Litany of. Love 
 
 and other poems 
 
 H. C. J. LINGHAM
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 

 
 of 
 
 ano other poems
 
 EROS and PSYCHE. 
 To realms of bliss, from gloom and strife.
 
 ILitame of Xove 
 
 witb 
 
 tlbe Xov>e*B>vaper of 
 (Biovaima II., <SUieen of 
 
 anfc otbec poems?. 
 
 Ibenri? Cbarles f. Iin0bam 
 
 (autbor of "tlbe ILast foours of a ILion 
 
 gtU t^oug^ts, all puasions, all beligbts, 
 lbattber stirs t^is mortal framt, 
 gill art bat mimsttrs of ^obt 
 ginb fttb ^is satrttr flamt." 
 
 CampbtU. 
 
 Gbe atlas press, 
 
 /Belbourne. 
 
 1900 
 [All Rights Reserved.]
 
 So 
 
 Xa Belle Dame t>e flDon Cceur 
 Xottie IDtoletta 
 
 5 inscribe tbis Moth 
 3n /iBemory of our <5oloen t)our0, alas ! too few, 
 
 " |Tobe ! gottng ^ofat ! bonni> in % rosg bani>, 
 |ftt sage or rj>nu praitU as \t foill, 
 ^tst ^ours, ant> cnlg t^tst, rebttm gift's gtara of ill !"
 
 Contents, 
 
 
 
 THE LITANY OF LOVE - 5 
 THE LOVE-PRAYER OF GIOVANNA II., QUEEN OF NAPLES 31 
 
 A SEA-LITANY - 39 
 
 LOVE THE SUPREME POWER - 41 
 SECRET LOVE : To LA BELLE DAME DE MON CCEUR - 43 
 
 LOVE'S LONGING FOR NIRVANA : 
 
 To LA BELLE DAME DE MON CCEUR 45 
 
 A LOVER'S BALLAD - - 46 
 
 To OUR LADY OF RAPTURE - 50 
 
 A VICTIM TO VENUS - 54 
 
 LEILA TO LOVER : A BALLAD OF COMPLAINT - 57 
 
 LOVER TO LEILA : A BALLAD OF CONSOLATION - - 59 
 
 IN BONDAGE : A DREAM 60 
 
 LOVE'S CRUCIFIXION AND RF.SURRECTION - - 63
 
 The Litany of Love. 
 
 Vita amorosa est vita dolorosa. 
 
 'Twas summertime ; the dawn of day was present, 
 And just above Selene's slender crescent 
 The Morning Star was blazing in the blue 
 And cloudless ether, while the diamond dew 
 Dripp'd ever and anon in big round drops, 
 Like tears Titanic, from the tall tree-tops, 
 And all the air was laden with perfumes, 
 The wandering spirits of the summer blooms, 
 As I was pacing, then a love-sick swain, 
 Through a green glade conducting to the fane 
 Of mighty Eros, lord of joy and pain. 
 A basket of bright flowers with goodly store 
 Of fragrant woods and frank-incense I bore 
 For the high altar in that marble fane 
 Among the myrtles where the ring-doves reign. 
 The rage of Him who ruleth over all, 
 Who holdeth beasts, and men, and gods in thrall,
 
 6 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 And giveth pain or pleasure as he pleases, 
 
 The sage man with high sacrifice appeases ; 
 
 Yea, with sweet incense and with fragrant flowers, 
 
 Gemm'd with the clinging drops of dewy showers ; 
 
 For Love and Venus, though the heavenly Powers 
 
 Delight in bloody sacrifice alone, 
 
 And let not mortals otherwise atone, 
 
 Will have no bloodshed, though they be most cruel 
 
 And for their altars have our hearts as fuel. 
 
 Ere I had journey'd far I was aware 
 
 That by my side there walk'd a lady fair. 
 
 Her tender body to perfection shaped 
 
 In clinging garb of white and gold was draped : 
 
 Her eyes soft azure, gold her wavy hair, 
 
 Falling o'er shoulders that were else quite bare 
 
 But that the swansdown, lest the morning air 
 
 Should chill her bosom, veil'd their beauty rare. 
 
 Her lips were fever'd, and her cheeks were pale 
 
 As that coy flower, the lily of the vale ; 
 
 Yet a faint flush one through their snow might see, 
 
 Like fading fire through flakes of ivory.
 
 AND 07HER POEMS. 
 
 Her dimpled hand a gilded basket bore 
 
 In which of flowers there was a goodly store : 
 
 Yet much I marvell'd when my view they met, 
 
 For wither'd lilac, faded violet, 
 
 And heavy marigold therein were set, 
 
 With blighted myrtle-buds and sun-singed roses 
 
 And passion-pale, voluptuous tuberoses. 
 
 " Fair Lady ! pardon, if I ask art thou 
 To Eros' temple also journeying now ?" 
 
 " Yes, to the temple of that mighty Power 
 I go to swell the concourse of the hour." 
 
 " Strange gifts, methinks, thou bearest to his shrine ! 
 Are thy flowers faded ? take thou, then, of mine." 
 
 " They are the emblems of my restless life, 
 
 Its love, its sadness, and its passionate strife, 
 
 And a fit offering to the God to make 
 
 These are the flowers that to Love's shrine I take."
 
 8 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 She spoke and paused ; then drawing nigh to me, 
 " Upon that marble underneath yon tree," 
 Said with a faint yet fascinating smile, 
 " If thou art willing, we will rest awhile." 
 
 There sitting in the waxing light of day, 
 Our talk continued in that brief delay. 
 
 " And can the world to one so young and fair, 
 So form'd for love, a bitter aspect wear ?" 
 
 She only said in a sweet voice and low, 
 " I bear the burden of a secret woe." 
 
 As thus she spake the wind arose and threw 
 Down from the leaves bright diamond drops of dew. 
 So some emotion that she could not tame, 
 Or haply strove not, quivering through her frame, 
 From the soft heaven of her sweet sad eye 
 Shook the last tear-drops with one heavy sigh.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 " Canst thou not utter what it is that preys 
 Upon thy heart and saddens all thy days ?" 
 
 " It is," she said, " my fortune to be curst 
 
 With the soul-parching, agonising thirst 
 
 Of drinkless longing and the famine dire 
 
 Of foodless passion and unfed desire 
 
 That feeds upon itself and slowly turns 
 
 Into a fever that intensely burns 
 
 Through all my being till my limbs are weak 
 
 And hectic hues are on my wasted cheek. 
 
 I do not see them, but I feel them there : 
 
 For mirrors now I have nor thought nor care." 
 
 " Ah ! sure this fever Eros will appease : 
 
 If thou but serve Him He thy pain will ease." 
 
 " Peace ! peace ! there is nor river, spring, nor lake 
 That the fierce fever of my soul can slake.
 
 io THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 "Pis said Love ruleth all : I love, I burn, 
 But what I love doth not my love return. 
 As glowing Sappho suffer'd long before, 
 So suffer I : pray, question me no more !" 
 
