sad and silver-pale,
+              Is mistress of the nightingale;
+    And thou wilt sing on hill and dale no ditties in the darkness.
+
+
+V.
+
+    For Queen and King thou wilt not spare one note of thine outpouring;
+    Thou art as free as breezes be on Nature's velvet flooring.
+              The daisy, with its hood undone,
+              The grass, the sunlight, and the sun--
+    These are the joys, thou holy one, that pay thee for thy singing.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Oh, hush! Oh, hush! how wild a gush of rapture in the distance,--
+    A roll of rhymes, a toll of chimes, a cry for love's assistance;
+              A sound that wells from happy throats,
+              A flood of song where beauty floats,
+    And where our thoughts, like golden boats, do seem to cross a river.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    This is the advent of the lark--the priest in gray apparel--
+    Who doth prepare to trill in air his sinless Summer carol;
+              This is the prelude to the lay
+              The birds did sing in Caesar's day,
+    And will again, for aye and aye, in praise of God's creation.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O dainty thing, on wonder's wing, by life and love elated,
+    Oh! sing aloud from cloud to cloud, till day be consecrated;
+              Till from the gateways of the morn,
+              The sun, with all his light unshorn,
+    His robes of darkness round him torn, doth scale the lofty heavens!
+
+
+
+
+A BALLAD OF KISSES.
+
+
+I.
+
+    There are three kisses that I call to mind,
+      And I will sing their secrets as I go.
+    The first, a kiss too courteous to be kind,
+      Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know;
+      As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.
+
+
+II.
+
+    The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet,
+      And evermore my soul will loathe the same.
+    The toys and joys of fate I may forget,
+      But not the touch of that divided shame:
+      It clove my lips; it burnt me like a flame.
+
+
+III.
+
+    The third, the final kiss, is one I use
+      Morning and noon and night; and not amiss.
+    Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse!
+      And when I die, be love, enrapt in bliss,
+      Re-sanctified in Heaven by such a kiss.
+
+
+
+
+MARY ARDEN.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O thou to whom, athwart the perish'd days
+    And parted nights long sped, we lift our gaze,
+    Behold! I greet thee with a modern rhyme,
+    Love-lit and reverent as befits the time,
+      To solemnize the feast-day of thy son.
+
+
+II.
+
+    And who was he who flourish'd in the smiles
+    Of thy fair face? 'Twas Shakespeare of the Isles,
+    Shakespeare of England, whom the world has known
+    As thine, and ours, and Glory's, in the zone
+      Of all the seas and all the lands of earth.
+
+
+III.
+
+    He was un-famous when he came to thee,
+    But sound, and sweet, and good for eyes to see,
+    And born at Stratford, on St. George's Day,
+    A week before the wondrous month of May;
+      And God therein was gracious to us all.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    He lov'd thee, Lady! and he lov'd the world;
+    And, like a flag, his fealty was unfurl'd;
+    And Kings who flourished ere thy son was born
+    Shall live through him, from morn to furthest morn,
+      In all the far-off cycles yet to come.
+
+
+V.
+
+    He gave us Falstaff, and a hundred quips,
+    A hundred mottoes from immortal lips;
+    And, year by year, we smile to keep away
+    The generous tears that mind us of the sway
+      Of his great singing, and the pomp thereof.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    His was the nectar of the gods of Greece,
+    The lute of Orpheus, and the Golden Fleece
+    Of grand endeavour; and the thunder-roll
+    Of words majestic, which, from pole to pole,
+      Have borne the tidings of our English tongue.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    He gave us Hamlet; and he taught us more
+    Than schools have taught us; and his fairy-lore
+    Was fraught with science; and he called from death
+    Verona's Lovers, with the burning breath
+      Of their great passion that has filled the spheres.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    He made us know Cordelia, and the man
+    Who murder'd sleep, and baleful Caliban;
+    And, one by one, athwart the gloom appear'd
+    Maidens and men and myths who were revered
+      In olden days, before the earth was sad.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Aye! this is true. It was ordained so;
+    He was thine own, three hundred years ago;
+    But ours to-day; and ours till earth be red
+    With doom-day splendour for the quick and dead,
+      And days and nights are scattered like the leaves.
+
+
+X.
+
+    It was for this he lived, for this he died;
+    To raise to Heaven the face that never lied,
+    To lean to earth the lips that should become
+    Fraught with conviction when the mouth was dumb,
+      And all the firm, fine body turn'd to clay.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    He lived to seal, and sanctify the lives
+    Of perish'd maids, and uncreated wives,
+    And gave them each a space wherein to dwell;
+    And for his mother's sake he loved them well,
+      And made them types, undying, of all truth.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    O fair and fond young mother of the boy
+    Who wrought all this--O Mary!--in thy joy
+    Did'st thou perceive, when, fitful from his rest,
+    He turn'd to thee, that his would be the best
+      Of all men's chanting since the world began?
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Did'st thou, O Mary! with the eye of trust
+    Perceive, prophetic, through the dark and dust
+    Of things terrene, the glory of thy son,
+    And all the pride therein that should be won
+      By toilsome men, content to be his slaves?
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Did'st thou, good mother! in the tender ways
+    That women find to fill the fleeting days,
+    Behold afar the Giant who should rise
+    With foot on earth, and forehead in the skies,
+      To write his name, and thine, among the stars?
+
+
+XV.
+
+    I love to think it; and, in dreams at night
+    I see thee stand, erect, and all in white,
+    With hands out-yearning to that mighty form,
+    As if to draw him back from out the storm,--
+      A child again, and thine to nurse withal.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    I see thee, pale and pure, with flowing hair,
+    And big, bright eyes, far-searching in the air
+    For thy sweet babe, and, in a trice of time,
+    I see the child advance to thee, and climb,
+      And call thee "Mother!" in ecstatic tones.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Yet, if my thought be vain--if, by a touch
+    Of this weak hand, I vex thee overmuch--
+    Forbear the blame, sweet Spirit! and endow
+    My heart with fervour while to thee I bow
+      Athwart the threshold of my fading dream.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    For, though so seeming-bold in this my song,
+    I turn to thee with reverence, in the throng
+    Of words and thoughts, as shepherds scann'd, afar,
+    The famed effulgence of that eastern star
+      Which usher'd in the Crown'd One of the heavens.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    In dreams of rapture I have seen thee pass
+    Along the banks of Avon, by the grass,
+    As fair as that fair Juliet whom thy son
+    Endow'd with life, but with the look of one
+      Who knows the nearest way to some new grave.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    And often, too, I've seen thee in the flush
+    Of thy full beauty, while the mother's "Hush!"
+    Hung on thy lip, and all thy tangled hair
+    Re-clothed a bosom that in part was bare
+      Because a tiny hand had toy'd therewith!
+
+
+XXI.
+
+    Oh! by the June-tide splendour of thy face
+    When, eight weeks old, the child in thine embrace
+    Did leap and laugh, O Mary! by the same,
+    I bow to thee, subservient to thy fame,
+      And call thee England's Pride for evermore!
+
+
+
+
+SACHAL.
+
+A WAIF OF BATTLE.
+
+
+I.
+
+            Lo! at my feet,
+        A something pale of hue;
+        A something sad to view;
+    Dead or alive I dare not call it sweet.
+
+
+II.
+
+            Not white as snow;
+        Not transient as a tear!
+        A warrior left it here,
+    It was his passport ere he met the foe.
+
+
+III.
+
+            Here is a name,
+        A word upon the book;
+        If ye but kneel to look,
+    Ye'll find the letters "Sachal" on the same.
+
+
+IV.
+
+            His Land to cherish,
+        He died at twenty-seven.
+        There are no wars in Heaven,
+    But when he fought he gain'd the right to perish.
+
+
+V.
+
+            Where was he born?
+        In France, at Puy le Dome.
+        A wanderer from his home,
+    He found a Fatherland beyond the morn.
+
+
+VI.
+
+            'Twas France's plan;
+        The cause he did not ask.
+        His life was but a mask,
+    And he upraised it, martyr'd at Sedan.
+
+
+VII.
+
+            And prone in death,
+        Beyond the name of France,
+        Beyond his hero-glance,--
+    He thought, belike, of her who gave him breath.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+            O thou dead son!
+        O Sachal! far away,
+        But not forgot to-day,
+    I had a mother, too, but now have none.
+
+
+IX.
+
+            Our hopes are brave.
+        Our faiths are braver still.
+        The soul shall no man kill;
+    For God will find us, each one in his grave.
+
+
+X.
+
+            A land more vast
+        Than Europe's kingdoms are,--
+        A brighter, nobler star
+    Than victory's fearful light,--is thine at last.
+
+
+XI.
+
+            And should'st thou meet
+        Yon Germans up on high,--
+        Thy foes when death was nigh,--
+    Nor thou nor they will sound the soul's retreat.
+
+
+XII.
+
+            For all are just,
+        Yea, all are patriots there,
+        And thou, O Fils de Pierre!
+    Hast found thy marshal's baton in the dust.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+            Oh, farewell, friend;
+        My friend, albeit unknown,
+        Save in thy death alone,
+    Oh, fare thee well till sin and sorrow end.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+            In realms of joy
+        We'll meet; aye, every one:
+        Mother and sire and son,--
+    And my poor mother, too, will claim her boy.
+
+
+XV.
+
+            Death leads to God.
+        Death is the Sword of Fate,
+        Death is the Golden Gate
+    That opens up to glory, through the sod.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+            And thou that road,
+        O Sachal! thou hast found;
+        A king is not so crown'd
+    As thou art, soldier! in thy blest abode.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+            Deathless in death,
+        Exalted, not destroy'd,
+        Thou art in Heaven employ'd
+    To swell the songs of angels with thy breath.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF THE MAY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O stars that fade in amber skies
+      Because ye dread the light of day,
+    O moon so lonely and so wise,
+      Look down, and love my Love alway;
+      Salute the Lady of the May.
+
+
+II.
+
+    O lark that soarest in the light
+      To hail thy lord in his array,
+    Look down; be just; and sing aright.
+      A lover claims thy song to-day
+      To greet his Lady of the May.
+
+
+III.
+
+    "O lady! lady!" sings the lark,
+      "Thy lover's hest I do obey;
+    For thou art splendid after dark,
+      And where thou smilest, there is day;
+      And thou'rt the Lady of the May.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    "The nightingale's a friend of mine,
+      And yesternight she flew my way.
+    'Awake,' she cried, 'at morning shine
+      And sing for me thy blythest lay
+      To greet the Lady of the May.'
+
+
+V.
+
+    "'And tell her, tell her, gentle one,
+      While thou attun'st thy morning lay,
+    That I will sing at set of sun
+      Another song for thy sweet fay,
+      Because she's Lady of the May.'
