m^^mmmm- 'fcA**., ,s.';^*^'^^^^A, h%m ^'^AAA/ W^WSiiii 7MH '*A/^' f^MtMnmm ik^A tm^m^' -^r\A^f^w/ GIFT OF A. i\ Morrison . A . &.A . A/MIP^ "^^""««/S^M(^^.. -T^f^T^m: SSa^, ^■^/^^■iVAA^^ '*^AaA/>A»^^, ^AMf^VV^ A^^^v^Ay^A, Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/compani6npoetsil00bostrich C^^ii^ (0^ c^Q:t Page Comb into thb Garden, Maud 5 A Voice by the Cedar-Tree 8 let the Solid Ground . '9 Birds in the High Hall-Garden lo Go NOT, Happy Day ii The Bugle Song iz Tears, Idle Tears 14 Song to the Swallow ' 15 Enid's Song 16 Vivien's Song , . , , 16 Elaine's Song . 17 Song of the Novice to Queen Guineyere .... 18 King out, Wild Bells 18 Break, Break, Break 20 Come not, when I am Dead 21 The Poet's Song 22 Lilian 2Z The Owl 24 To THE Same 25 A Spirit haunts 26 Claribel 27 A Pirge 28 The Ballad of Oriana 30 The Miller's Daughter 34 The Merman ' • 35 The Mermaid 37 The Sisters 39 Love that hath us in the Net 40 As thro' the Land at Eve we went 41 iv CONTENTS. Sweet and Low 42 TuY Voice is heard 43 Lady Clara Verb de Verb 4j The Death op the Old Year 46 Home they brought her Warrior dead 48 Our Enemies have fallen 49 The May Queen 50 New Year's Eve 52 The Sea Fairies .......... 58 The Deserted House 60 Ask me no more 61 Now sleeps the Crimson Petal . ...... 62 Come down, Maid . . . 6j The Golden Year 64 St. Agnes' Eve 65 A Farewell ■> . . . .67 The Beggar Maid . . . , 68 Move Eastward, Happy Earth 69 The Skipping-Rope 70 The Sailor-Boy 71 The Islet 72 The Ringlet ^ .... 73 The Brook 75 A Welcome to Alexandra 78 Odb 80 My Life is full of Weary Days 82 Home they brought him Slain with Spears .... 82 Ckadlb Sono 83 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. COME into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown ; Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone ; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves. And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky, — To faint in the light of the sun she loves. To faint in his light, and to die. All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon ; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in tune : Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon. SONGS FOP. ALL SEASONS. I said to the lily, " There is but one "With whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone ? She is weary of dance and play." Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day ; Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. I said to the rose, " The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, For one that will never be thine ? But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, " For ever and ever, mine." And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the hall ; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all ; From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes. To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. But the rose was awake all night for your salce, Knowing your promise to me ; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sigh'd for the dawu and thee. Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. Queen lily and rose in one ; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls To the flowers, and be their sun. SONGS FOB ALL SEASONS. There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear ; She is coming, my life, my fate ; The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near " ; And the white rose weeps, *' She is late ^* ; The larkspur listens, " I hear, I hear " ; And the lily whispers, " I wait." She is coming, my own, my sweet ; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed ; My dust would hear her and beat. Had I lain for a century dead ; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. A VOICE BY THE CEDAR-TREE. A VOICE by the cedar-tree. In the meadow under the Hall ! She is singing an air that is known to me, A passionate ballad, gallant and gay, A martial song like a trumpet^s call I Singing alone in the morning of life, In the happy morning of life and of May, Singing of men that in battle array. Ready in heart and ready in hand, March with banner and bugle and fife To the death, for their native land. LET THE SOLID GROUND. Maud with her exquisite face, And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky, And feet like sunny gems on an English green, Maud in the light of her youth and her grace, Singing of Deaths and of Honor that cannot die. Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean And myself so languid and base. Silence, beautiful voice ! Be still, for you only trouble the mind With a joy in which I cannot rejoice, A glory I shall not find. Still ! I will hear you no more, For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice But to move to the meadow and fall before Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore. Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind, Not her, not her, but a voice. O LET THE SOLID GROUND. OLET the solid ground Not fail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet. Then let come what come may. What matter if I go mad, I shall have had my day. Let the sweet heavens endure. Not close and darken above me lO SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, Before I am quite quite sure That there is one to love me ; Then let come what come may To a life that has been so sad, I shall have had my day. BIRDS IN THE HIGH HALL-GARDEN. BIRDS in the high Hall-garden When twilight was falling, Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud, They were crying and calling. Where was Maud ? in our wood ; And I, who else, was with her. Gathering woodland lilies. Myriads blow together. Birds in our wood sang Ringing thro' the valleys, Maud is here, here, here In among the lilies. I kissed her slender hand, She took the kiss sedately; Maud is not seventeen. But she is tall and stately. I to cry out on pride Who have won her fixvor ! O Maud were sure of Heaven If lowliness could save her. GO NOT, HAPPY DAY. n I know the way she went Home with her maiden posy, For her feet have touchM the meadows And left the daisies rosy. Birds in the high Hall-garden Were crying and calling to her, Where is Maud, Maud, Maud, One is come to woo her. Look, a horse at the door, And little King Charles is snarling. Go back, my lord, across the moor, You are not her darling. GO NOT, HAPPY DAY. GO not, happy day, From the shining fields. Go not, happy day, Till the maiden yields. Kosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks. And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Falters from her lips, Pass and blush the news O'er the blowing ships. 12 SONGS FOB ALL SEASONS, Over blowing seas, Over seas at rest, Pass the happy news, Blush it thro' the West; Till the red man dance By his red cedar-tree, And the red man's babe Leap, beyond the sea. Blush from West to East, Blush from East to West, Till the West is East, Blush it thro' the West. '' Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. T" THE BUGLE SONG. ''HE splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story ; The long light shakes across the lakes. And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ; THE BUGLE SONG. O sweet and far, from cliff and scar. The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river : Our echoes roll from soul to soul. And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 14 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS. TEARS, IDLE TEARS. TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering oh a sail. That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly glows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others ; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, O Death in Life, the days that are no more. SONG TO THE SWALLOW. 15 SONG TO THE SWALLOW. O SWALLOW, Swallow, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. O tell her. Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North. O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill. And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love. Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green 1 O tell her. Swallow, that thy brood is flown : Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made. tell her, brief is life but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South, O Swallow, flying from the golden woods. Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine. And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.'' l6 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS, ENID^S SONG. TURN, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud ; Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud ; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown ; "With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands ; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; For man is man and master of his fate. Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd ; Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. VIVIEN'S SONG. IN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours. Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers ; Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all. ELAINE'S SONG. The little rift within the lover's lute. Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, That rotting inward slowly moulders all. It is not worth the keeping : let it go : But shall it ? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all. ELAINE'S SONG. SWEET is true love though given in vain, in vain ; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain ; I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. Love, art thou sweet ? then hitter death must be : Love, thou art bitter ; sweet is death to me. Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away. Sweet death that seems to make us loveless clay, 1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I. I fain would follow love, if that could be ; I needs must follow death, who calls for me ; Call and I follow, I follow ! let me die. 2 17 l8 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. SONG OF THE NOVICE TO QUEEN GUINEVERE. LATE, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill ! Late, late, so late ! but we can enter stilL Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. No light had we : for that we do repent ; And learning this, the bridegroom wiir relent* Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. No light : so late ! and dark and chill the night ; O let us in, that we may find the light ! Too late, too late : ye cannot enter now. Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet ? O let us in, though late, to kiss his feet ! No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now. RING OUT, WILD BELLS. RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying iii the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. RING OUT, WILD BELLS. 19 Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going, let him go: Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind. For those that here Ave see no more ; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause. And ancient forms of party strife ; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times ; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right. Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease. Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. 20 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! well for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay ! COME NOT, WHEN I AM DEAD, 2 1 And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break. At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. COME NOT, WHEN I AM DEAD. COME not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou would'st not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry ; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime, I care no longer, being all unblest ; "Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie : Go by, go by. 22 SONGS FOB ALL SEASONS. THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He passed by the town, and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun. And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place. And chanted a melody loud and sweet. That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet. The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, The snake slipt under a spray, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak And stared, with his foot on the prey. And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay. For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away." LILIAN. IRY, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Clasps her tiny hands above me, Laughing all she can ; A' LILIAN. 23 She '11 not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian. When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs, She, looking through and through me Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks : So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks ; Then away she flies. Prithee weep, May Lilian ! Gayety without eclipse Wearieth me. May Lilian : Through my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth : Prithee weep, May Lilian. Praying all I can, If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee. Fairy Lilian. 24 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. THE OWL. WHEN cats run home and light is come. And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round ; Alone and warming his five wits The white owl in the belfry sits. When merry milkmaids click the latch. And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay. Twice or thrice his roundelay ; Alone and warming his five wits The white owl in the belfry sits. TO THE OWL. 25 TO THE SAME. THY tuwhits are lulled, I wot. Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, Which upon the dark afloat, So took echo with delight. So took echo with delight, That her voice, untuneful grown, Wears all day a fainter tone. I would mock thy chant anew ; But I cannot mimic it ; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo. Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. Thee to woo to thy tuwhit. With a lengthened loud halloo, Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-0-0. 26 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. A SPIRIT HAUNTS. I. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours, Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers : To himself he talks ; For at eventide, listening earnestly. At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks ; Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. II. The air is damp, and hushed, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death ; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock. Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. CLARIBEL, 27 CLARIBEL. A >IELODY. WHEHE Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall : But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, 28 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lleth. At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone : At noon the wild bee hummeth About the mossed headstone : At midnight the moon coraeth And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwclleth, The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth, The babbling runnel crispeth. The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth. A DIRGE. NOW is done thy long day's work ; Fold thy palms across thy breast, Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. Let them rave. Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; Nothing but the small cold worm A DIRGE. 29 Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. III. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; Chanteth not the brooding bee Sweeter tones than calumny ? Let them rave. Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; The woodbine and eglatere Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Let them rave. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. ' Let them rave. V. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep Bramble-roses, fiiint and pale, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. 30 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, VI. The gold-eyed kingcups fine, The frail bluebell pecrcth over Kare broidry of the purple clover. Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. TII. Wild words wander here and there ; God^s great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused, — But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. MY heart is Oriana. wasted with my woe, There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dun wolds are ribbed with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. 31 Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana : Winds were blowing, waters flowing, We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana ; Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew-wood, black as night, Oriana, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight. By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana : She watched my crest among them all, Oriana : She saw me fight, she heard me call. When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana : The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana : g2 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, The damned arrow glanced aside, And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana ! Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana ! O ! narrow, narrow was the space, Oriana. Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oriana. O ! deathful stabs were dealt apace, The battle deepened in its place, Oriana ; But I was down upon my face, Oriana. They should have stabbed me where I lay, Oriana ! How could I rise and come away, Oriana 1 How could I look upon the day ? They should have stabbed me where I lay, Oriana, — They should have trod me into clay, Oriana. O ! breaking heart that will not break, Oriana ; O ! pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Oriana. Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak. And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana ; What wan test thou 1 whom dost thou seek, Oriana ? THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. I cry aloud : none hear my cries, Oriana. Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana. I feel the tears of blood arise Up from my heart unto my eyes, Oriana. Within thy lieart my arrow lies, Oriana. cursed hand ! cursed blow ! Oriana ! happy thou that liest low, Oriana ! All night the silence seems to flow Beside me in my utter woe, Oriana. A weary, weary way I go, Oriana. When Norland winds pipe down the sea, Oriana, 1 walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana. Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree, I dare not die and come to thee, Oriana. I hear the roanng of the sea, Oriana. 