 Then silence reign'd, till she arising said, 
 Pointing to where the skies were growing red : 
 " Lo ! morning flushes o'er the eastern hill, 
 The little larks their crystal carols trill, 
 Rising from love-dreams at their own sweet will. 
 Time speedeth : let us go now to the fane 
 Of mighty Eros, Lord of Joy and Pain, 
 Among the myrtles by the placid main." 
 
 Then fared we onward, and our journey ended 
 
 Before the sun the eastern hill ascended. 
 
 The cooing doves were fluttering in the trees, 
 
 The incense-smoke was borne upon the breeze, 
 
 And many lovers were arriving now 
 
 Before the image of the God to bow. 
 
 Youth and old age and middle age were there,
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. II 
 
 The maid, the matron, and the mistress fair, 
 
 Most in all-bright, but some in dark array, 
 
 Some sad and heavy, others light and gay. 
 
 Some were alone, and these were mostly sad, 
 
 Some were in pairs, and these were mostly glad. 
 
 A sunlight of continual smiles illumed 
 
 The few for whom the thornless roses bloomed" ; 
 
 But some had rue and sorrel on their brows, 
 
 Bitterly weeping over broken vows, 
 
 While they who had the roses with the thorns, 
 
 And they were legion, laughed and wept by turns. 
 
 All brought some simple offering in their hands, 
 
 And there were several holding flaming brands, 
 
 The emblems of a love whose strong desire 
 
 Is an Inferno of consuming fire. 
 
 Oh ! that I had the skill of Angelo to draw, 
 
 And Titian's art to colour, all I saw ! 
 
 Sweet girls, whose beauty both of form and face, 
 
 And every gesture, full of artless grace, 
 
 Might raise such passion as no saint could tame 
 
 And turn his freezing veins to streams of liquid flame ! 
 
 How soft their lips ! as richly red in hue
 
 12 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 As the blood orange, and as luscious too ! 
 Yea, but to suck them were to feel a flood 
 Of sweet sensations tingling through the blood 
 And the face flushing like the South-east sky 
 When the dawn deepens and the day is nigh. 
 Ah ! bruised and bloody with sweet turtle-bites 
 In the fierce ardour of too keen delights 
 Yea, bruised and bloody as the crush'd red roses 
 Surely they shall be when the daylight closes ! 
 And blooming youths in flowery vests were there, 
 Their faces' beauty yet unmarked by hair, 
 Soft as in girlhood, and as bright and fair, 
 With forms voluptuous as Hermaphrodites, 
 Fashion'd for Love and all his dear delights. 
 
 We tarried in the portico, whence we 
 
 Through the white columns saw the sapphire sea 
 
 Shimmering in sunshine like the Larian Lake 
 
 When no rough winds its flashing marmor break. 
 
 My Lady then in bitter dolour spake : 
 
 " Some have the roses, others have the thorns, 
 
 One wight rejoices while another mourns.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 13 
 
 You have the roses with the thorns commix'd, 
 But on my brow the thorns alone are ftx'd." 
 " Dear Lady !" I replied, " 'tis sad indeed, 
 Into the temple let us now proceed." 
 
 The fluted columns, all of marble white, 
 
 With flowery chains in spiral form were dight, 
 
 And from Corinthian capitals depended 
 
 Festoons of flowers artistically blended. 
 
 The floor was marble, pink and white, save where 
 
 Before an altar rich mosaics were. 
 
 Suspended 'from the ceiling of the fane, 
 
 Superbly sculptured, by a golden chain, 
 
 Over the altar of Almighty Love, 
 
 Before His holy image placed above, 
 
 The never-failing sun-enkindled light, 
 
 The mystic symbol, burn'd intensely bright. 
 
 Below, a youth in rosy vesture stood, 
 
 Feeding with splinters of sweet sandal- wood 
 
 The sacrificial flames, while all around 
 
 The floral offerings made a gorgeous mound 
 
 And strew'd the floor like snow upon the ground.
 
 14 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 When we our offerings with the rest had made 
 
 Before the altar we together pray'd, 
 
 Then backward drew and for the function stay'd. 
 
 With holy-water-sprinkler came a priest 
 
 And like a Hebe at a bridal feast 
 
 O'er all in adoration kneeling there 
 
 Scatter'd rose-odors, filling all the air 
 
 With fragrance fresh as dew from flower-leaf glancing 
 
 And sweet as love's warm dream the soul entrancing. 
 
 So sprinkling, to the altar he return'd, 
 Where still the sacrificial embers burn'd, 
 And there delivering to an acolyte 
 The holy sprinkler, he began the rite 
 Of pouring from a chalice, chased and bright, 
 The glad libation, on the altar shed, 
 While a fair priestess offered snowy bread, 
 And swinging from the hands of neophytes 
 Through the performance of the various rites, 
 From silver censers glowing ruby-red
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 15 
 
 The incense rose and through the temple spread. 
 
 Th' eternal light seen in that fragrant mist 
 
 Look'd like a fire of liquid amethyst. 
 
 The silvery plashing of the summer seas, 
 
 The waving branches of the myrtle-trees, 
 
 But made the silence more perceptible 
 
 That reign'd within, when there arose a swell 
 
 Of melody divine from lyre and lute, 
 
 From Grecian cithern and from breathing flute. 
 
 Inclining unto mine her shapely head, 
 
 My Lady, who was still beside me, said : 
 
 " List now ! the Litany of Love begins : 
 
 Happy is he who this God's favor wins." 
 
 O Eros ! omnipotent Lord ! 
 
 O God by the gods adored ! 
 We sinners beseech thee to hear us : 
 To guide and to guard us be near us ! 
 
 Though thy blessings we often implored 
 When we had not thy sunshine to cheer us, 
 
 Thanksgiving we did not accord :
 
 16 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 No wine on thy altars we poured. 
 
 We confess it, O Lord ; we have erred 
 And the thorns of Thine anger incurr'd. 
 
 Have mercy, omnipotent Lord, 
 
 God by the Gods adored ! 
 
 Remember Thou not our offence ; 
 
 Oh ! rend not our flesh with Thy thorns ; 
 Redeemer and Saviour, far hence 
 
 Be the vengeance humanity mourns. 
 Hearken, O Lord ! to our prayer : 
 Us miserable sinners spare. 
 
 From the pain of unbearable things ; 
 
 From the thirst that can never be sated ; 
 From the passion that rages and stings, 
 
 And whose hunger, if left unabated, 
 Impels to the border of madness ; 
 
 From the gloom of the mortal unmated ; 
 From the sighing unspeakable sadness 
 
 Of the girl to the nunnery fated ;
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 17 
 
 From the loss of all amorous gladness 
 And the power that can ne'er be restored : 
 Deliver us, merciful Lord ! 
 
