Ex Libris 
 
 i 
 
 ISAAC FOOT i
 
 i. VVf, %U^^ 
 
 '^' \iAMA,. K^i,-'
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH, 
 
 Etc., Etc.
 
 I
 
 THE 
 
 SECRET OE DEATH 
 
 [S'roni the Sanshvit] 
 WITH SOME COLLECTED POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWIN ARNOLD, M. A., 
 
 Author of " The Light of Asia" 
 
 COMPANION OF THE STAR OF INDIA 
 
 OFFICER OF THE ORDER OK THE WHITE ELEPHANT OF SIAM 
 
 THIRD CLASS OF THE IMPERIAL ORDER OF THE IVIEDJIDIEH 
 
 THIRD CLASS OF THE EXALTED ORDER OF THE OSMANIEH 
 
 FELLOW OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC AND ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETIES 
 
 HONORARY MEMBER OF THE S0CIETl5 DE GEOGRAPHIE, MARSEILLES 
 
 FORMERLY PRINCIPAL OF THE DECCAN COLLEGE, POONA 
 
 AND FELLOW OF THE UNIVERSITY OF BOMBAY 
 
 LONDON 
 TRUBNKR & CO., LUUGATE HILL 
 
 1885 
 \^All rights reserjed\
 
 
 BAI.I.ANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON
 
 BeMcation. 
 
 TO MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Because I know my verse shall henceforth Jive 
 
 On lips to he, — in hearts as yei unhealing; 
 Because the East and West ivill some-day give — 
 
 When Faith and Doubt are friends, at some far meeting — 
 Late p-aise to him ivho dreamed it; — therefore, here, — 
 
 As one that carves upon a groiving willow 
 The word it is to keep for many a year; 
 
 As one that paints — before she breasts the billow — 
 A dear name on his vessel's prow ; as one 
 
 That, finishing a fane, makes dedicatiott 
 With golden letters on the polished stone. 
 
 Crowning his toil by loving celebration ; — 
 Here, — while these last — our love I celebrate. 
 For thy sake and thy Mother's ; — writing "KATE." 
 
 EDWIN ARNOLD. 
 Christmas, 1884-
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 INTKOOUCTlUN 
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH 
 
 HERO AND LEAKDER 
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION 
 
 NENCIA 
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE 
 
 THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT 
 
 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS 
 
 VERNIER . 
 
 KING SALADIN 
 THE RAJAH'S RIDE . 
 A BIHARI MILL-SONG 
 HINDOO FUNERAL SONG 
 SONG OF THE SERPENT-CHARMERS 
 SONG OF THE FLOUR-MILL 
 "STUDENTS' DAY" IN THE XATIUNAI. r.M. 
 Tin; KNIGHT'S TOMB AT SWANSCOMRE CllU 
 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER 
 
 THE THREE ROSES 
 
 ALLA MANO DELLA MTA DONNA . 
 
 THE HYMN OF THE I'JUKSTESS OF DIANA 
 
 TO A SLEEPING LADY 
 
 TO STELLA 
 
 LINES INSCRIBED ON A SKULL PICKED LP 
 
 POLLS AT ATHENS .... 
 DEDICATION OF A POEM FliOM THE SANSKI 
 THE NE\V L LCI AN 
 
 Ei;v 
 CH 
 
 ON 
 
 IT 
 
 THE 
 
 ACRO 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 7 
 41 
 63 
 84 
 108 
 121 
 126 
 13^ 
 143 
 164 
 169 
 174 
 175 
 177 
 179 
 1S6 
 190 
 
 193 
 201 
 209 
 213 
 216 
 
 217 
 219 
 220
 
 via 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ON THE DEATH Ob^ THE PEINCESS ALICE 
 FACIES NON OMNIBUS UXA . 
 ARMAGEDDON .... 
 THE FOUR CROWNS ... 
 HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR SQUARI 
 
 OXFORD REVISITED . 
 
 A DUET 
 
 THE ALTAR OF PITY 
 
 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY . 
 
 REST 
 
 THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN BELLE" 
 
 A HOME SONG 
 
 FOND FANCIES 
 
 THE LANDING OF THE PRINCESS OF WALES 
 
 TO F. C. H 
 
 HE AND SHE 
 
 ON A DEAD LADY (FROM THE ITALIAN) 
 THE THREE STUDENTS 
 
 SERENADE 
 
 LYDIA (FROM HORACE) . 
 
 DANTE xVND HIS VERSES . 
 
 THE LOST PLEIiVD . 
 
 AMADIS OF GAUL TO DON QUIXOTE DE LA 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS . 
 
 CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN 
 
 ON A CYCLAMEN, PLUCKED AT CANA OF GALILEE 
 
 A DISCOURSE OF BUDDHA 
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS 
 
 A DEDICATION .... 
 
 TR.VNSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK 
 
 CROS, 
 
 MANCHA 
 
 PAGE 
 221 
 
 222 
 
 223 
 
 227 
 
 2;o 
 
 234 
 236 
 
 23S 
 
 245 
 249 
 252 
 267 
 269 
 
 *> n "* 
 -/.•) 
 
 27S 
 2S3 
 2S8 
 2S9 
 
 291 
 293 
 
 295 
 
 297 
 
 311 
 313 
 
 524 
 
 344 
 345
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 You ask me, Dear ! what perfect tliiug 
 
 I find in all my Avandering 
 
 These ancient Sanskrit scrolls amid, 
 
 Where India's deepest heart is hid ? 
 
 Nothing, I answer, half so wise 
 
 As one glance from your gentle eyes ! 
 
 Nothing so tender or so true 
 
 As one word interchanged with vou ! 
 
 Because, two souls conjoined can see 
 
 More than the best philosophy. 
 
 Yet, wise and true and tender lore 
 
 Waits him who will those leaves explore. 
 
 Which, plucked from palm or plantain-tree, 
 
 Display, in Devanagari,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The grand, sonorous, long-liuked linos 
 
 W-heretlirough that " Light of Asia " shines. 
 
 And you have asked ; so I obey, 
 
 Hastening upon your knees to lay 
 
 This lovely lotus-blossom, grown 
 
 Long ere our Mary's Rose was blown ; 
 
 This pearl of hope, fetched from the sea 
 
 Before they fished at Galilee ! 
 
 For thus, I think, your kindest eyes 
 
 May read deep truth with glad surprise. 
 
 The subtle thought, the far-off faith. 
 
 The deathless spirit mocking Death, 
 
 The close-packed sense, hard to unlock 
 
 As diamonds from the mother-rock. 
 
 The solemn, brief, simplicity, 
 
 The insight, fancy, mystery 
 
 Of Hindoo scriptures — all are had 
 
 In this divine Upanishad. 
 
 I read it in my Indian days. 
 Beyond our city, where the ways
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Parted — for Looni and Kirki — 
 
 A hill, steep-sloping you might see. 
 
 It rises from the river's bank, 
 
 And all its sides are green and rank 
 
 With spear-grass, bamboo, cactus, thorn; 
 
 And bright with fragrant blossoms, borne 
 
 By neem and baubul ; and the air 
 
 Sighs cool across a prospect fair 
 
 Of Deccan villages and fields, 
 
 Where the dark soil rich tribute yields 
 
 Of pulse and millet. Farther back, 
 
 Sivaji's mountains, flat and black. 
 
 Fold round the plain. Upon that hill 
 
 There stood (I think it stands there still !) 
 
 A little shrine, in ancient days 
 
 Built by a Sett to Siva's praise ; 
 
 Milk-white it glimmered through the green. 
 
 Save that upon its gate was seen 
 
 A blood-red hand impressed, and, near. 
 
 The three-fold mark to Siva dear. 
 
 Sacred and placid was the place, 
 
 With cool, smooth walls, and slender grace
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Of domed roof, and a peepul tree, 
 
 And platform of hewn masonry, 
 
 Whereto the distant city's hum 
 
 Came soft, with broken beats of drum 
 
 Which did not mar the solitude ; 
 
 For all around that temple cooed 
 
 The creamy doves ; striped squirrels leaped 
 
 From stem to stem, the musk-rat peeped 
 
 Under the wall ; beside the porch 
 
 Flamed the red lizard like a torch 
 
 Flung on the rock ; the egrets stretched 
 
 Their snowy wings ; green parrots fetched 
 
 Fruit to their young with joyous cries ; 
 
 The monkey-peoples' mild brown eyes 
 
 Glittered from bough and coping-stone ; 
 
 And — underneath a root — alone. 
 
 Dwelt a great cobra, thick and black, 
 
 With ash-grey mottlings on his back, — 
 
 A most prodigious snake ! — but he 
 
 Kept the peace, too, religiously, 
 
 With folded hood, and fangs of death 
 
 Sheathed, while he drew his slow, cold breath,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Coiled in the sun, or lapped the feast 
 Of warm milk poured him by the Priest. 
 
 For in that Temple lived a Sage, 
 A Twice-born, reverend by his age 
 And wondrous wisdom ; and, it fell 
 For some small service, — vain to tell, — 
 This Brahman was my friend ; and so, 
 Ofttimes at daybreak I would go 
 To watch the sunlight flood the skies, 
 And ask of strange philosophies. 
 Thus chanced it that one morn we had 
 Talk on this same Upanishad, — 
 (Beyond my learning, then, as now,) 
 But herein is it written how 
 I slowly spelled the text we read, 
 And, at the hard words, what he said — 
 (For nowise shall one comprehend 
 Such lore without some sager friend — ) 
 So have you. Dear ! the help I had 
 Conning this great Upanishad,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Wliile the snake sunned himself at ease. 
 And monkeys chattered in the trees. 
 And on the Moota-Moola lay 
 The first gold of the growing Day.
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 [lu a Temple beside the River Moota-Moola, near tlie city of 
 Poona, a Brahman Priest and an English " Saheb " read 
 together from a Sanskrit MS. the first three Vallts or 
 "Lotus-Stems" of the Katha Upanishad.'\ 
 
 FIRST VALLI. 
 
 Saheb. Usan ha vat Vajasravas — the scroll 
 Commenceth thus ! Sarwavedasandadau — 
 Which is, interpreted : " For hope of heaven 
 All that he had, Vajasrava's great son 
 Gave to the poor." 
 
 Priest. 'Tis so ! 
 
 >S'. Tasya ha nam 
 
 PuTRA AS Nachiketas : " and of him 
 The son was Nachiketas." 
 
 P. Yea ! the scroll 
 
 Speaketh of one who saw Death face to face
 
 8 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 And questioned Death, and from dread Yama's lips 
 Learned utmost lore of life and death ; and — dead — 
 Liveth for ever and for ever. Read 
 This holy scripture onward! I will still 
 Recite the comment. 
 
 >S'. Dakshinasu, Sir! 
 
 KUMARAN SANTAN NIYAMANASU 
 
 Sraddh'avivesha : " When the gifts were brought 
 Strong filial pity seized the young man's heart." — 
 (What gifts, and wherefore, Pundit ?) 
 
 P. These were cows ; 
 
 And because Gautama was poor, his cows — 
 The leanest of the fields — furnished a gift 
 Worthless to take or give, save for the heart 
 Of utter charity which offered them. 
 
 8. So 'many AT — thus it runs : " And then he 
 thought," 
 PiTODAKA, " Such beasts as drink the pool," 
 
 JUGDHATRINA, DUGDHADOHA, " and eat, 
 
 Milkless, the grass," but " nirindriya, " keep 
 No power to breed ; " ta dadat gachchati 
 Ananda nama te lokastan sa.
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 9 
 
 " Who givetli such, unto a region goes 
 Joyless ; " 
 
 P. Good ! this he thought, — and then lie said ? 
 
 >S'. Sa hovach pitaeam tat, mandasyasi 
 Kasmai : " And then he said unto his sire, 
 ' To whom wilt thou that I be given ? ' " 
 
 F. Aj'e : 
 
 'Tis thus ; hut, comprehendest thou ? The boy 
 Grieved so to see his father's fruitless gift — 
 Which could not profit ; that for tender love 
 Himself he offered, saying, " Give me, sir ! " 
 
 S. DwiTYAN TRITIYANNAN HOVACH : " when that twice. 
 And thrice he said it, Gautama his sire 
 Mrityave TWA DADAMi, spake, in wrath. 
 To Death I give thee ! " 
 
 P. 'Twas a hasty cry 
 
 Sprung from the pride no saint should ever feel ! 
 Ah ! foolish father ! now thy son must die ! 
 
 >S'. BAHtolMEMI PRATHAM " I am first 
 Of many sons," BAHtJNAM madhyama, 
 " But, of as many more not first nor laat ! 
 Kim swidyamasya Kartivyam yanmay
 
 lo THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Adya Karishyati, " what good use 
 Of Yama may I serve, dying to-day ? " 
 
 P. See now ! the boy was humble, ranking not 
 Even his own sweet spirit with the best ; 
 Yet, best he was ; and, though the scroll saith naught. 
 Be sure that woeful father wept, and cried 
 " Alas ! I spake in wrath, guilty and rash ! 
 Alas ! I would not buy Heaven's self with thee ! 
 Oh, son ! take back thy word, that I may take 
 My heedless utterance back ! my child ! my child ! 
 How could I slay thee, who would die for thee ? " 
 Whereto the lad replied : — Repeat the script ! 
 
 S. Anupasya yatha purwe — " Sir ! bethink 
 How those of old, the saints, clove to their word ; 
 How those who live to-day must cleave to it ! 
 Like sesamum ripens our mortal life ; 
 Like sesamum 'tis reaped, sifted, and sown 
 To grow again." 
 
 P. He meaneth : " not for life — 
 
 Which is but blade, and ear, and husk, and grain 
 To the self-living, changeless sesamum ! — 
 Not for this fleeting world, — should holy men
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. li 
 
 Speak one word vainly." Now, again, tliy scroll 
 Is silent here ; yet, thou may'st justly think 
 The woeful father bowed his head, and knew 
 The boy's speech good, and bore to see him go, 
 That both their sayings should be justified. 
 So went he — seeking Death — to yield himself! 
 But coming, all unsummoned, to the house 
 Where red Death dwells, no Yama found he there 
 To bid him bitter welcome. Then he lodged 
 Three days and nights in the abode of Death 
 A guest untended. Take the scroll, anew, 
 And read of Nachikctas in Death's Hall 
 Alone ! 
 
 S. Vaiswanara pravishatyati 
 
 Atithi grihan Brahmano, " a guest 
 That is a Twice-bom, entering at the door 
 Cometh like sacred fire ; " tasyaitan 
 Santin Kurvvanti, iiar Vaivaswata ! 
 U DAKAM : " Unto such the righteous make 
 Due guest-rites, saying, oh, thou child of Light ! 
 Have water here, food, shelter." Then it writes : 
 AsAPRATOKsnfi SANGATAN, " good heart,
 
 12 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Good expectations, friendships, favour, grace, 
 Strong sons, and fruitful cattle; all these gifts 
 Forfeits that faultful man in whose abode 
 A Brahman, entering, findeth proffered not 
 Food and foot-water." 
 
 P. True ! the sense is so ! 
 
 And Yama coming home, and seeing there 
 Young Nachiketas, all unhonoured, saith : 
 
 TiSRO RATRIRYADVATSIRGRIHE read ! 
 
 S. "Threedaysandnights, oh, Brahman! tarriedst thou. 
 None bringing thee, who art a noble guest. 
 Food and foot-water ! therefore, now, to thee 
 Repentant salutations ! and to me 
 Forgiveness for this sin ! But, 'ere thou diest. 
 Ask me three boons, for each past night one boon." 
 
 " Then Nachiketas said : ' That Gautama 
 Be comforted ; and restful in his mind ; 
 Thinking fair thoughts of me, who die for him. 
 This, of thy three boons, Yama ! first I ask.' " 
 
 " Answered the God of Death : ' This boon I grant ;
 
 THE SECRET OF DEA TH. 
 
 Thv father sliall be comforted, and think 
 Gentle and lioly thonglits of thee ; shall sleep 
 Peaceful at niii'hts, knowincr- — bv dreams I send — 
 Thou hast made happy passage of Death's gate.' " 
 
 P. Now Nachiketas asks again — and mark 
 How simple-sweet our Sanskrit rolls along ! 
 See, too, how bold he speaks to Yama here ! 
 Na bhyan kincha swarge loke — read ! 
 Nasti, na tatra twax. 
 
 S. Na tatra twax — 
 
 " In Swarga-lok' — in the abodes of Heaven — 
 There is not any dread ; nor, any more, 
 Terror of thee I Thou art not there ; nor tears. 
 Nor thirst, nor hunger, nor the aches of life ! 
 But, fled past farthest reach of grief, the souls 
 Sleep safely in that place. If that place be, 
 Thou knowest, Yama ! how the sacrifice 
 Is kindled which may gain it : make me know ; 
 That I, who die, may light that holy fire, 
 And come, avoiding Hell, to Swarga's peace. 
 Tliis, of thy three boons, is the next I ask." 
 
 P. nightly thou rcadest ! Yama answereth him
 
 14 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 S. Pra te bravimi — " I shall tell thee ! hear ! 
 I know that holy fire, and how it springs. 
 The splendour of it shineth through all worlds, 
 Possessing them ! the strength of it upholds 
 The Universe ! Its spark is hidden close 
 Inside the inmost man, in the hollow heart." 
 (Guru ! what meaneth he ?) 
 
 P. He meaneth this : 
 
 " The spirit of a man, whereby he strives, 
 Flashes from star to star — if so it will — 
 And — if it will — sleeps in the smallest drop 
 Of the midmost heart-blood." Yama sayeth so. 
 
 >S^. Yet, Pundit, this is hard to comprehend ! 
 How can it be that what hath plenitude 
 To range from star to star should hide itself 
 I' the hollow of a heart ? 
 
 P. I answer thee 
 
 Out of the great Upanishad, surnamed 
 Khandogya ! Gather me up yon fruit 
 Dropped by the parrots from the Banyan 1 
 What seest thou therein ?
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 15 
 
 S. A scarlet fig 
 
 Not larger than the Moulvie's praying bead ! 
 
 P. Break it, and say again ! 
 
 S. I break it, sir, 
 
 And see a hundred little yellow seeds ! 
 
 F. Break it, and say again ! 
 
 S. I break a seed ; 
 
 It is as slight as though a silkworm's egg 
 Were crushed ; and in the midst a germ, a speck ! 
 
 P. Break it, and say again ! 
 
 S. The speck is gone 
 
 In touching. Guru ! there is nothing, now ! 
 
 P. Yet, in that " nothing " lay (thou knowest well !) 
 The Nyagrodha tree, the Banyan tree. 
 Comely and vast as it was formed to grow ; 
 With all its thousand downward-dropping stems 
 Waitiner to fall from all its thousand boughs 
 
 "o 
 
 o" -> 
 
 And all its lakhs on lakhs of lustrous leaves 
 Waiting to push to sunlight, and so make 
 New canopies of flower and fruit and shade 
 Where creatures of the field, fowls of the air, 
 Monkey and squirrel-folk might find their home.
 
 1 6 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 And man and cattle 'neath its ample roof 
 
 Have shelter from the noon. This Forest-Kins:—— 
 
 Of bulk to overspread a Raja's camp — 
 
 Was wrapped in what thou sayest passeth sight ! 
 
 Art thou not answered ? 
 
 >S'. I am answered, sir ! 
 
 LokIdimagnintamuvacha, next, 
 Tasmai ya ishtaka : " Then Yama told 
 What fire that is, which was the first thing made, 
 When anything was made ; and how the stones 
 Of daily acts are laid to build its shrine ; 
 How 'tis enkindled, and how fed ; — which words 
 In like mode Nachiketas after him 
 Duly repeated ; till, the lesson learned. 
 Death spake again, soft-smiling — yea ! Death said, 
 The dread, kind god : ' See ! I have taught thee 
 
 this, 
 And after thee henceforward shall be named 
 That fire by all men. Also take this chain 
 Of many colours ! ' " (What chain meaneth he ?) 
 
 P. I know not ! None well knoweth ! 'tis forgot. 
 Or never told us from the ancient times.
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 17 
 
 S. " Whoso performs," the King of Death went on, 
 " Three times this Nachiketas sacrifice. 
 Having by three been taught, doing three works, 
 Conquers those three — the Birth, the Life, the Death ! 
 Who feeds that flame — from Brahma sprung — divine, 
 Worthy of praise, light-giving — comes to peace 
 Endless and pure. Who, knowing it threefold. 
 Offers it thrice — I say — fears not my noose 
 Cast round his body — dies rejoicingly. 
 And passeth to the peace of Swargalok ! " 
 (Guru ! which " threefold works " ? what " teachers 
 three ? ") 
 P. The threefold works are surely. Sacrifice, 
 Reading the Veds, and Liberality. 
 The threefold Teachers are the Mother, first, 
 And next the Father, and the Guru third. 
 
 ESHA TE AGNIKXACHIKET proceed ! 
 
 >S'. " This is the holy flame, to hear whereof 
 Thou, Nachiketas, for thy second boon 
 Didst choose — so shall men name it ! Now, tliv 
 tliird ? " 
 
 " There is this doubt," young Nachiketas said :
 
 i8 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 " Thou dost give peace — is that peace Nothingness ? 
 Some say that after death the soul still lives, 
 Personal, conscious ; some say, ' Nay, it ends ! ' 
 Fain would I know which of these twain be true, 
 By thee enlightened. Be my third boon this." 
 