+
+
+VI.
+
+    "And lo I come," the lark in air,
+      Self-pois'd and free, did seem to say,
+    "I come to greet thy lady's hair
+      And call its beams the light of day
+      Which decks thy Lady of the May."
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Oh, thank thee, bird that singest well!
+      For all thou say'st and still would'st say
+    And for the thoughts which Philomel
+      Intends to trill, in roundelay,
+      To greet my Lady of the May.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    We two (my Love and I) are one,
+      And so shall be, for aye and aye.
+    Go, take my homage to the sun,
+      And bid him shine his best to-day,
+      To crown my Lady of the May!
+
+
+
+
+AN ODE TO ENGLISHMEN.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I who have sung of love and lady bright
+    And mirth and music and the world's delight,
+      Behold! to-day, I sound a sterner note
+    To move the minds of foemen when they fight.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Have I not said: There is no sweeter thing,
+    And none diviner than the wedding-ring?
+      And, all intent to make my meaning plain,
+    Have I not kiss'd the lips of Love, the King?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Yea, this is so. But lo! to-day there comes
+    The far-off sound of trumpets and of drums;
+      And I must parley with the men of toil
+    Who rise in ranks exultant from the slums.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I must arraign each man; yea, all the host;
+    And each true soul shall learn the least and most
+      Of all his wrongs,--if wrongs indeed they be;
+    And he shall face the flag that guards the coast.
+
+
+V.
+
+    He shall salute it! He shall find therein
+    Salve for his wounds and solace for his sin.
+      Brother and guide is he who loves his Land;
+    But he is kinless who denies his kin.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Has he a heart to feel, a knee to bend,
+    And will not trust his country to the end?
+      If this be so, God help him to a tear!
+    He shall be foiled, as foeman and as friend.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    Bears he a sword? I care not. He is base;
+    Unfit to wield it, and of meaner place
+      Than tongue can tell of, in the Senate House;
+    And he shall find no balm for his disgrace.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O men! I charge ye, in the name of Him
+    Who rules the world, and guards the cherubim,
+      I charge ye, pause, ere from the lighted track
+    Ye turn, distraught, to pathways that are dim.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    Who gave your fathers, and your fathers' sons
+    The rights ye claim, amid the roar of guns,
+      And 'mid the flash thereof from sea to sea?
+    Your country! through her lov'd, her chosen ones.
+
+
+X.
+
+    Oh, ye are dastards if ye lift a hand,
+    Dastards and fools, if, loveless in a band,
+      Ye touch in wrath the bulwark of the realm.
+    Ye shall be baulk'd, and Chivalry shall stand.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    I have a sword, I also, and I swear
+    By my heart's faith, and by my Lady's hair,
+      That I will strike the first of ye that moves,
+    If by a sign ye wrong the flag ye bear.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    In Freedom's name, in her's to whom we bow,
+    In her great name, I charge ye, palter now
+      With no traducer of your country's cause.
+    Accurst of God is he who breaks his vow!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ZULALIE.
+
+
+I.
+
+            I am the sprite
+            That reigns at night,
+    My body is fair for man's delight.
+            I leap and laugh
+            As the wine I quaff,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+II.
+
+            I curse and swear
+            In my demon-lair;
+    I shake wild sunbeams out of my hair.
+            I madden the old,
+            I gladden the bold,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+III.
+
+            Of churchyard stone
+            I have made my throne;
+    My locks are looped with a dead man's bone.
+            Mine eyes are red
+            With the tears I shed,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+IV.
+
+            In cities and camps
+            I have lighted my lamps,
+    My kisses are caught by kings and tramps.
+            With rant and revel
+            My hair I dishevel,
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle.
+
+
+V.
+
+            My kisses are stains,
+            Mine arms are chains,
+    My forehead is fair and false like Cain's.
+            My gain is loss,
+            Mine honour is dross,--
+    And I am the queen of Astrofelle!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BEETHOVEN AT THE PIANO.
+
+
+I.
+
+    See where Beethoven sits alone--a dream of days elysian,
+    A crownless king upon a throne, reflected in a vision--
+    The man who strikes the potent chords which make the world, in wonder,
+    Acknowledge him, though poor and dim, the mouthpiece of the thunder.
+
+
+II.
+
+    He feels the music of the skies the while his heart is breaking;
+    He sings the songs of Paradise, where love has no forsaking.
+    And, though so deaf he cannot hear the tempest as a token,
+    He makes the music of his mind the grandest ever spoken.
+
+
+III.
+
+    He doth not hear the whispered word of love in his seclusion,
+    Or voice of friend, or song of bird, in Nature's sad confusion;
+    But he hath made, for Love's sweet sake, so wild a declamation
+    That all true lovers of the earth have claim'd him of their nation.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    He had a Juliet in his youth, as Romeo had before him,
+    And, Romeo-like, he sought to die that she might then adore him;
+    But she was weak, as women are whose faith has not been proven,
+    And would not change her name for his--Guiciardi for Beethoven.
+
+
+V.
+
+    O minstrel, whom a maiden spurned, but whom a world has treasured!
+    O sovereign of a greater realm than man has ever measured!
+    Thou hast not lost the lips of love, but thou hast gain'd, in glory,
+    The love of all who know the thrall of thine immortal story.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Thou art the bard whom none discard, but whom all men discover
+    To be a god, as Orpheus was, albeit a lonely lover;
+    A king to call the stones to life beside the roaring ocean,
+    And bid the stars discourse to trees in words of man's emotion.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    A king of joys, a prince of tears, an emperor of the seasons,
+    Whose songs are like the sway of years in Love's immortal reasons;
+    A bard who knows no life but this: to love and be rejected,
+    And reproduce in earthly strains the prayers of the elected.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    O poet heart! O seraph soul! by men and maids adored!
+    O Titan with the lion's mane, and with the splendid forehead!
+    We men who bow to thee in grief must tremble in our gladness,
+    To know what tears were turned to pearls to crown thee in thy sadness.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    An Angel by direct descent, a German by alliance,
+    Thou didst intone the wonder-chords which made Despair a science.
+    Yea, thou didst strike so grand a note that, in its large vibration,
+    It seemed the roaring of the sea in nature's jubilation.
+
+
+X.
+
+    O Sire of Song! Sonata-King! Sublime and loving master;
+    The sweetest soul that ever struck an octave in disaster;
+    In thee were found the fires of thought--the splendours of endeavour,--
+    And thou shalt sway the minds of men for ever and for ever!
+
+
+
+
+A RHAPSODY OF DEATH.
+
+
+I.
+
+        That phantoms fair, with radiant hair,
+          May seek at midnight hour
+        The sons of men, belov'd again,
+          And give them holy power;
+    That souls survive the mortal hive, and sinless come and go,
+    Is true as death, the prophet saith; and God will have it so.
+
+
+II.
+
+        For who be ye who doubt and prate?
+          O sages! make it clear
+        If ye be more than men of fate,
+          Or less than men of cheer;
+    If ye be less than bird or beast? O brothers! make it plain
+    If ye be bankrupts at a feast, or sharers in a gain.
+
+
+III.
+
+        You say there is no future state;
+          The clue ye fail to find.
+        The flesh is here, and bones appear
+          When graves are undermined.
+    But of the soul, in time of dole, what answer can ye frame--
+    Ye who have heard no spirit-word to guide ye to the same.
+
+
+IV.
+
+        Ah! facts are good, and reason's good,
+          But fancy's stronger far;
+        In weal or woe we only know
+          We know not what we are.
+    The sunset seems a raging fire, the clouds roll back, afraid;
+    The rainbow seems a broken lyre on which the storm has play'd.
+
+
+V.
+
+        But these, ye urge, are outward signs.
+          Such signs are not for you.
+        The sight's deceiv'd and truth bereav'd
+          By diamonds of the dew.
+    The sage's mind is more refined, his rapture more complete;
+    He almost knows the little rose that blossoms at his feet!
+
+
+VI.
+
+        The sage can kill a thousand things,
+          And tell the names of all;
+        And wrench away the wearied wings
+          Of eagles when they fall;
+    And calmly trace the lily's grace, or fell the strongest tree,
+    And almost feel, if not reveal, the secrets of the sea.
+
+
+VII.
+
+        But can he set, by day or night,
+          The clock-work of the skies?
+        Or bring the dead man back to sight
+          With soul-invested eyes?
+    Can he describe the ways of life, the wondrous ways of death,
+    And whence it came, and what the flame that feeds the vital breath?
+
+
+VIII.
+
+        If he could do such deeds as these,
+          He might, though poor and low,
+        Explain the cause of Nature's laws,
+          Which none shall ever know;
+    He might recall the vanish'd years by lifting of his hand,
+    And bid the wind go north or south to prove what he has plann'd.
+
+
+IX.
+
+        But God is just. He burdens not
+          The shoulders of the sage;
+        He pities him whose sight is dim;
+          He turns no second page.
+    There are two pages to the book. We men have read the one;
+    The other needs a spirit-look, in lands beyond the sun.
+
+
+X.
+
+        The other needs a poet's eye,
+          Like that of Milton blind;
+        The light of Faith which cannot die,
+          Though doubts perplex the mind;
+    The eyesight of a little child; a martyr's eye in dole,
+    Which sees afar the golden star that shines upon the soul!
+
+
+
+
+A PRAYER FOR LIGHT.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Oh, give me light, to-day, or let me die,--
+    The light of love, the love-light of the sky,--
+    That I, at length, may see my darling's face
+                              One minute's space.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Have I not wept to know myself so weak
+    That I can feel, not see, the dimpled cheek,
+    The lips, the eyes, the sunbeams that enfold
+                              Her locks of gold?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Have I not sworn that I will not be wed,
+    But mate my soul with hers on my death-bed?
+    The soul can see,--for souls are seraphim,--
+                              When eyes are dim.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Oh, hush! she comes. I know her. She is nigh.
+    She brings me death, true heart, and I will die.
+    She brings me love, for love and life are one
+                              Beyond the sun.
+
+
+V.
+
+    This is the measure, this, of all my joys:
+    Life is a curse and Death's a counterpoise.
+    Give me thy hand, O sweet one, let me know
+                              Which path I go.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    I cannot die if thou be not a-near,
+    To lead me on to Life's appointed sphere.
+    O spirit-face, O angel, with thy breath
+                              Kiss me to death!
+
+
+
+
+MIRAGE.
+
+
+I.
+
+                'Tis a legend of a lover,
+                  'Tis a ballad to be sung,
+                In the gloaming,--under cover,--
+                  By a minstrel who is young;
+    By a singer who has passion, and who sways us with his tongue.