 From envy and hatred and badness ; 
 
 From hardness of heart when implored ; 
 From the foe to all amorous gladness, 
 
 With his frown that is cruel as a sword ; 
 From the preacher who prattles and proses ; 
 
 From the saint by whom love is abhorred, 
 To whom lilies are sweeter than roses 
 
 And apathy better than passion, 
 Who Beauty and Pleasure opposes 
 
 And bitterly layeth the lash on 
 When the simple his preference discloses ; 
 
 From the prudish who follows the fashion, 
 And though fain for the reddest of roses, 
 
 Is always extolling the lily 
 Till caught in the rose-garden closes
 
 18 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 As frisky and fond as a filly, 
 
 As fervid as formerly chilly, 
 And burning for joys she abhorred : 
 Deliver us, merciful Lord ! 
 
 From hypocrisy, slander, and malice ; 
 
 From the bane of the upas and yew ; 
 
 From the wearer of sorrel and rue, 
 Who breaketh the Bacchanal's chalice 
 And scatters the grapes on the sward : 
 Deliver us, merciful Lord ! 
 
 From the Puritan dullard or stupid 
 With his infamous ethical strictures 
 On the Titianesque roseate pictures 
 
 Of Venus and Psyche and Cupid ; 
 From the foe of the classic antique, 
 
 The iconoclastical Vandal ; 
 
 From the Goth who despises the Greek, 
 
 And the little white foot in a sandal
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 19 
 
 Would conceal with a shoe and a stocking, 
 
 And thinks raimentless shoulders are shocking : 
 
 From these who thy boon have abhorred, 
 
 Deliver us, merciful Lord ! 
 
 From danger, and doubt, and division, 
 From falsehood, deception, and jealousy, 
 
 That fiend at the slightest misprision 
 So ready to plunge in her yellow sea 
 
 The lovers who cannot accord : 
 
 Deliver us, merciful Lor A I 
 
 By the dreams of delirious delight 
 
 And the flutter and leap of the heart, 
 When, as lovers in fancy unite, 
 
 From slumber they suddenly start ; 
 By the joys that so rapidly fleet, 
 
 Frail flakes on a rapturous river, 
 Father and, Giver of all things sweet, 
 
 Thy servants make haste to deliver !
 
 20 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 By the melting sensations that render 
 
 The maiden disdainful and coy 
 So mellow, so yielding, and tender, 
 
 And eager for amorous joy ; 
 By the feverish flush of desire 
 
 The cheeks of her lover adorning, 
 That kindles the air into fire 
 
 As Phoebus the skies in the morning : 
 By the lips that are fain to adhere, 
 
 The stolen sly love-darting glances, 
 And the virginal blushes and fear 
 
 As the moment of transport advances ; 
 By the thrill to the heart when they touch ; 
 
 By the gasps that to lovers are dear, 
 And the throb of the pulse when they clutch ; 
 
 In the name of the Beauty who has no peer, 
 
 Wound er and Healer, hear ! 
 
 By the body embraced in delight 
 And caresses subduingly tender ; 
 
 By the lips as they burn and then bite, 
 And the liquid and tremulous splendor,
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 21 
 
 Like the sun in the waters reflected, 
 
 Of eyes that are sweet as the night, 
 While the labor of love is effected 
 
 And the torches of passion are bright ; 
 By the tricks and the toys and the whims, 
 
 By the neck that is wounded with kisses, 
 By the shudder of delicate limbs, 
 
 By the paps that are bruised in the blisses, 
 By the breasts that convulsively swell, 
 
 By the blood in terrific career, 
 And the mysteries that no man may tell ; 
 
 In the name of the Beauty who has no peer 
 
 O Wounder and Healer, hear ! 
 
 By the rapturous transports that steep 
 The lovers in languor and sleep 
 When the amorous contest is ended 
 And their beings are thoroughly blended ; 
 By the flush and the blush in the morning 
 The cheeks of the damsel adorning, 
 As she thinks of the sports of the night
 
 22 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 And her furious insensate delight, 
 Till she flies with the fleet foot of fear 
 From the bed by her raptures made dear ; 
 In the name of the Dame as the sea- foam white 
 O Woundev and, Healer, hear ! 
 
 By the love that thy godhead allured 
 
 To the regions of Hades to roam ; 
 By the pangs that thy Psyche endured 
 
 When the form that is fair as the foam 
 Of the beautiful sapphire ^Egean, 
 Thy Mother, the proud Kytherean, 
 Imperial, immortal, was reckon'd 
 To the maiden, a mortal, as second ; 
 When in temples that rung with her glory 
 
 The sepulchre's silence prevail'd, 
 And the ashes lay sparkless and hoary 
 
 On the altars where fire never fail'd, 
 And the wreaths on her statues were faded, 
 
 And the cushions were trod on the floor 
 While the air that with incense was laded 
 
 Till it flow'd like a cloud from the door
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 23 
 
 Was sick with the saddening odor 
 
 Of the flowers whose spirits had flown, 
 
 And the reverence men formerly show'd her, 
 That is due to the goddess alone, 
 
 Was paid to a mortal implored 
 
 As a queen and a goddess adored : 
 
 Deliver us, merciful Lord ! 
 
 By the drop that was shed on thy shoulder 
 
 As she gazed in unbearable bliss 
 On the form that had loved to infold her, 
 
 And the mouth that was fashion'd to kiss 
 Grew redder with rain of the roses 
 
 That fell from the delicate lips 
 Where the spirit of rapture reposes 
 
 And flings them as fast as he clips ; 
 By the pain and the grief then endured 
 
 For thy Psyche's most fatal transgression 
 And the gloom that thy glory obscured 
 
 Till she was again thy possession, 
 Again to Thy bosom restor'd : 
 Deliver us, merciful Lord !
 
 24 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 May it please Thee to keep and to strengthen 
 Queen Beauty in worship of Thee, 
 
 While the lists of her victories lengthen 
 O'er continent, island, and sea 
 
 And Thou art still further implored : 
 
 We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord ! 
 
 In Thy faith, fear, and love may it please Thee 
 
 To govern her bosom that she 
 May with increase of glory appease Thee 
 
 When men are rebellious to Thee 
 And Thy Godhead remains unadored : 
 We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord ! 
 
 May it please Thee to be her defender, 
 Her body-guard staunch in all danger, 
 
 And the victory ever to send her 
 Over the foe and the stranger 
 
 To the God by her lovers adored : 
 
 We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord !
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 25 
 
 May it please Thee to bless and preserve 
 
 The loyal to her and to Thee 
 Who from Thy ways have dared not to swerve, 
 
 Who rebellion as madness would flee, 
 And the flowers to Thy altars afford : 
 We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord ! 
 
 May it please Thee to bring into Thy ways 
 All such as have erred from the path, 
 
 And wander through mazes and byways, 
 Incurring the thorns of Thy wrath, 
 
 For their blind self-deception abhorred : 
 
 We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord ! 
 
 May it please Thee to strengthen all those 
 Who in triumph o'er cold Galileans 
 
 Are bearing thy banner of rose, 
 
 And to succour the faint Kythereans, 
 
 Till thy power over all is restored : 
 
 We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord !
 