 Then Yama answered, " This was asked of old. 
 Even by the gods ! This is a subtle thing 
 Not to be told, hard to be understood ! 
 Ask me some other boon : I may not grant ! 
 Choose wiser, Nachiketas ; force me not 
 To quit this debt — release me from my bond ! " 
 
 Then, still again spake Nachiketas : " Aye ! 
 The gods have asked this question ; but oh. Death ! 
 Albeit thou sayest it is a subtle thing. 
 Not to be told, hard to be understood. 
 Yet know I none can answer like to thee. 
 And no boon like to this abides to ask. 
 I crave this boon ! " 
 
 P. Mark, now, how Yama strives 
 
 To keep his mighty secret ; Satayush 
 
 PUTRAPAUTRAN VRINISHWA, runs it not ? 
 
 Hasti hiranyamaswan ?
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 19 
 
 S. Sir, 'tis so ! 
 
 " Choose," spake he, " sons and grandsons, who shall 
 
 thrive 
 A hundred years ; choose for them countless herds — 
 Elephants, horses, gold ! Carve out thy lands 
 In kino'doms for them. Nav, or be thvself 
 A king again on earth, reigning as long 
 As life shall satisfv. And, further, add 
 Unto these gifts whatever else thou wilt, 
 Health, wisdom, happiness — the rule of the world. 
 And I will fill the cup of thy desires ! 
 Whatso is hard to gain and dear to keep 
 In the eyes of men, ask it of me, and have ! 
 Beautiful, fond companions, fair as those 
 That ride the cars of Indra, singing sweet 
 To instruments of heavenly melody. 
 Lovelier than mortal eye hath gazed upon : 
 Have these, have heaven within their clinofini' 
 
 arms ! 
 I give them — I give all ; save this one thing ; 
 Ask not of Death, what cometh after death ! " 
 
 P. Maraxan manupraksh! — yes, 'tis there !
 
 20 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 " Question not Death of Deatli " — yet who else 
 
 knows ? 
 What sayeth Kaehiketas now ? 
 
 S. He saith 
 
 Swo BHAWA — " Things that die to-morrow be 
 Those glories of the senses ! Oh, thou God, 
 That endest men ! our longest life is brief ! 
 The horses, and the elephants, and thrones, 
 Tlie sweet companions, and the song and dance. 
 Are thine, and end in thee ! Gold buys not bliss ! 
 If we have wealth, we see thee near, and know 
 We live but till thou wiliest ! Let my boon 
 Be as I asked — that, and not otherwise ! 
 Ah ! in our sad world dwelling how should man, 
 Who feels himself day after day decline, 
 Day after day decay — till death's day come ; 
 Who sees how beauty fades, and fond love fails, 
 Be glad to live a little longer span, 
 For so much longer anguish ? Nay ! my boon ! 
 Tell me, great Yama ! what the true word is 
 In this which men inquire, the very truth 
 Of this chief question, of the life to come,
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 21 
 
 If there be life ! if tlie sours self lives on ! 
 Xouglit else asks Nachiketas, only that 
 Which hath been hidden, and which no man knows ; 
 Which no man knows." (Oh, Guru ! will he tell ?) 
 
 here ends the first valli of the 
 Katha Upanishad.
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 SECOND VALLI. 
 
 Sahcb. Then Yama yielded, granting tlie great boon, 
 And spake : " Know, first of all, that what is Good, 
 And what is Pleasant — these be separate ! 
 By many ways, in diverse instances 
 Pleasure or Good lay hold upon each man ! 
 Blessed is he who, choosing high, lets go 
 Pleasure for Good. The Pleasure-seekers lose 
 Life's end, so lived." 
 
 " The Pleasant and the Good 
 Solicit men ; the Sage, distinguishing 
 By understanding, followeth the Good, 
 Being more excellent. The foolish man 
 Cleaveth to pleasure, seeking still to have, 
 To keep, enjoy." 
 
 " But, disregarding these. 
 The dreams of sick desire, long line of years,
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 23 
 
 Sons, dominations, tender lures of love, 
 Glory, and greatness — thou didst put aside 
 "What all men crave, oh, Nachiketas ! Thou 
 Scorned'st to tread the path of wealth, wherein 
 The foolish perish." 
 
 " Wide asunder stand 
 "Wisdom and ignorance 5 in sundering ways 
 They lead mankind ! I j adge thee wholly given 
 To wisdom, seeing all these joys of sense 
 Persuaded not." 
 
 " The foolish ones who live 
 In ignorance, holding themselves as wise 
 And well-instructed, tread the round of change 
 \Yith erring steps, deluded, like the blind 
 Led by the blind ! " 
 
 (Oh, Master ! how should one 
 "Wilfully fail of wisdom ? "What is this ? 
 Needs must we love to know, if we may know !) 
 
 P. He speaketh of the deeper knowledge here, 
 Tlio hifrlier io^norance ! If one should con 
 Whatever East and West have won of lore. 
 And deem he knoweth Truth, holding this world
 
 24 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 For true ; — that man is ignorant, and dies 
 To live again, until lie learn to die 
 The death which frees from livincr. Wise men sav 
 (Kena Upanishad that high verse holds !) 
 " He is unknown to whoso think they know, 
 And known to whoso know they know him not." 
 S. I thank thee, Pundit ! Now the holv text 
 Seemeth to read — 
 
 " The necessary road 
 Which brings to life unchanging is not seen 
 By such ! wealth dazzles heedless hearts ! deceived 
 With shows of sense they deem their world is real. 
 And the unseen is nought ; so, constantly, 
 Fall they beneath my stroke ! " 
 
 " To reach to Beino- 
 Beyond all seeming Being ; to know true life 
 This is not gained by many ; seeing that few 
 So much as hear of it, and of those few 
 The more j^art understand not. Brahma's Truth 
 Is wonderful to tell, sijlendid to see. 
 Delightful, being jDerceived, when the wise teach." 
 (Teach me a little, here, what Brahma is !)
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 25 
 
 1\ I tell tliee from the Swetaswatara ! 
 *' HE, Who, Alone, Undifterenced, unites 
 "With Nature, making endless difference, 
 Producinof and receivinof all which seems, 
 Is Bralima ! May he give us light to know ! " 
 
 " He is the Unseen Spirit which informs 
 All subtle essences ! He flames in fire. 
 He shines in Sun and Moon, Planets and Stars ! 
 He bloweth with the winds, rolls with the waves, 
 He is Prajapati, that fills the worlds ! " 
 
 " He is the man and woman, vouth and maid ! 
 The babe new-born, the withered ancient, propped 
 Upon his staff! He is whatever is, — 
 The black bee, and the tiger, and the fish, 
 The green bird with red eyes, the tree, the grass, 
 The cloud that hath the lightning in its womb. 
 The seasons, and the seas ! By Him they are, 
 lu Him begin and end." Now, read thou on. 
 
 S. " The uttermost true soul is ill-perceived 
 By lilm, who, unenlightened, sayeth, ' I, 
 Am 1 ; thou, thou ; and life divided ! ' Ho
 
 26 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 That knowetli life undifferenced, declares 
 
 The Spirit, what it is, One with the All. 
 
 And this is Truth ! But nowise shall the Truth 
 
 Be compassed, if thou speak of small and great ! " 
 
 " Excellent youth ! the knowledge thou didst crave 
 Comes not with speech : [words are the false world's signs '] 
 By insight surely comes it, if one hears 
 True teachers teach the Life undifferenced. 
 Lo ! thou hast loved the Truth, and striven for it. 
 I would that others, Nachiketas, strove ! " 
 
 " Yea, boy, as thou didst know, the joys of sense 
 Are vain ; since lasting good may not be won 
 From the Impermanent. Therefore that fire. 
 Divinely kindled in the hollow heart, 
 Burns down at length. Thou seek'st the Permanent!" 
 
 Thou, Nachiketas ! — by my second boon, 
 Didst comprehend the fruit of sacrifice. 
 The Best where all desires are somewhile fed ; 
 Where the world's centre is ; where fear departs ; 
 Laudable, lovely, high, of large expanse ; 
 Desirable, the glad abode of Bliss. 
 Thou sawest these and sett'dst them aside,
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 27 
 
 Wise in thv fixedness ! " 
 
 " Only the wise 
 By Adhyatmayoga — severing 
 
 Their thoughts from shows, and fixing it on truths, 
 See HIM, the Perfect and Unspeakable, 
 Hard to be seen, retreating, ever hid 
 Deeper and deeper in the Uttermost ; 
 Whose House was never entered, who abides 
 Xow, and before, and always ; and, so seeing, 
 Are freed from griefs and pleasures ! " 
 
 " Hearing this, 
 Conceiving verity, — desiring it, 
 Distinguishing the soul's deep attributes 
 Subtly-discerned, far-reaching — mortal man 
 Rejoiceth, having noble cause for joy. 
 And thee, oh Nachiketas, I perceive 
 A heart whose door stands open for the Truth ! " 
 
 P. Good ! 'tis the sense ; albeit once and twice 
 Thy feet did stray, treading this lofty path 
 Of learning, faintly-traced. Now shall the boy 
 Press Yama closer, and the Truth will come ! " 
 Anyatua dbarmmodanyatradharmm —
 
 28 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Adanyatrasmatkritakritat 
 
 Anyatra bhutachch bhavyachch, — Tad vad ! 
 
 What saith he ? 
 
 S. " Make it known to me," he saith, 
 
 " Who is HE ? What ? Whom thou hast knowledge of 
 Higher than Good and 111, Unseen, Exempt 
 From causes and effects ; Outside the sphere 
 Of that which was or will be ; More than these 
 Mightier, remoter, deeper ! " 
 
 Yama spake : 
 
 " The answer whereunto all Vedas lead ; 
 The answer whereunto all Penance strives ; 
 The answer whereunto those strain that live 
 As Brahmacharyas — -hear this from me." 
 
 What did he whisper, Guru ? 
 
 F. Doubt thou not, 
 
 He breathed the holy 6m. Yet if Death spake 
 That sacred word so softly, let us not 
 Exceed the reverent text, which in this place 
 Hath a great silence ! But the God saith more, 
 Etaddevaksharamparan ; — Read on !
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 29 
 
 >S'. " This word, so riglitly breathed, signifieth Brahm, 
 And sisrnifieth Brahma. GOD withdrawn, 
 And GOD made manifest. Who knows this word. 
 With all its purports, what his heart would have 
 His heart possesseth. This of spoken speech 
 Is wisest, deepest, best, supremest ! He 
 That speaketh it, and wotteth what he speaks. 
 Is worshipped in the place of Brahm with Brahm ! 
 Also, the soul which knoweth thus itself, 
 It is not born. It doth not die. It sprang 
 From none, and it begetteth none ! Unmade, 
 Immortal, changeless, primal, — I can break 
 The body, but that soul I cannot harm ! " 
 
 F. Now is the next verse famous ! — mark it well. 
 The inmost secret of thy scroll lies here. 
 Here shalt thou pluck from this most ancient shell 
 The whitest pearl of wisdom's treasury ! 
 Moreover, in the " Song of God " 'tis set, 
 And shineth in the ^cvetaswatara. 
 
 ,b'. Hanta chenmanyate hantun 
 Hatascdenmanyate hatan, 
 Ubhau tau na vijxyamto
 
 30 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 NaYAM HANTl NA HANYATE. 
 
 " If he that slayeth thinks ' I slay ; ' if he 
 Whom he doth slay, thinks ' I am slain,' then both 
 Know not aricrht ! That which was life in each 
 Cannot be slain, nor slay ! " 
 
 "The untouched Soul, 
 Greater than all the worlds [because the worlds 
 By it subsist] ; smaller than subtleties 
 Of things minutest ; last of ultimates, 
 Sits in the hollow heart of all that lives ! 
 Whoso hath laid aside desire and fear, 
 His senses mastered, and his spirit still, 
 Sees in the quiet light of verity 
 Eternal, safe, majestical — his SOUL ! " 
 
 " Resting, it ranges everywhere ! asleep, 
 It roams the world, unsleeping ! Who, save I, 
 Know that divinest spirit, as it is, 
 Glad beyond joy, existing outside life ? " 
 
 " Beholding it in bodies bodiless. 
 Amid impermanency permanent, 
 Embracing all things, yet i' the midst of all, 
 The mind, enlightened, casts its grief away ! "
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 31 
 
 " It is not to be known by knowledge ! man 
 Wotteth it not by wisdom ! learning vast 
 Halts short of it ! Only by soul itself 
 Is soul perceived — when the Soul wills it so ! 
 There shines no lio:ht save its own licrht to show 
 Itself unto itself!" 
 
 " None compasseth 
 Its joy who is not wholly ceased from sin, 
 "Who dwells not self-controlled, self-centred — calm, 
 Lord of himself ! It is not gotten else ! 
 Brahm hath it not to give ! " 
 
 " How otherwise 
 Should mortal know where that sure Life abides 
 Whereto Brahmans and Kshattrivas are but meats 
 And Death the o-arnishmgr ? 
 
 (The VaUt ends ! 
 Ah, Master ! what is this which Yama saith ?) 
 
 P. Ka ITTHA VEDA YATRA SA ? The Scroll 
 Rebuketh thee ! " AVho grasps HI]\[ ? " Meditate ! 
 There shines no light, save tlie Soul's light, to show ! 
 Save the Soul's light I — 
 
 END OF TUE SECOND VALLI.
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
 THE THIRD VALLI. 
 
 Sahch. " So Yama spake ; and Nacliiketas, then — 
 With soul and spirit drinking due result 
 Of this world's works — approached the Hidden House 
 Where the SUPREME abides : " 
 
 " Knowers of Brahm, 
 Performers of the three-fold sacrifice, 
 And they that light the Nachiketas fire, 
 Call soul and spirit — ever this way linked — 
 Sunshine and shadow : " 
 
 " Now is understood 
 That Nachiketas-flame which builds the bridge 
 For sacrificers ; whereby these attain 
 The Eternal ONE, the Place of Peace, the Abode 
 Where fear and grief are fled ; the Landing-port 
 For spirits which have crossed life's troubled sea." 
 
 " Look on the Spirit as the rider ! take
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 33 
 
 The Bodv for the chariot, and the Will 
 As charioteer ! regard the mind as reins, 
 The senses as the steeds ; and things of sense 
 The ways they trample on. So is the Soul 
 The Lord that owneth spirit, body, will, 
 Mind, senses — all ; itself unowned. Thus think 
 The wise ! " 
 
 " He, who is unwise, drives with reins 
 Slack on the neck o' the senses ; then they ramp, 
 Like restive horses of a charioteer." 
 
 " He that is wise, with watchful mind and firm. 
 Calms those wild Five, so they go fair and straight, 
 Like well-trained horses of a charioteer." 
 
 " The man unwise, unmindful, evil-lived. 
 Comes not to that fixed Place of Peace ; he falls 
 Back to the region of sense-life again ! " 
 
 " The wise and mindful one, heart-purified, 
 Attaineth to the changeless Place, wherefrom 
 Never again shall births renew for him ! " 
 
 " For whoso rides this chariot of the flesh — 
 
 The reins of mind well grasped ; the charioteer 
 
 Faithful and firm — comes to his journey's end, 
 
 C
 
 34 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Vishnu's abiding-seat ; tlie Utmost Home," 
 (I would hear farther, Guru ! of that Home !) 
 
 P. Hear what is taught in the Khandogya ! 
 " The body is the City, and its heart 
 The Palace, and the Royal Presence there 
 A hid, invisible, close, subtle thing. 
 On an ethereal lotus-seat enthroned, 
 The Spirit— ATM AN ! " 
 
 " And if they shall say 
 * How should we seek, how should we understand 
 That kingly spirit, sitting on the Throne, 
 Hid in the Palace of the Body's Heart, 
 Invisible, small, subtle ? ' 
 
 " Answer them — 
 ' As large as is the unbounded Universe, 
 So large that little, hidden Spirit is ! 
 The Heavens and Earths are in it ! Fire and air. 
 And sun and moon and stars ; darkness and light. 
 It comprehends ! Whatever maketh Man, 
 The present of him, and the past of him, 
 And what shall be of him ; — all thoughts and things 
 Lie folded in the ethereal vast of It ! ' "
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 35 
 
 " And, if they say, ' What then is left of it 
 "When ekl upon the Body's City ci-eeps, 
 And breaks and scatters it ; and all its walls 
 Fall ; and the Palace of the Heart is void. 
 Where dwelt the being, the desire, the life, 
 This Royal Spirit's kingship ? ' " 
 
 " Answer them : 
 ' By mortal years the Immortal grows not old ! 
 The Atman changes not ! The Body's death 
 Kills not the soul ! It hath its City, still, 
 Its Palace, and its hidden, proper life ! 
 Becoming Self of Self ; set clear from sin, 
 As the snake casts her slough ; made free of flesh, 
 Of age, ache, hunger, thirst, sorrow, and death : 
 Thenceforth desiring the desirable, 
 And thinking ever what is good to think ! ' " 
 
 >S'. Sayeth thy scripture this ? 
 
 ]\ Aye ! this it saith ! — 
 
 Prapathaka the Eighth, Klianda the First ; — 
 And in the Second : " If a soul depart 
 • Instructed — knowing itself — and knowing truth ; — 
 And how that IJi-ahma and the Self arc One —
 
 36 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Then hatli it freedom over all tlie worlds : 
 
 And, if it wills the Region of the Past, 
 
 The Fathers and the Mothers of the Past 
 
 Come to receive it ; and that Soul is glad ! 
 
 And if it wills the region of the Homes, 
 
 The Brothers and the Sisters of the Homes 
 
 Come to receive it, and that Soul is glad ! 
 
 And if it wills the region of the Friends, 
 
 The Well-beloved come to welcome it 
 
 With love undying, and that Soul is glad!. 
 
 And if it wills a world of grace and peace 
 
 Where garlands are, and perfumes, and delights 
 
 Of delicate meats and drinks, music and song, 
 
 Lo ! fragrances, and blossoms, and delights 
 
 Of dainty banquets, and the streams of song 
 
 Come perfect to it, and that Soul is glad 1 
 
 And if it make its bliss in beauty's arms, 
 
 Finding most wonder, most release, most rest 
 
 On the soft bosoms of the Maids of Heaven, 
 
 Lo ! the briorht Maids of Heaven — more loving- sweet 
 
 Than loveliest earthly beauty — come to him 
 
 Kejoiced — rejoicing ! And that Soul is glad ! "
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 37 
 
 >S'. How should the Atman, Guru ! this glad soul 
 Mix, and be one with Brahma — being itself? 
 
 P. " There is an answer in the Upanishads ! 
 ' How should this stream — our Moota-Moola here — 
 Which presently is Beema, and anon 
 Kistna, and falleth so into the sea, 
 Be river and be sea ? Yet thus it is ! 
 The great Godaveri, who pours herself 
 Into the Lanka waves — is she destroyed ? 
 Has Gunga vanished, when her sacred tides 
 Slacken against the main ? or Brahmapiit ? 
 Or Indus ? or the five white sister-floods 
 "Which, by the mouth of Indus, find escape ? 
 Lo ! these live still — though none may know of them — 
 Each drop and air-bell of their inland course 
 Existent in the vast dark water-world ! ' 
 Thus it is taught ; — but not with mortal words 
 Shall wordless truth bo compassed ! " 
 
 S. Reverently 
 
 I thank thee, Shastri ! I will read again ? 
 " Listen ! the things of sense arc more than sense ! 
 The mind is higher still ! tlie moving will
 
 38 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Higher than mind ! the Spirit higher yet ! " 
 " And higher than the Spirit is the Soul, 
 Highest of all the all-embracing One, 
 PURUSHA ! Over, or beyond, is naught ! — 
 Innermost, Utmost, Infinite, is This ! " 
 " This is that Ultimate and Uttermost 
 Which shall not be beheld, being in all 
 The unbeholden essence ! Not the less 
 Will it reveal itself by subtle light 
 Of insight, straitly seeking hidden truth ! " 
 " If one will see it, let him rule the flesh 
 By mind, governing mind with ordered Will, 
 Subduing Will by Knowledge, making this 
 Serve the firm Spirit, and the Spirit cling 
 As Soul to the Eternal Changeless Soul ; 
 So shall he see ! " 
 
 a Uttishtat ! — Rise ! Awake ! 
 Seek the great Teachers, and attend ! The road 
 Is narrow as a knife-edge ! hard to tread ! " 
 " But whoso once perceiveth HIM that Is ; — 
 Without a name. Unseen, Impalpable, 
 Bodiless, Undiminished, Unenlarged,
 
 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 39 
 
 To senses Undeclared, without an end, 
 Witliout beginning. Timeless, Higher than height. 
 Deeper than depth ! Lo ! such an one is saved ! 
 Death hath not power upon him ! " 
 
 " Ye who read, 
 And ye who hear, these never-dying words 
 "Which Nachiketas won, and Death vouchsafed, 
 Eejoice ! for ye are loved in Brahma's world ! " 
 " Whoso — pure-hearted — the deep lore of this 
 Expoundeth, in th' assembly, or at time 
 Of Sraddha (let it otherwise be hid) ! 
 Therebv obtaineth endless fruit of bliss, 
 Yea ! endless fruit of bliss ! " 
 
 " Yea ! endless fruit ! " 
 Murmured the Pundit, while, rejoiced, I made 
 The eight prostrations ; — for what greatness is 
 Greater than wisdom ? Then I called my horse,
 
 40 THE SECRET OF DEATH. 
 
 Whose hoofs upon the rock the black snake heard 
 And glided to his darkness ; but the doves 
 Brooded and cooed, and Morning's lovely light 
 Lay broad and glad and white upon the grain 
 What time we cantered back to Vishrambagh. 
 