33 34 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. IT is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That troubles at her ear : THE MERMAN, For, hid in ringlets day and night, I 'd touch her neck so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest : And I should know if it beat right, I 'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs, And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night. THE MERMAN. T T 7H0 would be VV A merman bold Sitting alone. Singing alone Under the sea. With a crown of gold, On a throne ? I would be a merman bold ; I would sit and sinp^ the whole of the day ; I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power. But at night I would roam abroad, and play 35 36 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS, With the mermaids in and out of the rocks, Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower ; And holding them back by their flowing locks, I would kiss them often under the sea, And kiss them again till they kissed me Laughingly, laughingly ; And then we would wander away, away To the pale-green sea-groves straight and high, Chasing each other merrily. There would be neither moon nor star ; But the wave would make music above us afar, — Low thunder and light in the magic night, — Neither moon nor star. We would call aloud in the dreamy dells, Call to each other and whoop and cry All night, merrily, merrily ; They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells, Laughing and clapping their hands between, All night, merrily, merrily ; But I would throw them back in mine Turkis and agate and almondine : Then leaping out upon them unseen, I would kiss them often under the sea. And kiss them again till they kissed me Laughingly, laughingly. ! what a happy life were mine Under the hollow-hung ocean green I Soft are the moss-beds under the sea ; We would live merrily, merrily. THE MERMAID, THE MERMAID. WHO would be A mermaid fair, Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea, In a golden curl With a comb of pearl, On a throne 1 I would be a mermaid fair ; I would sing to myself the whole of the day ; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair ; And still as I combed I would sing and say, " Who is it loves me ? who loves not me 1 " I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall. Low adown, low adown, From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around, And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound Over the throne In the midst of the hall ; Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the g£ "JVith his large calm eyes for the love of me. 37 3-8 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, And all the mermen under the sea Would feel their immortality Die in their hearts for the love of me. But at night I would wander away, away, I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, And lightly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks ; We would run to and fro, and hide and seek. On the broad sea- wolds i' the crimson shells. Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. But if any came near, I would call and shriek. And adown the steep like a wave I would leap From the diamond ledges that jut from the dells. For I would not be kissed by all who would list. Of the bold merry mermen under the sea ; They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me. In the purple twilights under the sea ; But the king of them all would carry me. Woo me, and win me, and marry me. In the branching jaspers under the sea; Then all the dry pied things that be In the hueless mosses under the sea Would curl round my silver feet silently, All looking up for the love of me. And if I should carol aloud, from aloft All things that are forked, and horned, and soft. Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea. All looking down for the love of me. I THE SISTERS. 39 THE SISTERS. WE were two daughters of one race : She was the fairest in the face : The wind is blowing in turret and tree. They were together, and she fell ; Therefore revenge became me well. the Earl was fair to see ! She died : she went to burning flame : She mixed her ancient blood with shame. The wind is howling in turret and tree. Whole weeks and months, and early and late, To win his love I lay in wait. O the Earl was fair to see ! I made a feast ; I bade him come : I won his love, I brought him home. The wind is roaring in turret and tree. And after supper, on a bed. Upon my lap he laid his head : O the Earl was so fair to see ! I kissed his eyelids into rest : His ruddy cheek upon my breast The wind is raging in turret and tree. I hated him with the hate of hell. But I loved his beauty passing well. O the Earl was fair to see ! 40 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. I rose up in the silent night : I made my dagger sharp and bright. The wind is raving in turret and tree. As half-asleep his breath he drew, Three times I stabbed him through and through. O the Earl was fair to see ! I curled and combed his comely head, He looked so grand when he was dead. The wind is blowing in turret and tree. I wrapt his body in the sheet, And laid him at his mother's feet. O the Earl was fair to see ! LOVE THAT HATH US IN THE NET. LOVE that hath us in the net. Can he pass, and we forget ? Many suns arise and set. Many a chance the years beget. Love the gift is Love the debt. Even so. Love is hurt with jar and fret. Love is made a vague regret. Eyes with idle tears are wet. Idle habit links us yet. What is love ? for we forget : Ah, no ! no ! AS THRO' THE LAND AT EVE WE WENT. 41 AS THRO' THE LAND AT EVE WE WENT. AS thro' the land at eve we went, And pluck'd the ripen'd ears. We fell out, my wife and I, We fell out, I know not why, And kissed again with tears. 42 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love, And kiss again with tears ! For when we came where lies the child We lost in other years, There above the little grave, there above the little grave, We kiss'd again with tears. SWEET AND LOW. SWEET and low, sweet and low. Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast. Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west, * Under the silver moon ; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE. 43 THY VOICE IS HEARD. THY voice is heard through rolling drams That beat to battle where he stands ; Thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands : A moment, while the trumpets blow, He sees his brood about thy knee ; The next, like fire he meets the foe. And strikes him dead for thine and thee. LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE. LADY Clara Vere de Vere, Of me you shall not win renown ; You thought to break a country heart For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled I saw the snare, and I retired : The daughter of a hundred Earls, You are not one to be desired. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name ; Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came. 44 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that dotes on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love. And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates • Is not more cold to you than I. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. O your sweet eyes, your low replies : A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind. She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed, I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear : Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a spectre in your hall : LADY CLARA VERB DE VERB. The guilt of blood is at your door : You changed a wholesome heart to gall, You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fixed a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'T is only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere : You pine among your halls and towers ; The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease. You know so ill to deal with time. You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If Time be heavy on your hands. Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands 1 O ! teach the orphan-boy to read. Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart. And let the foolish yeoman go. 45 46 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS, THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing : Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low. For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not die ; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die. He lieth still : he doth not move : He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true, true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go ; So long as you have been with us. Such joy as you have seen with us. Old year, you shall not go. He frothed his bumpers to the brim ; A jollier year we shall not see. But though his eyes are waxing dim, And though his foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me. Old year, you shall not die ; We did so laugh and cry with you, I 've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die. THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 47 He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o*er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he '11 be dead before. Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend. And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes ! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro : The cricket chirps : the light bums low : 'T is nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands before you die. Old year, we '11 dearly rue for you : What is it we can do for you ? Speak out before you die. His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack ! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes : tie up his chin : Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone. And waiteth at the door. There 's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD. HOME they brought her warrior dead : She nor swooned nor uttered cry : All her maidens, watching, said, *' She must weep or she will die." Then they praised him, soft and low, Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe ; Yet shfe neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face : Yet she neither moved nor wept. OUR ENEMIES HAVE FALLEN. 49 Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee, — Like summer tempest came her tears, — " Sweet my child, I live for thee." OUR ENEMIES HAVE FALLEN. OUR enemies have fallen, have fallen : the seed, Tlc little seed they laughed at in the dark. Has risen tnd cleft the soil, and grown a bulk Of spanless girih, that lays on every side A thousand arias and rushes to the Sun. Our enemies have ♦ullen, have fallen : they came ; The leaves were wet with women's tears; they heard A noise of songs they would not understand. They marked it with the red cross to the fall, And would have strown it, and uxq fallen themselves. Our enemies have fallen, have fallen : they came, The woodmen with their axes : lo the t/ee! But we will make it fagots for the hearih. And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor. And boats and bridges for the use of men. Our enemies have fallen, have fallen : they strt.ck ; With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew There dwelt an iron nature in the grain : The glittering axe was broken in their arras. Their arms were shattered to the shoulder-blade. 4 50 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS. Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power ; and rolled With music in the growing breeze of Time, The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs Shall move the stony bases of the world. THE MAY QUEEN. YOU must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New- year ; Of all the glad New^-year, mother, the maddest, merriest day ; For I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. II. There 's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine; There's Margaret and Mary, there 's Kate and Caroline*. But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say : So I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake. If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay. For I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o* the May. THE MAY QUEEN, SI IV. As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? lie thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday, — But I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. V. He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say. For I 'm to be Queen o* the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o* the May. VI. They say he 's dying all for love, but that can never be : They say his heart is breaking, mother, — whai is that to mel There '& many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day. And I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. VII. Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green. And you '11 be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen : For the shepherd lads on every side Mil come from far away, And I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. The honeysnckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers. And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers ; And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray. And I 'm to be Queen o* the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. 52 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS. IX. The nijicht-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass ; There will not be a drop of rain the whole of tlie livelong day, And I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. X. All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill. And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play. For I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. XI. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year : To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest, merriest day. For I 'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen o' the May. NEW YEAR'S EVE. IF you *re waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year. It is the last New-year that I shall ever see, Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me. II. To-night I saw the sun set : he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind ; And the New-year 's coming up, mother, but I shall never see The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. NEW YEARS EVE. 53 III. Last May we made a crown of flowers : we had a merry day ; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May ; And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops. IV. There 's not a flower on all the hills : the frost is on the pane : I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again : I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high ; I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook Mil caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. YI. Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early, early morning the summer sun 'ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light. You '11 never see me more in the long gray fields at night ; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. VIII. You '11 bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade. And you '11 come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid. 54 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS. I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, but you '11 forgive me now ; You '11 kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go : Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild. You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. CONCLUSION, 55 X. If I can, I *11 come again, mother, from out my resting-place ; Though you '11 not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face ; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I 'm far away. XI. Good night, good night, when I have said good night forever- more, And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door ; Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green : She '11 be a better child to you than ever I have been. She '11 find my garden-tools upon the granary floor ; Let her take 'em : they are hers : I shall never garden more : But tell her, when I 'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set About the parlor-window and the box of mignonette. XIII. Grood night, sweet mother : call me before the day is bom. All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at mom ; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year, So, if you 're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear. CONCLUSION. I. I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am ; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb. How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year ! To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet 's here. 56 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, II. O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise, And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow. And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go. III. It seemed so hard at first, motber, to leave the blessed sun. And now it seems as hard to stay ; and yet. His will be done ! But still I think it can^t be long before I find release ; And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. IV. O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair ! And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there ! blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head ! A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed. V. He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the sin. Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there 's One will let me in : Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me. VI. 1 did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat. There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet : But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, And EflQe on the other side, and I will tell the sign. VII. All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call ; It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all ; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul. CONCLUSION. 57 VIII. For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear ; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here ; With all my strength I prayed for both, and so I felt resigned, And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. IX. I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed, And then did something speak to me — I know not what was said; For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind. And up the valley came again the music on the wind. X. But you were sleeping ; and I said, " It 's not for them ; it 's mine." And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign. And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die among the stars. XI. So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go. And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day. But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am passed away. XII. And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret ; There 's many worthier than I would make him happy yet. If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have been his wife ; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life. XIII. O look ! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. 58 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine — Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. XIV. O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun — Forever and forever with those just souls and true — And what is life, that we should moan 1 why make we such ado ? XV. Forever and forever, all in a blessed home — And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come — To lie within the light of God, as I Me upon your breast — And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. THE SEA-FAIRIES. SLOW sailed the weary mariners, and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold ; and, while they mused, Whispering to each other half in fear. Shrill music reached them on the middle sea. Whither away, whither away, whither away ? fly no more. Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore 1 Day and night to the billow the fountain calls ; Down shower the gambolling waterfalls From wandering over the lea : THE SEA-FAIRIES, 59 Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swell* High over the full-toned sea : O hither, come hither, and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me ! Hither, come hither, and frolic and play ; , Here it is only the mew that wails ; We will sing to you all the day : Mariner, mariner, furl your sails. For here are the blissful downs and dales. And merrily, merrily carol the gales. And the spangle dances in bight and bay. And the rainbow forms and flies on the land Over the islands free ; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand ; Hither, come hither and see ; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave. And sweet is the color of cove and cave. And sweet shall your welcome be ; O hither, come hither, and be our lords. For merry brides are we ! "We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words : O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee ! O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the sharp, clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea ! Who can light on as happy a shore All the world o'er, all the world o'er ? Whither away 1 listen and stay : mariner, mariner fly no more. 6o SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. THE DESERTED HOUSE. I. LIFE and Thought have gone away Side by side. Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they ! II. All within is dark as night : In the windows is no light ; And no murmur at the door, So frequent on its hinge before. III. Close the door, the shutters close, Or through the windows we shall see The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark, deserted house. ' IV. Come away ; no more of mirth Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth. And shall fall again to ground. V. Come away ; for Life and Thought Here no longer dwell ; But in a city glorious — A great and distant city — have bought A mansion incorruptible. Would they could have stayed with us. ASK ME NO MORE, 6i ASK ME NO MORE. ASK me no more : the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape ; But, too fond, when have I answered thee ? Ask me no more. Ask me no more : what answer should I give ? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye : Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die ! 62 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; Ask me no more. Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are sealed : I strove against the stream and all in vain ; Let the great river take me to the main : No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield ; Ask me no more. NOW SLEEPS THE CRIMSON PETAL. NOW sleeps the crimson petal, now the white, Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk ; Nor winks the goldfin in the porphyry font : The fire-fly wakens : waken thou with me. Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me. Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake : So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. COME DOWN, MAID. 63 COME DOWN, O MAID. COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height : What pleasure lives in height, (the shepherd sang,) In height and cold, the splendor of the hills ? But cease to move so near the heavens, and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted pine. To sit a star upon the sparkling spire ; And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come tliou down And find him ; by the happy threshold, he, Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, Or red with spirted purple of the vats. Or fox-like in the vine ; nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice. That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors : But follow ; let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley ; let the wild Lean-headed eagles yelp alone, and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, That like a broken purpose waste in air : So waste not thou ; but come ; for all the vales Await thee ; azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee ; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet ; 64 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees. THE GOLDEN YEAR. WE sleep and wake and sleep, but all things move ; The Sun flies forward to his brother Sun ; The dark Earth follows wheeled in her ellipse : And human things returning on themselves Move onward, leading up the golden year. Ah, though the times when some new thought can bud Are but as poets' seasons when they flower, Yet seas that daily gain upon the shore Have ebb and flow conditioning their march. And slow and sure comes up the golden year. When wealth no more shall rest in mounded heaps, But smit with freer light shall slowly melt In many streams to fatten lower lands, And light shall spread, and man be liker man Through all the season of the golden year. Shall eagles not be eagles ? wrens be wrens ? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less. But he not less the eagle. Happy days Roll onward, leading up the golden year. ST. AGNES' EVE. 65 Fly, happy, happy sails, and bear the Press ; Fly happy with the mission of the Cross ; Knit land to land, and blowing havenward. "With silks, and fruits, and spices, clear of toll. Enrich the markets of the golden year. But we grow old. Ah ! when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal Peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land. And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Through all the circle of the golden year ? ST. AGNES' EVE. DEEP on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon : My breath to heaven like vapor goes : May my soul follow soon ! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward. Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord : Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies. Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. 5 66 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. II. As these white robes are soiled and dark. To yonder shining ground ; As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round ; So shows my soul before the Lamb> My spirit before Thee ; So in mine earthly house I am. To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, Lord ! and far, Through all yon starlight keen, Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, In raiment white and clean. III. ^ He lifts me to the golden doors ; The flashes come and go ; All heaven bursts her starry floors. And strews her lights below. And deepens on and up ! the gates Roll back, and far within For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, To make me pure of sin. The sabbaths of Eternity, One sabbath deep and wide — A light upon the shining sea — The Bridegroom with his bride ! A FAREWELL. 67 A FAREWELL. FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver : No more by thee my steps shall be, Forever and forever. Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet then a river : Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, Forever and forever. But here will sigh thine alder-tree, And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee Forever and forever. A thousand suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver ; But not by thee my steps shall be, Forever and forever. 68 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, THE BEGGAR MAID. HER arms across her breast she laid ; She was more fair than words can say : Barefooted came tlie beggar maid Before the King Cophetua. In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way ; " It is no wonder," said the lords, " She is more beautiful than day." As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen : One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been : Cophetua sware a royal oath : <♦ This beggar maid shall be my queen ! " MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH. 69 MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH. MOVE eastward, happy earth, and leave Yon orange sunset waning slow ; From fringes of the faded eve, O, happy planet, eastward go ; Till over thy dark shoulder glow Thy silver sister-world, and rise ^O SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. To glass herself in dewy eyes That watch me from the glen below. Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly borne. Dip forward under starry light, And move me to my marriage-morn. And round again to happy night. THE SKIPPING-ROPE. SURE never yet was Antelope Could skip so lightly by. Stand off, or else my skipping-rope Will hit you in the eye. How lightly whirls the skipping-rope ! How fairy-like you fly ! Go, get you gone, you muse and mope, I hate that silly sigh. Nay, dearest, teach me how to hope, Or tell me how to die. There, take it, take my skipping-rope And hang yourself thereby. TEE SAILOR'S 07. 71 THE SAILOR-BOY. HE rose at dawn, and, fired with hope, Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar. And reach'd the ship and caught the rope, And whistled to the morning star. And while he whistled long and loud. He heard a fierce merraaiden cry, " boj, tho' thou art young and proud, I see the place where thou wilt lie. " The sands and yeasty surges mix In caves about the dreary bay. And on thy ribs the limpet sticks, And in thy heart the scrawl shall play." " Fool," he answered, " death is sure To those that stay and those that roam. But I will nevermore endure To sit with empty hands at home. " My mother clings about my neck. My sisters crying ' stay for shame ' ; My father raves of death and wreck. They are all to blame, they are all to blame. " God help me ! save I take my part Of danger on the roaring sea, A devil rises in my heart. Far worse than any death to me." 72 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS. THE ISLET. cc T T 7HITHEE, whither, love, shall we go, V V For a score of sweet little summers or so,*' The sweet little wife of the singer said. On the day that followed the day she was wed, " Whither, whither, love, shall we go '^ " And the singer shaking his curly head Turned as he sat, and struck the keys There at his right with a sudden crash, Singing, " And shall it be over the seas With a crew that is neither rude nor rash. But a bevy of Eroses apple-cheekM, In a shallop of crystal ivory-beak' d, With a satin sail of a ruby glow. To a sweet little Eden on earth that I know, A mountain islet pointed and peak'd ; Waves on a diamond shingle dash, Cataract brooks to the ocean run, Eairily-delicate palaces shine Mixt with myrtle and clad with vine, And overstream'd and silvery-streak'd With many a rivulet high against the Sun The facets of the glorious mountain flash Above the valleys of palm and pine." " Thither, O thither, love, let us go." *' No, no, no ! For in all that exquisite isle, my dear, 777^: RINGLET, 73 There is but one bird with a musical throat, And his compass is but of a single note, That it makes one weary to hear." " Mock me not ! mock me not ! love, let us go/* " No, love, no. For the bud ever breaks into bloom on the tree. And a storm never wakes on the lonely sea, And a worm is there in the lonely wood, That pierces the liver and blackens the blood. And makes it a sorrow to be." THE RINGLET. cc"V TOUR ringlets, your ringlets, X That look so golden-gay. If you will give me one, but one. To kiss it night and day. Then never chilling touch of Time Will turn it silver-gray ; And then shall I know it is all true gold To flame and sparkle and stream as of old. Till all the comets in heaven are cold, And all her stars decay." " Then take it, love, and put it by ; This cannot change, nor yet can I." 74 SONGS FOE ALL SEASONS. 2. " My ringlet, my ringlet, That art so golden-gay, Now never chilling touch of Time Can turn thee silver-gray ; And a lad may wink, and a girl may hint, And a fool may say his say ; For my doubts and fears were all amiss. And I swear henceforth by this and this. That a doubt will only come for a kiss, And a fear to be kissM away." " Then kiss it, love, and put it by ; If this can change, why so can I." II. Ringlet, Ringlet, I kiss'd you night and day, And Ringlet, O Ringlet, You still are golden-gay. But Ringlet, O Ringlet, You should be silver-gray : For what is this which now I 'm told, 1 that took you for true gold, She that gave you 's bought and sold. Sold, sold. 2. O Ringlet, Ringlet, She blush'd a rosy red, When Ringlet, O Ringlet, She dipt you from her head, And Ringlet, Ringlet, THE BROOK, 75 She gave you me, and said, ** Come, kiss it, love, and put it by ; If this can change, why so can I." O fie, you golden nothing, fie You golden lie. 3. O Ringlet, O Ringlet, I count you much to blame, For Ringlet, O Ringlet, You put me much to shame. So Ringlet, O Ringlet, I doom you to the flame. For what is this which now I learn. Has given all my faith a turn "? Burn, you glossy heretic, burn. Burn, burn. THE BROOK. I COME from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down. Or slip between the ridges. By twenty thorps, a little town. And half a hundred bridges. 76 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, Por men may come and men may go. But I go on forever. THE BROOK, 77 I chatter over stony ways. In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I wind about, and in and out. With here a blossom sailing. And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling. And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel. With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers ; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. 78 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, \ I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses ; I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses ; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go. But I go on forever. A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. March 7, 1863. SEA-KINGS' daughter from over the sea, Alexandra ! Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, Alexandra ! Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet ! Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street ! Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, Scatter the blossom under her feet ! A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA, 79 Break, happy land, into earlier flowers ! Make music, bird, in the new-budded bowers ! Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer ! Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours ! Warble, bugle, and trumpet, blare ! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers ! Flames, on the windy headland flare ! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air ! Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire ! Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher Melt into stars for the land's desire ! Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice. Roll as a ground-swell dash'd on the strand. Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land, And welcome her, welcome the land's desire, The sea-kings' daughter as happy as fair, Blissful bride of a blissful heir. Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea, — O joy to the people and joy to the throne, Come to us, love us, and make us your own : For Saxon or Dane or Norman we. Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be, We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee, Alexandra ! 8o SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. ODE SUNG AT THE OPENING OF THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION. UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet, In this wide hall with earth's inventions stored, And praise th' invisible universal Lord, Who lets once more in peace the nations meet, Where Science, Art, and Labor have outpour'd Their myriad horns of plenty at our feet. O silent father of our Kings to be Mourn 'd in this golden hour of jubilee, For this, for all, we weep our thanks to thee ! The world-compelling plan was thine, And, lo ! the long laborious miles Of Palace ; lo ! the giant aisles. Rich in model and design ; Harvest-tool and husbandry. Loom and wheel and engin'ry, Secrets of the sullen mine. Steel and gold, and corn and wine. Fabric rough, or Fairy fine. Sunny tokens of the Line, Polar marvels, and a feast Of wonder, out of West and East, And shapes and hues of Part divine ! All of beauty, all of use. That one fair planet can produce. ODE. Si Brought from under every star, Blown from over every main, And mixt, as life is mixt with pain. The works of peace with works of war. O ye, the wise who think, the wise who reign. From growing commerce loose her latest chain, And let the fair white-wing'd peacemaker fly To happy havens under all the sky, And mix the seasons and the golden hours. Till each man finds his own in all men's good, And all men work in noble brotherliood, Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers, And ruling by obeying Nature's powers. And gathering all the fruits of peace and crown'd with all her flowers. 82 80XGS FOB ALL SEASONS, MY LIFE IS FULL OF WEARY DAYS. MY life is full of weary days, But good things have not kept aloof, Nor wandered into other ways ; I have not lack'd thy mild reproof, Kor golden largess of thy praise. And now shake hands across the brink Of that deep grave to which I go : Shake hands once more : I cannot sink So far — far down, but I shall know Thy voice, and answer from below. HOME THEY BROUGHT HIM SLAIN WITH SPEARS. HOME they brought him slain wHh spears, They brought him home at even-fall : All alone she sits and hears Echoes in his empty hall, Sounding on the morrow. The Sun peep'd in from open field. The boy began to leap and prance, Rode upon his father's lance. Beat upon his father's shield, — ** hubh, my joy, my sorrow." CRADLE SONG. 83 CRADLE SONG. WHAT does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day ? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. 84 SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS, Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger. So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her bed at peep of day ? Baby says, like little birdie, Let me rise and fly away. Baby sleep a little longer. Till the little limbs are stronger. If she sleeps a little longer Baby too shall fly away. Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. LYRICS OF LIFE, ROBERT BROWNING. With Illustrations by S. Eytinge, Jr. BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. I 87 I. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge. CONTENTS. ♦ Page "Heap cassia, sandal-buds, and stripes" 5 " Over the sea our galleys went " 6 *'All service ranks^he same with God" 8 "The year's at the spring" 9 " A KING lived long AGO " 9 " You 'LL LOVE MB YET ! " II "Overhead THE tree-tops meet" ii Marching Along 12 Give a Rouse 13 Boot and Saddle 14 "There's a woman like a dew-drop" 15 My Last Duchess 16 Soliloquy op the Spanish Cloister 18 Through the Metidja to Abd-el-Kadr 20 Count Gismond zi The Lost Leader 26 The Lost Mistress 27 Home Thoughts, from Abroad 28 Home Thoughts, from the Sea 29 The Flower's Name 29 The Pied Piper of Hamelin 31 Fame . ...4 ....... 40 Love ... 40 Song 4° Incident of the French Camp 41 The Boy and the Angel 43 Time's Revenges , . . 46 The Glove 48 "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix" . 53 IV CONTENTS, Love among the Ruins A Woman's Last Word . A Serenade at the Tilla Evelyn Hope . My Star Love in a Life Life in a Love . Memorabilia . After . In Three Days . In a Year . "Dk Gcstibus — " Women and Roses The Guardian-Angel Two IN THE CaMPAGNA The Patriot . A Grammarian's Funeral The Confessional . One Way of Love Another Way of Love . Misconceptions . • One Word More . Meeting at Night • Parting at Morning Prospicb May and Death In the Doorway Among the Rocks . 