 26 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 May it please thee the lover and maiden 
 To guard when they recklessly dash on, 
 
 And the trees that are heavily laden 
 
 With the immature fruit of their passion 
 
 To preserve for thy Mother adored : 
 We beseech thee to hear us, good Lord ! 
 
 May it please Thee to give and preserve 
 The sweet fruits of love for the use 
 
 Of Thy children who never shall swerve 
 
 From Thy paths that with flowers are profuse, 
 
 That they may in due time enjoy them, 
 
 With no Nazarenes to annoy them : 
 
 In the name of Thy Psyche, to Thee most dear, 
 
 Wounder and Healer, hear ! 
 
 Now glory to Eros ! and glory 
 
 To his Mother, the warm Kytherean, 
 
 With skin as the sea-foam hoary 
 Of the beautiful blue
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 27 
 
 As when she arose from the waters 
 
 Young Eros was born of her then, 
 So love shall be born of our daughters 
 
 Till the world is a waste without men. 
 
 In the name of Thy Psyche to Thee most dear, 
 
 * 
 O Wounder and Healer, hear ! 
 
 PRIEST : 
 To guide and to guard us, be near us ! 
 
 CHORUS OF WORSHIPPERS : 
 O Son of the Cyprian, hear us ! 
 
 PRIEST AND CHORUS OF WORSHIPPERS : 
 
 In the name of Thy Psyche to Thee most dear, 
 O Wounder and Healer, hear ! 
 
 So chanted they within the flowery fane 
 Of mighty Eros, lord of joy and pain.
 
 28 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 Each supplication with a burden ended, 
 
 In which all voices were most sweetly blended. 
 
 Soon from the temple all began to go, 
 
 Some gay and sprightly, others sad and slow. 
 
 " Some have the roses, others have the thorns ; 
 
 One wight rejoices, while another mourns," 
 
 My lady said ; and still distinct and clear 
 
 Her tristful tones are ever in my ear, 
 
 With those few words in voice so sweet and low, 
 
 " I bear the burden of a secret woe." 
 
 When in the temple there but few remain'd 
 
 She with a passion now no more restrain'd, 
 
 For fear or shame no longer could subdue her, 
 
 Before the effigy of Eros threw her, 
 
 And with hysteric tears and laughter pray'd 
 
 The god to pity and to bless a maid. 
 
 " O Love ! strong Love ! thou hast subdued me wholly 
 
 And made me mad and wild and melancholy.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 29 
 
 O Love ! kind Love ! have mercy on a maiden 
 Whose bosom with desire is overladen. 
 Lo ! I am kneeling at Thy altar, Lord ! 
 
 my Beloved ! O my King adored ! 
 
 1 clasp in mine thy hand so small and sweet, 
 
 And kiss with burning lips thy dainty dimpled feet." 
 At this the youthful priestess standing near 
 
 Said to my lady, whispering low yet clear : 
 
 " Eros awaits thee in the adytum : 
 
 So follow me ! fair lady, rise and come !" 
 
 Then a priest whispered in my earnest ear 
 
 In such wise as my lady could not hear : 
 
 " Venus awaits thee in the adytum : 
 
 So follow me : when thither thou hast come 
 
 Love will elect thee as his delegate 
 
 To lead thy lady to his blest estate. 
 
 There in the rose-light of that wealthy shrine 
 
 Each shall suppose each other is divine,
 
 30 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 And when a Hebe and a Ganymede 
 
 Present the nectar, ye are gods indeed ; 
 
 And in your transports Love with joy will hear, 
 
 ' Ah darling god !' and ' Ah sweet goddess dear !' 
 
 Imagining ye hold within your arms 
 
 Not human beauties, but celestial charms." 
 
 Then said the priestess (for my lady stay'd 
 
 Upon her knees, although no more she pray'd) : 
 
 " Fair Lady, rise ! and unto Eros come : 
 
 The god awaits thee in the adytum." 
 
 She rose : the priest said, " Come." I follow'd him 
 
 From this my vision grows obscure and dim.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 31 
 
 The Love Prayer 
 Of Giovanna II., Queen of Naples. 
 
 Nee tantum niveo gavisa est ulla columbo 
 Compar, quae multo dicitur improbius 
 
 Oscula mordenti semper decerpere rostra ; 
 
 Quam quae praecipue multivola est mulier. 
 
 Catullus, Carm. 68, 125. 
 
 " Not with more ardor bills the milk-white dove 
 Than woman raging in excess of love ." 
 
 Old Translation. 
 
 Aphrodite,* goddess dear ! 
 Bend thy pale-pink shell-like ear : 
 Hear me, goddess, hear, oh hear ! 
 By thy love of blest Anchises 
 
 And of him whose white thigh bled, 
 Him thy love immortalises, 
 
 Dear Adonis, darling dead. 
 
 Pronounced as if written Ahfrawdheetee, with the accent on the third 
 syllable. The dh sounds softly as th in this.
 
 32 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 Princess of the blue Aegean, 
 
 Queen of Cyprus, Cytherean, 
 
 The Queen of bright Parthenope 
 
 Will thy humble vassal be, 
 
 If thou wilt but grant her prayer. 
 
 Goddess, let me not despair. 
 
 Burning like the Lesbian Maid, 
 
 A lovesick Queen implores thine aid. 
 
 Thou knowest what it is to feel 
 
 The wound that Love alone can heal. 
 
 Thou wilt not my pangs despise : 
 
 Thou knowest how they agonise 
 
 Thou knowest, and canst sympathise. 
 
 Longings that we cannot quell 
 
 Unfulfill'd are burning hell 
 
 Till gratified in heaven we dwell. 
 
 Ah ! let not beauty bear the shame 
 
 Of an unrequited flame. 
 
 Ah ! let not Royalty be abased ; 
 
 Thou art Royal and highly placed. 
 
 So be kind, thou Royal dame, 
 
 Nor let a queen rejection shame.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 33 
 
 By thy remembrance of Anchises 
 And him thy grief immortalises, 
 Make him love her whom she prizes 
 More than all her realm contains : 
 Make him love and ease her pains. 
 Caraccioli ! Caraccioli ! 
 Carissimo Caraccioli !t 
 Give, oh ! give him unto me ! 
 Craving sleep, yet lacking slumber, 
 While the weary hours I number, 
 Turning, tossing in my bed, 
 Till the shades of night have fled, 
 How often to myself I've said, 
 Could I, could I clasp him now, 
 Kissing his eyelids and his brow, 
 And a little turtle-bite 
 Giving his lips when in the height 
 Of our amorous delight, 
 With what joy my heart would beat ! 
 With sensations, oh ! how sweet ! 
 All my limbs would thrill and thrill 
 While I drink of love my fill 
 
 fPronounced as if written Caratcholee', with the accent on the second and 
 fourth (last) syllables. Caraccioli was the Chastelard of this Italian Mary Stuart. 
 Giovanna II. (pronounced as if written JovannaJ and the Queen of Scots are 
 historical parallels. The crossing of their loves led to some of the most terrible 
 disasters in the history of Europe.
 