 HERE ENDS THE THIRD VALLI OF THE 
 
 Katha Upanishad.
 
 ( 41 ) 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 [From the Greek of Musseus.] 
 
 ^^ A.V-XVOV, ipurroi dyaX/xa, ya/xocrToXoi' darpov epwros." 
 
 Sing, Muse ! the signal lamp gleaming above 
 
 That lit the nightly swimmer to his Love ; 
 
 The unseen pathway of the silent tide 
 
 That bore the bridegroom to his watchful bride ; 
 
 The salt- soaked marriage robes, the moist embrace ; 
 
 Abydos' town, and Sestos, Hero's place ; 
 
 Longing Leander, on the black waves' crest. 
 
 Eyeing the light that led to Hero's breast ; 
 
 Kind light — Love's jewel ! — which the mighty Jove 
 
 Might well have taken to the orbs above. 
 
 And set it shining in the spangled sky 
 
 To be Love's star of all Heaven's company ;
 
 42 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Seeing it was the planet of tlieir bliss, 
 
 The glittering summons to the sleepless kiss, 
 
 Till the hard tempest ended him and this : 
 
 Help, then, high Muse ! and teach me how to sing 
 
 Leander's death, and lamp's extinguishing ! 
 
 Sestos and white Abydos — cities twain — 
 Fronted each other over Hello's main ; 
 And there God Eros, setting notch to string, 
 Wounded two bosoms with one shaft-shooting, 
 A maiden's and a youth's — Leander he. 
 And lovely Hero, Sestos' sweetest, she ; 
 She of her town, and he of his the boast ; 
 A noble pair ! If ever to that coast 
 Thou wendest, ask for Hero's tower, and come 
 Where she Love's lighthouse nightly did illume ; 
 Inquire for white Abydos, too, and muse 
 Where young Leander life and love did lose ; 
 But now to tell how he fair Hero loved. 
 And how the maid to dote on him was moved. 
 
 Honey-sweet Hero, of a princely race. 
 Was priestess to Queen Yenus in that jjlace ;
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 43 
 
 And at her father's tower, by the sea set — 
 
 Herself a Queen of Love, though maiden yet — 
 
 Dwelt ; yet, for modesty and gracious shame. 
 
 She never to the citv markets came ; 
 
 Nor mingled at the vintage in the dance, 
 
 Lest envious eyes upon her path should glance ;— 
 
 For evil ones will flout at fairer faces ; — 
 
 But ever, in the holy temple-spaces, 
 
 She worshipped foam-born Venus, Queen above, 
 
 And Eros eke, the tiny Lord of Love, 
 
 Beseeching that she might unscathed go ; 
 
 Yet none the more 'scaped she delicious woe ! 
 
 It was the time of the great offering 
 Made with high pomp at Sestos in the spring 
 To Venus and Adonis, and each year 
 A merry crowd did come from far and near 
 To keep this feast : all they that have their 
 
 home 
 Upon the rounded islets ringed with foam 
 In Marmora and westward ; — Hocmony, 
 And Cyprus, sent them, and the Cretan sea ;
 
 44 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Cythera, Plirygia, Libanus ; — with these 
 The nigher towns and cities swarmed like bees 
 To see the show ; but most of all the youth : — 
 Ever they throng where feasts are ! — to tell truth, 
 'Tis not, methinks, the shrine which draws them so,- 
 To see the maidens those light pilgrims go ! 
 
 And Hero, eke, went up unto the shrine, 
 Her face of alabaster all a- shine 
 Like the pure moon when first it swims the sky ; 
 Nathless her cheek was touched with tender dye 
 Such as new rose-buds have — not white nor red, 
 But sunlit-snow : in sooth you would have said 
 She was all made of rose-leaves, she did show 
 So fair and fine under her thin gown's flow, 
 Such rose-leaf arms ! such roseate shoulders ! — see ! 
 Of old, they said, the Graces were but three ; 
 Yet each sweet charm of Hero, as it seemed, 
 With love-spells of a hundred Graces gleamed. 
 Well was she worthy to be Venus' maid ! 
 
 And even as she walked — stately and staid.
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 45 
 
 Liker a goddess than a priestess, fair 
 
 Beyond the fairest — Hero, unaware. 
 
 Took all eyes after her : no youth that day 
 
 But his heart beat as Hero passed that way, 
 
 Wishing such heavenly beauty his might be. 
 
 Thus, up the steps to the gi'eat Temple she 
 
 Drew still the looks, the thoughts, tlie sighs of men ; 
 
 And one among the strangers whispered then : — 
 
 " Gods ! — Helen's town I've seen, and Sparta's dames, 
 "Whose charms make wars and give the world to 
 
 flames ; 
 But never saw I one that could compare 
 With form so goddess-like and face so rare ; — 
 Queen Venus sure hath made the youngest Grace 
 Her minister tliis morn ! oh, happy place 
 Which owns her ! I could gaze until I die ! 
 Would Zeus but grant me Hero, not his sky 
 Could tempt me to a wish ! I would not be 
 A God, so Hero were but wife to me 
 Since she is sacred and past mortal prayer, 
 Heaven send me soon a woman half as fair ! "
 
 46 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Thus he ; and others passioned otherwise, 
 Heart-stricken by the Hght of Hero's eyes. 
 
 But thou, Leander ! when those bright eyes shone 
 One instant on thee, of the youths alone, — 
 Beyond wild words, beyond fond wishes — felt 
 The heart within thee with love's magic melt. 
 Others to win her wafted many a sigh, 
 He alone knew that he must have or die. 
 In one brief glance love's lightning-flash did smite 
 All senses senseless with strange deep delight, 
 Left thrilling when her silken lashes sank, 
 And veiled the perilous glory his eyes drank. 
 What lightning strikes, in sooth, like a fair face ? 
 What arrow pierces like a woman's grace ? 
 'Tis the eyes slay, thence fly the subtle darts 
 Which deal swift wounds and hurt unguarded hearts. 
 So with Leander ; in his bosom sti-ove 
 Passion with shame, and fear with forward love : 
 He trembled, and then blushed to tremble so ; 
 And vexed at blushing, straight did venturous 
 grow ;
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 47 
 
 Eros at liis heart's ear whispering amain 
 
 To lay shame by and speak : so was he fain 
 
 To steal a little closer, till he stood 
 
 Foot to foot with her : then in daring mood 
 
 Sidelong he glanced and murmured half a word, 
 
 And checked it to a sigh, itself half heard : 
 
 Glance, word, and sigh so tender-timid were, 
 
 Their silent speaking could not anger her ; 
 
 Nay, but it pleased ! that gentle stratagem 
 
 To tell the love which burned so plain in 
 
 him ; 
 And seeming to see naught, she saw, and bent 
 Her sweet head from him — not in discontent ; 
 And seeming not to hear, she heard, and sighed 
 A little silver sigh of pleasured pride ; 
 By signs unwitting giving him to know 
 It was not anger set her cheeks a-glow ; 
 Then turned, ashamed of nothing ; — but the boy 
 Knew that she knew, and all his heart was joy. 
 
 So, while he lingered, one slight word to win. 
 Day — nigh to setting — drew her sj^lendours in ;
 
 48 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 And shadow-loving Hesperus slione high, 
 Faint-seen upon the violet eastern sky : 
 Whereat, — the merry crowd thickening for home — 
 With desperate courage closer hath he come ; 
 So close, he touched her rosy opened hand, 
 Heaving a deep sigh, plain to understand ; 
 And she, as one an angered, drew it in, 
 But so that he might see 'twas no great sin ; 
 Then, bolder, by her stole he took the maid, 
 And drew imploring towards the Temple's shade ; 
 Whereat, with pretty frown and faltering feet. 
 She followed, while she said, with chiding sweet : 
 
 " Sir, are you mad ? how dare you hold me so ? 
 Leave plucking at my gown, and let me go ! 
 If those who loved me saw, 'twould cost you dear ; 
 Besides, I am a holy priestess here. 
 Vowed to Queen Venus ! are you not afraid 
 To stay me so, and I, an honest maid ? " 
 
 Thus, as the manner of all maidens is 
 Her soft lips rated, though her heart was his j
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 49 
 
 And lie by love's quick instinct knew it so, 
 
 And let lier dear delicious accents flow 
 
 In anger musical, for when maids scold' 
 
 "With looks tliat pardon, lovers may be bold : 
 
 But wlien she ceased, and stood, he bent his head 
 
 Close to her pearly fragrant nape, and said, 
 
 With lips which trembled like his trembling heart, 
 
 "Oh, Maid! — oh. Marvel! — if of earth thou 
 art. 
 And not a goddess, not divine — to me 
 Pallas or Cythersea thou might'st be ! 
 Art thou not sprung indeed of heavenly birth ? 
 Scarce dare I deem thee denizen of earth ! 
 But if of earth, ah, me ! how godlike then 
 He who begot thee, of all mortal men ! 
 How happy beyond happy mothers she 
 Who bore and nursed thee, sweet one, on her knee ; 
 And if of earth — oh ! be of earth, and hear 
 My pleading lips, my earnest humble prayer ! 
 Since thou art Venus' priestess, then take heed 
 Thou vex her not with cruel word acd deed ; 
 
 D
 
 50 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Be what thou seem'st by reverencing this shrine, 
 
 The glory of thy Goddess should be thine ; 
 
 She liketh not a votary cold and coy — 
 
 Love is her worship, and her service joy : 
 
 If thou would'st keep her tender, high decree. 
 
 My earnest passion should not anger thee, 
 
 Being so born for worship : therefore thou. 
 
 If thou lov'st Venus, listen to me now. 
 
 Dear servant of this temple — I am thine ! 
 
 As thou dost pray, I pray ; ah ! then, incline — 
 
 As thou dost ask thy goddess — pitying ears 
 
 Unto this suppliant sad with hopes and fears. 
 
 Wounded by love, and captive at thy feet. 
 
 As when, with wand of gold, Hermes the fleet 
 
 Brouo-ht Hercules — the strongest that could be — 
 
 Meek to the footstool of Queen Omphale. 
 
 Me Aphrodite, and not Hermes, sent ; 
 
 Think how thy goddess made that one repent. 
 
 Arcadian Atalanta, she who vowed 
 
 To die a maid, rejecting — cold and proud — 
 
 Hippomenes ; and yet it did befall 
 
 She grew to love him — heart, soul, mind, and all ;
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 51 
 
 Tea ! even to frenzy — whom she did not love : 
 Oh, Sweet ! be wise, nor Venus' anger move." 
 
 So, with soft flood of loving argument, 
 From coy reserve to yielding thoughts he bent 
 The maiden's mind ; but she, as maidens will, 
 Albeit convinced at heart, stood speechless still ; 
 Her lustrous eyes upon the ground fast set. 
 And hot face turned to hide the blush on it. 
 Now with one sandal-tip the grass she beat. 
 Now drew it back, close-wrapped from head to feet. 
 Nought answering ; yet all these were signs to 
 
 bless. 
 And silence — well he knew — is woman's yes ; 
 She, too, was hurt with Eros' fatal dart; 
 His soft flame flickered in her virgin heart ; 
 Spite of herself it fluttered with delight 
 To mark how fair he was — how bold — how bright ; 
 And while her eyes stole from the ground to his, 
 And back again, he stood 'tween woe and bliss, 
 Devouring still, with gaze she did not check. 
 The flower-bright flushing of her face and neck ;
 
 52 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Till at tlie last she found some breath to speak, 
 While, pearl by pearl, tears glimmered down her cheek : 
 
 " Friend ! were I marble, I must answer thee. 
 Who taught thee such deep eloquence ? Ah, me ! 
 Who brought thee hither, and procured us pain ? 
 For all these sweet things said are said in vain. 
 How should a stranger — never seen or known — 
 Win me in marriage — if I would be won ? 
 Thou could'st not ask me openly for wife. 
 My parents w^ould not give me ; and 'twere rife 
 With untold dangers if you lingered here 
 To meet me secretly ; for all is ear. 
 All eye, in Sestos ! Things in silence done 
 Are said nest morning at the market-stone. 
 But tell me — and tell true ! — what town is thine. 
 And whence thy birth and name ? Thou knowest 
 
 mine, 
 Hero of Sestos ; yonder is my home. 
 In that tall tower whose foot stands in the foam ; 
 And there I dwell alone — but for one slave — 
 Outside the walls, over the breaking wave :
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 53 
 
 HavincT no neio:libour but the rollino: sea ! 
 No song but liis rude music ! none to be 
 Friend or companion ! all the seasons there 
 The thunder of the mournful main I hear." 
 
 So much she said ; then stayed herself, and drew 
 The gown before her cheek to hide its hue, 
 And chid herself for speaking, sore ashamed : 
 But he — rejoiced because her words proclaimed 
 Hope of the prize — went meditating hard 
 How he should run to win the dear reward. 
 For Love hath many wiles to heal the heart 
 Of those that bleed with his unshunned dart ; 
 And, of himself, will counsel oft afford 
 To those of whom th' Almighty Boy is Lord : 
 So to Leander's heart he whispered low 
 A way to bliss, albeit the end was woe. 
 
 " Sweet ! for thy love," he cried, " the sea I'd 
 cleave, 
 Though foam were fire, and waves with flame did 
 heave.
 
 54 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 I fear not billows if they bear to thee ; 
 Nor tremble at the hissing of the sea ! 
 And I will come — oh ! let me come — each 
 
 night, 
 Swimming the swift flood to my dear delight : 
 For white Abydos, where I live, doth front 
 Thy city here, across our Hellespont. 
 Do but this thing, set thine own lamp on high. 
 To shine at evening through the darkling sky, 
 And I will be Love's ship — my pilot-star 
 That beam, whereto, oaring my way afar, 
 I shall not see Bootes, nor his wain, 
 And bright Orion will be bright in vain. 
 Only take heed. Dear, of the winds, and shield 
 The light, that when I toil, by waves concealed, 
 It be not quenched by any envious blast, 
 Lest I go down — a ship and venture lost : 
 Sweetheart ! do this : my name if thou dost sue, 
 I am Leander, Hero's lover true." 
 
 Nothing she answered, save by one soft kiss, 
 Which sealed the contract of their sudden bliss ;
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 55 
 
 Then lip to lip they pliglited faith for life, 
 
 He to be husband leal, she loving wife, 
 
 Albeit unwed ; and also did agree 
 
 That she should light the lamp, he swim the sea. 
 
 All which deep bargain being got by heart, 
 
 With lingering words and looks they tore apart, — 
 
 She to her tower ; he, through the gathering 
 
 gloom. 
 Noting the landmarks, joyfully is come 
 Down to the beach, and ships 'mid th' others there 
 For white Abydos, with its ramparts fair ; 
 Then waits till night gives him his new-won bride. 
 And Hero watches on the other side. 
 
 Soon o'er the sky Eve's purple curtains creep. 
 To all but young Leander bringing sleep : 
 He, when the darkness deepened, eager stood 
 Beside the white marge of the rolling flood. 
 His eyes quick-searching through the hollow night, 
 To see the first flash of his lady's light ; 
 Far-shining light, that gleams to make him blest! 
 Dear light, that guides to Hero's boating breast !
 
 56 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 She, when the darkness covered land and sea, 
 Kindled her lamp, and set it. Instantly 
 Love with that spark lighted Leander's soul ; 
 Eager he hailed the beam ; yet loud did roll 
 The thundering breakers on the shingly shore ; — 
 The first wave something chilled ; — but love is more 
 Than fear ; he laid his outer garb aside, 
 And spake unto himself by the cold tide : 
 
 " Awful is love, and dreadful is the sea, 
 But fire is more than water unto me ; 
 And this that burns is stronger than much brine : 
 Think most of Eros, foolish heart of mine ! 
 Care not for tumbling billows ; let us go 
 Straight over them to Hero ; why shrink so ? 
 Hast thou forgotten that Queen Venus came 
 Forth from the floods, and ever rules the same ? " 
 
 Then, with both hands, from off his fair, smooth skin 
 He stripped his cloth, and tied his long locks in ; 
 And ran upon the reef, and sprang, and clove 
 The keen salt waves. So, swimming to his love,
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 57 
 
 He steered with face set hard where that ray shone, 
 Ship — pilot — rower — merchant, all in one ! 
 
 Hero, the while, upon her turret-stair. 
 Guarded the beacon-lamp from every air ; 
 Spreading her gown that side and this, to keep 
 The breezes off; but when, up from the deep, 
 Leander, breathless, came safe to the strand, 
 Down flew she to the sea-gate — caught his hand — 
 In gladness past all words, her white arms flung 
 Round him, and on his heavincj bosom hunsr : 
 And led him from the cold and foamy beach 
 Up to her tower ; and when her room they reach. 
 She wiped his pearly body clean of brine. 
 And took the salt smell off with unsfuents fine. 
 Stained with rose-essences and scented rare. 
 And then she clothed him in her lone: dark hair. 
 Yet panting from his voyage ; while in his ear 
 She poured these dulcet accents : — 
 
 " Husband dear ! 
 Sore thou hast toiled, as never one save thee, 
 Battling tlic horrid deep, to come to me ;
 
 S8 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Forget upon mj lips the wave's harsh taste, 
 The fierce sea-inonsters and the roaring waste ; 
 The port is reached ! Anchor, dear ship ! and liave 
 The goods you sailed for in your Hero's love." 
 
 With that soft leave he loosed her virgin zone, 
 And took her — pure and perfect — for his own. 
 No marriage-rite, no festal-dance was there. 
 None raised the hymn to Here for the pair ; 
 No nuptial-torches blazed around the bed. 
 The merry long procession was not led ; 
 No sire the hymenaeal blessing spoke. 
 No tender mother " Hymen " did invoke ; 
 But Silence spread their wedding-couch ; and she 
 Drew the close curtains of their ecstasy ; 
 The Night wore all her starry gems of pride. 
 To be bridesmaiden to that peerless bride ; 
 Hesper kept watch, and lingered over long. 
 Lest Dawn should find him there, and do them 
 
 wrong. 
 Dawn never found Leander ! ere 'twas grey 
 To still Abydos' walls he made his way,
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 59 
 
 Full of love's comfort, but insatiate yet ; 
 
 "While Hero in her turret did forget 
 
 All tiling's save liim — in that one dav of life 
 
 Changed soul and body, grown from maid to wife ; 
 
 And mightily did each on either shore 
 
 Prav dusk to come and davlight to be o'er. 
 
 Thus raanv a summer nio-ht thev met unseen, 
 And had great bliss of love from Venus queen : 
 But no joy long endureth, and not long 
 Lived theirs, the gentle lovers of my song ; 
 For Winter came apace, with snow and frost, 
 And wild storms whistling up and down the coast : 
 Lashed to its depths the tortured ocean shrank. 
 While the wind drove its billows, rank on rank. 
 Scourging their crests milk-white ; all sailors then 
 Drew up their ships upon the shore, for men 
 Fear the fierce winter and the furious sea ; 
 But no fear, young Leander, hindered thee ! 
 As oft as Hero showed the guiding light, 
 So oft, through storm, and foam, and murky 
 night,
 
 6o HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Swam he with steadfast passion to that guide. 
 Daring the dangers of the sweeping tide. 
 Ah ! Hero, wherefore call o'er such a sea ? 
 Too fond thou wert ; too bold and faithful he ! 
 Thou should'st have left unlit thy lamp of love, 
 And waited till kind Spring made green the grove ; 
 But love and fate compelled her ! so, o'ercome, 
 She set her light, and lured him to his doom. 
 
 There came one night, the wildest of the year, 
 When the wind smote like edge of hissing spear, 
 And the pale breakers thundered on the beach, 
 "While in mid- sea Leander toiled to reach 
 The far-oft' haven of his Hero's breast. 
 Sore-tossed he was from raging crest to crest ; 
 Billow on billow rolled, the great seas roared 
 Furiously leaping to the clouds, which poured 
 Sleet and brine back, with screams of storms that 
 
 met 
 Midway from all the quarters : — Eurus set 
 His blast against the West Wind ; Notus blew 
 His cheeks to bursting, Boreas to subdue :
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 6i 
 
 Ceaseless the tumult of tlie tempest was, 
 
 And younor Leander in its midst, alas ! 
 
 Battling tli' inexorable bitter sea. 
 
 Called on the gods in his calamity. 
 
 To foam-born Venus many a prayer he made. 
 
 And oft the name of great Poseidon said ; 
 
 And oft grim Boreas he did implore 
 
 For Orithyia's sake to help him o'er. 
 
 Nothing he gained ! Fate was too strong for Love ! 
 
 The chill spray-laden storm beat him above ; 
 
 Below, the monstrous buffets of the sea 
 
 Struck the strength from him ; till, all helplessly. 
 
 His feet drooped down, relinquishing the strife, 
 
 Though his tired hands kept feebly on for life. 
 