+
+
+II.
+
+                I, who know it, think upon it,
+                  Not unhappy, tho' in tears,
+                And I gather in a sonnet
+                  All the glory of the years;
+    And I kiss and clasp a shadow when the substance disappears.
+
+
+III.
+
+                Ah! I see her as she faced me,
+                  In the sinless summer days,
+                When her little hands embraced me,
+                  And I saddened at her gaze,
+    Thinking, Sweet One! will she love me when we walk in other ways?
+
+
+IV.
+
+                Will she cling to me as kindly
+                  When the childish faith is lost?
+                Will she pray for me as blindly,
+                  Or but weigh the wish and cost,
+    Looking back on our lost Eden from the girlhood she has cross'd?
+
+
+V.
+
+                Oh! I swear by all I honour,
+                  By the graves that I endow,
+                By the grace I set upon her,
+                  That I meant the early vow,--
+    Meant it much as men and women mean the same thing spoken now.
+
+
+VI.
+
+                But her maiden troth is broken,
+                  And her mind is ill at ease,
+                And she sends me back no token
+                  From her home beyond the seas;
+    And I know, though nought is spoken, that she thanks me on her knees.
+
+
+VII.
+
+                Yes, for pardon freely granted;
+                  For she wrong'd me, understand.
+                And my life is disenchanted,
+                  As I wander through the land
+    With the sorrows of dark morrows that await me in a band.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+                Hers was sweetest of sweet faces,
+                  Hers the tenderest eyes of all!
+                In her hair she had the traces
+                  Of a heavenly coronal,
+    Bringing sunshine to sad places where the sunlight could not fall.
+
+
+IX.
+
+                She was fairer than a vision;
+                  Like a vision, too, has flown.
+                I who flushed at her decision,
+                  Lo! I languish here alone;
+    And I tremble when I tell you that my anger was mine own.
+
+
+X.
+
+                Not for her, sweet sainted creature!
+                  Could I curse her to her face?
+                Could I look on form and feature,
+                  And deny the inner grace?
+    Like a little wax Madonna she was holy in the place.
+
+
+XI.
+
+                And I told her, in mad fashion,
+                  That I loved her,--would incline
+                All my life to this one passion,
+                  And would kneel as at a shrine;
+    And would love her late and early, and would teach her to be mine.
+
+
+XII.
+
+                Now in dreams alone I meet her
+                  With my lowly human praise;
+                She is sweeter and completer,
+                  And she smiles on me always;
+    But I dare not rise and greet her as I did in early days.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A MOTHER'S NAME.
+
+
+I.
+
+    I love the sound! The sweetest under Heaven,
+      That name of mother,--and the proudest, too.
+    As babes we breathe it, and with seven times seven
+      Of youthful prayers, and blessings that accrue,
+    We still repeat the word, with tender steven.
+      Dearest of friends! dear mother! what we do
+    This side the grave, in purity of aim,
+    Is glorified at last by thy good name.
+
+
+II.
+
+    But how forlorn the word, how full of woe,
+      When she who bears it lies beneath the clod.
+    In vain the orphan child would call her so,--
+      She comes not back: her place is up with God.
+    The wintry winds are wailing o'er the snow;
+      The flowers are dead that once did grace the sod.
+    Ah, lose not heart! Some flowers may fade in gloom,
+    But Hope's a plant grows brightest on the tomb!
+
+
+
+
+A SONG OF SERVITUDE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    This is a song of serfs that I have made,
+      A song of sympathy for grief and joy:--
+    The old, the young, the lov'd and the betrayed,
+    All, all must serve, for all must be obeyed.
+
+
+II.
+
+    There are no tyrants but the serving ones,
+      There are no servants but the ruling men.
+    The Captain conquers with his army's guns,
+    But he himself is conquered by his sons.
+
+
+III.
+
+    What is a parent but a daughter's slave,
+      A son's retainer when the lad is ill?
+    The great Creator loves the good and brave,
+    And makes a flower the spokesman of a grave.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    The son is servant in his father's halls,
+      The daughter is her mother's maid-of-work.
+    The welkin wonders when the ocean calls,
+    And earth accepts the raindrop when it falls.
+
+
+V.
+
+    There are no "ups" in life, there are no "downs,"
+      For "high" and "low" are words of like degree;
+    He who is light of heart when Fortune frowns,
+    He is a king though nameless in the towns.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    None is so lofty as the sage who prays,
+      None so unhigh as he who will not kneel.
+    The breeze is servant to the summer days,
+    And he is bowed-to most who most obeys.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    These are the maxims that I take to heart,
+      Do thou accept them, reader, for thine own;
+    Love well thy work; be truthful in the mart,
+    And foes will praise thee when thy friends depart.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    None shall upbraid thee then for thine estate,
+      Or show thee meaner than thou art in truth.
+    Make friends with death; and God who is so great,
+    He will assist thee to a nobler fate.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    None are unfit to serve upon their knees
+      The saints of prayer, unseen but quick to hear.
+    The flowers are servants to the pilgrim bees,
+    And wintry winds are tyrants of the trees.
+
+
+X.
+
+    All things are good; all things incur a debt,
+      And all must pay the same, or soon or late
+    The sun will rise betimes, but he must set;
+    And Man must seek the laws he would forget.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    There are no mockeries in the universe,
+      No false accounts, no errors that will thrive.
+    The work we do, the good things we rehearse,
+    Are boons of Nature basely named a curse.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    "Give us our daily bread!" the children pray,
+      And mothers plead for them while thus they speak.
+    But "Give us work, O God!" we men should say,
+    That we may gain our bread from day to day.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    'Tis not alone the crown that makes the king;
+      'Tis service done, 'tis duty to his kind.
+    The lark that soars so high is quick to sing,
+    And proud to yield allegiance to the spring.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And we who serve ourselves, whate'er befall
+      Athwart the dangers of the day's behests,
+    Oh, let's not shirk, at joy or sorrow's call,
+    The service due to God who serves us all!
+
+
+
+
+SYLVIA IN THE WEST.
+
+
+I.
+
+    What shall be done? I cannot pray;
+      And none shall know the pangs I feel.
+    If prayers could alter night to day,--
+      Or black to white,--I might appeal;
+    I might attempt to sway thy heart,
+    And prove it mine, or claim a part.
+
+
+II.
+
+    I might attempt to urge on thee
+      At least the chance of some redress:--
+    An hour's revoke,--a moment's plea,--
+      A smile to make my sorrows less.
+    I might indeed be taught in time
+    To blush for hope, as for a crime!
+
+
+III.
+
+    But thou art stone, though soft and fleet,--
+      A statue, not a maiden, thou!
+    A man may hear thy bosom beat
+      When thou hast sworn some idle vow.
+    But not for love, no! not for this;
+    For thou wilt sell thy bridal kiss.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    I mean, thy friends will sell thy love,
+      As loves are sold in England, here.
+    A man will buy my golden dove,--
+      I doubt he'll find his bargain dear!
+    He'll lose the wine; he'll buy the bowl,
+    The life, the limbs, but not the soul.
+
+
+V.
+
+    So, take thy mate and all his wealth,
+      And all the joys that wait on fame.
+    Thou'lt weep,--poor martyr'd one!--by stealth,
+      And think of me, and shriek my name;
+    Yes, in his arms! And wake, too late,
+    To coax and kiss the man you hate.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    By slow degrees, from year to year,
+      From week to week, from night to night,
+    He will be taught how dark and drear
+      Is barter'd love,--how sad to sight
+    A perjured face! He will be driven
+    To compass Hell,--and dream of Heaven.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    But stand at God's high altar there,
+      With saints around thee tall and sweet,
+    I'll match thy pride with my despair,
+      And drag thee down from glory's seat.
+    Yea, thou shalt kneel! Thy head shall bow
+    As mine is bent in anguish now.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    What! for thy sake have I forsworn
+      My just ambition,--all my joy,
+    And all my hope from morn to morn,
+      That seem'd a prize without alloy?
+    Have I done this? I have; and see!
+    I weep wild tears for thine and thee.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    But I can school my soul to strength,
+      And weep and wail as children do;
+    Be hard as stone, yet melt at length,
+      And curb my pride as thou can'st, too!
+    But I have faith, and thou hast none;
+    And I have joy, but thine is done.
+
+
+X.
+
+    No marriage-bells? No songs, you say?
+      No flowers to grace our bridal morn?
+    No wine? No kiss? No wedding-day?
+      I care not! Oaths are all forsworn;
+    And, when I clasp'd thy hand so white,
+    I meant to curse thee, girl, to-night.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    And so I shall,--Oh! doubt not that.
+      At stroke of twelve I'll curse thee twice.
+    When screams the owl, when swoops the bat,
+      When ghosts are out I'll curse thee thrice.
+    And thou shalt hear!--Aye, by my troth,
+    One song will suit the souls of both.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    I curse thy face; I curse thy hair;
+      I curse thy lips that smile so well,
+    Thy life, thy love, and my despair,
+      My loveless couch, thy wedding-bell;
+    My soul and thine!--Ah, see! though black,
+    I take one half my curses back.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    For thou and I were form'd for hate,
+      For love, for scorn; no matter what.
+    I am thy Fere and thou my Fate,
+      And fire and flood shall harm us not.
+    Thou shalt be kill'd and hid from ken,
+    And fiends will sing thy requiem then.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Yet think not Death will serve thy stead;
+      I'll find thy grave, though wall'd in stone.
+    I'll move thy mould to make my bed,
+      And lie with thee long hours alone:--
+    Long, lifeless hours! Ah God, how free,
+    How pale, how cold, thy lips will be!
+
+
+XV.
+
+    But graves are cells of truth and love,
+      And men may talk no treason there.
+    A corpse will wear no wedding-glove,
+      A ghost will make no sign in air.
+    But ghosts can pray? Well, let them kneel;
+    They, too, must loathe the love they feel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    Ah me! to sleep and yet to wake,
+      To live so long, and yet to die;
+    To sing sad songs for Sylvia's sake,
+      And yet no peace to gain thereby!
+    What have I done? What left unsaid?
+    Nay, I will count my tears instead.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Here is a word of wild design.
+      Here is a threat; 'twas meant to warn.
+    Here is a fierce and freezing line,
+      As hot as hate, as cold as scorn.
+    Ah, friend! forgive; forbear my rhymes,
+    But pray for me, sweet soul! sometimes.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Had I a curse to spare to-day,
+      (Which I have not) I'd use it now.
+    I'd curse my hair to turn it gray,
+      I'd teach my back to bend and bow;
+    I'd make myself so old and thin
+    That I should seem too sad to sin.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    And then we'd meet, we two, at night;
+      And I should know what saints have known.