 34 THE LITAKY OF LOVE 
 
 Maenad-like at my own will. 
 
 But this boon how shall I gain ? 
 
 How my heart's desire attain ? 
 
 A girl is hapless : 'tis her lot 
 
 To feel the fire of passion hot, 
 
 And neither, through opinion's sway, 
 
 Humor it and give it play, 
 
 Nor, because the world would frown, 
 
 Its keen pangs with sweet wine drown, 
 
 And to grow half-dead with fear 
 
 Of her guardian's tongue severe, 
 
 Or continue to endure 
 
 Ills that love alone can cure. 
 
 And when a queen, her lot is harder, 
 
 If a woman's shame retard her ; 
 
 For no mortal being above her, 
 
 Not a mortal being her equal, 
 None dare tell her that they love her, 
 
 Lest they find a fatal sequel ; 
 For, if not disposed to smile, 
 She may think it insult vile 
 That a man, who is beneath her
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 35 
 
 As the air is under ether, 
 
 Should imagine that his queen 
 
 Could her person so demean 
 
 As to let him kiss and press her, 
 
 And with wanton hand caress her. 
 
 Thus, to gain her heart's desire, 
 
 She must then reveal her fire : 
 
 She must turn the wooer then 
 
 And play the part that's play'd by men. 
 
 Queen of Cyprus, Cytherea, 
 Aphrodite Basilea ! 
 
 The Queen of bright Parthenope 
 Will thy humble vassal be, 
 If thou wilt but give thine aid 
 To a hapless lovesick maid. 
 
 1 have thought out a device : 
 Caraccioli detesteth mice : 
 When he plays at chess with me, 
 From a cage I'll set some free : 
 My bedroom door ajar shall be :
 
 36 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 There I'll fly, and, no doubt, he, 
 
 The doors being locked, will follow me, 
 
 And there by sighs and looks he'll see 
 
 What love for him is burning me. 
 
 I will wear a dress so low 
 
 As my voluptuous breasts shall show, 
 
 Their wealth of whiteness all revealing, 
 
 My dainty rosebuds just concealing. 
 
 Are they not as full and white 
 
 As ever lover in delight 
 
 Fondled through a luscious night ? 
 
 Will he not to me then yield ? 
 
 Or hath he a love-proof shield ? 
 
 Proof against all amorous arms ? 
 
 Our royal person's powerful charms ? 
 
 O Cyprian Queen ! a Queen befriend : 
 
 Thy magic zone, thy cestus lend, 
 
 Lest I be brought to blushy shame 
 
 By rinding not a mutual flame. 
 
 But if resist me then he can, 
 
 He is more or less than man, 
 
 And soon shall know that love so spurn'd
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 37 
 
 Is into bitter hatred turn'd. 
 
 As his Hero young Leander, 
 
 When he saw, could not withstand her, 
 
 As by Helen Alexander 
 
 Even when her first he view'd 
 
 In Sparta's Court quite vanquish'd stood, 
 
 And by thee the Queen in turn 
 
 For the Prince was made to burn ; 
 
 As when to Zeus on Ide surveying 
 
 Trojans and Greeks each other slaying, 
 
 Arm'd with thy casstus Hera came, 
 
 Soon as he saw his royal dame 
 
 The god through his immortal frame 
 
 Felt the soft and subtle flame : 
 
 So make my beloved feel 
 
 That flame through all his being steal 
 
 When to-day I let him see 
 
 What a fire consumeth me. 
 
 Yet will I not be lightly won : 
 From what I chase I'll seem to run,
 
 38 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 And long and warmly shall he sue 
 Ere I suffer him to do 
 What I court, yet seem to shun : 
 So shall his love be first confess'd, 
 Nor mine till then shall be expressed. 
 
 Queen of Cyprus, Cytherea, 
 Aphrodite Basilea ! 
 Grant me what I ask of thee : 
 The Queen of bright Parthenope 
 Will thy humble vassal be.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 39 
 
 A Sea- Litany. 
 
 To the foam-flecked waves of the wan waste sea, 
 
 Where the choral waters moan'd, 
 I came with an amorous litany 
 
 To the midnight moon intoned. 
 
 Those waters sway'd by the Power above, 
 
 As I by the Power below, 
 For the rest from the mad unrest as of love 
 
 Were fain in a port to flow. 
 
 And I for the rest that alone is found 
 In the bay of the loved one's bosom 
 
 With its warm white hills, and each one crown'd 
 With a delicate rose-red blossom.
 
 40 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 " O Moon ! who givest no rest to the sea 
 That yearns to the land to reach, 
 
 O Love ! who givest no rest to me, 
 We kneel and your mercy beseech ! 
 
 The sea is fain for the beachy lands, 
 
 To lie in murmurous rest, 
 And I for my lady's arms and hands 
 
 To take me to her breast." 
 
 While I to the midnight moon intoned 
 
 That amorous litany, 
 Its burden the choral waters moan'd 
 
 With an eldritch melody ; 
 
 And their flake-white feathers from foamy plumes 
 
 Above and around were strewn 
 While the surf sent up its incense-fumes 
 
 To the pale unpitying moon.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 41 
 
 Love the Supreme Power. 
 
 They say that we live in a practical age 
 When love and romance are dead, 
 
 And only found in the novelist's page, 
 Or the poet's, that is not read ; 
 
 That now, in short, is the tradesman's reign 
 When everything by the pound is weigh'd, 
 
 And each man reckons the loss or gain, 
 Or ever a step is made ; 
 
 And Beauty, and Strength, and Genius too, 
 
 Are all to be bought and sold 
 At the market rate, or false or true, 
 
 For the mightiest power is gold.
 
 42 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 But howsoever it be, I say, 
 
 In earth below or heaven above, 
 A greater than God on His Judgment Day 
 
 Is Lord of us all, and that is Love ; 
 
 Whom, for all Christ's work, they cannot quell, 
 Till the earth as the moon be cold ; 
 
 Yet Him, since he will not buy nor sell, 
 They would slay on the altar of Gold.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 43 
 
 Secret Love. 
 To La Belle Dame de Mon Cceur. 
 
 Some four months gone as your eyes beam'd brightly 
 My heart beat fast, but it beat not lightly, 
 
 For a wound was there and the wound was made 
 By the arrows of eyes that wound not slightly. 
 
 And the wound will bleed till thy lips are laid 
 On the lips where never the fire shall fade, 
 The fire of the kisses of lips press'd tightly, 
 While the heart beats quick and the blood is sprightly. 
 
 Some four months gone had my love been obey'd, 
 Some four months gone had the words been said, 
 Then the care and the doubt and the fear felt nightly 
 Had not on my heart for these four months prey'd.
 
 44 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 If all that I've done is against all norm, 
 Forgive me, sweet, for my heart is warm, 
 And Love is the cause that I do not rightly, 
 For Love never yet would to laws conform.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 45 
 
 Loves Longing for Nirvana. 
 
