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diff --git a/37649.txt b/37649.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22287b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/37649.txt @@ -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 *** + +***** This file should be named 37649.txt or 37649.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/6/4/37649/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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