+    Thou would'st not tremble, dear, for fright,
+      Or shriek to meet me there alone.
+    I should not then be spurned for this,
+    Or want a smile, or need a kiss.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    I should not then be fierce as fire,
+      Or mad as sin, or sharp as knife;
+    My heart would throb with no desire,
+      For care would cool the flush of life;
+    And I should love thee, spotless one,
+    As pilgrims love some holy nun.
+
+
+XXI.
+
+    Ah, queen-like creature! smile on me;
+      Be kind, be good; I lov'd thee much.
+    I thank thee, see! on bended knee.
+      I seek salvation in thy touch.
+    And when I sleep I watch thee come,
+    And both are wild, and one is dumb.
+
+
+XXII.
+
+    I draw thee, ghost-like, to my heart;
+      I kiss thy lips and call thee mine.
+    Of thy sweet soul I form a part,
+      And my poor soul is part of thine.
+    Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!
+    But let me be thy servant now.
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+    What! did I curse thy golden hair?
+      Well, then, the sun will set at noon;
+    The face that keeps the world so fair
+      Is thine, not his; he darkens soon.
+    Thy smile awakes the bird of dawn,
+    And day departs when thou art gone.
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+    Oh! had I groves in some sweet star
+      That shines in Heaven the whole night through,--
+    A steed with wings,--a golden car,--
+      A something wild and strange and true:--
+    A fairy's wand,--an angel's crown,--
+    I'd merge them all in thy renown.
+
+
+XXV.
+
+    I'd give thee queens to wait on thee,
+      And kings to kneel to thee in prayer,
+    And seraph-boys by land and sea
+      To do thy bidding,--earth and air
+    To pay thee homage,--all the flowers,--
+    And all the nymphs in all the bowers.
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+    And this our love should last for aye,
+      And we should live these thousand years.
+    We'd meet in Mars on Christmas Day,
+      And make the tour of all the spheres.
+    We'd do strange things! Sweet stars would shine,
+    And Death would spare my love and thine.
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+    But these are dreams; and dreams are vain;
+      Mine most of all,--so heed them not.
+    Brave thoughts will die, though men complain,
+      And mine was bold! 'Tis now forgot.
+    Well; let me bless thee, ere I sleep,
+    And give thee all my joys to keep.
+
+
+XXVIII.
+
+    I bless the house where thou wast born,
+      I bless the hours of every night,
+    And every hour from flush of morn
+      Till death of day, for thy delight;
+    I bless the sunbeams as they shine,--
+    So like those golden locks of thine.
+
+
+XXIX.
+
+    I bless thy lips, thy lustrous eyes,
+    Thy face, thy feet, thy forehead fair,
+    The light that shines in summer skies,--
+    In garden walks when thou art there,--
+    And all the grass beneath thy feet,
+    And all the songs thou singest, Sweet!
+
+
+XXX.
+
+    But blessing thus,--ah, woe's the day!--
+      I know what tears I shall not shed,
+    What flowers will bloom, and, bright as they,
+      What bells will ring when I am dead.
+    Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!
+    But let me be thy minstrel now.
+
+
+
+
+ELEANORE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    The forest flowers are faded all,
+    The winds complain, the snow-flakes fall,
+                  Eleanore!
+    I turn to thee, as to a bower:--
+    Thou breathest beauty like a flower,
+    Thou smilest like a happy hour,
+                  Eleanore!
+
+
+II.
+
+    I turn to thee. I bless afar
+    Thy name, which is my guiding-star,
+                  Eleanore!
+    And yet, ah God! when thou art here
+    I faint, I hold my breath for fear.
+    Art thou some phantom wandering near,
+                  Eleanore?
+
+
+III.
+
+    Oh, take me to thy bosom fair;
+    Oh, cover me with thy golden hair,
+                  Eleanore!
+    There let me lie when I am dead,
+    Those morning beams about me spread,
+    The glory of thy face o'erhead,
+                  Eleanore!
+
+[Illustration: MARIE]
+
+
+
+
+THE STATUE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    See where my lady stands,
+    Lifting her lustrous hands,--
+      Here let me bow.
+    Image of truth and grace!
+    Maid with the angel-face!
+    Earth was no dwelling-place
+      For such as thou.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Ah, thou unhappy stone,
+    Make now thy sorrows known;
+      Make known thy longing.
+    Thou art the form of one
+    Whom I, with hopes undone,
+    Buried at set of sun,--
+      All the friends thronging.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Thou art some Vision bright
+    Lost out of Heaven at night,
+      Far from thy race.
+    Oft when the others dance,
+    Come I, with wistful glance,
+    Fearful lest thou, perchance,
+      Leave the dark place.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    No! thou wilt never flee,
+    Earth has a charm for thee;--
+      Why should we sever?
+    Years have I seen thee so,
+    Making pretence to go,
+    Lifting thine arms of snow,--
+      Voiceless for ever!
+
+
+V.
+
+    Here bring I all my cares,
+    Here dream and say my prayers
+      While the bells toll.
+    O thou beloved saint!
+    Let not my courage faint,
+    Let not a shame, or taint,
+      Injure my soul!
+
+
+
+
+PABLO DE SARASATE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Who comes, to-day, with sunlight on his face,
+    And eyes of fire, that have a sorrow's trace,
+    But are not sad with sadness of the years,
+                                Or hints of tears?
+
+
+II.
+
+    He is a king, or I mistake the sign,
+    A king of song,--a comrade of the Nine,--
+    The Muses' brother, and their youngest one,
+                                This side the sun.
+
+
+III.
+
+    See how he bends to greet his soul's desire,
+    His violin, which trembles like a lyre,
+    And seems to trust him, and to know his touch,
+                                Belov'd so much!
+
+
+IV.
+
+    He stands full height; he draws it to his breast,
+    Like one, in joy, who takes a wonder-guest,--
+    A weird, wild thing, bewitched from end to end,--
+                                To be his friend.
+
+
+V.
+
+    And who can doubt the right it has to lie
+    So near his heart, and there to sob and sigh,
+    And there to shake its octaves into notes
+                                With bird-like throats.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Ah! see how deftly, with his lifted bow,
+    He strikes the chords of ecstasy and woe,
+    And wakes the wailing of the sprite within
+                                That knows not sin.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    A thousand heads are turn'd to where he stands,
+    A thousand hopes are moulded to his hands,
+    And, like a storm-wind hurrying from the north,
+                                A shout breaks forth.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    It is the welcome that of old was given
+    To Paganini ere he join'd in Heaven
+    The angel-choirs of those who serve aright
+                                The God of Light.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    It is the large, loud utterance of a throng
+    That loves a faith-employ'd, impassion'd song;
+    A song that soothes the heart, and makes it sad,--
+                                Yet keeps us glad.
+
+
+X.
+
+    For look! how bearded men and women fair
+    Shed tears and smile, and half repeat a prayer
+    And half are shamed in their so mean estate,
+                                And he so great!
+
+
+XI.
+
+    This is the young Endymion out of Spain
+    Who, laurel-crown'd, has come to us again
+    To re-intone the songs of other times
+                                In far-off climes.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    To prove again that Music, by the plea
+    Of all men's love, has link'd from sea to sea
+    All shores of earth in one serene and grand
+                                Symphonic land.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Oh! hush the while! Oh! hush! A bird has sung
+    A Mayday bird has trill'd without a tongue,
+    And now, 'twould seem, has wandered out of sight
+                                For sheer delight.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    A phantom bird! 'Tis gone where all things go--
+    The wind, the rain, the sunshine, and the snow,
+    The hopes we nurs'd, the dead things lately pass'd--
+                                All dreams at last.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    The towers of light, the castles in the air,
+    The queenly things with diamonds in their hair,
+    The toys of sound, the flowers of magic art--
+                                All these depart.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    They seem'd to live; and lo! beyond recall,
+    They take the sweet sad Silence for a pall,
+    And, wrapt therein, consent to be dismiss'd,
+                                Though glory-kiss'd.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    O pride of Spain! O wizard with a wand
+    More fraught with fervours of the life beyond
+    Than books have taught us in these tawdry days,
+                                Take thou my praise.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Aye, take it, Pablo! Though so poor a thing,
+    'Twill serve to mind thee of an English spring
+    When wealth, and worth, and fashion, each and all,
+                                Obey'd thy thrall.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    The lark that sings its love-song in the cloud
+    Is God-inspired and glad,--but is not proud,--
+    And soon forgets the salvos of the breeze,
+                                As thou dost these.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    The shouts, the praises, and the swift acclaim,
+    That men have brought to magnify thy name,
+    Affect thee barely as an idle cheer
+                                Affects a seer.
+
+
+XXI.
+
+    But thou art ours, O Pablo! ours to-day,
+    Ours, and not ours, in thy triumphant sway;
+    And we must urge it by the right that brings
+                                Honour to kings.
+
+
+XXII.
+
+    Honour to thee, thou stately, thou divine
+    And far-famed minstrel of a mighty line!
+    Honour to thee, and peace, and musings high,
+                                Good-night! Good-bye!
+
+
+
+
+MY AMAZON.
+
+
+I.
+
+    My Love is a lady fair and free,
+    A lady fair from over the sea,
+    And she hath eyes that pierce my breast
+    And rob my spirit of peace and rest.
+
+
+II.
+
+    A youthful warrior, warm and young,
+    She takes me prisoner with her tongue,
+    Aye! and she keeps me,--on parole,--
+    Till paid the ransom of my soul.
+
+
+III.
+
+    I swear the foeman, arm'd for war
+    From _cap-a-pie_, with many a scar,
+    More mercy finds for prostrate foe
+    Than she who deals me never a blow.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    And so 'twill be, this many a day;
+    She comes to wound, if not to slay.
+    But in my dreams,--in honied sleep,--
+    'Tis I to smile, and she to weep!
+
+
+
+
+PRO PATRIA.
+
+AN ODE TO SWINBURNE.
+
+    ["We have not, alack! an ally to befriend us,
+    And the season is ripe to extirpate and end us.
+    Let the German touch hands with the Gaul,
+    And the fortress of England must fall.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Louder and louder the noise of defiance
+    Rings rage from the grave of a trustless alliance,
+    And bids us beware, and be warn'd,
+    As abhorr'd of all nations and scorn'd."
+
+    _A Word for the Nation, by A. C. Swinburne._]
+
+
+I.