 To La Belle Dame de Mon Cceur. 
 
 " Ah ! sweet," said I not to thee yesternight, 
 
 " I would that in the heat of our delight 
 
 Our flesh were melted into one fair mould 
 
 As molten silver with the glowing gold, 
 
 And that my lava-blood were blent with thine, 
 
 Thy bright blue blood, as wine is blent with wine, 
 
 And our souls blended through one burning frame 
 
 As one flame blended with another flame." 
 
 And tfcou didst answer, nestling nigh to me, 
 
 " Yea, love, I would that it might be, 
 
 And that we might not ever live apart, 
 
 But be one soul, one body, and one heart." 
 
 So Beauty craves for Love, so Love for Beauty, 
 
 Spurning the trammels that we misname duty ; 
 
 So in their passion each one fondly raves, 
 
 Till two are fused in one, so each intensely craves !
 
 46 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 A Lover s Ballad. 
 
 Tripping lightly, little .Alice, 
 Hither bring my golden chalice. 
 We will reck not, little Alice, 
 Of the gloomy kill-joy's malice : 
 We will never cease our sipping, 
 Never cease our loving lipping, 
 All our cares in blisses drowning, 
 Heeding not his bitter frowning, 
 Nor his censure, nor his snarling, 
 My rose-bud-breasted dainty darling ! 
 
 Your hair is long and fine and flaxen, 
 Your brow is broad, your forehead waxen : 
 Of softest azure is your eye, 
 And your lip of vermeil dye : 
 The tint upon your tender cheek
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 47 
 
 Is like the morning's first faint streak : 
 Your neck is rather short, I'm bound 
 To tell you, and your shoulders round : 
 Your figure is by no means tall, 
 And your waist is scarcely small, 
 But then your bosoms' rise and fall 
 Is so voluptuous, and your feet 
 And hands so little, white and neat, 
 That all must say, you're far more sweet 
 Than any girl they ever meet. 
 
 When in ball-dress, gem besprinkled, 
 As the Milky Way you twinkled,* 
 You were sweeter still to muse on, 
 As with satin sandal shoes on, 
 My tender snowy-footed fairy, 
 Plump and dreamy and yet airy, 
 Like a zephyr- speeded cloud 
 You floated through the merry crowd, 
 The best of dancers, though not fleetest : 
 But I feel that you are sweetest 
 
 She attended a fancy-dress ball as the Milky Way, in a dress of white 
 muslin and tulle sprinkled with stars and gems.
 
 48 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 When upon the down you've laid you 
 And the silken curtains shade you : 
 Then I see that Heaven made you, 
 With your passion-kindling graces, 
 For those sleepy soft embraces 
 Lovers share in twilight places. 
 
 Yes, you are a woman truly, 
 
 And you love sweet dalliance duly ; 
 
 For the vital system in you 
 
 Is developed completely. 
 Some, no doubt, would like to thin you, 
 
 For they say you look so sweetly 
 That you are a source of danger 
 Even to him who is a stranger 
 To those fierce yet gentle fires 
 That Amathusia's Queen inspires ; 
 And true men will always court well 
 Women who can kiss and sport well, 
 When the dews are falling lightly, 
 And the stars are shining brightly.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 49 
 
 My pretty pet, my darling Alice, 
 When you come thus to me daily, 
 Tripping lightly, tripping gaily, 
 
 With my brimming golden chalice, 
 And when for sweet dalliance nightly, 
 You come gliding, tiptoe, lightly, 
 
 We are happier, darling Alice, 
 
 Than a Rajah in his palace.
 
 5 o THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 To Our Lady of Rapture. 
 
 A Hymn by A Modern Priestess. 
 
 11 All that live and view the sun 
 
 Ever after pleasure run." 
 
 Menander. 
 
 " What is lively, what is pleasant, 
 If lovely Venus is not present ? 
 Good-bye to life and all that's fair 
 When she shall cease to be my care." 
 
 Kallimachus. 
 
 hominum divomque voluptas 
 
 Alma Venus Lucretius, i. 
 
 Dux vita dia voluptas Id. ii. 
 
 Ah ! sweet Aphrodite, what made us desert you 
 For the false frigid creeds of the Church and not Virtue ? 
 Ay, the false frigid creeds ; for can Virtue require 
 That the love of bright beauty and youthful desire
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 51 
 
 As an evil should ever be sternly repressed, 
 
 Though, like hunger and thirst, 'tis innate in the breast ? 
 
 Now Nature revolts from the cold Galilean 
 
 To acknowledge the reign of the warm Kyther6an. 
 
 If the bills of the nations, whose premier thou art, 
 
 He refuses to sign when presented by thee, 
 Then the king with his crown and his sceptre must part 
 
 And thou be the queen of humanity. 
 He reigned and you ruled ; but now you shall reign, 
 O Queen of Delights ! o'er the world once again. 
 You approve, he inhibits in language uncouth, 
 The roses and raptures of amorous youth : 
 You smile and he frowns as the warm wanton sips 
 The rich, luscious wine from her lover's dear lips, 
 When their eyes swim with joy, and they kiss and then 
 
 tingle 
 In pleasure ecstatic, compress and commingle. 
 
 Is thy God, then, a demon, O Christian, to thee, 
 That in life's varied garden he planted a tree, 
 Whose fruit, though untried, was to kindle desire,
 
 52 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 And forbids thee to taste it on pain of his ire ? 
 
 Ay, a demon indeed, if the story is true, 
 
 And well might he, Goddess, the day deeply rue 
 
 When the myrtle-crown'd Greek from thy temples 
 
 withdrew 
 
 To a statueless shrine and a dull dreary cell 
 To conjure up visions of heaven and hell, 
 To pore upon volumes and eat out his core 
 
 In praying and fasting, abstaining from love, 
 Ever waging on passion unnatural war, 
 
 Lest all chance he should lose of salvation above. 
 
 Ah ! the stupid old saints have they ever well slept ? 
 But the sunny-bright ardor of love that has kept 
 The hearts of two lovers pulsating together 
 Like the zephyrless air of the warm summer weather, 
 When in sense-soothing languor serenely it ends, 
 Then the boon of soft sleep on their eyelids descends 
 As the night -dews on flowers that are fainting away 
 From the kisses of Phoebus through all the long day.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 53 
 
 O amorous Adons, from soft dreams awaking 
 With melting sensations your sleep ever breaking, 
 O lily-like ladies who languishing lie 
 
 In the vigil of love till the day slowly beam, 
 And ye, O voluptuous virgins who sigh, 
 
 Kiss, caress, and embrace in an amorous dream, 
 And awake with a blush and a passion-lit eye, 
 Now the sacrifice make and acknowledge her reign, 
 And ye'll sleep the sweet sleep of your childhood again : 
 But their days shall be joyless and sleepless their nights 
 Who scorn the fair Goddess's mystical rites.
 
 54 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 A Victim to Venus. 
 