56 59 60 6z 64 65 65 66 67 67 69 7Z 73 75 77 79 81 85 88 89 90 90 97 , 99 100 lOI LYRICS OF LIFE, "HEAP CASSIA, SANDAL-BUDS, AND STRIPES.' HEAP cassia, sandal -buds, and stripes Of labdanum, and aloe-balls Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes From out her hair : (such balsam falls Down seaside mountain pedestals, From summits where tired winds are fain, Spent with the vast and howling main, To treasure half their iriland-gain.) And strew faint sweetness from some old Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud, Which breaks to dust when once unrolled ; And shred dim perfume, like a cloud From chamber long to quiet vowed, "With mothed and dropping arras hung. Mouldering tlie lute and books among Of queen, long dead, who lived there young. LYRICS OF LIFE. "OVER THE SEA OUR GALLEYS WENT." OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave, To a speeding wind and a bounding wave, — A gallant armament : Each bark built out of a forest-tree. Left leafy and rough as first it grew, And nailed all over the gaping sides. Within and without, with black-bull hides, Seethed in fat and suppled in flame, To bear the playful billows' game ; So each good ship was rude to see. Rude and bare to the outward view, But each upbore a stately tent ; Where cedar-pales in scented row Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine : And an awning drooped the mast below, In fold on fold of the purple fine, That neither noontide, nor star-shine, ''OVER THE SEA OUR GALLEYS WENT:' Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad, Might pierce the regal tenement. When the sun dawned, 0, gay and glad We set the sail and plied the oar ; But when the night-wind blew like breath, For joy of one day's voyage more, We sang together on the wide sea. Like men at peace on a peaceful shore; Each sail was loosed to the wind so free. Each helm made sure by the twilight star. And in a sleep as calm as death. We, the strangers from afar. Lay stretched along, each weary crew In a circle round its wondrous tent. Whence gleamed soft light and curled rich scent. And with light and perfume, music too : So the stars wheeled round, and the darkness past. And at morn we started beside the mast. And still each ship was sailing fast ! One morn the land appeared ! — a speck Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky — Avoid it, cried our pilot, check The shout, restrain the longing eye ! But the heaving sea was black behind For many a night and many a day. And land, though but a rock, drew nigh ; So we broke the cedar-pales away, Let the purple awning flap in the wind, And a statue bright was on every deck ! We shouted, every man of us. And steered right into the harbor thus, With pomp and paean glorious. An hundred shapes of lucid stone ! AH day we built a shrine for each — A shrine of rock for every one — Nor paused we till in the westering sun We sate together on the beach LYRICS OF LIFE, To sing, because our task was done ; When lo ! what shouts and merry songs ! What laughter all the distance stirs ! What raft comes loaded with its throngs Of gentle islanders ? " The isles are just at hand," they cried ; " Like cloudlets faint at even sleeping, Our temple-gates are opened wide, Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping For the lucid shapes you bring," — they cried. O, then we awoke with sudden start From our deep dream ; we knew, too late, How bare the rock, how desolate. To which we had flung our precious freight : Yet we called out — " Depart ! Our gifts, once given, must here abide : Our work is done ; we have no heart To mar our work, though vain," — we cried. "ALL SERVICE RANKS THE SAME WITH GOD." ALL service ranks the same with God : If now, as formerly He trod Paradise, His presence fills • Our earth, each only as God wills Can work, — God's puppets, best and worst, Are we ; there is no last nor first. Say not " a small event " ! Why " small " ? Costs it more pain than this, ye call A *' great event," should come to pass. Than that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in, or exceed ! "^ KING LIVED LONG AGO: "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING." THE year 's at the spring, And day 's at the morn ; Morning 's at seven ; The hillside *s dew-pearled : The lark 's on the wing ; The snail 's on the thorn ; God 's in his heaven — All 's right with the world ! "A KING LIVED LONG AGO." A KING lived long ago, In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now : And the king*s locks curled Disparting o'er a forehead full As the milk-wliite space 'twixt horn and horn Of some sacrificial bull — Only calm as a babe new-born : For he was got to a sleepy mood, So safe from all decrepitude, From age with its bane so sure gone by, (The Gods so loved him while he dreamed,) That, having lived thus long, there seemed No need the king should ever die. Among the rocks his city was : Before his palace, in the sun, He sat to see his people pass. And judge them every 6ne From its threshold of smooth stone. 2 LYRICS OF LIFE. They haled him many a valley-thief Caught in the sheep-pens, — robber-chief, Swarthy and shameless, — beggar cheat, — Spy-prowler, — or rough pirate found On the sea-sand left aground ; And sometimes clung about his feet, With bleeding lip and burning cheek, A woman, bitterest wrong to speak Of one with sullen thickset brows : And sometimes from the prison-house The angry priests a pale wretch brought. Who through some chink had pushed and pressed, On knees and elbows, belly and breast, Worm-like into the temple, — caught At last there by the very God, Who ever in the darkness strode Backward and forward, keeping watch O'er his brazen bowls, such rogues to catch ! And these, all and every one. The king judged, sitting in the sun. His councillors, on left and right. Looked anxious up, — but no surprise Disturbed the king's old smiling eyes. Where the very blue had turned to white. 'T is said, a Python scared one day The breathless city, till he came. With forky tongue and eyes on flame. Where the old king sat to judge alway ; But when he saw the sweepy hair. Girt with a crown of berries rare Which the God will hardly give to wear To the maiden who singeth, dancing bare In the altar-smoke by the pine-torch lights, At his wondrous forest rites, — Beholding this, he did not dare Approach that threshold in the sun, Assault the old king smiling there. Such grace had kings when the world begun ! ''OVERHEAD THE TREE-TOPS MEET:' "YOU'LL LOVE ME YET!" YOU 'LL love me yet ! — and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing : June reared that bunch of flowers you carry From seeds of April's sowing. I plant a heartful now — some seed At least is sure to strike And yield — what you '11 not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like ! You '11 look at least on love*s remains, A grave's one violet : Your look ? — That pays a thousand pains. What 's death ? — You '11 love me yet ! "OVERHEAD THE TREE-TOPS MEET." OVERHEAD the tree-tops meet — Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet — ^ There was naught above me, and naught below. My childhood had not learned to know ! For, what are the voices of birds, — Ay, and of beasts, — but words, — our words, Only so much more sweet ? The knowledge of that with my life begun ! But I had so near made out the sun, And counted your stars, the Seven and One, Like the fingers of my hand : LYRICS OF LIFE. Nay, I could all but understand Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges ; And just when out of her soft fifty changes No unfamiliar face might overlook me — Suddenly God took me ! MARCHING ALONG. KENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King, Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing : And, pressing a troop unable to stoop And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, Marched them along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. God for King Charles ! Pym and such carles To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous paries ! Cavaliers, up ! Lips from the cup. Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup Till you 're {Chorus) marching alonp:, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. Hampden to Hell, and his obsequies' knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well ! England, good cheer ! Rupert is near ! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here {Chxj.) Marching along, fifty-score strong. Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song 1 Then, God for King Charles ! Pym and his snarls To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles ! Hold by the right, you double your might ; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, (Cho.) March we along, fifty-score strong. Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. GIVE A ROUSE. 13 GIVE A ROUSE. KING CHARLES, and who '11 do him right now? King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now ? Give a rouse : here 's, in Heirs despite now. King Charles ! Who gave me the goods that went since ? Who raised me the house that sank once ? Who helped me to gold I spent since 1 Who found me in wine you drank once ? (Cho.) King Charles, and who '11 do him right now? King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now ? Give a rouse : here 's, in Hell's despite now, King Charles ! To whom used my boy George quaff else, By the old fool's side that begot him ? For whom did he cheer and laugh else, While Noll's damned troopers shot him ? (Cho.) King Charles, and who '11 do him right now ? King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now ? Give a rouse : here 's, in Hell's despite now. King Charles ! 14 LYRICS OF LIFE. BOOT AND SADDLE. BOOT, saddle, to horse, and away ! Rescue my Castle, before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery gray, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you M say ; Many 's the friend there will listen and pray " God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay. Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array : Who laughs, " Good fellows ere this, by my fay, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away? " Who ? My wife Gertrude ; that, honest and gay. Laughs when you talk of surrendering, " Nay ! I 've better counsellors ; what counsel they ? (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! " *'THEBE '5 A WOMAN LIKE A DEW-DROP:' 15 "THERE'S A WOMAN LIKE A DEW-DROP." THERE 'S a woman like a dew-drop, she *s so purer than the purest ; And her noble heart 's the noblest, yes, and her sure faith 's the surest : And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on depth of lustre Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the wild-grape cluster. Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck's rose-misted marble : Then her voice's music . . . call it the well's bubbling, the bird's warble ! l6 LYRICS OF LIFE. And this woman says, "My days were sunless and my nights were moonless, Parched the pleasant April herbage, and the lark's heart's out- break tuneless, If you loved me not ! " And I who, — (ah, for words of flame !) adore her ! Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably before her, — I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes me. And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as hers she makes me ! MY LAST DUCHESS. THAT 'S my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive ; I call That piece a wonder, now : Era Pandolf 's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will 't please you sit and look at her 1 I said "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, Bnt to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst. How such a glance came there ; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek : perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say " Her mantle laps Over my Lady's wrist too much," or " Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat " ; such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had MY LAST DUCHESS. 17 A heart . . . how shall I say ? . . . too soon made glad, Too easily impressed ; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 't was all one ! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace, — all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men, — good ; but thanked Somehow ... I know not how ... as if she ranked My gift of a nine hundred years old name With anybody's gift. Who *d stoop to blame This sort of trifling ? Even had you skill In speech — (which I have not) — to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say " Just this Or that in you disgusts me ; here you miss. Or there exceed the mark " — and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, — E'en then would be some stooping, and I chuso Never to stoop. O, Sir, she smiled, no doubt. Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile ? This grew ; I gave commands ; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will 't please you rise ? We '11 meet The company below, then. I repeat. The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed ; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we '11 go Together down, Sir ! Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity. Which Glaus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. iS LYRICS OF 'LIFE. SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER. GR-R-R — there go, my heart's abhorrence ! Water your damned flower-pots, do ! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God's blood, would not mine kill you ! What "? your myrtle-bush wants trimming ? O, that rose has prior claims, — Needs its leaden vase filled brimming ? Hell dry you up with its flames ! At the meal we sit together : Salve tihi I I must hear Wise talk of the kind of weather, Sort of season, time of year : Not a plenteous cork-crop : scarcely Dare we hope oak^alls, I doubt : What 's the Latin name for ^^ parsley " f What 's the Greek name for Swine's Snout ? Whew ! We '11 have our platter burnished, Laid with care on our own shelf! With a fire-new spoon we 're furnished, And a goblet for ourself. Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 't is fit to touch our chaps, — Marked with L. for our initial ! (He, he ! There his lily snaps !) Saintf forsooth ! While brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank. With Sanchicha, telling stories. Steeping tresses in the tank. Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horse-hairs, — Can't I see his dead eye glow SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER. Bright, as 't were a Barbary corsair's ? (That is, if he 'd let it show !) "When he finishes refection, Knife and fork he never lays Cross-wise, to my recollection, As do I, in Jesu's praise. I, the Trinity illustrate. Drinking watered orange-pulp, — In three sips the Arian frustrate ; While he drains his at one gulp ! 0, those melons ! If he 's able We 're to have a feast; so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table. All of us get each a slice. How go on your flowers ? None double ** Not one fruit-sort can you spy 1 Strange ! — And I, too, at such trouble, Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly ! There 's a great text in Galatians, Once you trip on it, entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations. One sure, if another fails. If I trip him just a-dying. Sure of Heaven as sure can be. Spin him round and send him flying Off to Hell, a Manichee ! Or, my scrofulous French novel. On gray paper with blunt type ! Simply glance at it, you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe : If I double down its pages At the woful sixteenth point, When lie gathers his greengages, Ope a sieve and slip it in 't ! 19 20 LYRICS OF LIFE. Or, there 's Satan ! — one might venture Pledge one's soul to him, yet leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he 'd miss till, past retrieve, Blasted lay that rose-acacia We 're so proud of! Ily, Zy, Him . . 'St, there 's Vespers ! Plena gratia Ave Virgo! Gr-r-r — you swine! THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABD-EL-KADR. AS I ride, as I ride. With a full heart for my guide, So its tide rocks my side. As 1 ride, as I ride, That, as I were double-eyed. He, in whom our Tribes confide, Is descried, ways untried As I ride, as I ride. As I ride, as I ride To our Chief and his Allied, Who dares chide ray heart's pride As I ride, as I ride ? Or are witnesses denied, — Through the desert waste and wide Do I glide unespied As I ride, as I ride ? As I ride, as I ride. When an inner voice has cried, * The sands slide, nor abide (As I ride, as I ride) COUNT GISMOND, 21 O'er each visioned Homicide That came vaunting (has he liedl) To reside — where lie died, As I ride, as I ride. As I ride, as I ride. Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied. Yet his hide, streaked and pied, As I ride, as I ride. Shows where sweat has sprung and dried, — Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed, — How has vied stride with stride As I ride, as I ride ! As I ride, as I ride. Could I loose what Fate has tied. Ere I pried, slie should hide As I ride, as I ride. All that 's meant me : satisfied When the Prophet and the Bridd Stop veins 1 'd have subside As I ride, as I ride ! COUNT GISMOND. CHRIST God, who savest men, save most Of men Count Gismond who saved me ! Count Gauthier, when he chose his post. Chose time and place and company To suit it; when he struck at length My honor 't was with all his strength. And doubtlessly ere he could draw All points to one, he must have schemed . 22 LYRICS OF LIFE, That miserable morning saw- Few half so happy as I seemed, While being dressed in Queen's array To give our Tourney prize away. I thought they loved me, did me grace To please themselves ; 't was all their deed : God makes, or fair or foul, our face ; If showing mine so caused to bleed My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped A word, and straight t^e play had stopped. They, too, so beauteous ! Each a queen By virtue of her brow and breast ; Not needing to be crowned, 1 mean. As I do. E'en when I was dressed. Had either of them spoke, instead Of glancing sideways with still head ! But no : they let me laugh, and sing My birthday song quite through, adjust The last rose in my garland, fling A last look on the mirror, trust My arms to each an arm of theirs, And so descend the castle-stairs, — And come out on the morning troop Of merry friends who kissed my cheek, And called me Queen, and made me stoop Under the canopy, — (a streak That pierced it, of the outside sun, Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun,) — And they could let me take my state And foolish throne amid applause Of all come there to celebrate My Queen's day, — O, I think the cause Of much was, they forgot no crowd Makes up for parents in their shroud ! COUNT GISMOND. 23 However that be, all eyes were bent Upon me, when my cousins cast Theirs down ; \ was time I should present The victor's crown, but . . . there, ^t will last No long time . . . the old mist again Blinds me as then it did. How vain ! See ! Gismond 's at the gate, in talk With his two boys : I can proceed. Well, at that moment, who should stalk Forth boldly (to my face, indeed) But Gauthier, and he thundered *' Stay ! " And all stayed. " Bring no crowns, I say ! " ** Bring torohes ! Wind the penance-sheet About her ! Let her shun the chaste, Or lay herself before their feet ! Shall she, whose body I embraced A night long, queen it in the day 1 For Honor's sake no crowns, I say ! " I ? What I answered ? As I live I never fancied such a thing As answer possible to give. What says the body when they spring Some monstrous torture-engine's whole Strength on it ? No more says the soul. Till out strode Gismond ; then I knew That I was saved. I never met His face before, but, at first view, I felt quite sure that God had set Himself to Satan ; who w^ould spend A minute's mistrust on the end ^ He strode to Gauthier, in his throat Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth With one back-handed blow that wrote In blood men's verdict there. North, South, 24 LYRICS OF LIFE, East, West, I looked. The lie was dead, And damned, and truth stood up instead. This glads me most, that I enjoyed The heart of the joy, with my content In watching Gismond unalloyed By any doubt of the event : God took that on him, — I was hid Watch Gismond for my part : I did. Did I not watch him while he let His armorer just brace his greaves, Rivet his hauberk, on the fret The while ! His foot . . . my memory leaves No least stamp out, nor how anon He pulled his ringing gauntlets on. And e'en before the trumpet's sound Was finished, prone lay the false Knight, Prone as his lie upon the ground : Gismond flew at him, used no sleight Of the sword, but open-breasted drove, Cleaving till out the truth he clove. Which done, he dragged him to my feet And said, " Here die, but end thy breath In full confession, lest thou fleet From my first, to God's second death ! Say hast thou lied ? " And " I have lied To God and her," he said, and died. Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked — What safe my heart holds, though no word Could I repeat now, if I tasked My powers forever, to a third Dear even as you are. Pass the rest Until I sank upon his breast. Over my head his arm he flung Against the world ; and scarce I felt COUNT GISMOND. His sword, that dripped by me and swung, A little shifted in its belt, — For he began to say the while How South our home lay many a mile. So *mid the shouting multitude "We two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursued Their life, untroubled as before 3 26 LYRICS OF LIFE. I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place ' God lighten ! May his soul find grace ! Our elder boy has got the clear Great brow ; tho' when his brother's black Full eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here ? And have you brought my tercel back ? I just was telling Adela How many birds it struck since May. THE LOST LEADER. JUST for a handful of silver he left u^, Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat, -^ Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote ; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was their's who so little allowed : How all our copper had gone for his service ! Rags, — were they purple, his heart had been proud ! We that had loved him so, followed him, honored him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye. Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die ! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, — they watch from their graves ! He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves I We shall march prospering, — not through his presence ; Songs may insj)irit us, — not from his lyre ; Deeds will be done, — while he l)oasts his quiescence. Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire ; THE LOST MISTRESS, rj Blot out his name, then, — record one lost soul more, One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels. One wrong more to man, one more insult to God ! Life's night begins : let him never come back to us ! There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain. Forced praise on our part, the glimmer of twilight. Never glad confident morning again ! Best fight on well, for we taught him, — strike gallantly, Aim at our heart ere we pierce through his own ; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in Heaven, the first by the throne ! THE LOST MISTRESS. ALL 'S over, then, — does truth sound bitter As one at first believes 1 Hark, 't is the sparrows' good-night twitter About your cottage eaves ! And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, I noticed that, to-day ; One day more bursts them open fully, — You know the red turns gray. To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest ? May I take your hand in mine ? Mere friends are we, — well, friends the merest Keep much that I '11 resign : For each glance of that eye so bright and black, Though I keep with heart's endeavor, — Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Though it stays in my soul forever ! — 28 LYRICS OF LIFE. — Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger ; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer ! HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD. OH, to be in England Now that April 's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now ! And after April, when May follows, And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows, — Hark ! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops, — at the bent spray's edge, — That 's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over. Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine, careless rapture ! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, — Ear brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! THE FLOWERS NAME. 29 HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA. NOBLY, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the northwest died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay ; Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest northeast distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; " Here and here did England help me, — how can I help Eng- land? " — say, "Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray. While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. THE FLOWER^S NAME. HERE 'S the garden she walked across, Arm in my arm, such a short while since : Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss Hinders the hinges and makes them wince ! She must have reached this shrub ere she turned. As back with that murmur the wicket swung ; For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned. To feed and forget it the leaves among. Down this side of the gravel-walk She went while her robe's edge brushed the box : And here she paused in her gracious talk To point me a moth on the milk-white flox. Roses, ranged in valiant row, I will never think that she passed you by ! She loves you noble roses, I know ; But yonder see, where the rock-plants lie I 30 LYRICS OF LIFE. This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim ; Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, Its soft meandering Spanish name. What a name ! Was it love, or praise ? Speech half-asleep, or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days. Only for that slow, sweet name's sake. Roses, if I live and do well, I may bring her, one of these days, To fix you fast with as fine a spell, Fit you each with his Spanish phrase ! But do not detain me now ; for she lingers There, like sunshine over the ground, And ever I see her soft white fingers Searching after the bud she found. Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not, Stay as you are and be loved forever ! Bud, if I kiss you 't is that you blow not. Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never! For while thus it pouts, her fingers wrestle, Twinkling the audacious leaves between. Till round they turn and down they nestle, — Is not the dear mark still to be seen ? Where I find her not, beauties vanish ; Whither I follow her, beauties flee ; Is there no method to tell her in Spanish June's twice June since she breathed it with me ? Come, bud, show me the least of her traces. Treasure my lady's lightest footfall — Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces, — Hoses, you are not so fair after all I THE PIED PIPER OF UAMELIN. THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. HAMELIN Town *s in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city ; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side ; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when be<^ins my ditty. Almost five hundred years ago. To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity. Eats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles. And ate the cheeses out of the vats. And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats. Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats. By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats. At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking : " 'T is clear," cried they, *' our Mayor 's a noddy ; And as for our Corporation, — shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What 's best to rid us of our vermin ! You hope, because you 're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease ? Rouse up, Sirs ! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we 're lacking, X>v, sure as fate, we '11 send you packing ! " 31 32 LYRICS OF LIFE. At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation. An hour they sat in counsel, At length the Mayor broke silence : " For a guilder I 'd my ermine gown sell ; I wish I were a mile hence ! It 's easy to bid. one rack one's brain, — I 'm sure my poor head aches again I 've scratched it so, and all in vain. O for a trap, a trap, a trap ! " Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap ? " Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what 's that ? " (With the Corporation as he sat. Looking little, though wondrous fat ; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too long-opened oyster. Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) " Only a scraping of shoes on the mat ? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat ! " " Come in ! " — the Mayor cried, looking bigger; And in did come the strangest figure ! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red ; And he himself was tall and thin. With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin. But lips where smiles went out and in, — There was no guessing his kith and kin ! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire : Quoth one : " It 's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tomb-stone ! ' THE PIED PIPER OF HAM E LIN. He advanced to the council-table : And, " Please your honors," said he, " I *m able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, After me so as you never saw ! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm. The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper ; And people call me the Pied Piper/* (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe. To match with his coat of the selfsame check ; And at the scarfs end hung a pipe ; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham Last June from his huge swarms of gnats ; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats : And, as for what your brain bewilders. If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders ? " " One ? fifty thousand ! " — was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. Into the street the Piper stept. Smiling first a little smile. As if he new what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while ; Then, like a musical adept. To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled. And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled ; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered. You heard as if an army muttered ; 33 34 LYRICS OF LIFE, And the muttering grew to a grumbling ; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling , And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 'Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins. THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 35 Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing. Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished, — Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary. Which was, " At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe : And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards. And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks. And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks ; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, O rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery ! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncbeon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon. All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me. Just as methought it said, Come, bore me ! — I found the Weser rolling o'er me." You should have heard the Ilamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple ; " Go," cried the Mayor, " and get long poles ! Poke out the nests and block up the holes ! Consult with carpenters and builders. And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats ! " — when suddenly up the face 36 LYRICS OF LIFE, Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, *' Eirst if you please, my thousand guilders ! ' A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked blue ; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havock With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow ! "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what *s dead can't come to life I think. So, friend, we 're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke ; But, as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty ; A thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty ! " The Piper's face fell, and he cried, " No trifling ! I can't wait, beside ! I 've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he 's rich in. For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen. Of a nest of scorpions no survivor, — With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I '11 bate a stiver ! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe to another fashion." " How ? " cried the Mayor, " d' ye think I '11 brook Being worse treated than a Cook 1 Insuhed by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald ? TEE PIED PIPER OF EAMELIN, You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst ! " Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering. Out came the children running. All the little boys, and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. The Mayor-was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, — And could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack. And the wretched Council's bosoms beat. As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser polled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters ! However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed ; Great was the joy in every breast. " He never can cross that mighty top ! He 's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop ! " 37 38 LYRICS OF LIFE, When, lo ! as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; And the Piper advanced and the children followed. And when all were in to the very last. The door in the mountain side shut fast. Did I say all ? No. One was lame. And could not dance the whole of the way ; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, — " It 's dull in our town since my playmates left ! I can't forget that I 'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see. Which the Piper also promised me ; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand. Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new ; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here. And their dogs outran our fallow deer. And honey-bees had lost their stings. And horses were born with eagles' wings ; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still. And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will. To go now limping as before. And never hear of that country more ! " Alas ! alas for Hamelin ! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that Heaven's Gate Opes to the Rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in ! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South To offer the Piper by word of mouth. Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content. TEE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 39 If he *d only return the way he went. And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 't was a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever. They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, " And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of Jiily, Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six " ; And the better in memory to fix The place of the Children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's Street, — Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn ; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the Great Church Window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away ; And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there 's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress. To their fiithers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land. But how or why, they don't understand. So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men — especially pipers : And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we 've promised them aught, let us keep our promise. 40 LYRICS OF LIFE, FAME. SEE, as the prettiest graves will do in time, Our poet's wants the freshness of its prime ; Spite of the sexton's browsing horse, the sods Have struggled through its binding osier-rods ; Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry, Wanting the brickwork promised by and by ; How the minute gray lichens, plate o'er plate, Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date I LOVE. SO, the year 's done with ! (Love me forever!) All March begun with, April's endeavor ; May-wreaths that bound me June needs must sever ! Now snows fall round me, Quenching June's fever, — (Love me forever I) SONG. NAY but you, who do not love her. Is she not pure gold, my mistress 1 Holds earth aught, — speak truth, — above her ? Aught like this tress, see, and this tress. INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP, 41 And this last fairest tress of all So fair, see, ere I let it fall! Because, you spend your lives in praising ; To praise, you search the wide world over; So, why not witness, calmly gazing, If earth holds aught — speak truth — above her? Above this tress, and this I touch But cannot praise, I love so much ! INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. YOU know, we French stormed Ratisbon : A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day ; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, . Legs wide, arms locked behind. As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind. Just as' perhaps he mused, " My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader, Lannes, Waver at yonder wall," — Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in smiling joy. And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect — 4 LYRICS OF LIFE. (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through) You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. " Well/' cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace We Ve got you Ratisbon ! The Marshal 's in the market-place. And you '11 be there anon THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. To see your flao:-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him ! " The Chief's eye flashed ; his plans Soared up again like fire. The Chief's eye flashed ; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes : « You 're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said : *' I 'm killed. Sire ! " And, his Chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. 43 THE BOY AND THE ANGEL. MORNING, evening, noon, and night, ** Praise God," sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned, By which the daily meal was earned. Hard he labored, long and well ; O'er his work the boy's curls fell : But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, " Praise God." Then back again his curls he threw. And cheerful turned to work anew. Said Blaise, the listening monk, " Well done ; I doubt not thou art heard, my son : LYRICS OF LIFE, " As well as if thy voice to-day- Were praising God, the Pope's great way. " This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome Praises God from Peter's dome." Said Theocrite, " Would God that I Might praise Him, that great way, and die ! " Night passed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone. With God a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day. God said in Heaven, " Nor day nor night Now brings the voice of my delight.'* Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth. Spread his wings and sank to earth ; Entered in flesh, the empty cell. Lived there, and played the craftsman well ; And morning, evening, noon, and night. Praised God in place of Tiieocrite. And from a boy, to youth he grew : The man put off the stripling's hue : The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay : And ever o'er the trade he bent. And ever lived on earth content. (He did God's will ; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.) God said, " A praise is in mine ear ; There is no doubt in it, no fear : THE BOY AND THE ANGEL, " So sing old worlds, and so New worlds that from my footstool go. " Clearer loves sound other ways : I miss my little human praise." Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell. 'T was Easter Day : he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome. In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery. With his holy vestments dight. Stood the new Pope, Theocrite And all his past career Came back upon him clear. Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, Till on his life the sickness weighed ; And in his cell, when death drew near. An angel in a dream brought cheer ; And rising from the sickness drear He grew a priest, and now stood here. To the East with praise he turned. And on his sight the angel burned. " I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell, And set thee here ; I did not well. " Vainly I left my angel's-sphere. Vain was thy dream of many a year. " Thy voice's praise seemed weak ; it dropped, — Creation's chorus stopped ! 