+
+    Nay, good Sir Poet, read thy rhymes again,
+      And curb the tumults that are born in thee,
+    That now thy hand, relentful, may refrain
+    To deal the blow that Abel had of Cain.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Are we not Britons born, when all is said,
+      And thou the offspring of the knightly souls
+    Who fought for Charles when fears were harvested,
+    And Cromwell rose to power on Charles's head?
+
+
+III.
+
+    O reckless, roystering bard, that in a breath
+      Did'st find the way to flout thy fathers' flag!
+    Is't well, unheeding what thy Reason saith,
+    To seem to triumph in thy country's death?
+
+
+IV.
+
+    If none will speak for us, if none will say
+      How far thy muse has wrong'd us in its thought,
+    'Tis I will do it; I will say thee nay,
+    And hurl thee back the ravings of thy lay.
+
+
+V.
+
+    We own thy prowess; for we've learnt by rote
+      Song after song of thine; and thou art great.
+    But why this malice? Why this wanton note
+    Which seems to come like lava from thy throat?
+
+
+VI.
+
+    When Hugo spoke we owned his master-spell;
+      We knew he feared us more than he contemned.
+    He fleck'd with fire each sentence as it fell,
+    And tolled his rancours like a wedding-bell.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    And we were proud of him, as France was proud.
+      Ay! call'd him brother,--though he lov'd us not;
+    And we were thrill'd when, ruthless from a cloud,
+    The bolt of death outstretch'd him for a shroud.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Thou'rt great as he by fame and force of song,
+      But less than he as spokesman of his Land.
+    For thou hast rail'd at thine, to do it wrong,
+    And call'd it coward though its faith is strong.
+
+
+IX.
+
+    England a coward! O thou five foot five
+      Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest!
+    Is she not girt with glory and alive
+    To hear thee buzz thy scorn of all the hive?
+
+
+X.
+
+    Thou art a bee,--a bright, a golden thing
+      With too much honey; and the taste thereof
+    Is sometimes rough, and somewhat of a sting
+    Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Oh, thou hast wrong'd us; thou hast said of late
+      More than is good for listeners to repeat.
+    Nay, I have marvell'd at thy words of hate,
+    For friends and foes alike have deem'd us great.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    We are not vile. We, too, have hearts to feel;
+      And not in vain have men remember'd this.
+    Our hands are quick at times to clasp the steel,
+    And strike the blows that centuries cannot heal.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    The sea-ward rocks are proud to be assail'd
+      By wave and wind; for bluster kills itself,
+    But rocks endure. And England has prevail'd
+    Times out of number, when her foes have failed.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    And once, thou know'st, a giant here was found,
+      Not bred in France, or elsewhere under sun.
+    And he was Shakespeare of the whole world round,
+    And he was king of men, though never crown'd.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    He lov'd the gracious earth from east to west,
+      And all the seas thereof and all its shores.
+    But most he lov'd the home that he possess'd,
+    And, right or wrong, his country seem'd the best.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    He was content with Albion's classic land.
+      He lov'd its flag. He veil'd its every fault.
+    Yes! he was proud to let its honour stand,
+    And bring to light the wonders it had plann'd.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    Do thou thus much; and deal no further pain;
+      But sooner tear the tongue from out thy mouth,
+    And sooner let the life in thee be slain,
+    Than strike at One who strikes thee not again.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Thy land and mine, our England, is erect,
+      And like a lordly thing she looks on thee,
+    And sees thee number'd with her bards elect,
+    And will not harm the brow that she has deck'd.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    She lets thee live. She knows how rich and rare
+      Are songs like thine, and how the smallest bird
+    May make much music in the summer air,
+    And how a curse may turn into a prayer.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same
+      Accept our pardon; or, if this offend,
+    Why then no pardon, e'en in England's name.
+    We have our country still, and thou thy fame!
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE GRAVE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    A little mound of earth
+      Is all the land I own:
+    Death gave it me,--five feet by three,
+      And mark'd it with a stone.
+
+
+II.
+
+    My home, my garden-grave,
+      Where most I long to go!
+    The ground is mine by right divine,
+      And Heaven will have it so.
+
+
+III.
+
+    For here my darling sleeps,
+      Unseen,--arrayed in white,--
+    And o'er the grass the breezes pass,
+      And stars look down at night.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Here Beauty, Love, and Joy,
+      With her in silence dwell,
+    As Eastern slaves are thrown in graves
+      Of kings remember'd well.
+
+
+V.
+
+    But here let no man come,
+      My mourning rights to sever.
+    Who lieth here is cold and dumb.
+      Her dust is mine for ever!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+A DIRGE.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Art thou lonely in thy tomb?
+    Art thou cold in such a gloom?
+    Rouse thee, then, and make me room,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+II.
+
+    Phantoms vex thy virgin sleep,
+    Nameless things around thee creep,
+    Yet be patient, do not weep,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+III.
+
+    O be faithful! O be brave!
+    Naught shall harm thee in thy grave;
+    Let the restless spirits rave,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+IV.
+
+    When my pilgrimage is done,
+    When the grace of God is won,
+    I will come to thee, my nun,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+
+V.
+
+    Like a priest in flowing vest,
+    Like a pale, unbidden guest,
+    I will come to thee and rest,--
+                          Miserere Domine!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+DAISIES OUT AT SEA.
+
+
+I.
+
+      These are the buds we bear beyond the surf,--
+            Enshrined in mould and turf,--
+      To take to fields far off, a land's salute
+            Of high and vast repute,--
+      The Shakespeare-land of every heart's desire,
+      Whereof, 'tis said, the fame shall not expire,
+    But shine in all men's thoughts as shines a beacon-fire.
+
+
+II.
+
+      O bright and gracious things that seem to glow
+            With frills of winter snow,
+      And little golden heads that know the sun,
+            And seasons half begun,
+      How blythe they look, how fresh and debonair,
+      In this their prison on the seaward air,
+    On which no lark has soar'd to improvise a prayer.
+
+
+III.
+
+      Have they no memory of the inland grass,--
+            The fields where breezes pass,
+      And where the full-eyed children, out at play,
+            Make all the land so gay?
+      Have they no thought of dews that, like a tear,
+      Were shed by Morning on the Night's cold bier,
+    In far-off English homes, belov'd by all men here?
+
+
+IV.
+
+      O gems of earth! O trinkets of the spring!
+            The sun, your gentle king,
+      Who counts your leaves and marshals ye apace,
+            In many a sacred place,
+      The godlike summer sun will miss ye all,
+      For he has foster'd all things, great and small,
+    Yea, all good things that live on earth's revolving ball.
+
+
+V.
+
+      But when, on deck, he sees with eye serene
+            The kirtles, tender-green,
+      And fair fresh faces of his hardy flowers,
+            How will he throb for hours,
+      And wish the lark, the laureate of the light,
+      Were near at hand, to see so fair a sight,
+    And chant the joys thereof in words we cannot write.
+
+
+VI.
+
+      Oh, I have lov'd ye more than may be told,
+            And deem'd it fairy-gold,--
+      And fairy-silver,--that ye bear withal;
+            Ye are so soft and small,
+      I weep for joy to find ye here to-day
+      So near to Heaven, and yet so far away,
+    In our good ocean-ship, whose bows are wet with spray.
+
+
+VII.
+
+      Ye are the cynosure of many eyes
+            Bright-blue as English skies,--
+      The sailors' eyes that scan ye in a row,
+            As if intent to show
+      That this dear freight of mould and meadow-flower
+      Which sails the sea, in sunshine and in shower,
+    Is England's gift of love, which storms shall not devour.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+      She sends ye forth in sadness and in joy,
+            As one may send a toy
+      To children's children, bred in other lands
+            By love-abiding hands.
+      And, day by day, ye sail upon the foam
+      To call to mind the sires' and mothers' home,
+    Where babes, now grown to men, were wont of yore to roam.
+
+
+IX.
+
+      In England's name, in Shakespeare's,--and in ours,
+            Who bear these trusted flowers,--
+      There shall be heard a cheer from many throats,
+            A rush and roar of notes,
+      As loud, and proud, as those of heavenward birds;
+      And they who till the ground and tend the herds
+    Will read our thoughts therein, and clothe the same in words.
+
+
+X.
+
+      For England's sake, for England once again,
+            In pride and power and pain,
+      For England, aye! for England in the girth
+            Of all her joy and worth,
+      A strong and clear, outspoken, undefined,
+      And uncontroll'd wild shout upon the wind,
+    Will greet these winsome flowers as friends of human-kind!
+
+
+
+
+Sonnets.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+ECSTASY.
+
+
+    I cannot sing to thee as I would sing
+      If I were quickened like the holy lark
+    With fire from Heaven and sunlight on his wing,
+      Who wakes the world with witcheries of the dark
+    Renewed in rapture in the reddening air.
+      A thing of splendour do I deem him then,
+    A feather'd frenzy with an angel's throat,
+    A something sweet that somewhere seems to float
+      'Twixt earth and sky, to be a sign to men.
+    He fills me with such wonder and despair!
+      I long to kiss thy locks, so golden bright,
+    As he doth kiss the tresses of the sun.
+    Oh! bid me sing to thee, my chosen one,
+      And do thou teach me, Love, to sing aright!
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+VISIONS.
+
+
+    The Poet meets Apollo on the hill,
+      And Pan and Flora and the Paphian Queen,
+    And infant naiads bathing in the rill,
+      And dryad maids that dance upon the green,
+      And fauns and Oreads in the silver sheen
+    They wear in summer, when the air is still.
+    He quaffs the wine of life, and quaffs his fill,
+      And sees Creation through its mask terrene.
+    The dead are wise, for they alone can see
+      As see the bards,--as see, beyond the dust,
+      The eyes of babes. The dead alone are just.
+    There is no comfort in the bitter fee
+    That scholars pay for fame. True sage is he
+      Who doubts all doubt, and takes the soul on trust.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+THE DAISY.
+
+
+    See where it stands, the world-appointed flower,
+      Pure gold at centre, like the sun at noon,--
+    A mimic sun to light a true-love bower
+      For fair Queen Mab, now dead or in a swoon,
+      Whom late a poet saw beneath the moon.
+    It lifts its dainty face till sunset hour,
+    As if endowed with nympholeptic power,--
+      Then shuts its petals like a folding tune!
+    I love it more than words of mine can say,
+      And more than anchorite may breathe in prayer.
+      Methinks the lark has made it still his care
+    To brag of daisies to the lord of day.
+    Well! I will follow suit, as best I may,
+      Launching my love-songs on the summer air.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+PROBATION.
+
+
+    Could I, O Love! obtain a charter clear
+      To be thy bard, in all thy nights and days,
+    I would consult the stars, from year to year,
+      And talk with trees, and learn of them their ways,
+    And why the nymphs so seldom now appear
+      In human form, with rapt and earnest gaze;
+      And I would learn of thee why joy decays,
+    And why the Fauns have ceas'd to flourish here.