 [Gogol, the great Russian novelist, being disappointed in love, foreswore all 
 women, and abandoned himself to the most seductive and engrossing vice, the most 
 voluptuous indulgences. Finally, his suicidal excesses brought on a violent fit of 
 remorse ; he cast himself at the base of a statue of Eros, and there, all through a 
 cold winter's night, wept and sobbed and prayed, imploring God to have mercy on 
 him. At dawn he died, an utter wreck, a victim to unrequited love. Verily, Venus 
 and Eros are mighty divinities, and are greater than Jehovah,] 
 
 " For all Christ's work, this Venus is not dead, 
 But reddens at the mouth with blood of men" 
 
 Swinburne. 
 
 " The cruel madness of love, 
 The honey of poison-flowers and all the measureless ill." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 " Dead ?" " Aye, dead !" "And yet so young ! 
 
 Why in health his life thus flung 
 
 Away at thirty ? With him goes 
 
 The secret of his voiceless woes ?" 
 
 "In voluptuous vices sodden, 
 
 He on Heaven's laws had trodden,
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 55 
 
 For ideal Love and Beauty 
 
 Scorning toil and spurning duty, 
 
 Life and life's unvalued treasures 
 
 Yielding for unnatural pleasures. 
 
 Let him rest, nor blame his badness 
 
 Whom Passion stung to such a madness. 
 
 Gazing on ideal charms, 
 
 He clasped a goddess in his arms. 
 
 Her beauty made his pulses riot 
 
 And robbed his days and nights of quiet. 
 
 Ye who pluck the rue and sorrel 
 
 For the myrtle, draw your moral. 
 
 " Lilies that fester," says the poet, 
 
 " Smell far worse than weeds " you know it. 
 
 Vice is but virtue driven mad, 
 
 Nature cross'd turns good to bad ; 
 
 Thus by fate the most accurst 
 
 The best of us become the worst. 
 
 Men who would be angels fall 
 
 To depths of vice beyond recall.* 
 
 *" This filthy, marriage-hindering Mammon makes 
 The harlot of the cities : Nature crost 
 Is mother of the foul adulteries 
 That saturate soul with body." 
 
 Tennyson.
 
 56 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 Cynic, sad voluptuary, 
 As your life your death shall be. 
 Let us hope that Death, his wife, 
 Kinder than his mistress, Life, 
 Lulls him to a dreamless, deep, 
 Oblivious, and endless sleep !"
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 57 
 
 Leila to Lover. 
 
 A Ballad of Complaint. 
 
 I'm just as chaste, indeed, I'm quite 
 As modest as your wedded dame : 
 If I give and take delight, 
 
 So does she ; then where's the shame ? 
 Yet I am under social ban, 
 Although I am no courtesan : 
 Because I am nor maid nor wife, 
 They say I lead a shameful life ; 
 And all because I do a thing 
 That, if my love had put a ring 
 With mystic words upon my hand, 
 Had not as sin and shame been bann'd ; 
 And then what's now illicit pleasure 
 I might have had beyond all measure
 
 58 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 Without the world's reproach and frown 
 That seeks to drag the mistress down. 
 But then, perchance, it had not been, 
 Because allow'd, a bliss so keen ! 
 The very bars, that, ere we meet, 
 Must be o'ercome, make us more sweet 
 And fonder far to one another 
 Than spouses ever with each other. 
 And still we've all the dear delights, 
 The easy days and luscious nights, 
 Without the cares, of wedded wights, 
 And that satiety of things 
 That from too much indulgence springs. 
 The world may rail at love's delights 
 When hallowed not by solemn rites, 
 But while the world's itself defective 
 I care not for its stern invective, 
 And think, when in my love's embrace, 
 The world presents a smiling face.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 59 
 
 Lover to Leila. 
 
 A Ballad of Consolation. 
 
 Ah ! lily-limb'd girl ! do they say it is sin 
 
 To kiss and compress from the evening till morning ? 
 While the winter's without and the summer's within 
 
 Let us pleasure each other, the Puritans scorning. 
 
 Do they say you are Vice ? If that lady's so sleek 
 With eyes of soft azure and well-rounded features, 
 
 A bosom abundant and rosy-red cheek, 
 Then Vice you may be and the sweetest of creatures. 
 
 But if Virtue's a damsel love-kindling and warm, 
 Not an icy-cold virgin of angular features 
 
 Concealing her poorness, not beauties, of form, 
 Then Virtue you are and the sweetest of creatures.
 
 60 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 In Bondage. 
 
 A Dream. 
 
 I had a dream, which were it not a dream, 
 
 I should be drifting on a Stygian stream 
 
 Through a dark forest in a leaky boat 
 
 That scarce could keep me on that stream afloat. 
 
 I dream'd that I was wedded, when or where 
 
 I could not tell, to one young widow fair, 
 
 And how it happen'd, or by chance or plot, 
 
 That I was wedded to her, I knew not. 
 
 But so it was, she said, she was my wife, 
 
 And I, ah me ! was bound to her for life. 
 
 We had been long time friends, and here were we 
 
 Bound to each other, I no longer free ! 
 
 We were alone within the bridal room,
 
 AND 01 HER POEMS. 61 
 
 That seemed to me a very cell of doom. 
 
 She stood before me in her robe of night, 
 
 But could not draw me to.the nuptial rite ; 
 
 For I sat weighted with a heavy heart, 
 
 And could not play the loving bridegroom's part. 
 
 Then came she nigh, and, while her hand caress'd, 
 
 Upon my gloomy brow a kiss impress'd : 
 
 It lit no flame, no passion in my breast. 
 
 And she betook her to her lone repose, 
 
 And I sat statue-like. When she arose 
 
 Pallid from her unrest at dawn next morn, 
 
 Pity within my bosom then was born. 
 
 I would have kissed her ; but there came between 
 
 The memory of a maiden, my heart's queen, 
 
 And that kill'd pity ; so my wedded dame 
 
 Remain'd unkiss'd, and lit no mutual flame. 
 
 Then in the rage of one who seeks to burst 
 
 The bonds that bind him with their force accurst, 
 
 Into the streets and public ways I fled : 
 
 " This marriage shall be null and void," I said :
 
 62 THE LITANY OF LOVE 
 
 " Love never made it." But men answered me, 
 " We know not that ; we know the law to be 
 That thou art wedded and canst not go free." 
 And then in heaviness of heart I woke, 
 Which left me not until the daylight broke. 
 
 May, 1900.
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 63 
 
 Loves Crucifixion and 
 Resurrection. 
 
 They know not what they do, these Mammon slaves ; 
 
 They know not it is only love that saves. 
 
 They have no faith in Him, and s o are damn'd ; 
 
 The Paradisian gates on them are slamm'd. 
 
 In their most tragic folly, as of old, 
 
 They crucify Him on a cross of gold, 
 
 Raising the cry that with their folly spreads, 
 
 '< His blood be on ours and our children's heads." 
 