 O'er lip and nostril now the salt waves clomb ; 
 
 Gasping for breath, he breathed but choking 
 
 foam ; 
 Yet gleamed that light, and still he strove for 
 
 shore : 
 Sudden — a cruel gust blew ! — all was o'er ! 
 The gust extinguished Hero's lamp ; the sea 
 Hid young Leander and his agony.
 
 62 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Hero, when that lie came not, watched all night, 
 Into the darkness straining hard her sight ; 
 And morning breaking — and no sign of him ! 
 With aching heart she scanned the sea-face dim, 
 Fearing to look, because that lamp went out. 
 He was not there ! but, casting still about, 
 Lo ! — at the turret's foot his body lay, 
 Rolled on the stones, and soaked with breaking spray ! 
 She rent her robe upon her, and leaped down 
 Headlong, distracted, from the turret's crown. 
 There on his corpse she breathed her dying breath ; 
 And, linked in life, those two were one in death. 
 
 ""E/3WS o' ovK ijpKeae Moi'/jas."
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 [From the French of Victor Hugo's " L'Art d'etre 
 Grandpere."] 
 
 A Lion in Lis jaws caught up a child — 
 Not harming it — and to the woodland, wild 
 With secret streams and lairs, bore oft' his prey ; 
 The beast, as one might cull a flower in May, 
 Had plucked this bud, not thinking wrong or right. 
 Mumbling its stalk, too proud or kind to bite, — 
 A lion's way, roughly compassionate ! 
 Yet trulv dismal was the victim's fate ; 
 Thrust in a cave which rumbled with each roar, 
 His food wild herbs, his bed the earthy floor, 
 He lived, half-dead with daily frightening. 
 It was a rosy boy, son of a king;
 
 64 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 A ten-year lad, with bright eyes shining wide ; 
 And save this son his Majesty beside 
 Had but one girl — two years of age — and so 
 The monarch suffered, being old, much woe, 
 His heir the monster's prey, while the whole land 
 In dread both of the beast and king did stand ; 
 Sore terrified were all : — 
 
 By came a Knight 
 That road, who halted, asking "What's the fright?" 
 They told him, and he spurred straight for the den : 
 
 Oh, such a place ! the sunlight entering in 
 Grew pale — and crept, so grim a sight was shown 
 Where that gaunt Lion on the rock lay prone : 
 The wood, at this part thick of growth and wet, 
 Barred out the sky with black trunks closely set ; 
 Forest and forester matched wondrous well ! 
 Great stones stood near, with ancient tales to tell — 
 Such as make moorlands weird in Brittany — 
 And at its edge a mountain you might see, 
 One of those iron walls which shut off heaven ; 
 The Lion's den was a deep cavern driven
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 65 
 
 Into this granite ridge, fenced round with oaks : 
 
 Cities and caverns are discordant folks, 
 
 They bear each other grudges ! this did wave 
 
 A rustling threat to trespasser, — " Hence, knave ! 
 
 Or meet my Lion ! " 
 
 In the champion went ! 
 
 The den had all the sombre sentiment 
 
 Which palaces display — deaths — murderings — 
 
 Terrors ! — you felt " here dwells one of the kings : 
 
 Bones strewn around showed that this mighty lord 
 
 Denied himself nought which his woods aSbrd. 
 
 A rock-rift, pierced by stroke of lightning, gave 
 
 Such misty glimmer as a den need have : 
 
 What eao-les mifyht think dawn and owls the 
 
 dusk 
 
 Makes day enough for Kings of claw and tusk. 
 
 All else was regal, though ! you understood 
 
 Why the majestic brute slept, as he should, 
 
 On leaves, with no lace curtains to his bed ; 
 
 And how his wine was blood — nay, or instead, 
 
 Spring-water lapped scms napkin, spoon, or cup, 
 
 Or lackeys : — 
 
 E
 
 66 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 Being from spur to crest mailed up, 
 The champion enters. 
 
 In the den he spies 
 Truly a Mighty One. ! Crowned to the eyes 
 With shaggy golden fell — the Beast ! — It muses 
 With look infallible ; for, if he chooses, 
 The master of a wood may play at Pope, 
 And this one showed such claws, there was small hope 
 To argue with him on a point of creed ! 
 The Knight approached — yet not too fast, indeed ! 
 His footfall clanged, flaunted his rose-red feather ; 
 None the more notice took the beast of either. 
 Still in his own reflections plunged profound : 
 Theseus a-marching upon that black ground 
 Of Sisyphus, Ixion, and dire hell, 
 Saw such a scene, murk and implacable : 
 But duty whispered " Forward ! " so the Knight 
 Drew forth his sword : the Lion at that sight 
 Lifted his head in slow wise, grim to see ; 
 
 The Knight said : " Greeting ! monstrous brute ! to 
 thee;
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 67 
 
 lu tliis foul hole thou hast a child in keeping, — 
 I search its noisome nooks with glances sweeping, 
 But spy him not. That child I must reclaim ; 
 Friends are we if thou renderest up the same ; 
 If not — I too am lion, thou wilt find ; 
 The king his lost son in his arms shall bind ; 
 "While here thy wicked blood runs, smokiug-hot, 
 Before another dawn." 
 
 " I fancy not ! " 
 Pensive, the Lion said. 
 
 The Knight strode near, 
 Brandished his blade and cried : " Sire ! have a care !'' 
 The Beast was seen to smile — ominous sight ! — 
 Never make lions smile ! Then joined ihey fight. 
 The man and monster, in most desperate duel 
 Like warring giants, angry, huge, and cruel ; 
 Like tigers crimsoning an Indian wood, 
 The man with steel, the beast with claws as good ; 
 Fang matching blade, hide mail, that sylvan lord 
 Hurled himself foaming on the flashing sword : 
 Stout though the Knight, the Lion stronger was. 
 And tore his brave breast under its cuirass ;
 
 68 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 And, striking blow on blow with ponderous paw. 
 Forced plate and rivet off, until you saw 
 Through all the armour's cracks the bright blood spirt, 
 As when clenched fingers make a mulberry squirt ; 
 And piece by piece he stripped the iron sheath. 
 Helm, armlets, greaves — gnawed bare the bones be- 
 neath. 
 Scrunching that hero ; till he sprawled — alas ! 
 Beneath his shield, all blood, and mud, and mess : 
 Whereat the Lion feasted : — then it went 
 Back to its rocky couch and slept content. 
 
 II. 
 
 Next came a hermit : 
 
 He found out the cave ; 
 With girdle, gown, and cross — trembling and grave — 
 He entered. There that Knight lay, out of shape, 
 Mere pulp : the Lion, waking up, did gape. 
 Opened his yellow orbs, heard some one grope. 
 And — seeing the woollen coat bound with a rope, 
 A black peaked cowl, and inside that a man — 
 He finished yawning and to growl began :
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 69 
 
 Then, -with a voice like prison-gates which creak, 
 Roared, " What would'st thou ? " 
 
 " My King ! " 
 
 " King ? " 
 
 " May I speak ? " 
 " Of whom ? " 
 
 " The Prince." 
 
 " Is that what makes a King ? " 
 
 The monk bowed reverence, " Majesty ! I bring 
 A message — wherefore keep this child ? " 
 
 " For that 
 Whene'er it rains I've some one here to chat." 
 
 " Eeturn him ! " 
 
 " Not so ! " 
 
 " What then wilt thou do ? 
 Would'st eat him ? " 
 
 " Ay — if I have naught to chew ! " 
 
 " Sire ! think upon His Majesty in woe ! " 
 
 " They killed my dam," the Beast said, " long ago."
 
 70 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 " Bethink thee, sire, a king implores a king." 
 
 " Nonsense — he talks — he's man ! when my notes ring 
 A Lion's heard ! " 
 
 " His only boy ! " 
 
 " Well, well ! 
 He hatli a daughter." 
 
 " She's no heir." 
 
 " / dwell 
 Alone in this my home, mid wood and rock. 
 Thunder my music, and the lightning-shock 
 My lamp ; — let his content him ! " 
 
 " Ah ! show pity." 
 
 " What means that word ? is"t current in your city ? " 
 
 " Lion, thou'dst wish to go to heaven — see here ! 
 I offer thee indulgence, and, writ clear, 
 God's passport to His paradise," — 
 
 " Get forth, 
 Thou holy rogue I " bellowed the Beast in wrath : 
 
 The hermit disappeared !
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 71 
 
 m. 
 
 Thereat left free, 
 Full of a lion's vast serenity 
 He slept again, letting the still night pass : 
 The moon rose, starting spectres on the grass^ 
 Shrouding the marsh with mist, blotting the ways. 
 And melting the black woodland to grey maze ; 
 No stir was seen below, above, no motion 
 Save of the white stars trooping to the ocean r 
 And while the mole and cricket in the brake 
 Kept watch, the Lion's measured breath did make 
 Slow symphony which kept all creatures calm. 
 
 Sudden — loud cries and clamours ! striking qualm 
 
 Into the heart o' the quiet ; horn and shout 
 
 Causing the solemn wood to reel with rout,, 
 
 And all the nymphs to tremble in their treesv 
 
 The uproars of a midnight chase are these 
 
 AVliich shakes the shades, the marsh, mountain and 
 
 stream, 
 And breaks the silence of their sombre dream.
 
 72 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 The thicket flashed with many a hirid spark 
 
 Of torches borne 'mid wild cries through the dark ; 
 
 Hounds, nose to earth, ran yelping through the 
 
 wood, 
 And armed groups, gathering in the alleys, stood. 
 Terrific was the noise that rolled before ; 
 It seemed a squadron ; nay, 'twas something more — 
 A whole battalion, sent by that sad king 
 With force of arms his little Prince to bring, 
 Together with the Lion's bleeding hide. 
 
 Which here was right or wrong ? who can decide ? 
 Have beasts or men most claim to live ? God wots ! 
 He is the unit, we the cypher-dots. 
 
 Well warmed with meat and drink those soldiers 
 
 were, 
 Good hearts they bore — and many a bow and spear ; 
 Their number large, and by a captain led 
 Valiant, whilst some in foreign wars had bled. 
 And all were men approved and firm in fight ; 
 The Lion heard their cries, aff'ronting night,
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 73 
 
 For by this time his awful lids were lifted ; 
 But from the rock his chin he never shifted, 
 And only his great tail wagged to and fro. 
 
 Meantime, outside the cavern, startled so, 
 
 Came close the uproar of this shouting crowd. 
 
 As round a web flies buzzing in a cloud, 
 
 Or hive-bees swarming o'er a bear ensnared. 
 
 This hunter-legion buzzed, and swarmed, and flared. 
 
 In battle order all their ranks were set : 
 
 'Twas understood the Beast they came to get. 
 
 Fierce as a tiger's cunning — strong to seize — 
 
 Could munch up heroes as an ape cracks fleas. 
 
 Could with one glance make Jove's own bird look 
 
 down ; 
 Wherefore they laid him siege as to a town. 
 The pioneers with axes cleared the way, 
 The spearmen followed in a close array, 
 The archers held their arrows on the string ; 
 Silence was bid, lest any chattering 
 Should mask the Lion's footstep in the wood ; 
 The dogs — who know the moment when 'tis good
 
 74 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 To hold tlieir peace — went first, nose to the ground, 
 Giving no tongue ; the torches all around 
 Hither and thither flickered, their long beams 
 Through sighing foliage sending ruddy gleams ; — 
 Such is the order a great hunt should have : 
 And soon between the trunks they spy the cave, 
 A black, dim-outlined hole, deep in the gloom. 
 Gaping, but blank and silent as the tomb. 
 Wide open to the night, as though it feared 
 As little all that clamour as it heard. 
 There's smoke where fire smoulders, and a town, 
 When men lay siege, rings tocsin up and down ; 
 Nothing so here ! therefore with vague dismay 
 Each stood, and grasp on bow or blade did lay, 
 Watching the horrid stillness of that chasm : 
 The dogs among themselves whimpered : a spasm 
 From the horror lurking in such voiceless places — 
 Worse than the rage of tempests — blanched all faces : 
 Yet they were there to find and fight this Thing, 
 So they advance, each bush examining. 
 Dreading full sore the very prey they sought ; 
 The pioneers held high the lamps they brought :
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 75 
 
 " There ! that is it ! the very nioutli of the den ! " 
 The trees all round it muttered, warning men : 
 Still they kept step and neared it — look you 
 
 now, 
 Company's pleasant ! and there were a thou 
 
 Good Lord ! — all in a moment, there's its face ! 
 Frightful ! — they saw the Lion ! Not one pace 
 Further stirred any man ; the very trees 
 Grew blacker with his presence, and the breeze 
 Blew shudders into all hearts present there : 
 Yet, whether 'twas from valour or wild fear. 
 The archers drew — and arrow, bolt, and dart 
 ]\Iade target of the Beast. He, on his part — 
 As calm as Pelion in the rain or hail — 
 Bristled majestic from the nose to tail, 
 And shook full fifty missiles from his hide ; 
 Yet any meaner brute had found beside 
 Enough still sticking fast to make him yell 
 Or fly ; the blood was trickling down his fell. 
 But no heed took he, glaring steadfastly ; 
 And all those men of war, amazed to be
 
 76 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 Thus met by so stupendous might and pride, 
 
 Thought him no beast, but some god brutified. 
 
 The hounds, tail down, slunk back behind the spears ; 
 
 And then the Lion, 'mid the silence, rears 
 
 His awful face, and over wood and marsh 
 
 Roared a vast roar, hoarse, vibrant, vengeful, harsh, — 
 
 A rolling, raging peal of wrath, which spread 
 
 From the quaking earth to the echoing vault o'er- 
 
 head, 
 Making the half-awakened thunder cry 
 " Who thunders there ? " from its black bed of sky. 
 
 This ended all ! — sheer horror cleared the coast ! 
 As fogs are driven by wind, that valorous host 
 Melted, dispersed to all the quarters four, 
 Clean panic-stricken by that monstrous roar ; 
 Each with one impulse — leaders, rank and file. 
 Deeming it haunted ground, where Earth somewhile 
 Is wont to breed marvels of lawless might — 
 They scampered, mad, blind, reckless, wild with fright. 
 Then quoth the Lion, " Woods and mountains ! see, 
 A thousand men enslaved fear one Beast free ! "
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 77 
 
 As lava to volcanoes, so a roar 
 Is to these creatures ; and, the eruption o'er 
 In heaven-shaking wrath, they mostly calm. 
 The gods themselves to lions yield the palm 
 For magnanimity. When Jove was king, 
 Hercules said, " Let's finish off the thing, 
 Not the Nemsean merely ; every one 
 We'll strangle — all the lions." Whereupon 
 The lions yawned a " much obliged ! " his way. 
 
 But this Beast, being whelped by night, not day — 
 
 Offspring of glooms — was sterner ; one of those 
 
 Wlio go down slowly when their storm's at close ; 
 
 His anger had a savage ground-swell in it : 
 
 He loved to take his naps, too, to the minute. 
 
 And to be roused up thus with horn and hound, — 
 
 To find an ambush sprung — to be hemmed round — 
 
 Targetted — 'twas an insult to his grove ! 
 
 He paced towards the hill, climbed high above. 
 
 Lifted his voice, and, as the sowers sow 
 
 The seeds down wind, thus did that Lion throw
 
 78 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 His message far enough the town to reach. 
 " King ! your behaviour really passes speech ! 
 Thus far no harm I've wrought to him your son ; 
 But now I give you notice— when night's done 
 I will make entry at your city-gate, 
 Bringing the Prince alive ; and those that wait 
 To see him in my jaws — your lackey-crew — 
 Shall see me eat him in your palace too ! " 
 
 Quiet the night passed, while the streamlets bubbled, 
 And the clouds sailed across the vault untroubled. 
 
 Next morning this is what was viewed in town : 
 
 Dawn coming ! — people going ! — some adown 
 Praying, some crying ; pallid cheeks, swift feet, 
 And a huge Lion stalking through the street ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The quaking townsmen in the cellars hid ; 
 How make resistance ? briefly, no one did ; 
 The soldiers left their posts, the gates stood wide ; 
 'Twas felt the Lion had upon his side
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 79 
 
 A majesty so godlike, such an air — 
 
 That den, too, was so dark and grim a lair — 
 
 It seemed scarce short of rash impiety 
 
 To cross its path as the fierce Beast went by. 
 
 So to the palace and its gilded dome 
 
 With stately stops unchallenged did he roam, 
 
 In many a spot with those vile darts scarred 
 
 still, 
 As you may note an oak scored with the bill. 
 Yet nothing recks that giant-trunk ; so here 
 Paced this proud wounded Lion, free of fear, 
 While all the people held aloof in dread, 
 Seeing the scarlet jaws of that great head 
 Hold up the princely boy — aswoon. 
 
 Is't true 
 Princes are flesh and blood ? Ah, yes ! and you 
 Had wept with sacred pity, seeing him 
 Swing in the Lion's mouth, body and limb : 
 The tender captive gripped by those grim fangs. 
 On either side the jowl helplessly hangs, 
 Deathlike, albeit he bore no wound of tooth. 
 And for the brute thus gagged it was, in sooth,
 
 8o THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 A grievous thing to wish to roar, yet be 
 Muzzled and dumb, so he walked savagely, 
 His pent heart blazing through his burning eyes, 
 While not one bow is stretched, no arrow flies ; 
 They dreaded, peradventure, lest some shaft 
 Shot with a trembling hand and faltering craft 
 Might miss the Beast and pierce the Prince : 
 
 So, still 
 As he had promised, roaring from his hill, 
 This Lion, scorning town and townsfolk, sick 
 To view such terror, goes on straight and quick 
 To the King's house, hoping to meet there one 
 Who dares to speak with him : — outside is none ! 
 The door's ajar, and flaps with every blast ; 
 He enters it — within those walls at last ! — 
 No man ! 
 
 For, certes, though he raged and wept, 
 His Majesty, like all, close shelter kept, 
 Solicitous to live, holding his breath 
 Specially precious to the realm : now death 
 Is not thus viewed by honest beasts of prey, 
 And when the Lion found hiin fled away,
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 8r 
 
 Ashamed to be so grand, man being so base. 
 
 He muttered to himself in that dark place 
 
 Where lions keep their thoughts : " This wretched 
 
 King ! 
 
 'Tis well, I'll eat his boy ! " Then, wandering, 
 
 Lordly he traversed courts and corridors. 
 
 Paced beneath vaults of gold on shining floors. 
 
 Glanced at the throne deserted, stalked from hall 
 
 To hall — green, yellow, crimson — emptj' all ! 
 
 Rich couches void, soft seats unoccupied ! 
 
 And as he walked he looked from side to side 
 
 To find some pleasant nook for his repast. 
 
 Since appetite was come to munch at last 
 
 The princely morsel : — Ah ! what sight astounds 
 
 That grisly lounger ? 
 
 In the palace-grounds 
 
 An alcove on a garden gives, and there 
 
 A tiny tiling — forgot in tlie general fear, 
 
 Lulled in the flower-sweet dreams of infancy. 
 
 Bathed with soft sunlight falling brokenly 
 
 Througli leaf and lattice — was that moment wakin"-; 
 
 A little lovely maid, most dear and taking, 
 
 F
 
 82 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 
 
 The Prince's sister ; all alone — undressed — 
 She sate up singing : children sing so best ! 
 
 A voice of joy, than silver lute-string softer ! 
 
 A mouth all rose-bud, blossoming in laughter ! 
 
 A baby-angel hard at play ! a dream 
 
 Of Bethlehem's cradle, or what nests would seem 
 
 If girls were hatched ! — all these ! Eyes, too, so 
 
 blue 
 That sea and sky might own their sapphire new ! 
 Neck bare, arms bare, pink legs and stomach bare ! 
 Nought hid the roseate satin skin, save where 
 A little white-laced shift was fastened free ; 
 She looked as fresh, singing thus peacefully, 
 As stars at twilight, or as April's heaven ; 
 A floweret — you had said — divinely given. 
 To show on earth how God's own lilies grow ; 
 Such was this beauteous baby-maid; and so 
 The Beast caught sight of her and stopped — 
 
 And then 
 Entered : — the joists creaked as he stalked straight 
 
 in !
 
 THE EPIC OF THE LION. 83 
 
 Above the playtliings by tlie little bed 
 
 The Lion put his shaggy massive head, 
 
 Dreadful with savage might and lordly scorn, 
 
 More dreadful with that princely prey so borne ; 
 
 "Which she, quick spying, " Brother ! brother ! " cried, 
 
 " Oh ! mv own brother ! " and, unterrified — 
 
 Looking a living rose that made the place 
 
 Brighter and warmer with its fearless grace — 
 
 She gazed upon that monster of the wood, 
 
 Whose yellow balls not Typhon had withstood ; 
 
 And — well ! who knows what thoughts these small 
 
 heads hold ? 
 She rose up in her cot — full height, and bold, 
 And shook her pink fist angrily at him. 
 
 Whereon — close to the little bed's white rim. 
 
 All dainty silk and laces — this huge Brute 
 
 Set down her brother gently at her foot, 
 
 Just as a mother might, and said to her — 
 
 " Doiit he put out, noiv ! there he is, Dear ! there ! "
 
 ( 84 ) 
 
 N E N C I A. 
 
 A PASTORAL POEM. 
 