+    I would, in answer to the wind's "Alas!"
+      Explain the causes of a sorrow's flight;
+    I would peruse the writing on the grass
+      Which flowers have traced in blue and red and white;
+    And, reading these, I would, as from a pen,
+    Read thoughts of thine unguess'd by other men!
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+DANTE.
+
+
+    He liv'd and lov'd; he suffer'd; he was poor;
+      But he was gifted with the gifts of Heaven,
+      And those of all the week-days that are seven,
+    And those of all the centuries that endure.
+    He bow'd to none; he kept his honour sure.
+      He follow'd in the wake of those Eleven
+      Who walk'd with Christ, and lifted up his steven[A]
+    To keep the bulwarks of his faith secure.
+    He knew the secrets of the singing-time;
+      He track'd the sun; he ate the luscious fruit
+      Of grief and joy; and with his wonder-lute
+    He made himself a name in every clime.
+      The minds of men were madly stricken mute
+    And all the world lay subject to his rhyme!
+
+[A] Steven, a voice; old word revived.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+DIFFIDENCE.
+
+
+    I cannot deck my thought in proud attire,
+      Or make it fit for thee in any dress,
+    Or sing to thee the songs of thy desire,
+    In summer's heat, or by the winter's fire,
+      Or give thee cause to comfort or to bless.
+      For I have scann'd mine own unworthiness
+    And well I know the weakness of the lyre
+      Which I have striven to sway to thy caress.
+    Yet must I quell my tears and calm the smart
+      Of my vext soul, and steadfastly emerge
+      From lonesome thoughts, as from the tempest's surge.
+    I must control the beating of my heart,
+    And bid false pride be gone, who, with his art,
+      Has press'd, too long, a suit I dare not urge.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+FAIRIES.
+
+
+    Glory endures when calumny hath fled;
+      And fairies show themselves, in friendly guise,
+    To all who hold a trust beyond the dead,
+      And all who pray, albeit so worldly-wise,
+      With cheerful hearts or wildly-weeping eyes.
+    They come and go when children are in bed
+      To gladden them with dreams from out the skies
+    And sanctify all tears that they have shed!
+    Fairies are wing'd for wandering to and fro.
+      They live in legends; they survive the Greeks.
+    Wisdom is theirs; they live for us and grow,
+      Like things ambrosial, fairer than the freaks
+    Of signs and seasons which the poets know,
+      Or fires of sunset on the mountain-peaks.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+SPIRIT LOVE.
+
+
+    How great my joy! How grand my recompense!
+      I bow to thee; I keep thee in my sight.
+    I call thee mine, in love though not in sense
+    I share with thee the hermitage immense
+      Of holy dreams which come to us at night,
+    When, through the medium of the spirit-lens
+      We see the soul, in its primeval light,
+      And Reason spares the hopes it cannot blight.
+    It is the soul of thee, and not the form,
+      And not the face, I yearn-to in my sleep.
+    It is thyself. The body is the storm,
+      The soul the star beyond it in the deep
+      Of Nature's calm. And yonder on the steep
+    The Sun of Faith, quiescent, round, and warm!
+
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+AFTER TWO DAYS.
+
+
+    Another night has turned itself to day,
+      Another day has melted into eve,
+    And lo! again I tread the measured way
+      Of word and thought, the twain to interweave,
+      As flowers absorb the rays that they receive.
+    And, all along the woodland where I stray,
+    I think of thee, and Nature keeps me gay,
+      And sorrow soothes the soul it would bereave.
+    Nor will I fear that thou, so far apart,
+      So dear to me, so fair, and so benign,
+    Wilt un-desire the fealty of a heart
+      Which evermore is pledg'd to thee and thine,
+    And turns to thee, in regions where thou art,
+      To hymn the praises of thy face divine!
+
+
+
+
+X.
+
+BYRON.
+
+
+    He was a god descended from the skies
+      To fight the fight of Freedom o'er a grave,
+      And consecrate a hope he could not save;
+    For he was weak withal, and foolish-wise.
+    Dark were his thoughts, and strange his destinies,
+      And oftentimes his life he did deprave.
+    But all do pity him, though none despise.
+      He was a prince of song, though sorrow's slave.
+    He ask'd for tears,--and they were tinged with fire;
+      He ask'd for love, and love was sold to him.
+      He look'd for solace at the goblet's brim,
+    And found it not; then wept upon his lyre.
+    He sang the songs of all the world's desire,--
+      He wears the wreath no rivalry can dim!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XI.
+
+LOVE'S AMBITION.
+
+
+    I must invoke thee for my spirit's good,
+      And prove myself un-guilty of the crime
+    Of mere self-seeking, though with this imbued.
+    I sing as sings the mavis in a wood,
+      Content to be alive at harvest time.
+    Had I its wings I should not be withstood!
+      But I will weave my fancies into rhyme,
+      And greet afar the heights I cannot climb.
+    I will invoke thee, Love! though far away,
+      And pay thee homage, as becomes a knight
+      Who longs to keep his true-love in his sight.
+    Yea, I will soar to thee, in roundelay,
+    In shine and shower, and make a bold assay
+      Of each fond hope, to compass thee aright.
+
+
+
+
+XII.
+
+LOVE'S DEFEAT.
+
+
+    Do what I will, I cannot chant so well
+      As other men; and yet my soul is true.
+    My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell,
+      But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too,
+      Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.
+    I strike the lyre, I sound the hollow shell;
+    And why? For comfort, when my thoughts rebel,
+      And when I count the woes that must ensue.
+    But for this reason, and no other one,
+      I dare to look thy way, and bow my head
+    To thy sweet name, as sunflower to the sun,
+      Though, peradventure, not so wisely fed
+      With garden fancies. Tears must now be shed,
+    Unnumber'd tears, till life or love be done!
+
+
+
+
+XIII.
+
+A THUNDERSTORM AT NIGHT.
+
+
+    The lightning is the shorthand of the storm
+      That tells of chaos; and I read the same
+      As one may read the writing of a name,--
+    As one in Hell may see the sudden form
+      Of God's fore-finger pointed as in blame.
+    How weird the scene! The Dark is sulphur-warm
+    With hints of death; and in their vault enorme
+      The reeling stars coagulate in flame.
+    And now the torrents from their mountain-beds
+      Roar down uncheck'd; and serpents shaped of mist
+    Writhe up to Heaven with unforbidden heads;
+      And thunder-clouds, whose lightnings intertwist,
+    Rack all the sky, and tear it into shreds,
+      And shake the air like Titians that have kiss'd!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XIV.
+
+IN TUSCANY.
+
+
+    Dost thou remember, friend of vanish'd days,
+      How in the golden land of love and song,
+    We met in April in the crowded ways
+      Of that fair city where the soul is strong,
+    Aye! strong as fate, for good or evil praise?
+    And how the lord whom all the world obeys,--
+      The lord of light to whom the stars belong,--
+      Illumed the track that led thee through the throng?
+    Dost thou remember, in the wooded dale,
+      Beyond the town of Dante the Divine,
+      How all the air was flooded as with wine?
+    And how the lark, to drown the nightingale,
+    Peal'd out sweet notes? I live to tell the tale.
+      But thou? Oblivion signs thee with a sign!
+
+
+
+
+XV.
+
+A HERO.
+
+
+    The warrior knows how fitful is the fight,--
+      How sad to live,--how sweet perchance to die.
+    Is Fame his joy? He meets her on the height,
+      And when he falls he shouts his battle-cry;
+      His eyes are wet; our own will not be dry.
+    Nor shall we stint his praise, or our delight,
+    When he survives to serve his Land aright
+      And make his fame the watchword of the sky.
+    In all our hopes his love is with us still;
+      He tends our faith, he soothes us when we grieve.
+      His acts are just; his word we must believe,
+    And none shall spurn him, though his blood they spill
+    To pierce the heart whose pride they cannot kill.--
+      Death dies for him whose fame is his reprieve!
+
+
+
+
+XVI.
+
+REMORSE.
+
+
+    Go, get thee gone. I love thee not, I swear;
+      And if I lov'd thee well in days gone by,
+    And if I kiss'd, and trifled with thy hair,
+      And crown'd my love, to prove the same a lie,
+      My doom is this: my joy was quick to die.
+    The chain of custom in the drowsy lair
+    Of some slain vision, is a weight to bear,
+      And both abhorr'd it,--thou as well as I.
+    Ah, God! 'tis tearful true; and I repent;
+      And like a dead, live man I live for this:--
+      To stand, unvalued, on a dream's abyss,
+    And be my own most piteous monument.
+      What! did I rob thee, Lady, of a kiss?
+    There, take it back; and frown; and be content!
+
+
+
+
+XVII.
+
+THE MISSION OF THE BARD.
+
+
+    He is a seer. He wears the wedding-ring
+      Of Art and Nature; and his voice is bold.
+    He should be quicker than the birds to sing,
+      And fill'd with frenzy like the men of old
+    Who sang their songs for country and for king.
+      Nothing should daunt him, though the news were told
+      By fiends from Hell! He should be swift to hold
+    And swift to part with truth, as from a spring.
+      He should discourse of war and war's alarm,
+    And deeds of peace, and garlands to be sought,
+      And love, and lore, and death, and beauty's charm,
+    And warlike men subdued by tender thought,
+    And grief dismiss'd, and hatred set at nought,
+      And Freedom shielded by his strong right arm!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+DEATH.
+
+
+    It is the joy, it is the zest of life,
+      To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,
+    Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,
+      And not a serpent with a look of guile,
+      But one who greets us with a seraph's smile,--
+    An angel--guest to tend us after strife,
+      And keep us true to God when fears are rife,
+      And sceptic thought would daunt us or defile.
+    He walks the world as one empower'd to fill
+      The fields of space for Father and for Son.
+      He is our friend, though morbidly we shun
+    His tender touch,--a cure for every ill.
+      He is the king of peace, when all is done.
+    Earth and the air are moulded to his will.
+
+
+
+
+XIX.
+
+TO ONE I LOVE.
+
+
+    Oh, let me plead with thee to have a nook,
+      A garden nook, not far from thy domain,
+    That there, with harp, and voice, and poet-book,
+      I may be true to thee, and, passion-fain,
+      Rehearse the songs of nature once again:--
+    The songs of Cynthia wandering by the brook
+      To soothe the raptures of a lover's pain,
+    And those of Phyllis with her shepherd's crook!
+    I die to serve thee, and for this alone,--
+      To be thy bard-elect, from day to day,--
+    I would forego the right to fill a throne.