 And it is on them ; in some unthought shape 
 
 The penalty results ; there's no escape. 
 
 For crucified, He lives ; Love never dies, 
 
 But even from the tomb doth re-arise, 
 
 Saviour to those who His behests fulfil, 
 
 Destroyer unto those who baulk His will. 
 
 1900,
 
 The Last Hours of a Lion Heart 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 HENRY C. J. LINGHAM. 
 
 PUBLISHERS, LONDON AND MELBOURNE : MELVILLE, 
 MULLEN AND SLADE. 
 
 PRESS AND OTHER NOTICES. 
 
 HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN 
 
 in a communication from Buckingham Palace dated December 14, 
 1899, has signified her acceptance of a special copy of Mr. Henry 
 C. J. Lingham's book, " The Last Hours of a Lion Heart," which 
 has been recently published. Her Majesty has also thanked the 
 author for his address to her on the occasion of the presentation. 
 The Age, Jan. 2oth, 1900. 
 
 LORD KITCHENER 
 
 before leaving Khartoum for the theatre of war, despatched a letter 
 to Mr. Henry C. J. Lingham, the author of "The Last Hours of a 
 Lion Heart," thanking him " most heartily for his delightful 
 threnody " on General Gordon. The letter is dated from the 
 palace which was occupied by Gordon, and just outside of which 
 he was slain. The Age, Jan. 26th, 1900.
 
 HIS EXCELLENCY SIR JOHN MADDEN. 
 
 " I am much pleased to learn that Her Majesty has been pleased 
 to accept 'The Last Hours of a Lion Heart;' for it is quite an 
 unusual thing. I felt assured, however, that the subject and the 
 merit of the work would cause her to make an exception in its 
 favor, and I congratulate you accordingly. The poem is, if I may 
 venture to say so, an excellent one, and in some parts it is worthy 
 to the fullest of the splendid and moving topic which inspired it. 
 It will not fail, I feel sure, to attract and gratify a large number of 
 the literary epicures of England, who must always be the harvest of 
 every author of the higher merit. The field in Australia is still 
 very small, and its people all too busy with material things either 
 to learn or afford as yet appreciation of a lofty literature. The 
 externals of the work, too, are quite exceptionally good and 
 appropriate, and claim great credit for your publisher as well as 
 for yourself." 
 
 PROFESSOR TUCKER 
 
 (Chair of Classical Philology, Melbourne University). 
 
 " I think that the poem is both verbally and rhythmically 
 highly pleasing as well as fluent, and that the tone is sustained at a 
 high level. Yet I much prefer the shorter pieces and the work in 
 sonnet form and in saying this I refer particularly to the sonnet 
 entitled Thalia (p. 91), which, to my mind, shows possibilities of a 
 high order of workmanship." 
 
 THE AUSTRALASIAN. 
 
 "We get a striking picture of the hero pensive within his 
 palace walls, oppressed by some prescience of coming ill 
 resignation struggling with awful loneliness and despair."
 
 THE ARGUS. 
 
 " It is written, for the most part, in a cultured, scholarly style, 
 and the theme is generally handled with dignity and aptness. The 
 defect of Mr. Lingham's versification is its unevenness of merit. 
 After maintaining an admirable level of execution for awhile, he 
 every now and then disappoints us by a descent to angularity of 
 style and awkwardness of diction. These are not the prevailing 
 characteristics of the poem by any means. They are the occasional 
 blemishes which careful revision could remove altogether. In 
 certain passages Mr. Lingham is particularly happy, as when he 
 reflects that it was well Gordon fell early after the inrush of the 
 
 Dervish hordes Included in the same volume is a 
 
 collection of lyrics and satires. Some of the former are pleasantly 
 musical, as, for example, 'To the Empress of My Heart.' " 
 
 THE AGE. 
 
 " The volume, which is entitled ' The Last Hours of a Lion 
 Heart,' shows the author to possess a ready and apt control of 
 rhythm and rhyme, a wealth of classical allusion and metaphor, 
 and a poetic imagination." 
 
 THE GLASGOW HERALD. 
 
 " His chief poem, ' The Last Hours of a Lion Heart,' is the 
 most elaborate elegy that has yet been devoted to the memory of 
 
 Gordon, and in certain respects it is the best It is an 
 
 able effort in versification, with many bright and some brilliant 
 passages."
 
 MR. JAMES SMITH 
 (" J.S." of The Argus). 
 
 " The principal poem seems to me to improve as it proceeds, 
 and there are many fine passages in the twenty latter pages of it. 
 If it suggests Adonais at times, it does so by the similarity of the 
 sentiment which pervades it, and not in any way as an echo of it. 
 Of the minor poems I prefer Wealth and Glory, Clair de Lune, 
 The Victorian Old Colonists' Song, The Miserere, and The Angelas." 
 
 THE LEADER. 
 
 " His poem shows feeling, sentiment, and an appropriate use 
 of language, though there is a disposition to sacrifice natural 
 expression to classical form and drapery." 
 
 THE WEEKLY TIMES. 
 
 " The memorial poem will be welcomed by admirers of the 
 soldier hero of Khartoum." 
 
 THE SUN. 
 
 " Ancient warriors and gods, historic heroes, and modern 
 greatness, are mixed up in succession. When Mr. Lingham forgets 
 all about the classic form of a threnody, and lets his heart direct his 
 thought, he gives us the best of his verse. He gets occasionally a 
 majestic music in it that is pleasant to linger over. Among the 
 lyrics in the volume is a charming little trifle, ' A Ballad of Ennui.' 
 which is certainly the best of the collection."
 
 MELBOURNE PUNCH. 
 
 " The Last Hours of a Lion Heart," by H. C. J. Lingham (Mel- 
 ville, Mullen, and Slade), is the title-piece of a little volume of 
 poems decidedly classic in flavor, and scholarly in execution. . 
 . There is also a cluster of lyrics, prettily inspired and feelingly 
 expressed, and at the end half a dozen satires, chiefly directed 
 against the unhappy critic, whose vocabulary is not entirely made 
 up of the language of laudation. The modest Mr. Lingham, how- 
 ever, has no very solid cause to thus anticipate adverse criticism 
 The volume is published by subscription, among the sixty subscribers 
 being Lord Brassey, Sir John Madden, most of the University 
 Professors, and many well-known society people." 
 
 TABLE TALK. 
 
 " The poem which gives a title to the book was inspired by the 
 death of Gordon, and displays intense admiration for that gallant 
 soldier's fearlessness and nobility of soul. . . . Throughout Mr. 
 Lingham's work modesty is the predominant note. To the muse he 
 gives all credit for the ' sweet, sad song,' and in a lyric addressed 
 to ' Marie ' there is the same self-effacement." 
 
 THE CRITIC. 
 
 (Adelaide.) 
 
 " The author is at his best .... when wielding a satirical 
 pen, and some of his shorter pieces are decidedly good. In these 
 days, when the trail of Kipling is over all, a work like Mr. Lingham's 
 is a refreshing change."
 
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