 ^ B3' Lorenzo de' Medici, surnamed "The Magnificent." 
 
 Translated for the first time, and in the original metre, 
 from the Italian. 
 
 [This pastoral by the great Florentine Enler, Lorenzo, the 
 Magnificent, is taken from the Italian text, printed at 
 Bergamo in 1763 a.d. The Bergamese editor remarks, of 
 the fifty stanzas composing it, " Sono nel loro genere incom- 
 parabili;" and all may certainly admire tlie dramatic force 
 with which the illustrious Medicean has, as it were, entered 
 into the very heart and soul of his peasant, to depict a rural 
 passion. The "Nencia" was probably written about a.d. 
 1480— tlie dawn of the golden age of Italian art — wlien the 
 "Magnificent" Lorenzo was chief of all the scholars and 
 poets, as well as of his citizens of Florence, and gathered 
 at his table such men as Michael Angelo, Luca Signorelli, 
 Ghirlandajo, Filippino Lippi, Botticelli, Pulci, Poliziano, 
 and Pico de Miraudola.] 
 
 I. 
 
 I BURN with love ; — love makes me bold to sing 
 Praise of the damsel who undoes my heart ;
 
 NENCIA. 8s 
 
 Each time I think a little tender thing 
 
 About her, 'tis as if my breath would part : 
 
 The world her match for beauty cannot bring, 
 No other eyes such lovely lightnings dart ; 
 
 In town and tower, and city have I been, 
 
 But seen none nowhere like my country-queen. 
 
 2. 
 
 To Monticelli, every market-day, 
 
 To Prato, Empoli, and San Casciano, 
 To Poggibonsi, and to Colle gay. 
 
 By San Donato down to Dicamano ; 
 To Castelfranco, all Figline-way ; 
 
 San Pier', Montagna, Borgo, Gagliano, 
 Ofttimes I wend — a-buying and a-selling, — 
 And Barberin, where my Nenciozza's dwelling. 
 
 3. 
 
 But never once — saving at Barberin — 
 See I a girl so dear, discreet and taking. 
 
 With cheek, and neck, and nape, and dimpled chin 
 So smooth and white : or of such perfect making.
 
 86 N EN CI A. 
 
 Her eyes ! 'tis like torch-light, when feasts begin, 
 To feel their lids lift, and their glance awaking 
 Joyance ; and 'twixt them comes the winsome nose, 
 With proud pink nostrils, like the pits in a rose. 
 
 4. 
 
 Of pink sea-coral are her dear lips dight, 
 
 With, underneath, two strings of sea-pearls plenty ; 
 
 A Tuscan foal's milk-row is not so white ! 
 
 (To judge thereby my Nencia's come to twenty.) 
 
 Her stainless cheeks have all the softened light 
 Of misted marble, chiselled smooth and dainty ; 
 
 Amid the blooms of Beauty she is Eose ; 
 
 The wide world no such lovely wonder shows ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Beyond all noble fortunes fortunate 
 
 He'll be, who takes her to his happy bosom ; 
 
 Well might he call his star glorious and great 
 Whose lot it is to wear this heavenly blossom : 
 
 Well may he make his peace thenceforth with Fate, 
 And lightly bear whatever ills should cross him,
 
 N EN CI A. 87 
 
 "\Ylio clasps fair Nencia as his wedded wife, 
 "Wliite as wild wax, and with love's honey rife ! 
 
 6. 
 
 I'll liken thee to fairy cloudland gleams 
 
 Which mix the welkin and the world together ; 
 
 I will compare thee unto Dian's beams 
 
 "Who round poor cabins sheds her silver weather ; 
 
 Spring- water none so fresh and sparkling seems, 
 
 Nor late-trod wine so luscious. Sweet one ! whether 
 
 Early or late we see thee, 'tis as neat 
 
 And fair and wholesome as new-bolted wheat ! 
 
 7. 
 
 Her eyes can steal a shepherd's soul away 
 
 Through wall of flesh, whenever she doth look ; 
 
 You see her, and you love, the selfsame day. 
 Albeit the story goes her heart is rock ; 
 
 Troops of tamed lovers her behests obey, 
 And live upon her will, a patient flock : 
 
 'Tis little she can lose giving one glance, 
 
 But, whoso wins it, how his heart doth dance !
 
 88 NENCIA. 
 
 8. 
 
 Za Nencia mia ! Ali, the pearl slie seems 
 Going afoot, on Saints' Days, to hear matins ! 
 
 She wears a bodice which right bravely gleams 
 Of damask, and a skirt of brightest satins, 
 
 A golden girdle clasps her waist, and streams 
 
 Down to the knee with jewelled pins and patines ; 
 
 When she hath heard the Mass, and paceth home. 
 
 How like a heavenly angel she doth come ! 
 
 9- 
 She hath no fellow at the sheaf-tying. 
 
 She works and laughs when all the rest are sped ; 
 Or else at home her merry wheel, fast-flying, 
 
 Spins ducats for her with its dancing thread : 
 For whatso's deft and rich she will be trying, 
 
 Woollen or silk ; and all the while her head 
 Droops like a snow-drop when the neighbours, mustered, 
 Praise her. She is as sweet as millet-custard ! 
 
 lO. 
 Thou hast so witched me with thy braided brow 
 I cannot ply my mattock as before ;
 
 N EN CI A. 89 
 
 For meat and drink I have no stomacli now ; 
 
 No morsel can I swallow any more : 
 I grow so tliin, the withered winter-bough 
 
 Lets the blast through it with a sigh less sore : 
 Nor day nor night repose or comfort brings, 
 I am so tied to thee by twenty strings. 
 
 1 1. 
 
 I am so wild with utter love of thee, 
 
 All night I toss and groan and start and sigh ; 
 
 The kindly gossips say to comfort me : 
 
 " Shepherd ! take heart ! thou'lt win her by-and-by." 
 
 The village damsels jest because they see 
 I go with cornamuse, where thou dost lie. 
 
 At eve, and sing for love some little trifle. 
 
 But thou dost sleep, or with hushed laughter stifle. 
 
 12. 
 
 Last night I could not sleep a single wink, 
 
 It seemed a thousand years ere dawn would break, 
 
 Bethinking thou wouldst take thy flock to drink 
 At day-time, and wouldst wend down to the lake j
 
 90 N EN CI A. 
 
 So, not to miss one passing blessed blink 
 
 Of tliose black eyes, I, for tlieir sweet liglit's sake, 
 Waited two hours against tlie bake-house close 
 Till the full moon set and my Nencia rose. 
 
 My Nencia's beauty hath not any blot. 
 
 She's stately, straight and tall as wench can be ; 
 A dimple in her chin my love hath got. 
 
 Which makes her brio-ht lauofh lovelier to see. 
 
 o o 
 
 There is no single charm she boasteth not ; 
 
 I think dame Nature framed her purposely 
 So fair, so fine, so noble, and so tender. 
 That all the world might homage to her render. 
 
 14- 
 
 I culled a posy of snow-blossomed spray, 
 
 With buds and berries gathered here and there. 
 
 It was for thee ; but thou didst turn away 
 So grand ! not deigning answer, foul or fair. 
 
 Then spake I to myself, " My love doth play 
 
 The high and mighty ; I will match her here ! "
 
 NENCIA. 91 
 
 And ofttimes since, albeit I turn mine eye, 
 The folks may see how proiid I pass them by. 
 
 15- 
 
 Yesterday, all day long, I watched for thee 
 
 Hard by the mill : I said : "If she comes now 
 
 It cannot happen but my chance will be ; 
 
 The beasts are safe, grazing upon the brow : 
 
 Well loiter by the kiln, Nencia and me ; 
 "We'll stroll together to the fountain, — thou 
 
 And thy Yallera, — under tli' hiding vine ; 
 
 I will tend thy flock and thou shalt herd mine ! " 
 
 16. 
 
 And when at last from your cot-door you came. 
 Holding the hound from hurrying the sheep. 
 
 My heart swelled in my breast, and shook my frame, 
 Wliile tears of joy down either cheek did creep : 
 
 I started for the cross roads, all aflame, 
 
 Quickening my calves and heifers up the steep ; 
 
 And waited on the knoll where thou shouldst pass. 
 
 But at the bye-path thou didst turn — alas !
 
 92 NENCIA. 
 
 17- 
 When next thou comest with thy water-pot, 
 
 Wend, I beseech thee, hither to our well ! 
 I'll draw for thee, and make all toil forgot : 
 
 Who knows but there will be something to tell ? 
 Ofttimes I had a mind to hide it not 
 
 When thou wert by, but fear always befell ; 
 Yet, if this is to hap, why linger longer ? 
 The chestnut's on the bough, the grapes grow stronger ! 
 
 i8. 
 It was in April that my heart was caught, 
 
 The day I saw thee plucking herbs and cresses ; 
 I spake thee fair, but thou didst answer naught 
 
 And frowned, because folks passed ; tossing thy tresses ; 
 To know thy name and house I vainly sought. 
 
 Lest love be lost for what one word expresses ; 
 And from that hour I was no more the same : 
 I grew thy thrall ; thou had'st me, meek and tame. 
 
 19. 
 
 Nenciozza mia ! I have a mind to go — 
 
 Now that my beasts are in the will to drink —
 
 N EN CI A. 93 
 
 Down to the pool, wliere tliou must come, I know, 
 And tliere to sit me still upon the brink, 
 
 Till I shall spy thee cross. To loiter so 
 Were pleasant, if it happen as I think. 
 
 Ill stay like stone until my sweet hath passed ; 
 
 Ah ! do not make my watching vain at last ! 
 
 20. 
 
 Nenciozza mia ! I go a' Saturday 
 
 To sell two loads of wood in Florence -town ; 
 
 While the sleek heifers cropped the flowers away 
 I set me yesterday to cut it down. 
 
 Ah ! if thou'dst come, Dear ! — But at least I may 
 Bring fardels for thee, buttons for thy gown, 
 
 Powder, pomander, — not to beautify thee ! — 
 
 Or pins, or needles ; — Something let me buy thee ! 
 
 21. 
 
 Jove ! when she dances, what a step and skill ! 
 
 What lightness ! like a kid's her quick feet lly ! 
 She turns as swiftly as the sails of a mill, 
 
 And marks the music, hand and foot and eye :
 
 94 NENCIA. 
 
 And, when all's ended, curtsey low she will 
 
 And take two backward steps, so gracefully ! 
 She makes the very prettiest salute, 
 There's not in Florence any dame could do't ! 
 
 22. 
 
 Ask me. Dear ! some small ti-ifle from the fair ! 
 
 What shall I fetch thee, what slight dainty thing ? 
 A brooch of carved shell for my love to wear ? 
 
 Or hooks and eyes, or buckles, or silk-strings ? 
 A broidered gipsire for thy kirtle. Dear ! 
 
 Or lace to tie thy lappets, shall I bring ? 
 Or wilt thou choose to bind thy bodice close 
 A cord of sky-blue silk ? or none of those 
 
 23- 
 But a long necklace for thy milky throat. 
 
 Strung with round coral beads of rosy pink, 
 All with a cross to swing midway ; and, note, 
 
 They make them great and small ! which dost thou 
 think 
 The prettier ? if my blood could drop, God wot ! 
 Bound ruddy beads to please thee, 'twould not shrink !
 
 NENCIA. 95 
 
 So, if I find thy fauc}^, hold it thine, 
 
 Though I should pawn this jacket, Nencla mine ! 
 
 24. 
 
 If thou should'st say, when Sieve rolls at flood, 
 
 " Fling thyself in ! " I'd headlong leap straightway ! 
 
 If thou should'st bid so end my life, I would 
 Dash head against a rock, and die that way ! 
 
 Command me any deed that seemeth good 
 In those dear eyes and I shall straight obey. 
 
 I know some promise thus abundantly 
 
 Who would not spoil a pair of shoes for thee. 
 
 25. 
 
 Yea ! and I know — my Nencia ! my heart's treasure ! 
 
 There's some one whispers thee in my despite: 
 Let him beware ! I'll give him market measure ; 
 
 Six inches in his midriff, sharp and bright ! 
 Tliou 'st seen the knife I wear ! Dio ! 'tis pleasure 
 
 To mark it do its work at feast or fight ! 
 If in my quarters it finds any man. 
 By God ! the steel shall make him skip a span !
 
 96 NENCIA . 
 
 26. 
 Oh me ! a lass like this white maid of mine, 
 
 So honey-sweet and winning, ne'er was seen ! 
 She's lusty, large, and fresh ; — and still so fine, 
 
 So fair and graceful ; of all feasts the queen. 
 But yet that mirth and modesty combine 
 
 To keep her ever all she should have been ; 
 And how her singing all the feast enhances ! 
 And, dancing, how all dancers she outdances ! 
 
 27. 
 I too know something ! — with the best I'd vie 
 
 If, Nencia ! I dared open all my heart : 
 There is no better j udge porklings to buy ; 
 I shine at plough and harrow, spade and cart : 
 When, stripped, I tie my seed-bag on, or ply 
 
 The axe, they say " "What a stout wight thou art ! " 
 The mattock and the pick I wield like thunder. 
 And blow the horn and cow-pipes, till you wonder. 
 
 28. 
 But Thou, but thou ! Ah, none is like to thee ! 
 
 A well- scrubbed kneading-trough is not so white !
 
 N EN CI A. 97 
 
 As syrup draws the flies thou drawest me ; 
 
 As figs tempt wasps so art thou my delight ; 
 Richer than rape-blooms, sweet as what the bee 
 
 Sucks from their gold thou art ! Oh, if I might 
 One kiss of honey from that red mouth rifle 
 New goat's cheese after such would seem a trifle. 
 
 29. 
 
 I've waited all this while for thee to pass 
 
 Musing my love where the quick waters shine ; 
 
 My beasts have grazed off" every bite of grass, 
 I must not tarry, or the fools will pine : 
 
 What doest, Nencia ! not to come ? Alas ! 
 
 I looked to see thy wandering charge and mine 
 
 Mix in the willows, then 'twere one hour's gain 
 
 To let them seem one flock, though we be twain ! 
 
 30. 
 
 Ncnciozza mia ! 'tis time for mo to go ! 
 
 My yearlings must be tethered in the stall, 
 
 God be with thee ! I send fond farewell so — 
 
 Far oS; for Mona Masa loud doth call. 
 
 G
 
 98 NENCIA. 
 
 My heart stays here ! have pity ! let me know 
 Thou giv'st me back some tittle, if not all, 
 Of thine. Good-bye ! Good night ! la huona sera ! 
 Sleep soft, and think kind things of thy Vallera ! 
 
 31- 
 
 Ncncia f JVenciozza f one day say you will 
 
 Climb the hill with me through the willows here ! 
 
 Promise ! say " Yes, 111 come !" and fear no ill, 
 JVenciozza mia / I'll deserve thee, Dear ! 
 
 Nencia ! I love thee so ; my love is still 
 
 So great and true, I'd die to bring thee cheer ! 
 
 If thou wert stung by some beast, fell and frightful, 
 
 I'd suck the poison, and think death delightful ! 
 
 32. 
 
 Or we might meet farther away, where yonder 
 
 The sun's eye doth not shine in the green gloom ; 
 
 Don't say " you could not answer ! " do not ponder 
 If we should hear them when they called from home : 
 
 But come, and lift thy hood, and let the wonder 
 Of thy dark blessed eyes gleam on me ! Come !
 
 NEXCIA. 
 
 99 
 
 Eyes which befit thy beauteous breast and brow 
 Being angelic, and an angel thou. 
 
 33- 
 
 Cara Nenciozza mia ! I hear the bleating 
 One of thy flock makes in the close below, 
 
 Some wolf, may be, is there — killing and eating 
 With deadly jaws, thy lambkin : — Nay, 'tis so ! 
 
 Wilt thou not take thy staff — wilt thou not? sweeting! 
 And with me to the lonely valley go ; 
 
 And strike the caitiff dead ? I'll be with thee ! 
 
 But all the folk shall say : " She killed him ! She ! " 
 
 34- 
 
 Ah, come ! I know a nest of speckled thrushes 
 Ready to fly : the prettiest feathered thing ! 
 
 'Tis hid away in a thick clump of bushes, 
 
 There is no caged birds that so sweetly sing ! 
 
 To-morrow I will show you, for time pushes 
 
 If thou'dst rear one : and then, Dear ! I will lirino^ 
 
 An oaten cake ; while — for a good excuse — 
 
 I shall pass, playing on my coruamuse.
 
 lOO N EN CI A, 
 
 35- 
 Ncnciozza mia ! I shall not seem a clown ! 
 
 When I get home my broidered vest to wear, 
 And lace my shoes, and tie my long hair down, 
 
 You'll take me for a sleek, rich townsman. 
 Dear ! 
 Just now I know I'm rough about the crown. 
 
 The barber asks too much my locks to shear 
 And curl, but if my marketing goes fairly 
 I will be barbered properly and rarely. 
 
 36. 
 Farewell ! my Lily with the lovely bloom ! 
 
 I see the beasts are breaking for the wheat ; 
 To-morrow, Nencia ! when again I come, 
 
 I'll bring you wild wood strawberries — if they're 
 sweet — 
 So, when you hear my cornamusa boom, 
 
 Trip to the spot we wot, where the roads 
 meet, 
 At corner of the orchard. I can find 
 Dittany there for thee, if thou'st a mind !
 
 NENCIA. loi 
 
 I asked thee of thy father — dost thou know ? 
 
 Old Beco droned me out some doubtful word, 
 And, taking counsel of thy mother so, 
 
 Gave me to understand I'm not preferred ; 
 Yet look for me to come — ('less thou say'st " no " — ) 
 
 With such a band some day to catch my bird 
 That none shall let. I've told father and mother 
 Thee I will have for wife, and never other ! 
 
 38. 
 Oh, when I see thee compassed round with folk 
 
 Something inside me seems to boil and swim ; 
 But if one makes thee eyes, ah, I could choke. 
 
 My heart leaps up my throat to come at him ! 
 Alas ! poor heart ! by this 'twere burst and broke, 
 
 So full of thee it is ; full to the brim ! 
 But that its thousand sighs, each one an anguish, 
 Fly all day long to thee, saying " I languish ! " 
 
 39. 
 
 Ncnciozza ! Come at dinner-time ! we'll eat 
 Salads together, and, it may be, cheese :
 
 102 N EN CI A. 
 
 Be sure you keep your word to come, my sweet ! 
 
 But so that no accursed gossip sees. 
 I bear my weapons, Dear ! if we did meet 
 
 Some of old Beco's crew under the trees 
 There'd be wild words — I know — and blood, maybe ; — 
 The Devil flay them, if they flout at me ! 
 
 40. 
 
 I talk too fierce ! Ah Nencia ! — when she goes, 
 On feast-days, what a pearl of grace she seems ! 
 
 Smooth, white, and clean, and neat from top to toes : 
 A little ring on each midfinger gleams. 
 
 For she hath store of trinkets, and bestows 
 So trimly here and there her beauty's beams. 
 
 Pearls too — fine pearls — my love wears ! Not the best 
 
 Can anywhere compare with Nencia dressed ! 
 
 41. 
 
 Ah, Nencia ! didst thou know the love immense. 
 The burning love I bear for those bright eyes, 
 
 The tears I pour, the grievous woe intense 
 
 That seems to crack and rend me with deep sighs ;
 
 NENCIA. 103 
 
 If thou knewedst this, and all — thy gentle sense 
 
 Would melt — thou would'st all lesser love despise, 
 And cry " my poor Vallera ! thou art he 
 That lov'st me most, thou shalt not woeful be ! " 
 
 42. 
 
 I marked thee, Nencia ! tripping home that day 
 From Santo — oh, so splendid ! I was dazed. 
 
 Thou hadst a mind to take the meadow way 
 And slipped adown where Beco's asses grazed. 
 
 I hid myself; quoth I : " meet now we may ! " 
 
 Then while you singing tripped, I, breathless, gazed ; 
 
 And so drew closer ; but ere this could pass 
 
 You spied me, and you turned aside, alas ! 
 
 43- 
 
 Nenciozza mia ! it made me dumb with pleasure 
 To see thy rose-fair face even thus near : 
 
 If I could once more come so nigh my treasure 
 I'd live upon such joy a whole long year ! 
 
 If I could speak thee forth my love's full measure 
 Meseems my life's luck would bo perfect, Dear !
 
 104 N EN CI A. 
 
 If in my grasp that dear hand I could hold 
 I'd not unclasp, to get mine filled with gold ! 
 
 44- 
 
 I'm here ! but Nencia does not come, nor wake : 
 Nencia ! why art thou such a slug-a-bed ? 
 
 Thou hearest me ; thou know'st that for thy sake 
 I blow this cornamuse ; why art thou hid ? 
 
 Thou wert not wont such heavy sleep to take ! 
 Pleaseth no more the music, as it did ? 
 
 All day I conned this gentle strain to sing thee, 
 
 I meant it for a charm would surely bring thee. 
 
 45. 
 
 Oh heart too hard ! what maiden would not render 
 Love to a lover lovinsr her like me ? 
 
 O 
 
 Who else would melt not, and wax honey-tender 
 Seeing me suffer thus : Ah, Nencia ! see ! 
 
 Thou knowest I am so faithful ; must it end here 
 The pain which should be crowned with joy by thee ? 
 