+      I would consent to be the famine-prey
+    Of some fierce pard, if ere the night were flown
+      I could subdue thy spirit to my sway.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XX.
+
+EX TENEBRA.
+
+
+    The winds have shower'd their rains upon the sod,
+      And flowers and trees have murmur'd as with lips.
+    The very silence has appeal'd to God.
+    In man's behalf, though smitten by His rod,
+      'Twould seem as if the blight of some eclipse
+      Had dull'd the skies,--as if, on mountain tips,
+    The winds of Heaven had spurn'd the life terrene,
+      And clouds were foundering like benighted ships.
+    But what is this, exultant, unforseen,
+      Which cleaves the dark? A fearful, burning thing!
+      Is it the moon? Or Saturn's scarlet ring
+    Hurl'd into space? It is the tempest-sun!
+      It is the advent of the Phoeban king
+    Which tells the valleys that the storm is done!
+
+
+
+
+XXI.
+
+VICTOR HUGO.
+
+
+    Victor the King! alive to-day, not dead!
+      Behold, I bring thee with a subject's hand
+      A poor pale wreath, the best at my command,
+    But all unfit to deck so grand a head.
+      It is the outcome of a neighbour land
+    Denounced of thee, and spurn'd for many years.
+    It is the token of a nation's tears
+      Which oft has joy'd in thee, and shall again.
+      Love for thy hate, applause for thy disdain,--
+    These are the flowers we spread upon thy hearse.
+    We give thee back, to-day, thy poet-curse;
+      We call thee friend; we ratify thy reign.
+    Kings change their sceptres for a funeral stone,
+    But thou hast turn'd thy tomb into a throne!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XXII.
+
+CYNTHIA.
+
+
+    O Lady Moon, elect of all the spheres
+      To be the guardian of the ocean-tides,
+    I charge thee, say, by all thy hopes and fears,
+      And by thy face, the oracle of brides,
+      Why evermore Remorse with thee abides?
+    Is life a bane to thee, and fraught with tears,
+      That thus forlorn and sad thou dost confer
+    With ghosts and shades? Perchance thou dost aspire
+    To bridal honours, and thy Phoebus-sire
+      Forbids the banns, whoe'er thy suitor be?
+    Is this thy grievance, O thou chief of nuns?
+      Or dost thou weep to know that Jupiter
+    Hath many moons--his daughters and his sons--
+      And Earth, thy mother, only one in thee?
+
+
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+PHILOMEL.
+
+
+    Lo, as a minstrel at the court of Love,
+      The nightingale, who knows his mate is nigh,
+    Thrills into rapture; and the stars above
+      Look down, affrighted, as they would reply.
+      There is contagion, and I know not why,
+    In all this clamour, all this fierce delight,
+      As if the sunset, when the day did swoon,
+      Had drawn some wild confession from the moon.
+    Have wrongs been done? Have crimes enacted been
+    To shame the weird retirement of the night?
+      O clamourous bird! O sad; sweet nightingale!
+    Withhold thy voice, and blame not Beauty's queen.
+      She may be pure, though dumb: and she is pale,
+    And wears a radiance on her brow serene.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+THE SONNET KING.
+
+
+    O Petrarch! I am here. I bow to thee,
+      Great king of sonnets, throned long ago
+    And lover-like, as Love enjoineth me,
+      And miser-like, enamoured of my woe,
+      I reckon up my teardrops as they flow.
+    I would not lose the power to shed a tear
+      For all the wealth of Plutus and his reign.
+      I would not be so base as not complain
+    When she I love is absent from my sight.
+    No, not for all the marvels of the night,
+      And all the varying splendours of the year.
+    Do thou assist me, thou! that art the light
+      Of all true lovers' souls, in all the sphere,
+    To make a May-time of my sorrows slain.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+XXV.
+
+TOKEN FLOWERS.
+
+
+    Oh, not the daisy, for the love of God!
+      Take not the daisy; let it bloom apace
+      Untouch'd alike by splendour or disgrace
+    Of party feud. Its stem is not a rod;
+    And no one fears, or hates it, on the sod.
+      It laughs, exultant, in the Morning's face,
+      And everywhere doth fill a lowly place,
+    Though fraught with favours for the darkest clod.
+    'Tis said the primrose is a party flower,
+      And means coercion, and the coy renown
+      Of one who toil'd for country and for crown.
+    This may be so! But, in my Lady's bower,
+    It means content,--a hope,--a golden hour.
+      Primroses smile; and daisies cannot frown!
+
+
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+A PRAYER FOR ENGLAND.
+
+
+    Ah, fair Lord God of Heaven, to whom we call,--
+      By whom we live,--on whom our hopes are built,--
+      Do Thou, from year to year, e'en as Thou wilt,
+    Control the Realm, but suffer not to fall
+    Its ancient faith, its grandeur, and its thrall!
+      Do Thou preserve it, in the hours of guilt,
+      When foemen thirst for blood that should be spilt,
+    And keep it strong when traitors would appal.
+    Uphold us still, O God! and be the screen
+      And sword and buckler of our England's might,
+    That foemen's wiles, and woes which intervene,
+      May fade away, as fades a winter's night.
+    Thine ears have heard us, and Thine eyes have seen.
+      Wilt Thou not help us, Lord! to find the Light?
+
+
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+A VETERAN POET.
+
+
+    I knew thee first as one may know the fame
+      Of some apostle, as a man may know
+      The mid-day sun far-shining o'er the snow.
+    I hail'd thee prince of poets! I became
+    Vassal of thine, and warm'd me at the flame
+      Of thy pure thought, my spirit all aglow
+      With dreams of peace, and pomp, and lyric show,
+    And all the splendours, Master! of thy name.
+    But now, a man reveal'd, a guide for men,
+      I see thy face, I clasp thee by the hand;
+      And though the Muses in thy presence stand,
+    There's room for me to loiter in thy ken.
+    O lordly soul! O wizard of the pen!
+      What news from God? What word from Fairyland?
+
+
+
+
+A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY.
+
+
+
+
+A CHORAL ODE TO LIBERTY.
+
+
+I.
+
+    O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,
+      Mother and maid, immortal, man's delight!
+    Fairest and first art thou in name and fame
+      And none shall rob thee of thy vested right.
+    Where is the man, though fifty times a king,
+    Shall stay the tide, or countermand the spring?
+    And where is he, though fifty times a knave,
+    Shall track thy steps to cast thee in a grave?
+
+
+II.
+
+    Old as the sun art thou, and young as morn,
+      And fresh as April when the breezes blow,
+    And girt with glory like the growing corn,
+      And undefiled like mountains made of snow.
+    Oh, thou'rt the summer of the souls of men,
+    And poor men's rights, approved by sword and pen,
+    Are made self-certain as the day at noon,
+    And fair to view as flowers that grow in June.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Look, where erect and tall thy Symbol waits,[B]
+      The gift of France to friends beyond the deep,
+    A lofty presence at the ocean-gates
+      With lips of peace and eyes that cannot weep;
+    A new-born Tellus with uplifted arm
+    To light the seas, and keep the land from harm--
+    To light the coast at downfall of the day,
+    And dower with dawn the darkening water-way.
+
+[B] Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty in New York harbour.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, stern of vow!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shall wear the lightning on thy brow!_
+
+
+V.
+
+    Who dares condemn thee with the puny breath
+      Of one poor life, O thou untouched of Fate!
+    Who seeks to lure thee to a felon's death,
+      And thou so splendid and so love-elate?
+    Who dares do this and live? Who dares assail
+    Thy star-kissed forehead, pure and marble-pale;
+    And thou so self-possessed 'mid all the stir,
+    And like to Pallas born of Mulciber?
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Oh, I've beheld the sun, at setting time,
+      Peep o'er the hills as if to say good-bye;
+    And I have hailed it with the sudden rhyme
+      Of some new thought, full-freighted with a sigh.
+    And I have mused:--E'en thus may Freedom fall,
+    And darkness shroud it like a wintry pall,
+    And night o'erwhelm it, and the shades thereof
+    Engulf the glories born of perfect love.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    But there's no fall for thee; there is no tomb;
+      And none shall stab thee, none shall stay thy hand.
+    Thy face is fair with love's eternal bloom,
+      And thou shalt have all things at thy command.
+    A tomb for thee? Ay, when the sun is slain
+    And lamps and fires make daylight on the plain,
+    Then may'st thou die, O Freedom! and for thee
+    A tomb be found where fears and dangers be.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, keen of sight!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shall tread the tempest in the night!_
+
+
+IX.
+
+    There shall be feasting and a sound of song
+      In thy great cities; and a voice divine
+    Shall tell of freedom all the winter long,
+      And fill the air with rapture as with wine.
+    The spring shall hear it, spring shall hear the sound,
+    And summer waft it o'er the flowerful ground;
+    And autumn pale shall shake her withered leaves
+    On festal morns and star-bespangled eves.
+
+
+X.
+
+    For thou'rt the smile of Heaven when earth is dim--
+      The face of God reflected in the sea--
+    The land's acclaim uplifted by the hymn
+      Of some glad lark triumphant on the lea.
+    Thou art all this and more! Thou art the goal
+    Of earth's elected ones from pole to pole,
+    The lute-string's voice, the world's primeval fire,
+    And each man's hope, and every man's desire.
+
+
+XI.
+
+    O proud and pure! O gentle and sublime!
+      For thee and thine, O Freedom! O my Joy!
+    For thee, Celestial! on the shores of time
+      A throne is built which no man shall destroy.
+    Thou shalt be seen for miles and miles around
+    And wield a sceptre, though of none be crowned.
+    The waves shall know thee, and the winds of Heaven
+    Shall sing thee songs with mixed and mighty steven.
+
+
+XII.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, unconfined!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shalt speed more swiftly than the wind!_
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Who loves thee not is traitor to himself,
+      Traitor is he to God and to the grave,
+    Poor as a miser with his load of pelf,
+      And more unstable than a leeward wave.
+    Cursed is he for aye, and his shall be
+    A name of shame from sea to furthest sea,
+    A name of scorn to all men under sun
+    Whose upright souls have learnt to loathe this one.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    A thousand times, O Freedom! have I turned
+      To thy rapt face, and wished that martyr-wise
+    I might achieve some glory, such as burned
+      Within the depths of Gordon's azure eyes.
+    Ah God! how sweet it were to give thee life,
+    To aid thy cause, self-sinking in the strife,
+    Loving thee best, O Freedom! and in tears
+    Giving thee thanks for death-accepted years.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    For thou art fearful, though so grand of soul,
+      Fearful and fearless and the friend of men.