45 46 LYRICS OF LIFE. " Go back and praise again The early way, — while I remain. " With that weak voice of our disdain, Take up Creation's pausinj^ strain. " Back to the cell and poor employ : Become the craftsman and the boy ! " Theocrite grew old at home ; A new Pope dwelt in Peter's Dome. One vanished as the other died : They sought God side by side. TIME'S REVENGES. I'VE a Friend, over the sea ; I like him, but he loves me ; It all grew out of the books I write ; They find such favor in his sight That he slaughters you with savage looks Because you don't admire my books : He does himself though, — and if some vein Were to snap to-night in this heavy brain, To-morrow month, if I lived to try. Round should I just turn quietly. Or out of the bedclothes stretch my hand Till I found him, come from his foreign land To be my nurse in this poor place. And make me broth and wash my face. And light my fire, and, all the while, Bear with his old good-liumored smile That I told him, *' Better have kept away TIME'S REVENGES, Than come and kill me, night and day, With worse than fever's throbs and shoots, At the creaking of his clumsy boots." I am as sure that this he would do. As that St. Paul's is striking Two : And I think I had rather . . . woe is me — Yes, rather see him than not see. If lifting a hand would seat him there Before me in the empty chair To-night, when my head aches indeed, And I can neither think, nor read, And these blue fingers will not hold The pen ; this garret 's freezing cold ! And I 've a Lady — There he wakes, The laughing fiend and prince of snakes Within me, at her name, to pray Fate send some creature in the way Of my love for her, to be down-torn, Upthrust and onward borne So I might prove myself that sea Of passion which I needs must be ! Call my thoughts false and my fancies quaint. And my style infirm, and its figures faint. All the critics say, and more bhime yet. And not one angry word you get ! But, please you, wonder I would put My cheek beneath that Lady's foot Rather than trample under mine The laurels of the Florentine, And you shall see how the Devil spends A fire God gave for other ends ! I tell you, I stride up and down This garret, crowned with love's best crown. And feasted with love's perfect feast, To think I kill for her, at least, Body and soul and peace and fame. Alike youth's end and manhood's aim, — So is my spirit, as flesh with sin. 47 48 LYRICS OF LIFE. Filled full, eaten out and in With the face of her, the eyes of her. The lips and little chin, the stir Of shadow round her mouth ; and she — I '11 tell you — calmly would decree That I should roast at a slow fire, K that would compass her desire And make her one whom they invite To the famous ball to-morrow night. There may be Heaven ; there must be Hell ; Meantime, there i^ our Earth here, — well 1 THE GLOVE. " TT EIGH-HO ! " yawned one day King Francis, X~l " Distance all value enhances ! When a man 's busy, why, leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure. 'Faith, and at leisure once is he ? Straightway he wants to be busy. Here we 've got peace ; and aghast I 'm Caught thinking war the true pastime ! Is there a reason in metre ? Give us your speech, master Peter ! " I who, if mortal dare say so. Ne'er am at loss with my Naso, " Sire," I replied, "joys prove cloudlets : Men are the merest Ixions," — Here the King whistled aloud, " Let 's . . . Heigh-ho ... go look at our lions ! " Such are the sorrowful chances If you talk fine to King Francis. THE GLOVE. 49 And so, to the court-yard proceeding, Our company, Francis was leading, Increased by new followers tenfold Before he arrived at the pen fold ; Lords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen At sunset the western horizon. And Sir De Lorge pressed 'mid the foremost With the dame he professed to adore most, — O, what a face ! One by fits eyed Her, and the horrible pitside ; For the penfold surrounded a hollow Which led where the eye scarce dared follow. And shelved to the chamber secluded Where Bluebeard, the great lion, brooded. The King hailed his keeper, an Arab As glossy and black as a scarab. And bade him make sport and at once stir Up and out of his den the old monster. They opened a hole in the wire-work Across it, and dropped there a firework. And fled ; one's heart's beating redoubled ; A pause, while the pit's mouth was troubled, The blackness and silence so utter. By the fi rework's slow sparkling and sputter; Then earth in a sudden contortion Gave out to our gaze her abortion ! Such a brute ! Were I friend Clement Marot (Whose experience of nature 's but narrow. And whose faculties move in no small mist When he versifies David the Psalmist) I should study that brute to describe you lUum Juda Leonem de Trihu ! One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy To see the black mane, vast and heapy. The tail in the air stitf and straining, The wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning, As over the barrier which bounded His platform, and us who surrounded The barrier, they reached and they rested 50 LYRICS OF LIFE. On the space that might stand him in best stead : • For who knew, he thought, what the amazement, The eruption of clatter and blaze meant, And if, in this minute of wonder. No outlet, 'mid lightning and thunder, Lay broad, and, his shackles all shivered, • The lion at last was delivered 1 Ay, that was the open sky o'erhead ! And you saw by the flash on his forehead. By the hope in those eyes wide and steady, He was leagues in the desert already, Driving the flocks up the mountain. Or catlike couched hard by the fountain To waylay the date-gathering negress : So guarded he entrance or egress. »* How he stands ! '' quoth the King : '^ we may well swear. No novice, we Ve won our spurs elsewhere. And so can aflbrd the confession, We exercise wholesome discretion In keeping aloof from his threshold ; Once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold. Their first would too pleasantly purloin The visitor's brisket or surloin : But who 's he would prove so foolhardy ? Not the best man of Marignan, pardie ! " The sentence no sooner was uttered, Than over the rails a glove fluttered. Fell close to the lion, and rested : The dame 't was, who flung it and jested With life so, De Lorge had been wooing For months past ; he sat there pursuing His suit, weighing out with nonchalance Fine speeches like gold from a balance. Sound the trumpet, no true knight *s a tarrier ! De Lorge made one leap at the barrier, Walked straight to the glove, — while the lion Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on THE GLOVE. 51 The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire, And the musky oiled skin of the Kaffir, — Picked it up, and as calmly retreated. Leaped back where the lady was seated, And full in the face of its owner Flung the glove, — " Your heart's queen, you dethrone her 1 So should I," — cried the King, — " 't was mere vanity, Not love, set that task to humanity ! " Lords and ladies alike turned with loathing From such a proved woU' in sheep's clothing. Not so, I ; for I caught an expression In her brow's undisturbed self-possession Amid the Court's scoffing and merriment, — As if from no pleasing experiment She rose, yet of pain not much heedful So long as the process was needful, — As if she had tried in a crucible, To what " speeches like gold," were reducible. And, finding the finest prove copper. Felt the smoke in her face was but proper ; To know what she had not to trust to, Was worth all the ashes, and dust too. She went out 'mid hooting and laughter ; Clement Marot stayed ; I followed after. And asked, as a grace, what it all meant, — If she wished not the rash deed's recalment ? " For I," — so I spoke, — " am a Poet : Human nature, — behooves that I know it ! " She told me, " Too long had I heard Of the deed proved alone by the word : For my love, — what De Lorge would not dare ! With my scorn, — what De Lorge could compare! And the endless descriptions of death He would brave when my lip formed a breath, I must reckon as braved, or, of course. Doubt his word, — and moreover, perforce, 52 LYRICS OF LIFE. For such gifts as no lady could spurn, Must offer my love in return. When I looked on your lion, it broufrht All the danjrcrs at once to my thought, Encountered by all sorts of men, Before he was lodged in his den, — From the poor slave whose club or bare hands Dug the trap, set the snare on the sands, ' \ With no King and no Court to applaud. By no shame, should he shrink, overawed. Yet to capture the creature made shift, That his rude boys might laugh at tlie gift. To the page who last leaped o'er the fence Of the pit, on no greater pretence Than to get back the bonnet he dropped. Lest his pay for a week should be stopped, — So, wiser I judged it to make One trial what * death for my sake ' Really meant, while the power was yet mine, Than to wait until time should define Such a phrase not so simply as I, Who took it to mean just < to die.' The blow a glove gives is but weak, — Does the mark yet discolor my cheek ? But when the heart suffers a blow. Will the pain pass so soon, do you know ? " I looked, as away she was sweeping. And saw a youth eagerly keeping As close as he dared to the doorway : No doubt that a nol)le should more weigh His life than befits a plebeian ; And yet, had our brute been Nemean, — (I judge by a certain calm fervor The youth stepped with, forward to serve her) — He 'd have scarce thought you did him the worst turn If you whispered " Friend, what you 'd get, first earn ! " And when, shortly after, she carried Her shame from the Court, and they married, 53 FROM GHENT TO AIX. To that marriage some happiness, maugre The voice of the Court, I dared augur. For De Lorge, he made women with men vie, Those in wonder and praise, these in envy ; And in short stood so plain a head taller That he wooed and won . . . How do you call her 1 The beauty, that rose in the sequel To the King's love, who loved her a week well ; And 't was noticed he never would honor De Lorge (who looked daggers upon her) With the easy commission of stretching His legs in the service, and fetching His wife, from her chamber, those straying Sad gloves she was always mislaying, While the King took the closet to chat in, — But of course this adventure came pat in ; And never the King told the story. How bringing a glove brought such glory. But the wife smiled, — " His nerves are grown firmer, — Mine he brings now and utters no murmur ! " "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX." I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; " Good speed ! '* cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; " Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest. And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ; 54 LYRICS OF LIFE, I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Kebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit. Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 'T was moonset at starting ; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; At Diiffeld, 't was morning as plain as could be ; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime. So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time ! " At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one. To stare through the mist at us galloping past. And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur ! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her, We '11 remember at Aix," — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees. And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, *Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. And *' Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight ! " FROM GHENT TO AIX. " How they '11 greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 55 Then I cast loose my bufF-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 56 LYRICS OF LIFE. Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer ; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good. Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is, friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground. And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. WHERE the quiet-colored end of evening smiles Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep, Half-asleep, Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop As they crop, — Was the site once of a city great and gay, (So they say) Of our country's very capital, its prince Ages since Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far Peace or war. Now, — the country does not even boast a tree. As you see, To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to, (else they run Into one) LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all, Made of marble, men might march on nor be prest, Twelve abreast. And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass Never was ! Such a carpet as, this summer-time, overspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, Stock or stone — Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago ; Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame Struck them tame ; And that glory and that shame alike, the gold Bought and sold. Now, — the single little turret that remains On the plains. By the caper overrooted, by the gourd Overscored, While the patching houseleek^s head of blossom winks Through the chinks — Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime. And a burning ring all round, the chariots traced As they raced. And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. And I know, while thus the quiet-colored eve Smiles to leave To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace, 5 S7 58 LYRICS OF LIFE. And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray Melt away — That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there In the turret, whence the charioteers caught soul For the goal, When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb. Till I come. But he looked upon the city, every side, Far and wide. All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades' Colonnades, All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts, — and then, AH the men ! When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, Either hand On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace Of my face. Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each. In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and north, And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky. Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force, — Gold, of course. heart ! O blood that freezes, blood that burns ! Earth's returns For whole centuries of folly, noise, and sin ! Shut them in. With their triumphs and their glories and the rest Love is best ! A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. 59 A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. LET 'S contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep, — All be as before, Love, — Only sleep ! What so wild as words are ? — I and thou In debate, as birds are. Hawk on bough ! See the creature stalking While we speak, — Hush and hide the talking, Cheek on cheek ! What so false as truth is. False to thee ? Where the serpent's tooth is. Shun the tree, — Where the apple reddens Never pry, — Lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I ! Be a god and hold me With a charm, — Be a man and fold me With thine arm ! Teach me, only teach. Love ! As I ought I will speak thy speech, Love, Think thy thought, — 6o LYRICS OF LIFE. Meet, if thou require it. Both demands, Laying flesh and spirit In thy hands ! That shall be to-morrow Not to-night : I must bury sorrow Out of sight. — Must a little weep, Love, — Foolish me ! And so fall asleep. Love, Loved by thee. A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. THAT was I, you heard last night When there rose no moon at all, Nor, to pierce the strained and tight Tent of heaven, a planet small : Life was dead, and so was light. Not a twinkle from the fly, Not a glimmer from the worm. When the criclcets stopped their cry. When the owls forbore a term, You heard music ; that was I. Earth turned in her sleep with pain. Sultrily suspired for proof: In at heaven and out again. Lightning ! — where it broke the roof, Bloodlike, some few drops of rain. A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. 6l What they could my words expressed, O my love, my all, my one ! Singing helped the verses best, And when singing's best was done, To my lute I left the rest. So wore night ; the east was gray, White the broad-faced hemlock flowers ; Soon would come another day ; Ere its first of heavy hours Found me, I had past away. What became of all the hopes, Words and song and lute as well ? Say, this struck you, — " When life gropes Feebly for the path where fell Light last on the evening slopes, " One friend in that path shall be To secure my steps irom wrong ; One to count night day for me, Patient through the watches long. Serving most with none to see." Never say, — as something bodes, — " So the worst has yet a worse ! When life halts 'neath double loads, Better the task-master's curse Than such music on the roads ! " When no moon succeeds the sun, Nor can pierce the midnight's tent Any star, the smallest one. While some drops, where lightning went. Show the final storm begun, — " When the fire-fly hides its spot. When the garden-voices fail In the darkness thick and hot, — 62 LYRICS OF LIFE. Shall another voice avail, That shape be where those are not "? " Has some plague a longer lease Proffering its help uncouth ? Can't one even die in peace ? As one shuts one's eyes on youth, Is that face the last one sees 1 " O, how dark your villa was, Windows fast and obdurate ! How the garden grudged nie grass Where I stood, — the iron gate Ground its teeth to let me pass ! EVELYN HOPE. BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead ! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower. Beginning to die too, in the glass. Little has yet been changed, I think, — The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays through the hinge's chinL Sixteen years old when she died ! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name. It was not her time to love : beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, — Till God's hand beckoned unawares. And the sweet white brow is all of her. EVELYN HOPE. 63 Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire, and dew, — And just because I was thrice as old. And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told ? We were fellow-mortals, naught beside ? No, indeed ! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make. And creates the love to reward the love, — I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! Delayed it may be for more lives yet. Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few, — Much is to learn and much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come, — at last it will. When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, In the lower earth, in the years long still. That body and soul so pure and gay ? Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, And your mouth of your own geranium's red, - And what you would do with me, in fine. In the new life come in the old one's stead. I have lived, I shall say, so much since then. Given up myself so many times. Gained me the gains of various men. Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 64 LYRICS OF LIFE. Yet one thing, one, in my sonl's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me, — And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! What is the issue ? let us see ! I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ; My heart seemed full as it could hold, — There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep, — See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep; You will wake, and remember, and understand. A' MY STAR LL that I know Of a certain star, Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue. Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue ! Then it stops like a bird, — like a flower, hangs furled ; They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world ? Mine has opened its soul to me ; therefore I love it. LIFE IN A LOVE, 65 LOVE IN A LIFE. ROOM after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together. Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her,. Next time, herself! — not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume ! As she brushed it, the corn ice- wreath blossomed anew, — Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. Yet the day wears, And door succeeds door ; I try the fresh fortune, — Kange the wide house from the wing to th3 centre. Still the same chance ! she goes out as I enter. Spend my whole day in the quest, — who cares ? But 't is twilight, you see, — with such suites to explore. Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune ! LIFE IN A LOVE. ESCAPE me? Never, Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both. Me the loving and you the loth. While the one eludes, must the other pursue. My life is a fault at last, I fear, — It seems too much like a fate, indeed ! 66 LYRICS OF LIFE. Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed, — But what if I fail of my purpose here ? . It is but to keep the nerves at strain, To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall. And baffled, get up to begin again, — So the chace takes up one's lifie, that 's all. While, look but once from your furthest bound. At me so deep in the dust and dark. No sooner the old hope drops to ground Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark, I shape me, — Ever Removed ! MEMORABILIA. AH, did you once see Shelley plain. And did he stop and speak to you 1 And did you speak to him again ? How strange it seems, and new ! But you were living before that. And you are living after. And the memory I started at, — My starting moves your laughter ! I crossed a moor with a name of its own And a use in the world no doubt, Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about, — For there I picked up on the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather, — Well, I forget the rest. IN THREE DAYS, 67 AFTER. TAKE the cloak from his face, and at first Let the corpse do its worst. How he lies in his rights of a man ! Death has done all death can. And, absorbed in the new life he leads, He recks not, he heeds Nor his wrong nor my vengeance, — both strike On his senses alike. And are lost in the solemn and strange Surprise of the change. Ha, what avails death to erase His offence, ray disgrace ? I would we were boys as of old In the field, by the fold, — His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn Were so easily borne. I stand here now, he lies in his place, — Cover the face. IN THREE DAYS. SO, I shall see her in three days And just one night, but nights are short, Then two long hours, and that is morn. See how I come, unchanged, unworn, — Feel, where my life broke off from thine. How fresh the splinters keep and fine, — Only a touch and we combine ! 68 LYRICS OF LIFE. Too long, this time of year, the days ! But nights — at least the nights are short. As night shows where her one moon is, A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss. So, life's night gives my lady birth And my eyes hold her ! what is worth The rest of heaven, the rest of earth ? O loaded curls, release your store Of warmth and scent as once before The tingling hair did, lights and darks Out-breaking into fairy sparks When under curl and curl I pried After the warmth and scent inside Through lights and darks how manifold, — The dark inspired, the light controlled ! As early Art embrowned the gold. What great fear — should one say, " Three days That change the world, might change as well Your fortune ; and if joy delays, Be happy that no worse befell." What small fear — if another says, " Three days and one short night beside May throw no shadow on your ways ; But years must teem with change untried, With chance not easily defied, With an end somewhere un descried." No fear ! — or if a fear be born This minute, it dies out in scorn. Fear 1 I shall see her in three days And one night, now the nights are short, Then just two hours, and that is mom. IN A YEAR, 69 IN A YEAR. NEVER any more While I live, Need I hope to see his face As before. Once his love grown chill, Mine may strive, — Bitterly we re-embrace. Single still. Was it something said. Something done. Vexed him ? was it toach of hand, Turn of head ? Strange ! that very way Love begun. I as little understand Lovers decay. TO LYRICS OF LIFE, When I sewed or drew, I recall How he looked as if I sang, — Sweetly too. If I spoke a word. First of all Up his cheek the color sprang, Then he heard. Sitting by my side, At my feet, So he breathed the air I breathed. Satisfied ! I, too, at love's brim Touched the sweet : I would die if death bequeathed Sweet to him. " Speak, I love thee best ! " He exclaimed. " Let thy love my own foretell," — I confessed : «< Clasp my heart on thine Now unblamed. Since upon thy soul as well Hangeth mine ! " "Was it wrong to own. Being truth ? Why should all the giving prove His alone ? I had wealth and ease. Beauty, youth, — Since my lover gave me love, I gave these. That was all I meant, — To be just. And the passion I had raised To content. IN A YEAR, 71 Since he chose to change Gold for dust, If I gave him what he praised Was it strange ? Would he loved me yet, On and on, While I found some way undreamed — Paid my debt ! Gave more life and more. Till, all gone. He should smile, " She never seemed Mine before. " What, — she felt the while, Must I think "? Love 's so different with us men," He should smile. " Dying for my sake, — White and pink ! Can't we touch these bubbles then But they break % " Dear, the pang is brief. Do thy part. Have thy pleasure. How perplext Grows belief! Well, this cold clay clod Was man's heart. Crumble it, — and what comes nexfJ Is it God ? 72 LYRICS OF LIFE, "DE GUSTIBUS — " YOUR ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. Hark, those two in the hazel coppice, — A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, Making love, say, — The happier they ! Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune. And May, and June ! What I love best in all the world, Is, a castle, precipice-encurled, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. Or look for me, old fellow of mine (If I get my head from out the mouth O' the grave, and loose my spirit's bands. And come again to the land of lands), — In a seaside house to the farther south. Where the baked cicalas die of drouth, And one sharp tree ('t is a cypress) stands, By the many hundred years red-rusted. Rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted, My sentinel to guard the sands To the water's edge. For, what expands Without the house, but the great opaque Blue breadth of sea, and not a break ? While, in the house, forever crumbles Some fragment of the frescoed walls. From blisters where a scorpion sprawls. A girl barefooted brings and tumbles ^i WOMEN AND BOSES. 73 Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons. And says there 's news to-day, — the king Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing. Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling. — She hopes they have not caught the felons. Italy, my Italy ! Queen Mary's saying serves for me, — (When fortune's malice Lost her, Calais.) Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, " Italy." Such lovers old are I and she ; So it always was, so it still shall be ! WOMEN AND ROSES. I DREAM of a red-rose tree. And which of its roses three Is the dearest rose to me '? Round and round, like a dance of snow In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go Floating the women faded for ages. Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages. Then follow the women fresh and gay, Living and loving and loved to-day. Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens. Beauties unborn. And all, to one cadence, They circle their rose on my rose-tree. Dear rose, thy term is reached, Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached : Bees pass it unimpeached. 6 74 LYRICS OF LIFE. Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb, You, great shapes of the antique time ! How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you, Break my heart at your feet to please you ? to possess, and be possessed ! Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast \ But once of love, the poesy, the passion. Drink once and die ! — In vain, the same fashion, They circle their rose on my rose-tree. Dear rose, thy joy 's undimmed ; Thy cup is ruby-rimmed. Thy cup's heart, nee tar-brimmed. Deep as drops from a statue's plinth The bee sucked in by the hyacinth, So will I bury me while burning. Quench like him at a plunge my yearning. Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips ! Fold me fast where the cincture slips, Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure ! Girdle me once ! But no, — in their old measure They circle their rose on my rose-tree. Dear rose without a thorn, Thy bud 's the babe unborn. First streak of a new morn. Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear ! What 's far conquers what is near. Roses will bloom nor want beholders. Sprung from the dust where our own flesh moulders. What shall arrive with the cycle's change 1 A novel grace and a beauty strange. 1 will make an Eve, be the artist that began her. Shaped her to his mind ! — Alas ! in like manner They circle their rose on my rose-tree. THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL, 75 THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL: A PICTURE AT FANO. DEAR and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave That child, when thou hast done with him, for me ! Let me sit all the day here, that when eve Shall find performed thy special ministry And time come for departure, thou, suspending Thy flight, may'st see another child for tending, Another still, to quiet and retrieve. Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more. From where thou standest now, to where I gaze, And suddenly my head be covered o'er With those wings, white above the child who prays Now on that tomb, — and I shall feel thee guarding Me, out of all the world ; for me, discarding Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door ! I would not look up thither past thy head Because the door opes, like that child, I know, For I should hav^e thy gracious face instead, Thou bird of God ! And wilt thou bend me low Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together, And lift them up to pray, and gently tether Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread 1 If this was ever granted, I would rest My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast. Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands. Back to its proper size again, and smoothing Distortion down till every nerve had soothing, And all lay quiet, happy, and supprest. 76 LYRICS OF LIFE. How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired ! I think how I should view the earth and skies And sea, when once again my brow was bared After thy healing, with such different eyes. world, as God has made it ! all is beauty : And knowing this, is love, and love is duty. What further may be sought for or declared ? Guercino drew this angel I saw teach (Alfred, dear friend,) — that little child to pray, Holding the little hands up, each to each Pressed gently, — with his own head turned away Over the earth where so much lay before him Of work to do, though heaven was opening o'er him. And he was left at Fano by the beach. We were at Fano, and three times we went To sit and see him in his chapel there. And drink his beauty to our soul's content, — My angel with me too : and since I care For dear Guercino 's fame, (to which in power And glory comes this picture for a dower, Fraught with a pathos so magnificent,) And since he did not work so earnestly At all times, and has else endured some wrong, — 1 took one thought his picture struck from me, And spread it out, translating it to song. My Love is here. Where are you, dear old friend ? How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end ? This is Ancona, yonder is the sea. TWO IN THE C AMP AG N A. TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA. I WONDER do you feel to-day As I have felt, since, hand in hand, We sat down on the grass, to stray In spirit better through the land, This morn of Rome and May ? For me, I touched a thought, I know, Has tantalized me many times, (Like turns of thread the spiders throw Mocking across our path) for rhymes To catch at and let go. Help me to hold it : first it left The yellowing fennel, run to seed There, branching from the brickwork's cleft, Some old tomb's ruin : yonder weed Took up the floating weft. Where one small orange cup amassed Five beetles, — blind and green they grope Among the honey-meal, — and last Everywhere on the grassy slope I traced it. Hold it fast ! The champaign with its endless fleece Of feathery grasses everywhere ! Silence and passion, joy and peace, An everlasting wash of air, — Rome's ghost since her decease. Such life there, through such lengths of hours, Such miracles performed in play, Such primal naked forms of flowers. Such letting Nature have her way While Heaven looks from its towers. 77 78 LYRICS OF LIFE. How say you ? Let us, O my dove, Let us be unashamed of soul, As earth lies bare to heaven above. How is it under our control To love or not to love ? I would that you were all to me. You that are just so much, no more, — Nor yours, nor mine, — nor slave, nor free ! "Where does the fault lie "? what the core Of the wound, since wound must be ? I would I could adopt your will, See with your eyes, and set my heart Beating by yours, and drink my fill At your soul's springs, — your part, my part In life, for good and ill. No. I yearn upward, — touch you close, Then stand away. I kiss your cheek, Catch your soul's warmth, — I pluck the rose And love it more than tongue can speak, — Then the good minute goes. Already how am I so far Out of that minute ? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball, no bar, Onward, whenever light winds blow, Iidxed by no friendly star ? Just when I seemed about to learn ! Where is the thread now 1 Off again ! The old trick ! Only I discern — Infinite passion and the pain Of finite hearts that yeai'U. THE PATRIOT. 79 THE PATRIOT. AN OLD STORY. IT was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad. The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day I The air broke into a mist with bells. The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries. Had I said, " Good folks, mere noise repels, — But give me your sun from yonder skies ! ** They had answered, " And afterward, what else 1 " Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun. To give it my loving friends to keep. Naught man could do, have I left undone, And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. There 's nobody on the house-tops now, — Just a palsied few at the windows set, — For the best of the sight is, all allow, At the Shambles* Gate, — or, better yet, By the very scaffbld*s foot, I trow. I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind, And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind. Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. 8o LYRICS OF LIFE, Thus I entered Brescia, and thus I go ! In such triumphs, people have dropped down dead. "Thou, paid by the World, — what dost thou owe Me ? " God might have questioned : but now instead 'T is God shall requite ! I am safer so. A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL, 8 1 A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. [Time. — Shortly after the revival of learmng in Europe.] LET us begin, and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes. Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, Cared-for till cock-crow. Look out if yonder 's not the day agaia Rimming the rock-row ! That *s the appropriate country, — there, man's thought, Rarer, in tenser, Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought. Chafes in the censer ! Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop : Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain, citied to the top. Crowded with culture ! All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels ; Clouds overcome it ; No, yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit ! • Thither our path lies, — wind we up the heights, — Wait ye the warning 1 Our low life was the level's and the night's ; He *s for the morning ! Step to a tune, square chests, erect the head, ' Ware the beholders ! This is our master, famous, calm, and dead, Borne on our shoulders. Sleep, crop and herd ! Sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, Safe from the weather ! He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft. Singing together. 82 LYRICS OF LIFE, He was a man born with thy face and throat, Lyric Apollo ! Long he lived nameless : how should spring take note Winter would follow ? Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone ! Cramped and diminished, Moaned he, *' New measures, other feet anon ! My dance is finished ? " No, that 's the world's way ! (keep the mountain-side. Make for the city.) He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride Over men's pity ; Left play for work, and grappled with the world Bent on escaping : " What 's in the scroll," quoth he, " thou keepest furled ? Show me their shaping. Theirs, who most studied man, the bard and sage, — Give ! " — So he gowned him, Straight got by heart that book to its last page : Learned, we found him ! Yea, but we found him bald, too, — eyes like lead. Accents uncertain : " Time to taste life," another would have said, " Up with the curtain ! " This man said rather, " Actual life comes next ? Patience a moment ! Grant I have mastered 'learning's crabbed text, Still, there 's the comment. Let me know all. Prate not of most or least, Painful or easy : Even to the crumbs I 'd fain eat up the feast, Ay, nor feel queasy ! " O, such a life as he resolved to live, When he had learned it. When he had gathered all books had to give ; Sooner, he spurned it ! Image the whole, then execute the parts, — Fancy the fabric Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz. Ere mortar dab brick ! A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. 83 (Hire 's the town-gate reached : there 's the market-place Gaping before us.) Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus) Still before living he 'd learn how to live, — No end to learning. Earn the means first, — God surely will contrive Use for our earning. Others mistrust and say, — " But time escapes, — Live now or never ! " He said, " What 's Time ? leave Now for dogs and apes ! Man has Forever." Back to his book then : deeper drooped his head ; Calculus racked him : Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead ; Ttissis attacked him, ** Now, Master, take a little rest ! " — not he ! (Caution redoubled ! Step two a-breast, the way winds narrowly.) Not a whit troubled, Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. O, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain. Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure, Bad is our bargain ! Was it not great ? did he not throw on God, (He loves the burthen) — God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen ? Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what it all meant ? He would not discount life, as fools do here, Paid by instalment! He ventured neck or nothing, — heaven's success Found, or earth's failure : " Wilt thou trust death or not "? " he answered, " Yes. Hence with life's pale lure ! " 84 LYRICS OF LIFE. That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it : This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one. His hundred 's soon hit : This high man, aiming at a million. Misses an unit. That, has the world here, — should he need the next. Let the world mind him ! This, throws himself on God, and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. So, with the throttling hands of Death at strife. Ground he at grammar ; Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife. While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business, — let it be ! — Properly based Oun, — Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, Dead from the waist down. Well, here 's the platform, here 's the proper place. Hail to your purlieus All ye highfliers of the feathered race, Swallows and curlews ! Here ^s the top-peak ! the multitude below Live, for they can there. This man decided not to Live but Know, — Bury this man there? Here, — here 's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened. Stars come and go ! let joy break with the storm, — Peace let the dew send ! Lofty designs must close in like effects : Loftily lying. Leave him, — still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying. THE CONFESSIONAL. 85 THE CONFESSIONAL. [SPAIN.] IT is a lie, — their Priests, their Pope, Their Saints, their ... all they fear or hope Are lies, and lies, — there ! through my door And ceiling, there ! and walls and floor, There, lies, they lie, shall still be hurled, Till spite of them I reach the world ! 86 LYRICS OF LIFE. You think Priests just and holy men ! Before they put me in this den, I was a liuman creature too, With flesh and blood like one of you, A girl that laughed in beauty's pride Like lilies in your world outside. I had a lover, — shame avaunt ! This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt, Was kissed all over till it burned. By lips the truest, love e'er turned His heart's own tint : one night they kissed My soul out in a burning mist. So, next day when the accustomed train Of things grew round my sense again, << That is a sin," I said, — and slow With downcast eyes to church I go, And pass to the confession-chair, And tell the old mild father there. But when I falter Beltran's name, " Ha 1 " quoth the father ; " much I blame The sin ; yet wherefore idly grieve '^ Despair not, — strenuously retrieve ! Nay, I will turn this love of thine To lawful love, almost divine. *' For he is young, and led astray, This Beltran, and he schemes, men say. To change the laws of church and state ; So, thine shall be an angel's fate. Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll Its cloud away and save his soul. " For, when he lies upon thy breast, Thou mayst demand -and be possessed Of all his plans, and next day steal To me, and all those plans reveal, THE CONFESSIONAL. Sy That I and every priest, to purge His soul, may fast and use the scourge." That father's heard was long and white. With love and truth his brow seemed bright ; I went back, all on fire with joy. And, that same evening, bade the boy, Tell me, as lovers should, heart-free. Something to prove his love of me. He told me what he would not tell For hope of Heaven or fear of Hell ; And I lay listening in such pride, And, soon as he had left my side, Tripped to the church by morning-light To save his soul in his despite. I told the father all his schemes, Who were his comrades, what their dreams , " And now make haste," I said, *• to pray The one spot from his soul away : To-night he comes, but not the same Will look ! " At night he never came. Nor next night : on the after-morn, I went forth with a strength new-bom : The church was empty ; something drew My steps into the street ; I knew It led me to the market-place, — Where, lo ! — on high — the father's face ! That horrible black scaffold drest, — The stapled block . . . God sink the rest ! That head strapped back, that blinding vest, Those knotted hands and naked breast, — Till near one busy hangman pressed, — And — on the neck these arms caressed. . . . No part in aught they hope or fear ! No Heaven with them, no Hell, — and here. 88 LYRICS OF LIFE. No Earth, not so much space as pens My body in their worst of dens But shall bear God and Man my cr}% — Lies, — lies, again, — and still, they lie ! ONE WAY OF LOVE. ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves, And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside ? Alas ! Let them lie. Suppose they die 1 The chance was they might take her eye. How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute ! To-day I venture all I know. She M'ill not hear my music ? So ! Break the string, fold music's wing. Suppose Pauline had bade me sing ! My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion. — Heaven or hell ? She will not give me heaven 1 'T is well ! Lose who may, I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they. ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE, 89 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. j: ' TINE was not over, Though past the full, And the best of her roses Had yet to blow. When a man I know (But shall not discover, Since ears are dull, And time discloses) Turned him and said, with a man's true air, Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 't were, — ** If I tire of your June, will she greatly care 1 " "Well, Dear, in-doors with you ! True, serene deadness Tries a man's temper. What 's in the blossom June wears on her bosom ? Can it clear scores with you ? Sweetness and redness, Eadem semper ! Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly ! If June mends her bowers now, your hand left unsightly hy plucking their roses, — my June will do rightly. And after, for pastime. If June be refulgent With flowers in completeness. All petals, no prickles, Delicious as trickles Of wine poured at mass-time, — And choose One indulgent To redness and sweetness : Or if, with experience of man and of spider, She use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder. To stop the fresh spinning, — why, June will consider. 7 90 LYRICS OF LIFE, MISCONCEPTIONS. THIS is a spray the Bird clung to, Making it blossom with pleasure. Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. O, what a hope beyond measure Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to, - So to be singled out, built in, and sung to ! This is a heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, Meet for love's regal dalmatic. O, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on, — Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on ! ONE WORD MORE. TO E. B. B. THERE they are, my fifty men and women Naming me the fifty poems finished ! Take them, Love, the book and me together. Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also. Rafael made a century of sonnets. Made and wrote them in a certain volume Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil Else he only used to draw Madonnas : ONE WORD MORE, 9 1 These, the world might view, — but One, the volume. Who that one, you ask ? Your heart instructs you. Did she live and love it all her lifetime 1 Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets, Die, and let it drop beside her pillow Where it lay in place of Rafiiel's glory, Rafael's cheek so duteous and so loving, — Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painter's, Rafael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's ? You and I would rather read that volume, (Taken to his beating bosom by it,) Lean and list the bosom-beats of Rafael, Would we not ? than wonder at Madonnas, — Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno, Her, that visits Florence m a vision, Her, that 's left with lilies in the Louvre, — Seen by us and all the world in circle. You and I will never read that volume. Guido Reni, like his own eye's apple Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it. Guido Reni dying, all Bologna Cried, and the world with it, " Ours — the treasure ! " Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. Dante once prepared to paint an angel : Whom to please ? You whisper " Beatrice." While he mused and traced it and retraced it, (Peradventure with a pen corroded Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for. When, his left-hand i' the hair o' the wicked. Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma, Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment, Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle, Let the wretch go festering through Florence,) — Dante, who loved well because he hated. Hated wickedness that hinders loving, Dante standing, studying his angel, — ■u- LYRICS OF LIFE. In there broke the folk of his Inferno. Says he, — " Certain people of importance'* (Such he gave his daily, dreadful line to) Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet. Says the poet, — " Then I stopped my painting." You and I would rather see that angel, Painted by the tenderness of Dante, Would we not 1 — than read a fresh Inferno. You and I will never see tbat picture. "While he mused on love and Beatrice, While he softened o'er his outlined angel. In they broke, those '' people of importance " : We and Bice bear the loss forever. What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture ? This ; no artist lives and loves that longs not Once, and only once, and for One only, (Ah, the prize !) to find his love a language Fit and fair and simple and sufficient, — Using nature that 's an art to others. Not, this one time, art that 's turned his nature. Ay, of all the artists living, loving, None but would forego his proper dowry, — Does he paint '? he fain would write a poem, — Does he write ? he fain would paint a picture. Put to proof art alien to the artist's. Once, and only once, and for One only, So to be the man and leave the artist. Save the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow. Wherefore ? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatement ! He who smites the rock and spreads the water, Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him, Even he, the minute makes immortal. Proves, perchance, liis mortal in the minute. Desecrates, belike, the deed in doing. ONE WORD MORE. 93 While he smites, how can he but remember, So he smote before, in such a peril. When they stood and mocked, — «* Shall smiting help us ? " When they drank and sneered, — "A stroke is easy ! " When they wiped their mouths and went their journey, Throwing him for thanks, — " But drought was pleasant." Thus old memories mar the actual triumph; Thus the doing savors of disrelish; Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat ; O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate, Carelessness or consciousness, the gesture. For he bears an ancient wrong about him. Sees and knows again tliose phalanxed faces, Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude, — " How shouldst thou, of all men, smite, and save us ? " Guesses what is like to prove the sequel, — " Egypt's flesh-pots, — nay, the drought was better." O, the crowd must have emphatic warrant ! Theirs, the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilliance. Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat. Never dares the man put otF the prophet. Did he love one face from out the thousands, (Where she Jethro's daughter, white and wifely. Were she but the Ethiopian bond-slave,) He would envy yon dumb patient camel. Keeping a reserve of scanty water Meant to save his own life in the desert; Ready in the desert to deliver (Kneeling down to let his breast be opened) Hoard and life together for his mistress. I shall never, in the years remaining. Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues, Make you music that should all-express me ; So it seems : I stand on my attainment. This of verse alone, one life allows me ; Verse and nothing else have I to give you. 94 LYRICS OF LIFE. Other heights in other lives, God willing, — All the gifts from all the heights, your own. Love ! Yet a semblance of resource avails us, — Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize it. Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly. Lines I write the first time and the last time. He who works in fresco, steals a hair-brush, Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly, Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little. Makes a strange art of an art familiar. Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets. He who blows through bronze, may breathe through silver, Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess. He who writes, may write for once, as I do. Love, you saw me gather men and w^omen, Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy. Enter each and all, and use their service, Speak from every mouth, — the speech, a poem. Hardly shall I tell my joys and sorrows, Hopes and fears, belief and disbelieving : I am mine and yours, — the rest be all men's, Karshook, Cleon, Norbert, and tjie fifty. Let me speak this once in my true person, Not as Li])po, Roland, or Andrea, Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence, — Pray you, look on these my men and women, Take and keep my fifty poems finished ; Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also ! Poor the speech ; be how I speak, for all things. Not but that you know me ! Lo ! the moon's self! Here in London, yonder late in Florence, Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. Curving on a sky imbrued with color, Drifted over Ficsole by twilight. Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth. Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato, ONE WORD MORE. 95 Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder, Perfect till the nightinf^ales applauded. Now, a piece of her old self, impoverished, Hard to greet, she traverses the house-roofs, Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver. Goes dispiritedly, — glad to finish. What, there 's nothing in the moon note-worthy ? Nay, — for if that moon could love a mortal, Use, to charm him (so to fit a fancy) All her magic ('t is the old sweet mythos) She would turn a new side to her mortal, Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman, — Blank to Zoroaster on his terrace. Blind to Galileo on his turret. Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats, — him, even ! Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal, -^ When she turns round, comes again in heaven. Opens out anew for worse or better ? Prov^es she like some portent of an iceberg Swimming full upon the ship it founders. Hungry with huge teeth of splintered crystals ? Proves she as the paved-work of a sapphire Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain 1 Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, Stand upon the paved-work of a sapphire. Like the bodied heaven in his clearness Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved-work. When they ate and drank and saw God also ! What were seen ? None knows, none ever shall know. Only this is sure, — the sight were other. Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence, Dying now impoverished here in London. God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with. One to show a woman when he loves her. 96 LYRICS OF LIFE. This I say of me, but think of j'ou, Love ! This to you, — yourself my moon of poets! Ah, but that 's the world's side, — there 's the wonder, - Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you. There, in turn I stand with them and praise you, Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. But the best is when I glide from out them, Cross a step or two of dubious twilight. Come out on the other side, the novel Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of, Where I hush and bless myself with silence. O, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, O, their Dante of the dread Inferno, Wrote one song — and in my brain I sing it, Drew one angel — borue, see, on my bosom ! MEETING AT NIGHT. 97 MEETING AT NIGHT. THE gray sea and the long black land ; And the yellow half-moon large and low ; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed in the slushy sand. Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach ; Three fields to cross till a farm appears ; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match. And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each ! 98 LYRICS OF LIFE. PARTING AT MORNING. ROUND the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun h)oked over the mountain's rim, - And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me. PROSPICE. FEAR death ? — to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place. The power of the night, the press of the storm. The post of the foe ; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form. Yet the strong man must go : For the journey is done and the summit attained. And the barriers fall. Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained. The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so, — one fight more, The best and the last ! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old. Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave. The black minute 's at end. MAY AND DEATH. And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace, then a joy, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest ! 99 MAY AND DEATH. I WISH that when you died last May, Charles, there had died along with you Three parts of spring's delightful things ; Ay, and, for me, the fourth part too. A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps ! There must be many a pair of friends Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm Moon-births and the long evening-ends. So, for their sakes, be May still May ! Let their new time, as mine of old. Do all it did for me : I bid Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold. Only, one little sight, one plant. Woods have in May, that starts up green Save a sole streak which, so to speak, Is spring's blood, spilt its leaves between, — That, they might spare ; a certain wood Might miss the plant ; their loss were small : But I, — whene'er the leaf grows there, Its drop comes from my heart, that 's all. lOo LYRICS OF LIFE, THE DOORWAY. '^Ij^ty SW8 JJ5 set her six young on the rail, X "^ A| <:«s seaward : The water 's^ Jipes like a snake, olive-pale To't^nceward, — On^the weather-side, black, spotted white with the wind: " Good fortune departs, and disaster 's behind," — Hark, the wind with its wants and its infinite wail ! 'UT fig-tree, that leaned for the saltness, has furled Her five fiagers, p leaf like a haflk opened wide to the world Where there lingers No glint of the gold, Summer sent for her sake : How the vines writhe in rows, each impaled on its stake ! My heart shrivels up, and my spirit shrinks curled. Yet here are we two ; we have love, house enough. With the field there. This house of four rooms, that field red and rough, Though it yield there, For the rabbit that robs, scarce a blade or a bent ; If a magpie alight now, it seems an event ; And they both will be gone at November's rebuff. But why muF^ cold spread 1 but wherefore bring change To the spirit, God meant should mate His with an infinite range. And inherit His power to put life in the darkness and cold ? O, live and love worthily, bear and be bold ! Whom Summer made friends of, let Winter estrange ! AMONG THE XOC£S. lOI AMONG THE ROCKS. OGOOD, gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning ! How he sete his bones To bask i* the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth ; Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters, ^sweet. That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true ; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love. Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you : Make the low nature better by your throes ! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above ! Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. e c « c « , « t.rj- J « -'{ 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or ' on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. f MAY 1 2 1987 ^fJ^z^:^; >f^ prC'O v^ ^m i6 n^ t!B«ABY U8K JAN 1 4 1961 JUN3 01987 T.D 21A-50m-4,'59 (A1724sl0)476B General Library University of California Berkeley "l^'^^^^^'BS/imK ,^0030i '?a?7 m-^-^'A^' Mluy^ C757 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY mMm, ^^f^^^^tm^^ W^aOT( iWJiniraJAyiyiia WWi MAi^-^ •^%ft^^4t^"7C^'C'^V>vA/AWA'^A.