 Ah, yield a little ! one kind thought discover, 
 
 Then do with me as pitchforks do with clover !
 
 NENCIA. 105 
 
 46. 
 
 Nay ! wlien one speaks of forks, liow deft she is ! 
 
 There's no such nimble worker in the land. 
 She weaves a hat of straw that way and this, 
 
 With knots and ends so dexterously planned. 
 You never saw such skill ! the neighbours press 
 
 To see the plaits obey her cunning hand. 
 She can make osier-pots, and baskets, too, 
 And what the best doth, that will Nencia do. 
 
 47- 
 Nencia ! ah, Nencia ! I do love thee so ! 
 
 As the poor moth the flame which crisps his wings ; 
 Ah mia Nenciozza ! seeking thee I go 
 
 As flies to honey, when the sweetness brings 
 Death. Must I die ? Then shine, dear Lantern ! oh, 
 
 Shed sweet death, Honey ! But if better things 
 Await me, then, kind Love ! be this now said 
 Before the chestnuts fall, and grapes gi'ow red. 
 
 48. 
 Peace, poor Vallera ! peace, thou foolish youth ! 
 Wasted thy song is, and thy sorrow vain !
 
 io6 N EN CI A. 
 
 It seemed she liked me once, but now, in sooth, 
 She likes me not, I see : therefore sharp pain 
 
 Eives me and drives me, sobbing : for no ruth 
 My love will show, and these hot tears again 
 
 Tell to what anguish I am led, alas ! 
 
 Who shake with passion, if she only pass. 
 
 49- 
 
 Nencia ! Nenciozza ! thou wilt be my death ! 
 
 Yet so to see me die can please thee not. 
 Ah, would to God that I could keep my breath 
 
 Whilst I drew forth my heart, and laid it hot 
 Upon thy hand, to hear how its beat saith 
 
 " Nencia ! Nenciozza ! " — and to witness what 
 A load it bears ! But, if thou didst so take 
 My heart in hand, 'twould sigh " keep me ! " and break ! 
 
 50. 
 
 Good-bye ! Nenciozza ! Heaven have guard of thee ! 
 
 The weary beasts are to their homestead near ; 
 I must not have, for any fault of me, 
 
 Some heifer left lowing outside her lair ;
 
 N EN CI A. 107 
 
 The last one now will o'er the river be. 
 
 (Yea ! yea ! Madonna Masa ! I can hear ! 
 I come !) Farewell, cold Love ! She calls again, 
 There's Nanni bustling, and the wine to strain !
 
 ( io8 ) 
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 Sing sometliing, Jymul Kao ! for the goats are 
 gathered now, 
 
 And no more water is to bring ; 
 The village-gates are set, and the night is grey as 3'et, 
 
 God hath given wondrous fancies to thee : — sing ! 
 
 Then Jymul's supple fingers, with a touch that doubts 
 and lingers, 
 Sets a thrill the saddest wire of all the six ; 
 And the girls sit in a tangle, and hush the tinkling 
 bangle. 
 While the boys pile the flame with store of sticks. 
 
 And vain of village praise, but full of ancient days. 
 He begins with a smile and with a sigh —
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 109 
 
 " "Wlio knows the babul-tree by the bend of the 
 Eavee ? " 
 Quoth Gunesh, " I ! " and twenty voices, " I ! " 
 
 " Well — listen ! there below, in the shade of bloom 
 and bough, 
 Is a musjid of carved and coloured stone ; 
 And Abdool Shureef Khan — I spit, to name that 
 man ! — 
 Lieth there, underneath, all alone. 
 
 " He was Sultan Mahmood's vassal, and wore an 
 Amir's tassel 
 In his green hadj-turban, at Nungul. 
 Yet the head which went so proud, it is not in his 
 shroud ; 
 There are bones in that grave, — but not a skull ! 
 
 " And, deep drove in his breast, there moulders with 
 the rest 
 
 A dagger, brighter once than Chundra's ray ; 
 A Rajpoot lohar whet it, and a Rajpoot woman set it 
 
 Past the power of any hand to tear away.
 
 no THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 " 'Twas the Eanee Neila true, tlie wife of Soorj Dehu, 
 The Lord of the Rajpoots of Nourpoor ; 
 
 You shall hear the mournful story, with its sorrow and 
 its glory, 
 And curse Shureef Khan, — the soor ! " 
 
 All in the wide Five-Waters was none like Soorj Dehu, 
 To foeman who so dreadful, to friend what heart so 
 true ? 
 
 Like Indus, through the mountains came down the 
 
 Muslim ranks, 
 And town-walls fell before them as flooded river-banks ; 
 
 But Soorj Dehu the Rajpoot owned neither town nor 
 
 wall ; 
 His house the camp, his roof-tree the sky that covers 
 
 all; 
 
 His seat of state the saddle ; his robe a shirt of mail ; 
 His court a thousand Rajpoots close at his stallion's 
 tail.
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. in 
 
 Not less was Soorj a Raj all because no crown lie wore 
 Save the grim helm of iron with sword-marks dinted 
 o'er; 
 
 Because he grasped no sceptre save the sharp tulwar, 
 
 made 
 Of steel that fell from heaven, — for 'twas Indra forged 
 
 that blade ! 
 
 And many a starless midnight the shout of " Soorj 
 
 Dehu ! " 
 Broke up with spear and matchlock the Muslim's 
 
 " lUahu ! " 
 
 And many a day of battle upon the Muslim proud 
 Fell Soorj, as Indra's lightning falls from the silent cloud. 
 
 Xor ever shot nor arrow, nor spear nor slinger's stone, 
 Could pierce the mail that Neila the Ranee buckled on : 
 
 But traitor's subtle tongue-thrust through fence of 
 
 steel can break ; 
 And Soorj was taken sleeping, whom none had ta'en 
 
 awake.
 
 112 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 Then at the noon, in durbar, swore fiercely Shureef Khan 
 That Soorj should die in torment, or live a Mussulman. 
 
 But Soorj laughed lightly at him, and answered, 
 
 " Work your will ! 
 The last breath of my body shall curse your Prophet 
 
 still." 
 
 With words of insult shameful, and deeds of cruel kind, 
 They vexed that Rajpoot's body, but never moved his 
 mind. 
 
 And one is come who sayeth, "Ho! Eajpoots! Soorj 
 
 is bound ; 
 Your lord is caged and baited by Shureei Khan, the 
 
 hound. 
 
 " The Khan hath caught and chained him, like a 
 
 beast, in iron cage, 
 And all the camp of Islam spends on him spite and rage ; 
 
 " All day the coward Muslims spend on him rage and 
 
 spite ; 
 If ye have thought to help him, 'twere good ye go 
 
 to-night."
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 113 
 
 Up sprang a hundred horsemen, flashed in each hand 
 
 a sword ; 
 In each heart burned the gladness of dying for their 
 
 lord ; 
 
 Up rose each Rajpoot rider, and buckled on with speed 
 The bridle-chain and breast-cord, and the saddle of his 
 steed. 
 
 But unto none sad Neila gave word to mount and 
 
 ride ; 
 Only she called the brothers of Soorj unto her side, 
 
 And said, " Take order straightway to seek this camp 
 
 with me ; 
 If love and craft can conquer, a thousand is as three. 
 
 " If love be weak to save him, Soorj dies — and ye 
 
 return, 
 For where a Rajpoot dieth, the Rajpoot widows burn." 
 
 Thereat the Ranee Neila unbraided from her hair 
 
 Tlie pearls as great as Kashmir grapes Soorj gave his 
 
 wife to wear, 
 
 H
 
 114 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 And all across her bosoms — like lotus-buds to see — 
 She wrapped the tinselled sari of a dancing Kunchenee ; 
 
 And fastened on her ankles the hundred silver bells, 
 To whose light laugh of music the Nautch-girl darts 
 and dwells. 
 
 And all in dress a Nautch-girl, but all in heart a queen. 
 She set her foot to stirrup with a sad and settled mien. 
 
 Only one thing she carried no Kunchenee should bear, 
 The knife between her bosoms; — ho, Shureef! have a 
 care ! 
 
 Thereat, with running ditty of mingled pride and pity, 
 
 Jymul Rao makes the six wires sigh ; 
 And the girls with tearful eyes note the music's fall 
 and rise. 
 
 And the boys let the fire fade and die. 
 
 All day lay Soorj the Eajpoot in Shureef's iron cage, 
 All day the coward Muslims spent on him spite and 
 
 rage.
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 115 
 
 With bitter cruel torments, and deeds of shameful kind, 
 They racked and broke his body, but could not shake 
 his mind. 
 
 And only at the Azan, when all their worst was vain, 
 Thev left him, like doo;s slinkinor from a lion in his 
 pain. 
 
 No meat nor drink they gave him through all that 
 
 burning dav, 
 And done to death, but scornful, at twilight- time he lay. 
 
 So when the gem of Shiva uprose, the crescent moon, 
 Soorj spake unto his spirit, " The end is coming soon ! 
 
 " I would the end might hasten, could Neila only 
 
 know — 
 ^Vhat is that Nautch-girl singing with voice so known 
 
 and low ? 
 
 " Singing beneath the cage-bars the song of love and 
 fear 
 
 My Neila sang at parting ! — what doth that Nautch- 
 girl here ?
 
 li6 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 "Whence comes slie by tlie music of Neila's tender strain, 
 She, in that shameless tinsel ? — 0, Nautch-girl, sing 
 again ! 
 
 " Ah, Soorj ! " — so followed answer — " here thine own 
 
 Neila stands, 
 Faithful in life and death alike, — look up, and take 
 
 my hands : 
 
 " Speak low, lest the guard hear us ; — to-night, if 
 
 thou must die, 
 Shureef shall have no triumph, but bear thee company ! " 
 
 So sang she like the Koil that dies beside its mate ; 
 With eye as black and fearless, and love as hot and 
 great. 
 
 Then the Chief laid his pallid lips upon the little palm. 
 And sank down with a smile of love, his face all glad 
 and calm ; 
 
 And through the cage-bars Neila felt the brave heart 
 
 stop fast, 
 " Soorj ! " — she cried — "I follow ! have patience to 
 
 the last."
 
 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 117 
 
 She turned and went. " Who passes ? " challenged 
 
 the Mussulman ; 
 " A Nautch-girl, I." — " What seek'st thou ? " — " The 
 
 presence of the Khan ; 
 
 " Ask if the high chief-captain be pleased to hear me 
 
 sing r 
 And Shureef, full of feasting, the Kunchenee bade 
 
 bring. 
 
 Then, all before the Muslims, aflame with lawless wine, 
 Entered the Ranee Neila, in grace and face divine ; 
 
 And all before the Muslims, wawo^inof their goatish 
 
 chins. 
 The Rajpoot Princess set her to the " bee-dance " that 
 
 begins, 
 
 " If my love loved me, he should he a bee, 
 I the yellow chavipak, love the honey of me." 
 
 All the wreathed movements danced she of tliat 
 
 dance ; 
 Not a step she slighted, not a wanton glance ;
 
 Ii8 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 In her unveiled bosom chased th' intruding bee, 
 To her waist — and lower — she ! a Rajpoot, she ! 
 
 Sang the melting music, swayed the languorous limb : 
 Shureef's drunken heart beat — Shureef s eyes waxed 
 dim. 
 
 From his finger Shureef loosed an Ormuz pearl — 
 " By the Prophet," quoth he, " 'tis a winsome girl ! 
 
 " Take this ring ; and 'prithee, come and have thy 
 
 pay; 
 
 I would hear at leisure more of such a lay." 
 
 Glared his eyes on her eyes, passing o'er the plain, 
 Glared at the tent-purdah — never glared again ! 
 
 Never opened after unto gaze or glance, 
 
 Eyes that saw a Rajpoot dance a shameful dance ; 
 
 For the kiss she gave him was his first and last — 
 Kiss of dagger, driven to his heart, and past. 
 
 At her feet he wallowed, choked with wicked blood ; 
 In his breast the katar quivered where it stood.
 
 THE RAJPOOT IVIFB. 119 
 
 At tlie liilt his fingers vainly — wildly — try, 
 Then they stiffen feeble ; — die ! thou slayer, die ! 
 
 From his jewelled scabbard drew she Shureef s sword. 
 Cut atwain the neck-bone of the Muslim lord. 
 
 Underneath the starlight, sooth, a sight of dread ! 
 Like the Goddess Kali, comes she with the head. 
 
 Comes to where her brothers guard their murdered chief; 
 All the camp is silent, but the night is brief. 
 
 At his feet she flings it, flings her burden vile ; 
 
 " Soorj ! I keep my promise ! Brothers, build the pile !" 
 
 They have built it, set it, all as Rajpoots do, 
 From the cage of iron taken Soorj Dehu ; 
 
 In the lap of Neila, seated on the pile, 
 
 Laid his head — she radiant, like a queen, the while. 
 
 Then the lamp is lighted, and the ghee is poured — 
 *' Soorj, we burn together : my love, my lord ! "' 
 
 In the flame and crackle dies her tender tongue, 
 Dies the Ranee, truest, all true wives among.
 
 120 THE RAJPOOT WIFE. 
 
 At the morn a clamour runs from tent to tent, 
 
 Like the wild geese cackling when the night is spent. 
 
 " Shureef Khan lies headless ! gone is Soorj Dehu ! 
 And the wandering Nautch-girl,who has seen her, who?" 
 
 This but know the sentries, at the " breath of dawn " 
 Forth there fared two horsemen, by the first was borne 
 
 The urn of clay, the vessel that Kajpoots use to bring 
 The ashes of dead kinsmen to Gunga's holy spring.
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 THE CALIPH'S DRx\UGHT. 
 
 Upon a day in Ramadan — 
 
 When sunset brought an end of fast, 
 And in his station every man 
 
 Prepared to share the glad repast — 
 Sate Mohtasim in royal state, 
 
 The pillaw smoked upon the gold ; 
 The fairest slave of those that wait 
 
 Mohtasim's jewelled cup did hold. 
 
 Of crystal carven was the cup. 
 
 With turquoise set along the brim, 
 
 A lid of amber closed it up ; 
 
 'Twas a great king who gave it him.
 
 122 THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT. 
 
 The slave poured sherbet to the brink, 
 Stirred in wild honey and pomegranate, 
 
 With snow and rose-leaves cooled the drink. 
 And bore it where the Caliph sate. 
 
 The Caliph's mouth was dry as bone, 
 
 He swept his beard aside to quaff: — 
 The news-reader beneath the throne, 
 
 Went droning on with gliain and leaf : — 
 The Caliph drew a mighty breath, 
 
 Just then the reader read a word — 
 Aud Mohtasim, as grim as death. 
 
 Set down the cup and snatched his sword. 
 
 " Ann' amratan shureefatee ! " 
 
 " Speak clear ! " cries angry Mohtasim ; 
 " Fe lasr ind' ilj min ulji,'^ — 
 
 Trembling the newsman read to him 
 How in Ammoria, far from home, 
 
 An Arab girl of noble race 
 Was captive to a lord of Roum ; 
 
 And how he smote her on the face,
 
 THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT. 123 
 
 And how she cried, for life afraid, 
 
 " Ya, Molitasim ! help, my king ! " 
 And how the Kafir mocked the maid. 
 
 And laughed, and spake a bitter thing, 
 " Call louder, fool ! Mohtasim's ears 
 
 Are long as Barak's — if he heed — 
 Your prophet's ass ; and when he hears, 
 
 He'll come upon a spotted steed ! " 
 
 The Caliph's face was stern and red. 
 
 He snapped the lid upon the cup ; 
 " Keep this same sherbet, slave," he said, 
 
 " Till such time as I drink it up. 
 Wallah ! the stream my drink shall be. 
 
 My hollowed palm my only bowl. 
 Till I have set that lady free, 
 
 And seen that Round dog's head roll ! " 
 
 At dawn the drums of war were beat. 
 Proclaiming, " Thus saith Mohtasim : 
 
 ' Let all my valiant horsemen meet, 
 And every soldier bring with him
 
 124 THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT. 
 
 A spotted steed.' " So rode they forth, 
 
 A sight of marvel and of fear ; 
 Pied horses prancing fiercely north, 
 
 Three lakhs — the cup borne in the rear ! 
 
 When to Ammoria he did win, 
 
 He smote and drove the dogs of Roum, 
 And rode his spotted stallion in, 
 
 Crying, " Lahbayki ! I am come ! " 
 Then downward from her prison-place 
 
 Joyful the Arab lady crept ; 
 She held her hair before her face. 
 
 She kissed his feet, she laughed and wept. 
 
 She pointed where that lord was laid : 
 
 They drew him forth, he whined for grace 
 Then with fierce eyes Mohtasim said — • 
 
 " She whom thou smotest on the face 
 Had scorn, because she called her king : 
 
 Lo ! he is come ! and dost thou think 
 To live, who didst this bitter thing 
 
 While Mohtasim at peace did drink ? "
 
 THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT. i 
 
 Flashed the fierce sword — rolled the lord's head ; 
 
 The wicked blood smoked in the sand. 
 " Now bring my cup ! " the Caliph said. 
 
 Lightly he took it in his hand ; 
 As down his throat the sweet drink ran 
 
 Mohtasim in his saddle laughed, 
 And cried, Taiba asskrah alan ! 
 
 " By God ! delicious is this draught ! "
 
 ( 136 ) 
 
 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 " Ah ! the troop at the Tabard Inn, 
 
 Manciple, Miller, and Frankelyn, 
 
 Tightening the girths, and draining the ale, 
 
 And away on their wild ride by river and dale ! 
 
 Gone, Dan Chaucer ! gone, but for thee 
 
 Is the clatter of that gay companie, 
 
 The rattle and ring of stirrup and spur. 
 
 Floating of plume, and folding of fur, 
 
 With the round of tales that held from town 
 
 To the sweet green slopes of the broad South Down. 
 
 Certes ! with such it were pleasant indeed 
 
 To patter an Ave, or finger a bead, 
 
 And forth each dawn by the cock to wend 
 
 From shrine to shrine unto Albion's end ;
 
 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 127 
 
 But their day is done, and their course is run, 
 None goeth forth on a pilgrimage — none ! " 
 
 " Well ! but the woods are as green as then, 
 And the sunshine as splendid on grey rock and 
 
 glen; 
 The linnet and missel-thrush sing, I trow, 
 With as rich a trill in their little throats now ; 
 Rivers will ripple, and beech-boughs wave, 
 And the meadows be decked in a dress as brave, 
 And the great glad sky build a roof as blue, 
 Tho' it overarch only pilgrims two. 
 Sweetheart, come ! let us do as they 
 Did in old time on as fair a day : 
 We lack but a chapel whereunto to wend, 
 A shrine and a saint for our journey's end ; 
 And of that gay ride — the shrine, God wot, 
 Is the dusty goal that I envy them not." 
 
 " Nay, pardie ! " quoth she that I love, 
 " Fit for thy mood as the hand for the glove. 
 Or the hilt of his sword for the soldier s fist. 
 Or a poet to be praised, or a lip to be kissed.
 
 128 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Far on yon path, by the emerald lea, 
 
 Fair Avon glideth adown to the sea ; 
 
 By the walls of a church, beneath whose stones 
 
 Sleeps dust sacred as saintly bones, — 
 
 His whom thou lovest." 
 
 " Right good ! " I said. 
 And forth a foot to the lea I led, 
 With staff and scrip and a spirit in tune 
 To the merry noise of a midsummer noon : — 
 Two we were of one heart and age 
 Going a pious pilgrimage. 
 
 Sooth ! I doubt if palmers as gay 
 Ever set forth on so fair a way. 
 Sooth ! I doubt if a day so rare 
 Ever made pilgrimage half so fair. 
 But, certes ! never did palmers go 
 To holier shrine than where he lies low. 
 Who miracles wrought for heart and eye : 
 The wonder of Imogen's constancy, 
 The airy marvels of Prospero's isle. 
 The magic of Queen Cleopatra's smile ;
 
 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 129 
 
 Her barge that burned on the glowing water, 
 
 The patience and faith of Lear's leal daughter, 
 
 The Roman Portia's fond, firm heart. 
 
 And the Veronese lovers death did not part. 
 
 Something I laughed, Heav'n 'ield it me,' 
 
 At Beckett and Benedict saints, — not he ! 
 
 So came we on where the wayfarer sees 
 
 Far Warwick fading behind the trees, 
 
 And Guy's great castle behind the town. 
 
 That " setter up," and that " puller down." 
 
 For " Stratford — ho ! " our green road lay. 
 
 And I spake with my heart in the ancient day : 
 
 " Sweet ! thou art fair for a prioress, 
 
 And I am an ' Oxenforde clerke,' no less ; 
 
 Tell out some fable of ancient day ! 
 
 I rede you to prove that woman may 
 
 Be as true as man ! " — " Benedicite ! " 
 
 " Hearken my story and judge," quoth she.
 
 I30 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Y E R N I E R. 
 
 If ever tliou shalt follow silver Seine 
 
 Through his French vineyards and French villages, 
 
 For love of love and pity turn aside 
 
 At Vernier, and bear to linger there ! 
 