+    The haughtiest kings shall bow to thy control,
+      And rich and poor shall take thy guidance then.
+    Who doubts the daylight when he sees afar
+    The fading lamp of some night-weary star,
+    Which prophet-like, has heard amid the dark
+    The first faint prelude of the nested lark?
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, prompt of thought!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shalt lash the storm till it be nought!_
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    O thou desired of men! O thou supreme
+      And true-toned spirit whom the bards revere!
+    At times thou com'st in likeness of a dream
+      To urge rebellion, with a face austere;
+    And by that power thou hast--e'en by that power
+    Which is the outcome of thy sovereign-dower--
+    Thou teachest slaves, down-trodden, how to stand
+    Lords of themselves in each chivalrous Land.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    The hosts of death, the squadrons of the law,
+      The arm'd appeal to pageantry and hate,
+    Shall serve, a space, to keep thy name in awe,
+      And then collapse, as old and out of date.
+    Yea! this shall be; for God has willed it so.
+    And none shall touch thy flag, to lay it low;
+    And none shall rend thy robe, that is to thee
+    As dawn to day, as sunlight to the sea.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    For love of thee, thou grand, thou gracious thing!
+      For love of thee all seas, and every shore,
+    And all domains whereof the poets sing,
+      Shall merge in Man's requirements evermore.
+    And there shall be, full soon, from north to south,
+    From east to west, by Wisdom's word of mouth
+    One code of laws that all shall understand,
+    And all the world shall be one Fatherland.
+
+
+XX.
+
+    _O sunlike Liberty, with eyes of flame,_
+      _Mother and maid, immortal, sweet of breath!_
+    _Fairest and first art thou in name and fame,_
+      _And thou shalt pluck Redemption out of Death!_
+
+
+
+
+Italian Poems
+
+BY ERIC MACKAY
+
+
+LA ZINGARELLA.
+
+IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO.
+
+I MIEI SALUTI.
+
+
+
+
+LA ZINGARELLA.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Dimmi, dimmi, o trovatore,
+        Tu che canti sul liuto,
+        Bello e bruno e pien d'amore
+        Dalla valle in su venuto,
+        Non ti fermi sull' altura
+        Per mostrar la tua bravura?
+        Non mi canti sul burrone
+        Qualche lieta tua canzone?
+
+
+II.
+
+    --Zingarella, in sulla sera
+        Canta bene il rosignolo,
+        Piange e canta in sua preghiera
+        Salutando un dolce suolo.
+        Ma il liuto al mio toccare
+        Pianger sa, non sa pregare ...
+        Deh! che vuoi col tuo sorriso,
+        Tu che sai di paradiso?
+
+
+III.
+
+    --Vo sentire in tuo linguaggio
+        Come e fatto un uom fedele,
+        Se l'amor lo fa selvaggio,
+        Se il destin lo fa crudele.
+        Parla schietto; son profana
+        Ma ben leggo l'alma umana.
+        Parla pur dei tuoi viaggi
+        Nei deserti e nei villaggi.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    --Canterotti, o zingarella,
+        Qualche allegra mia ballata,
+        Qualche estatica novella
+        D' una dama innamorata ...
+        --Dimmi tutto!--Canterotti
+        D' Ungheria le meste notti.
+        D' Ungheria?--Del Bosco Santo
+        Dove nacque il gran Sorranto.
+
+
+V.
+
+    Sappi in breve, son marchese
+        Castellano e cantatore,
+        Cattivai con questo arnese
+        D'una maga un di l'amore.
+        --D' una maga?--Si, di quelle
+        Che san legger nelle stelle.
+        --E fu bella?--Non v' e guari
+        Dama, oh no, che le sia pari.
+
+
+VI.
+
+    Come parca in fra le dita
+        Essa tenne il mio destino,
+        Fu la sfinge di mia vita
+        Col sorriso suo divino.
+        Avea biondi i suoi capelli,
+        Occhi neri e molto belli,
+        Braccia e collo in puritade
+        Come neve quando cade.
+
+
+VII.
+
+    --Taci, taci, o castellano;
+        Qui convien pregar per essa.
+        --Io l'amai d'amor sovrano!
+        Pronta fu la sua promessa.
+        L' aspettai; mi fu cortese,
+        Ma fuggi dal mio paese,
+        Travestita un di di Maggio
+        Come biondo e giovin paggio.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    Oh, giammai non fu sognata
+        Cosa uguale per bellezza
+        Chi la vide incoronata
+        Sorridea per tenerezza.
+        Chi la vide di mattina
+        La credeva una regina,
+        Qualche sogno di poeta,
+        Qualche incanto di profeta!
+
+
+IX.
+
+    --Traditor! col tuo liuto
+        Tu l' hai fatto innamorare!
+        --Io giurai per San Bernuto
+        E pel Cristo in sull' altare,
+        Per Giuseppe e per Maria
+        Che farei la vita pia.
+        --E il facesti?--I sacri voti
+        Ricantai dei sacredoti.
+
+
+X.
+
+    --Or m'ascolta, o trovatore,
+        Or rispondi, e dimmi il vero:
+        Hai veduto il mesto fiore
+        Che si coglie in cimitero?
+        Hai veduto i fior di rose
+        Che s'intreccian per le spose,
+        Quando cantan desolati
+        Gli usignoli abbandonati?
+
+
+XI.
+
+    Crolli il capo; impallidisci;
+        Stendi a me la bianca mano;
+        Non rispondi; e forse ambisci
+        Della sposa ormai l'arcano?
+        Qui mori la Gilda, maga
+        Sotto il nome di Menzaga;
+        Qui mori, nel suo pallore,
+        Per l'amor d'un trovatore!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XII.
+
+    Stravolto l'amante s'inchina;
+        Ei mira la mesta donzella.
+        Velata e la maga, ma bella,
+    Coll'occhio che pianger non sa.
+        --O donna, l'amor t'indovina ...
+        Tu, Gilda, t'ascondi cola!
+
+
+XIII.
+
+    Nel mondo non v' e la sembianza
+        Di tale e di tanta beltade!
+        Non cresce per queste contrade
+    Ne giglio ne spirto d'amor.
+        Tu sola tu sei la Speranza
+        Che tenni qua stretta sul cor.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+    Tu sola tu sei la mia dama,
+        La gioja e l'onor della vita;
+        Tu sola, donzella romita,
+    Del mondo la diva sei tu.
+        L'amor ti conosce, e la fama;
+        Ne manca l'antica virtu.
+
+
+XV.
+
+    Ma dove e la fe del passato
+        Che tanto brillo nella festa?
+        L'amore, l'onore, le gesta
+    D'un tempo che presto fuggi?
+        Fu vero? L'ho forse sognato?
+        Tu pur l'hai sognato cosi!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XVI.
+
+    La maga intenta ascolta il suo galante;
+        Ride, si scioglie il velo e guarda il Sire.
+        Rossa diventa e bianca in uno istante,
+        E poi s' asconde il viso e vuol fuggire.
+        Corre nei bracci suoi lo fido amante;
+        E favellar vorria nel suo gioire...
+
+
+XVII.
+
+    --Deh! taci, oh taci! Al mondo ovunque e doglia.
+        Gilda son io. Ti bacio e son contenta.
+        Pianger non so se non per pazza voglia
+    Come la strega allor che si lamenta ...
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+    Cosa vuoi tu? Che vuoi che si mi guardi?
+        Diva non son, ma donna; e fui crudele.
+        --Baciami in bocca. O Dio! mi stringi ed ardi
+    Tanto d' amore e piangi e sei fedele?
+
+
+XIX.
+
+    --Ugo! M' ascolta, io son la tua meschina,
+        Forte ben si, ma doma in questi agoni;
+        Sono la schiava tua, la tua regina,
+    Quel che tu vuoi purche non m'abbandoni!
+
+
+XX.
+
+    --O cara, o casta, o bella, o tu che bramo,
+        Dammi la morte unita a un tuo sorriso.
+        Eva sarai per me. Son io l'Adamo;
+    E quivi in terra avrassi il paradiso!
+
+
+
+
+IL PONTE D'AVIGLIO.
+
+
+I.
+
+      O mesto bambino col capo chinato,
+    Rispondi; rispondi. Che fece Renato?
+    Fu vinto Morello? Fu salvo Lindoro?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Son padre di loro.
+
+
+II.
+
+      Non veggo tornare dal Ponte d'Aviglio
+    Renato superbo del vinto periglio.
+    L' han forse promosso? Risorge la guerra?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--L' han messo sotterra.
+
+
+III.
+
+      O ciel! tu lo senti, tu vedi l'oltraggio;
+    Renato fu prence del nostro villaggio! ...
+    Ma dimmi, piccino. Che fece Morello?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Lo chiude l' avello.
+
+
+IV.
+
+      Ahi, crudo destino! Si grande, si forte,
+    Morello nasceva per vincer la morte.
+    Ma l' altro? Che fece sul campo serrato?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Mori da soldato.
+
+
+V.
+
+      Gran Dio! che mi narri! Pur desso m' e tolto?
+    Renato m' e morto? Morello sepolto?
+    E piangi, ... tu pure? Gentile bambino!
+    Che dici? Rispondi!--Vi resta Giannino.
+
+
+VI.
+
+      Oh si, del figliuolo l'ignoto tesoro,
+    L'incognito figlio del biondo Lindoro.
+    Ma dove trovarlo nel nome di Dio?
+    Rispondi; rispondi!--Buon padre, son io.
+
+
+
+
+I MIEI SALUTI.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Ti saluto, Margherita
+        Fior di vita, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei la speme del mattino,
+        Sei la gioja del giardino.
+
+
+II.
+
+    Ti saluto, Rosignolo
+        Nel tuo duolo, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei l' amante della rosa
+        Che morendo si fa sposa.
+
+
+III.
+
+    Ti saluto, Sol di Maggio
+        Col tuo raggio, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei l' Apollo del passato,
+        Sei l' amore incoronato.
+
+
+IV.
+
+    Ti saluto, Donna mia,
+        Casta e pia, ... ti saluto!
+        Sei la diva dei desiri,
+        Sei la Santa dei Sospiri.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+Words enclosed in round brackets, (thus), may be used to search for the
+affected text.
+
+Words used interchangeably in this book:
+
+  anear    a-near
+  seaward  sea-ward
+
+Page xvi
+
+(influence felt.)
+
+Changed iufluence to influence.
+
+
+Page xxvii
+
+*** equates to an asterism in text file.
+
+
+Page 99
+
+(Where Neptune dwelt,)
+
+Changed Nepture to Neptune.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love Letters of a Violinist and Other
+Poems, by Eric Mackay
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST ***
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