 The gentle river doth so — lingering long 
 
 Round the dark marshland, and the pool Grand'mer, 
 
 And then with slower ripple steals away 
 
 Down from his merry Paris. Do thou this ; 
 
 'Tis kind to keep a memory of the dead, — 
 
 The bygone, silent dead ; and these lie there, 
 
 Buried a twenty fathoms in the pool, 
 
 Whose rough cold wave is closed above their grave. 
 
 Like the black cover of an ancient book 
 
 Over a tearful story. 
 
 Very lovely 
 Was Julie de Montargis : even now — 
 After six hundred years are dead with her, 
 Her village name — the name a stranger hears — 
 Is, " La plus belle des belles ; " — they tell him yet, 
 The glossy night-black pansies of the land
 
 VERNIER. 
 
 Lost depth in her dark hair ; and that she owned 
 The noble Norman eye — the violet eye, 
 Almost — so far and fine its lashes drooped — 
 Darkened to purple : 
 
 All the country-folk 
 Went lightly to their work at sight of her ; 
 And all their children learned a grace by heart, 
 And said it with small lips when she went by, 
 The Lady of the Castle. 
 
 Dear past words 
 "Was all this beauty and this gentleness 
 Unto her first love and her playfellow, 
 Roland le Vavasour. 
 
 Too dear to leave, 
 Save that his knightly vow to pluck a palm, 
 And bear the cross broidered above his heart. 
 To where upon the cross Christ died for him. 
 Led him away from loving. 
 
 But a year. 
 And they shall meet — alas ! to those that joy. 
 It is a pleasant season, all too short. 
 Made of white winter and of scarlet spring, 
 
 131
 
 132 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 With fireside comfort and sweet summer-nights : 
 But parted lovers count the minutes up, 
 And see no sunshine. 
 
 Julie heeded none, 
 When she had belted on her Eoland's sword, 
 Buckled his breastplate, and upon her lip 
 Taken his last long kisses. 
 
 Listen now ! 
 She was no light-o'-love, to change and change, 
 And, deeply written on her heart, she kept 
 The night and hour the star of Love should see 
 A true love-meeting. Walking by the pool. 
 Many a time she longed to wear a wing, 
 As fleet and white as the swift sea-bird spread, 
 That she might hover over Roland's sails, 
 Follow him to the field, and in the battle 
 Shield the hot Syrian sun from dazing him : 
 High on the turret many an autumn eve, 
 When the light, merry swallow tried his plumes 
 For foreign flight, she gave him messages, — 
 Fond messages of love, for Palestine, 
 Unto her knight. What wonder, loving so,
 
 VERNIER. 133 
 
 She greeted well the brother that he sent 
 From Ascalon with spoils — Claude Vavasour ? 
 Could she do less ? — he had so deft a haud 
 Upon the mandolin, and sang so well 
 What Roland did so bravely ; nay, in sooth, 
 She had not heart to frown upon his songs. 
 When they sang other love and other deeds 
 Than Roland's, being brother to her lord. 
 Yet sometimes was she grave and sad of eye. 
 For knowledge of the spell her glance could work 
 Upon its watcher. Ah ! he came to serve, 
 And stayed to love her ; and she knew it soon, 
 Past all concealment. Oftentimes his eyes. 
 Fastened upon her face, fell suddenly. 
 For brother-love and shame ; but, once and twice, 
 Julio had seen them, through her tender tears, 
 Fixed on some messenger from Holy Land 
 With wild significance, tlie drawn white lips 
 Working for grief, because she smiled again. 
 
 He spake no love — lie breatlied no passionate tale. 
 Till tlicre came one who told how Roland's sword,
 
 134 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 From heel to point, dripped with the Paynim blood ; 
 How Ascalon had watched, and Joppa's lists, 
 And Gaza, and Nicpsa's noble fight, 
 His chivalry ; and how, with palm -branch won, 
 Bringfinsr his honours and his wounds a-front, 
 His prow was cleaving Genoa's sapphire sea. 
 Bound homewards. Then, the last day of the year, 
 Claude brought his unused charger to the gate, 
 Sprang to the broad strong back, and reined its rage 
 Into a marble stillness. Yet more still. 
 Young Claude le Vavasour, thy visage was, 
 More marble-white. 
 
 She stood to see him pass. 
 And their eyes met ; and, full of tears were hers 
 To mark his suffering ; and she called his name. 
 And came below the gate ; but he bowed low, 
 And thrust the vizor close over his face, 
 So riding on. 
 
 Before St. Ouen's shrine 
 That night the lady watched — a sombre night, 
 "With fleeting gleams of fitful moonlight sent 
 'Twixt driving clouds : the grey stone statues gleamed
 
 VERNIER. 135 
 
 Througli the gloom ghost-like ; the still effigies 
 Of knight and abbess had a show of life, 
 Lit by pale crimsons and faint amethysts 
 That fell along them from the oriels ; 
 And if she broke the silence with a step, 
 It seemed the echo lent them speech again 
 To speak in ghostly whispers ; while, o'er all, 
 With a weird paleness midnight might not hide. 
 Straight from the wall St. Ouen looked upon her. 
 Knitting his granite brows, bidding her hope 
 No lover's kiss that night — no loving kiss — 
 None — though there came the whisper of her name. 
 And a chill sleety blast of wintry wind 
 Moaning about the tombs, and striking her. 
 For fear, down to her knees. 
 
 That opened porch 
 Brought more than wind and whisper ; there were steps. 
 And the dim wave of a white gaberdine — 
 Horribly dim ; and then the voice again. 
 As though the dead called Julie. Was it dead, 
 The form which, at the holy altar foot, 
 Stood spectral in the flickering window-lights ?
 
 136 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 It does not turn, nor speak, nor seek for her, 
 But passes thro' the chancel, grim and still ! 
 Ah, Holy Mother ! dead — and in its hand 
 The pennon of Sir Roland, and the palm, 
 Both laid so stilly on the altar front ; 
 A presence like a knight, clad in close mail 
 From spur to crest, yet from his armed heel 
 No footfall ; a white face, white as the stones, 
 Lit by the moonlight long enough to know 
 How the dead kept his tryst ; and It was gone, 
 Leaving the lady on the flags, ice-cold. 
 
 Oh, gentle River ! thou that knowest all, 
 
 Tell them how for a while she mourned her Knight ; 
 
 How her grief withered all the rose-bloom off, 
 
 And wrote its record on her fading cheek ; 
 
 And say, bright River ! lest they do her wrong, 
 
 All the sad story of those twenty moons. 
 
 The true-love dead — the true-love that lived on — 
 
 Her clinging memories, and Claude's generous praise, 
 
 Claude's silent service, and her tearful thanks ;
 
 VERNIER. 137 
 
 And ask them, River, for Saint Charity, 
 To think not too much wrong, that so she gave. 
 Her heart being given and gone, her hand to him, 
 The Brother of her Lord. — 
 
 Now banish care ! 
 Soothe it with flutings, startle it with drums ! 
 Trick it with gold and velvets, till it glow 
 Into a seeming pleasure. Ah, vain ! vain ! 
 When the bride weeps, what wedding-gear is gay ? 
 And since the dawn she weeps — at orisons 
 She wept — and while her women clasped the zone. 
 Among its jewels fell her mocking tears. 
 Now at the altar all her answers sisrh : 
 Wilt thou ? — Ah ! fearful altar-memories — 
 Ah ! spirit-lover — if he saw me now ! 
 Wilt thou ? — " Oh me ! if that he saw me now ! " 
 He doth, he doth ! beneath St. Ouen there, 
 As white and still — yon monh ivhose cowl is hack ! 
 Wilt thou ? — " Ah, dear love, listen and look uja." 
 He doth — ah God ! with hollow eyes a-fire. 
 Wilt thou ? — pale quivering lips, pale bloodless lips — 
 '' I will not — never — never — Roland — never ! "
 
 138 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 So went the bride a-swoon to Vernier ; 
 
 So doffed each guest his silken braveries ; 
 
 So followed Claude, heart- stricken and amazed, 
 
 And left the Chapel. But the monk left last. 
 
 And down the hill-side, swift and straight and lone, 
 
 Sandals and brown serge brushed the yellow broom, 
 
 Till to the lake he came and loosed his skiff, 
 
 And paddled to the lonely island-cell 
 
 Midway over the wavelets. Long ago 
 
 The people of the lonely water knew 
 
 He came alone to dwell there — 'twas the night 
 
 Of Lady Julie's vigil ; ever since 
 
 The simple fishers left their silver tithe 
 
 Of lake-fish for him on the wave- worn flags, 
 
 Wherefrom he wandered not, save when that day 
 
 He went unasked, and marred the bridal show, — 
 
 Wherefore none knew, nor how, — save two alone, 
 
 A lady swooning — and a monk at prayers. 
 
 And now not Castle-gates, nor cell, nor swoon, 
 Nor splashing waters, nor the flooded marsh.
 
 VERNIER. 139 
 
 Can keep tliese two apart. The Cliapel-bells 
 Ring Angelus and Even-song, and then 
 Sleep, like her waiting maidens — only Blanche, 
 Her foster-sister, lying at the gate. 
 Dreaming of roving spirits — starts at one. 
 And marvels at the night-gear, poorly hid. 
 And overdone with pity at her plaint. 
 Lets her dear Lady forth, and watches her 
 Gleaming from crag to crag — but lost at last, 
 A white speck on the night. 
 
 More watchful eyes 
 Follow her flying ; — down the water-path, 
 Mad at his broken bridals, sore amazed 
 With fear and pain, Claude tracks the wanderer — 
 Waits, while the wild white fingers loose the cord — 
 But when she drove the shallop through the lake 
 Straight for the island-cell, he brooked no stay, 
 But doffed his steel-coat on the reedy rim. 
 And gave himself to the quick-plashing pool. 
 And swimming in the foam her fleetness made, 
 Strove after — sometimes losing his white guide, 
 Down-sinking in the da k wash of the waves.
 
 I40 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Together to the island-cell they come, 
 
 The shallop and the swimmer — she alone 
 
 Thrusts at the wicket, — enters wet and wild. 
 
 What sees he there under the crucifix ? 
 
 What holds his eyesight to the ivied loop ? 
 
 Oh, Claude ! — oh furious heart ! be still, or break ! 
 
 The Monk and Julie kneeling, not at prayer ! 
 
 She kisses him with warm, wild, eager lips — 
 
 Weeps on his heart— that woman, nearly wived, 
 
 And " Sweetest love," she saith, " I thought thee dead." 
 
 And he — who is he that he fondles so 
 
 In his her shaking hands, and bends adown. 
 
 Crying, " Ah, my lost love ! it was no ghost 
 
 That left the palm-branch ; but I saw thee not 
 
 In the dim moonlight of the midnight aisle ; 
 
 And heard their talk of Claude, and held thee false, 
 
 These many erring days." Now, gaze no more, 
 
 Claude, Claude, for thy soul's peace ! She bindsthe brand 
 
 About his gaberdine, with close caress ; 
 
 She fondles the thin neck, and clasps thereon 
 
 The gorget ! then the breast-piece and the helm
 
 VERNIER. 141 
 
 Her quick hands fasten. " Come away," she cries, 
 " Thou Knio-ht, and take me from them all for thine. 
 Come, true-love ! come." The pebbles, water-washed. 
 Grate with the gliding of the shallop's keel. 
 Scarce bearing up those twain. 
 
 Frail boat, be strong ! 
 Three lives are thine to keep — ah, Lady pale. 
 Choose of two lovers — for the other comes 
 With a wild bound that shakes the rotten plank. 
 Moon ! shine out clear for Claude's avenging blow ! 
 She glitters on a quiet face and form 
 That shuns it not, — yet stays the lifted death. 
 " My brother Eoland!"' — "Claude, ah, brother mine!" — 
 " I thought thee dead ! " — " I would that I had died 
 Ere this had come!" — "Just God! but she is thine!" — 
 " He wills her not for either ! look, we fill. 
 The current drifts us, and the oars are gone, 
 I will leap forth ! " — " Now by the breast we sucked. 
 So shalt thou not : let the black waters break 
 Over a broken heart ! " — " Nay, tell him no ; 
 Bid him to save thee, Julie — I will leap ! " 
 So strove they sinking, sinking — Julie bending
 
 142 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Between them ; and those brothers over her 
 With knees and arms close locked for leave to die 
 Each for the other ; — while the Moon shone down, 
 Silvering their far-off home, and the black wave 
 That struck, and rose, and floated over them, 
 Hushing their death-cries, hiding their kind strife, 
 Ending the love of those great troubled hearts 
 With silence, save for lapping of the lake. 
 
 " Verily ! " spake I, " a troubled dame ! 
 
 Sweet ! grand'' merci for this same ! 
 
 Tender and fair is the chronicle 
 
 That Vernier taught thee featly to tell ! 
 
 Tenderer, fairer its lessons seem 
 
 From lips which speak and eyes wliich beam 
 
 So true a truth, and so fast a faith. 
 
 Oh Love, whom I love for life and for death ! — 
 
 But thou in thy turn have heed to me ; 
 
 I know a story of constancy 
 
 Where woman was changeful, and man was true : 
 
 Peradventure Kate ! I shall tell it through
 
 KING S ALA DIN. 143 
 
 Before we come where Shakespeare's bones 
 Make holy walking of Stratford stones ! 
 
 " Nay, but recount ! " she softly said, 
 Doubtfully tossing a wilful head : 
 And hand in hand, in the shade of the limes, 
 I told this tale of the Saracen times. 
 
 KING SALADIN. 
 
 Long years ago — so writes Boccaccio 
 In such Italian gentleness of speech 
 As finds no echo in this northern air 
 To counterpart its music — long ago, 
 "When Saladin was Soldan of the East, 
 The kings let cry a general crusade ; 
 And to the trysting-plains of Lombardy 
 The idle lances of the North and West 
 Rode all that spring, as all the spring runs down 
 Into a lake, from all its hanging hills, 
 The clash and glitter of a hundred streams. 
 Whereof the rumour reached to Saladin ; 
 And that swart king — as royal in his heart
 
 U4 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 As any crowned champion of tlie Cross — 
 That be might fully, of his knowledge, learn 
 The purpose of the lords of Christendom, 
 And when their war and what their armament. 
 Took thought to cross the seas to Lombardy. 
 Wherefore, with wise and trustful Amirs twain, 
 All habited in garbs that merchants use, • 
 With trader's band and gipsire on the breasts 
 Which best loved mail and dagger, Saladin 
 Set forth upon his journey perilous. 
 
 In that day, lordly land was Lombardy ! 
 A sea of country-plenty, islanded 
 With cities rich ; nor richer one than thou, 
 Marble Milano ! from whose gate at dawn — 
 With ear that little recked the matin-bell, 
 But a keen eye to measure wall and fosse — 
 The Soldan rode ; and all day long he rode 
 For Pavia ; passing basilic, and shrine. 
 And gaze of vineyard- workers, wotting not 
 Yon trader was the Lord of Heathenesse. 
 All day he rode ; yet at the wane of day 
 No gleam of gate, or ramp, or rising spire.
 
 KING SALADIN. 145 
 
 Nor Tessin's sparkle underneath the stars 
 
 Promised him Pavia ; but he was 'ware 
 
 Of a gay company upon the way, 
 
 Ladies and lords, with horses, hawks, and hounds ; 
 
 Cap-plumes and tresses fluttered by the wind 
 
 Of nierr}' race for home. " Go ! " said the king 
 
 To one that rode upon his better hand, 
 
 " And pray these gentles of their courtesy 
 
 How many leagues to Pavia, and the gates 
 
 AVhat hour they close them ? " Then the Saracen 
 
 Set spur, and being joined to him that seemed 
 
 First of the hunt, he told the message — they 
 
 Checking their jangling bits, and chiding down 
 
 The unfinished laugh, to listen — but by this 
 
 Came up the king, his bonnet in his hand, 
 
 Theirs doffed to him : " Sir Trader," Torel said 
 
 (Messer Torello 'twas, of Isti'ia), 
 
 "They shut the Pavian gate at even-song. 
 
 And even-song is sung." Then, turning half. 
 
 Muttered, " Pardie, the man is worshipful, 
 
 A straoger too ! " " Fair lord ! " quoth Saladin, 
 
 " Please you to stead some weary travellers.
 
 146 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Saying where we may lodge, the town so far 
 And night so near." " Of my heart, willingly," 
 Made answer Torel, " I did think but now 
 To send my knave an errand — he shall ride 
 And bring you into lodgment — oh ! no thanks, 
 Our Lady keep you 1 " then with whispered best 
 He called their guide and sped them. Being gone, 
 Torello told his purpose, and the band, 
 With ready zeal and loosened bridle-chains, 
 Rode for his hunting-palace, where they set 
 A goodly banquet underneath the planes. 
 And hung the house with guest-lights, and anon 
 Welcomed those wondering strangers, thereto led 
 Unwitting, by a world of winding paths ; 
 Messer Torello, at the inner gate. 
 Waiting to take them in — a winsome host. 
 Stamped current with God's image for a man 
 Chief among men, truthful, and just, and free. 
 
 There he, " Well met again, fair sirs ! Our knave 
 Hath found you shelter better than the worst : 
 Please you to leave your selles, and being bathed, 
 Grace our poor supper here." Then Saladin,
 
 KIXG SALADIN. 147 
 
 Whose sword had yielded ere his courtesy, 
 Answered, '• Great tlianks, Sir Knight, and this 
 
 much blame. 
 You spoil us for our trade ! two bonnets doffed. 
 And travellers' questions holding you afield. 
 For such vou ffive us this." " Sir ! not vour meed, 
 Xor worthy of your breeding ; but in sooth 
 That is not out of Pavia." Thereupon 
 He led them to fair chambers decked with all 
 Makes tired men glad ; lights, and the marble bath, 
 And flasks that sparkled, liquid amethyst, 
 And grapes, not dry as yet from evening dew. 
 
 Thereafter at the supper-board they sat ; 
 Xor lacked it, though its guest was reared a king. 
 Worth provend in crafts of cookery, 
 Pastel, pasticcio — all set forth on gold ; 
 And gracious talk and pleasant courtesies, 
 Spoken in stately Latin, cheated time 
 Till there was none but held that stranger-sir. 
 For all his chapman's dress of cramasie. 
 Goodlier than silks could make him. I'resently 
 'J'alk rose upon the Holy Sepulchre :
 
 148 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 " I go myself," said Torel, " with a score 
 Of better knights — the flower of Pavia — 
 To try our steel against King Saladin's. 
 Sirs ! ye have seen the countries of the Sun, 
 Know vou the Soldan ? " Answer ofave the king^, 
 " The Soldan we have seen — 'twill push him hard 
 If, which I nothing doubt, you Pavian lords 
 Are valorous as gentle ; — we, alas ! 
 Be Cyprus merchants making trade to France — 
 Dull sons of Peace." " By Mary ! " Torel cried, 
 " But for thy word, I ne'er heard speech so fit 
 To lead the war, nor saw a hand that sat 
 Liker a soldier's where thy sword should be ; 
 But sure I hold you sleepless ! " Then himself 
 Playing the chamberlain, with torches borne, 
 Led them to restful beds, commending them 
 To sleep and God, Who hears — Allah or God — • 
 When good men do his creatures charities. 
 
 At dawn the cock, and neigh of saddled steeds, 
 Broke the king's dreams of battle — not their own. 
 But goodly jennets from Torello's stalls. 
 Caparisoned to bear them ; he their host
 
 KING SALADIN. 149 
 
 Up, with a gracious radiance like the sun, 
 
 To bid them speed. Beside him in the court 
 
 Stood Dame Adalieta ; comely she, 
 
 And of her port as queenly, and serene 
 
 As if the braided gold about her brows 
 
 Had been a crown. Mutual good-morrow given, 
 
 Thanks said and stayed, the lady prayed her guest 
 
 To take a token of his sojourn there, 
 
 Marking her good-will, not liis worthiness ; 
 
 " A grown of miniver — these furbelows 
 
 Are silk I spun — my lord wears ever such — 
 
 A housewife's thought! but those ye love are far; 
 
 Wear it as given for them." Then Saladin — 
 
 " A precious gift, JNIadonna, past my thanks ; 
 
 And — but thou shalt not hear a ' no ' from me — 
 
 Past my receiving ; yet I take it ; we 
 
 AVere debtors to your noble courtesy 
 
 Out of redemption — this but bankrupts us." 
 
 " Nay, sir, — God shield you ! " said the knight 
 
 and dame : 
 And Saladin, with phrase of gentilesse 
 lleturncd, or ever that he rode alone,
 
 ISO THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Swore a great oath in guttural Arabic, 
 An oath by Allah — startling up the ears 
 Of those three Christian cattle they bestrode — 
 That never yet was princelier-natured man, 
 Nor gentler lady ; — and that time should see 
 For a king's lodging quittance royal repaid. 
 
 It was the day of the Passaggio : 
 
 Ashore the war-steeds champed the burnished bits ; 
 
 Afloat the galleys tugged the mooring chains : 
 
 The town was out ; the Lombard armourers — 
 
 Red-hot with riveting the helmets up. 
 
 And whettinsr axes for the heathen heads — 
 
 Cooled in the crowd which filled the squares and streets 
 
 To speed God's soldiers. At the nones that day 
 
 Messer Torello to the gate came down, 
 
 Leadinof his ladv : — sorrow's hueless rose 
 
 Grew on her cheek, and thrice the destrier 
 
 Struck fire, impatient, from the pavement-squares. 
 
 Or ere she spoke, tears in her lifted eyes, 
 
 " Goest thou, lord of mine ? " " Madonna, yes ! "
 
 KING SALADIX. 151 
 
 Said Torel, " for my soul's weal and the Lord 
 
 Ride I to-day : my good name and my house 
 
 Reliant I intrust thee, and — because 
 
 It may be they shall slay me, and because, 
 
 Being so young, so fair, and so reputed. 
 
 The noblest will entreat thee — wait for me, 
 
 Widow or wife, a year, and month, and day ; 
 
 Then, if thy kinsmen press thee to a choice, 
 
 And if I be not come, hold me for dead ; 
 
 Nor link thy blooming beauty with the grave 
 
 Against thv heart." " Good mv lord ! " answered 
 
 she, 
 •• Hardly my heai't sustains to let thee go; 
 Tliy memory it can keep, and keep it will, 
 Thouirh mv one love, Torel of Istria, 
 Live, or '" "Sweet, comfort thee! San Pietro 
 
 speed ! 
 I shall come home : if not, and worthy knees 
 Bend for this hand, whereof none worthy lives. 
 Least he who lays his last kiss thus upon it, 
 
 Look thee, I free it " " Nay ! " she said, " but I, 
 
 A petulant slave that hugs her golden chain,
 
 152 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Give that gift back, and with it this poor ring : 
 
 Set it upon thy sword-hand, and in fight 
 
 Be merciful and win, thinking of me." 
 
 Then she, with pretty action, drawing on 
 
 Her ruby, buckled over it his glove — 
 
 The srreat steel o-bve — and through the helmet bars 
 
 Took her last kiss ; — then let the chafing steed 
 
 Have its hot will and go. 
 
 But Saladin, 
 Safe back among his lords at Lebanon, 
 Well wotting of their quest, awaited it, 
 And held the Crescent up against the Cross. 
 In many a doughty fight Ferrara blades 
 Clashed with keen Damasc, many a weary month 
 Wasted afield ; but vet the Christians 
 Won nothing nearer to Christ's sepulchre ; 
 Nay, but gave ground. At last, in Acre pent, 
 On their loose files, enfeebled by the war, 
 Came stronger smiter than the Saracen — 
 The deadly Pest : day after day they died, 
 Pikeman and knight-at-arms ; day after day 
 A thinner line upon the leaguered wall
 
 KING SALADIN. i53 
 
 Held off the heatlien : — held them off a space ; 
 Then, over-Nveakened, yielded, and gave up 
 The city and the stricken garrison. 
 
 So to sad chains and hateful servitude 
 Fell all those purple lords — Christendom's stars, 
 Once high in hope as soaring Lucifer, 
 Now low as sinking Hesper : with them fell 
 Messer Torello — never one so poor 
 Of all the hundreds that his bounty fed 
 As he in prison — ill-entreated, bound, 
 Starved of sweet light, and set to shameful tasks ; 
 And that great load at heart to know the days 
 Fast flying, and to live accounted dead. 
 One joy his gaolers left him, — his good hawk ; 
 The brave, gay bird that crossed the seas with him : 
 And often, in the mindful hour of eve. 
 With tameless eye and spirit masterful, 
 In a feigned anger checking at his hand. 
 The good grey falcon made his master cheer. 
 
 One day it chanced Saladin rode afield 
 
 Witli shawled and turlmnod Amirs, and his hawks —
 
 154 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Lebanon-bred, and mewed as princes lodge — 
 
 Flew foul, forgot their feather, hung at wrist, 
 
 And slighted call. The Soldan, quick in wrath, 
 
 Bade slay the cravens, scourge the falconer, 
 
 And seek some wight who knew the heart of hawks. 
 
 To keep it hot and true. Then spake a Sheikh — 
 
 " There is a Frank in prison by the sea. 
 
 Far-seen herein." " Give word that he be brought," 
 
 Quoth Saladin, " and bid him set a cast : 
 
 If he hath skill, it shall go well for him." 
 
 Thus, by the winding path of circumstance. 
 
 One palace held, as prisoner and prince, 
 
 Torello and his guest : unwitting each. 
 
 Nay and unwitting, though they met and spake 
 
 Of that goshawk and this — signors in serge. 
 
 And chapmen crowned, who knows ? — till on a time 
 
 Some trick of face, the manner of some smile. 
 
 Some gleam of sunset from the glad days gone. 
 
 Caught the king's eye, and held it. " Nazarene ! 
 
 What native art thou ? " asked he. " Lombard I, 
 
 A man of Pavia." " And thy name ? " " Torel,
 
 KING SALADIN. 155 
 
 Messer Torello called in happier times, 
 
 Now best uncalled." " Come hither, Christian ! " 
 
 The Soldan said, and led the way, by court 
 
 And hall and fountain, to an inner room 
 
 Eich with king's robes : therefrom he reached a gown. 
 
 And " Know'st thou this ? " he asked. " High lord ! I 
 
 might 
 Elsewhere," quoth Torel, " here 'twere mad to say 
 Yon gown my wife unto a trader gave 
 AYho shared our board." " Nay, but that gown is this, 
 And she the giver, and the trader I," 
 Quoth Saladin ; " I ! twice a king to-day, 
 Owing a royal debt and paying it." 
 Then Torel, sore amazed, "Great lord, I blusli, 
 Remembei'ing how the Master of the East 
 Lodored sorrilv." " It's Master's Master thou ! " 
 Gave answer Saladin, " come in and see 
 AVliat wares the Cyprus traders keep at hoine ; 
 Come forth and take thy place, Saladin's friend ! " 
 Therewith into the circle of his lords. 
 With gracious mien the Soldan led his slave ; 
 And while the dark eyes glittered, seated him
 
 156 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 First of the full divan. " Orient lords," 
 
 So spake lie, — " let the one who loves his king 
 
 Honour this Frank, whose house sheltered your king ; 
 
 He is my brother : " then the night-black beards 
 
 Swept the stone floor in ready reverence, 
 
 Agas and Amirs welcoming Torel : 
 
 And a great feast was set, the Sol dan's friend 
 
 E-oyally garbed, npon the Soldau's hand, 
 
 Shining, the bright star of the banqueters. 
 
 All which, and the abounding grace and love 
 
 Shown him by Saladin, a little held 
 
 The heart of Torel from its Lombard home 
 
 With Dame Adalieta : but it chanced 
 
 He sat beside the king in audience, 
 
 And there came one who said, " Oh, Lord of lords. 
 
 That galley of the Genovese which sailed 
 
 With Frankish prisoners is gone down at sea." 
 
 " Gone down ! " cried Torel. " Ay ! what recks it, 
 
 friend, 
 To fall thy visage for ? " quoth Saladin ;
 
 Kh\G SALADIN. 157 
 
 " One galley less to ship-stuffed Genoa ! " 
 
 " Good mv lieofe ! " Torel said, " it bore a scroll 
 
 I/O ' 
 
 Inscribed to Pavia, saying that I lived ; 
 
 For in a year, a month, and day, not come, 
 
 I bade them hold me dead ; and dead I am, 
 
 Albeit living, if my lady wed, 
 
 Perchance constrained." " Certes," spake Saladin, 
 
 " A noble dame — the like not won, once lost — 
 
 How many days remain ? " " Ten days, my prince, 
 
 And twelvescore leagues between my heart and me : 
 
 Alas ! how to be passed ? " Then Saladin — 
 
 " Lo ! I am loath to lose thee — wilt thou swear 
 
 To come again if all go well with thee, 
 
 Or come ill speeding ? " " Yea, I swear, my king. 
 
 Out of true love," quoth Torel, " heartfully." 
 
 Then Saladin, " Take here my signet-seal ; 
 
 My admiral will loose his swiftest sail 
 
 Upon its sight ; and cleave the seas, and go 
 
 And clip thy dame, and say the Trader sends 
 
 A gift, remindful of her courtesies." 
 
 Passed were the year, and month, and day ; and 
 passed
 
 158 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Out of all hearts but one Sir Torel's name, 
 
 Long given for dead by ransomed Pavians : 
 
 For Pavia, thoughtless of her Eastern graves, 
 
 A lovely widow, much too gay for grief, 
 
 Made peals from half a hundred campaniles 
 
 To ring a wedding in. The seven bells 
 
 Of Santo Pietro, from the nones to noon, 
 
 Boomed with bronze throats the happy tidings out ; 
 
 Till the great tenor, overs welled with sound. 
 
 Cracked itself dumb. Thereat the sacristan. 
 
 Leading his swinked ringers down the stairs. 
 
 Came blinking into sunlight — all his keys 
 
 Jingling their little peal about his belt — 
 
 Whom, as he tarried, locking up the porch, 
 
 A foreign signor, browned with southern suns, 
 
 Turbaned and slippered, as the Muslims use. 
 
 Plucked by the cope. " Friend,"' quoth he — 'twas a 
 
 tongue 
 Italian true, but in a Muslim mouth — 
 " "Why are your belfries busy — is it peace 
 Or victory, that so ye din the ears 
 Of Pavian lieges ? " " Truly, no liege thou ! "
 
 KING SALADIN. 159 
 
 Grunted the sacristan, " who knowest not 
 
 That Dame Adalieta weds to-night 
 
 Her fore-betrothed, — Sir Torel's widow she, 
 
 That died i' the chain ? " '• To-night ! " the stranger 
 
 said. 
 " Ay, sir, to-night I — why not to-night ? — to-night ! 
 And you shall see a goodly Christian feast 
 If so you pass their gates at even-song. 
 For all are asked." 
 
 No more the questioner. 
 But folded o'er his face the Eastern hood, 
 Lest idle eyes should mark how idle words 
 Had struck him home. " So quite forgot ! — so soon ! — 
 And this the square wherein I gave the joust, 
 And that the loggia, where I fed the poor ; 
 And yon my palace, where — oh, fair ! oh, false ! — 
 They robe her for a bridal. Can it be ? 
 Clean out of heart, with twice six Hying moons, 
 The heart that beat on mine as it would break. 
 That faltered forty oaths. Forced ! forced ! — not false — 
 Well ! I will sit, wife, at thy wedding-feast. 
 And let mine eyes give my lund luiLh the lie."
 
 i6o THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 So in tlie stream of gallant guests that flowed 
 Feastward at eve, went Torel ; passed with them 
 The outer gates, crossed the great coui-ts with them, 
 A stranger in the walls that called him lord. 
 Cressets and coloured lamps made the way bright. 
 And rose-leaves strewed to where within the doors 
 The master of the feast, the bridegroom, stood, 
 A-glitter from his forehead to his foot. 
 Speaking fair welcomes. He, a courtly sir, 
 Marking the Eastern guest, bespoke him sweet. 
 Prayed place for him, and bade them set his seat 
 Upon the dais. Then the feast began. 
 And wine went free as wit, and music died — 
 Outdone by merrier laughter : — only one 
 Nor ate nor drank, nor spoke nor smiled ; but gazed 
 On the pale bride, pale as her crown of pearls. 
 Who sate so cold and still, and sad of cheer. 
 At the bride-feast. 
 
 But of a truth, Torel 
 Read the thoughts right that held her eyelids down. 
 And knew her loyal to her memories.
 
 A7A'G S A LA DIN. i6i 
 
 Then to a little page who bore the wine, 
 
 He spake, " Go tell thy lady thus from me : 
 
 In mine own land, if any stranger sit 
 
 A wedding-guest, the bride, out of her grace. 
 
 In token that she knows her guest's good- will, 
 
 In token she repays it, brims a cup, 
 
 Wherefrom he drinking she in turn doth drink ; 
 
 So is our use." The little page made speed 
 
 And told the message. Then that lady pale — 
 
 Ever a gentle and a courteous heart — 
 
 Lifted her troubled eyes and smiled consent 
 
 On the swart stranger. By her side, untouched. 
 
 Stood the brimmed gold ; " Bear this," she said, 
 
 " and pray 
 He hold a Christian lady apt to learn 
 A kindly lesson." But Sir Torel loosed 
 From off his finger — never loosed before — 
 The ring she gave him on the parting day ; 
 And ere he drank, behind his veil of beard 
 Dropped in the cap the ruby, quaffed, and sent. — 
 So she, with sad smile, set her lips to drink ; 
 And — something in the Cyprus touching them —
 
 i62 THE STRATFORD PILGRIMS. 
 
 Glanced — gazed — the ring ! — her ring ! — Jove ! how 
 
 she eyes 
 The wistful eyes of Torel ! — how, heartsure, 
 Under all guise knowing her lord returned, 
 She springs to meet him coming ! — telling all 
 In one great cry of joy. 
 
 Good Lord ! the rout. 
 The storm of questions ! stilled, when Torel spake 
 His name, and, known of all, claimed the Bride Wife 
 Maugre the wasted feast, and woful groom. 
 All hearts save his were light to see Torel ; 
 But Adalieta's lightest, as she plucked 
 The bridal-veil away. Something therein — 
 A lady's dagger — small, and bright, and fine — 
 Clashed out upon the marble. " Wherefore that ? " 
 Asked Torel ; answered she, " I knew you true ; 
 And I could live, so long as I might wait ; 
 But they — they pressed me hard ! my days of grace 
 Ended to-night — and I had ended too. 
 Faithful to death, if so thou hadst not come."
 
 KING SALADIN. 163 
 
 " God quit all gentle lovers," quoth slie, 
 " And give them grace for their constancy, 
 For, dost thou not, from Boccace, prove 
 That true-love ever begetteth love ? 
 Peace have they now in the changeless rest 
 Where he is gone, whom thou lovest best, 
 The Master of poets, whose own words prove 
 It ' never ran smooth,' the ' course of love ! ' 
 Since this is Stratford, and yonder wave 
 Is lilied Avon's, which girdles his grave ! " 
 
 So came we, two of one heart and age 
 Making our pious pilgrimage !
 
 ( i64 ) 
 
 THE RAJAH'S RIDE. 
 
 A PUNJAB SONG. 
 
 Now is tlie Devil-horse come to Sindli ! 
 
 Wall ! wall ! Gooroo ! — that is true ! 
 His belly is stuffed with the fire and the wind, 
 
 But a fleeter steed had Runjeet Dehu ! 
 
 It's forty koss from Lahore to the ford, 
 Forty and more to far Jummoo ; 
 
 Fast may go the Feringhee lord, 
 
 But never so fast as Runjeet Dehu ! 
 
 Runjeet Dehu was King of the Hill, 
 
 Lord and eagle of every crest ; 
 Now the swords and the spears are still, 
 
 God will have it — and God knows best !
 
 THE RAJAH'S RIDE. 165 
 
 Rajali Eunjeet sate in the sky, 
 
 Watching the loaded Kafilas in ; 
 AfFghan, Kashmeree, passing by, 
 
 Paid him pushm to save their skin. 
 
 Once he caracoled into the plain, 
 Wah ! the sparkle of steel on steel ! 
 
 And up the pass came singing again 
 "With a lakh of silver borne at his heel. 
 
 Once he trusted the Mussulman's word, 
 
 Wah ! wah ! trust a liar to lie ! 
 Down from his eyrie they tempted my Bird, 
 
 And clipped his wings that he could not fly. 
 
 Fettered him fast in far Lahore, 
 
 Fast by the gate at the Runchenee Pul ; 
 
 Sad was the soul of Chunda Kour, 
 Glad the merchants of rich Kurnool. 
 
 Ten months Runjeet lay in Lahore — 
 
 Wah ! a hero's heart is brass ! 
 Ten months never did Chunda Kour 
 
 Braid her hair at the tiring-glass.
 
 l66 THE RAJAH'S RIDE. 
 
 There came a steed from Toorkistan, 
 
 Wah ! God made him to match the hawk ! 
 
 Fast beside him the four grooms ran, 
 
 To keep abreast of the Toorkman's walk. 
 
 Black as the bear on Iskardoo ; 
 
 Savage at heart as a tiger chained ; 
 Fleeter than hawk that ever flew, 
 
 Never a MusKm could ride him reined. 
 
 " Eunjeet Dehu ! come forth from thy hold " — 
 Wah ! ten months had rusted his chain ! 
 
 " Ride this Sheitan's liver cold " — 
 
 Eunjeet twisted his hand in the mane ; 
 
 Eunjeet sprang to the Toorkman's back, 
 Wah ! a king on a kingly throne ! 
 
 Snort, black Sheitan ! till nostrils crack, 
 Eajah Eunjeet sits, a stone. 
 
 Three times round the Maidan he rode, 
 Touched its neck at the Kashmeree wall, 
 
 Struck the spurs till they spirted blood. 
 Leapt the rampart before them all !
 
 THE RAJAH'S RIDE. 167 
 
 Breasted the waves of the bhie Ravee, 
 
 Forty horsemen mounting behind, 
 Forty bridle-chains flung free, — 
 
 Wah ! wah ! better chase the wind ! 
 
 Chunda Kour sate sad in Jummoo : — 
 Hark ! what horse-hoof echoes without ? 
 
 " Eise ! and welcome Runjeet Dehu — 
 "Wash the Toorkman's nostrils out ! 
 
 " Forty koss he has come, my life ! 
 
 Forty koss back he must carry me ; 
 Rajah Runjeet visits his wife, 
 
 He steals no steed like an Afreedee. 
 
 " They bade me teach them how to ride — 
 Wah ! wah ! now I have taught them well ! " 
 
 Chunda Kour sank low at his side ; 
 Rajah Runjeet rode the hill. 
 
 When he came back to far Lahore — 
 
 Long or ever the night began — 
 Spake he, " Take your horse once more, 
 
 He carries well — when ho bears a man ! "
 
 i68 THE RAJAH'S RIDE. 
 
 Then they gave him a khillut and gold, 
 All for his honour and grace and truth ; 
 
 Sent him back to his mountain-hold — 
 Muslim manners have touch of ruth ; 
 
 Sent him back, with dances and drum — 
 Wall ! my Rajah Runjeet Dehu ! 
 
 To Chunda Kour and his Jummoo home — 
 Wah ! wah ! Futtee ! — wah, Gooroo !
 
 ( i69 ) 
 
 A BIHARI MILL-SONG. 
 
 Of eight great beams the boat was wrought, 
 With four red row-pius ; — Hu-ri-jec ! 
 
 When Mirza Saheb spied at the Ghaut 
 Bhagbati bathing : — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 " Oh, girls ! that hither your chatties bring, 
 Who is this bathing ? " — Hu-ri-jec ! 
 
 " Tlie Head of our village is Horil Singh ; 
 'Tis the Raja's sister ! " — Ilu-ri-jee ! 
 
 " Run thou, Barber ! — and, Peon ! run thou 
 Bring hither that Rajput ! " — Uio-ri-jce ! 
 
 " Oh, girls ! who carry the chatties, now, 
 Which is his dwelling ? " — Ilu-ri-jce !
 
 170 A BIHARI MILL-SONG. 
 
 " The dwelling of Horil Singh looks north, 
 And north of the door is a sandal-tree : " — 
 
 With arms fast-bound they brought him forth ; 
 " Salaam to the Mirza ! " — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 " Take, Horil Singh, this basket of gold, 
 And give me thy sister, sweet Bhagbati." 
 
 " Fire burn thy basket ! " he answered, bold, — 
 " My sister's a Rajput ! "- — Hu-ri-jcc ! 
 
 Horil's wife came down from her house ; 
 
 She weeps in the courtyard : " Cursed be. 
 Oh, sister-in-law, thy beautiful brows ! 
 
 My husband is chained for them ! " — Hu-ri-jcc ! 
 
 " Now, sister-in-law ! of thy house keep charge. 
 And the duties therein : " quoth Bhagbati ; 
 
 " For Horil Singh shall be set at large, 
 I go to release him ! " — Hu-ri-jcc ! 
 
 When Bhagbati came to the Mirza's hall 
 Low she salaamed to him : — Hu-ri-jcc ! 
 
 " The fetters of Horil Singh let fall, 
 
 If, Mirza," she said, " thou desirest me."
 
 A BIHARI MILL-SONG. 171 
 
 " If, Mirza," she said, " tliou wouldst have my love. 
 
 Dye me a bride-cloth ; " — Ru-ri-jee ! 
 " Saffron beneath and vermilion above, 
 
 Fit for a Rajput ! " — Ilu-ri-jce ! 
 
 " If, Mirza," she said, " I am fair in thine eyes, 
 And mine is thy heart, now," — Hit-ri-jcc ! 
 
 " Command me jewels of rich device. 
 Fit for a Rajput ! " — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 " If, Mirza," she said, " I must do this thing, 
 
 Quitting my people," — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 " The palanquin and the bearers bring. 
 
 That I go not afoot from them ! " — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 Smiling, he bade the dyers haste 
 
 To dye her a bride-cloth : — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 Weeping — weeping, around her waist 
 Bhagbati bound it. — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 Smiling, he bought, from the goldsmith's best. 
 
 Jewels unparalleled : — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 Weeping, weeping — on neck and breast 
 
 Bhagbati clasped them. — Hu-ri-jee !
 
 172 A BIHARI MILL-SONG. 
 
 Joyously smiling, "Bring fortli," he cried, 
 " My gilded palanquin ! " — H^i-ri-jee ! 
 
 Bitterly sorrowing, entered the bride, 
 Beautiful Bhagbati. — Ha-ri-jcc ! 
 
 A koss and a half of a koss went they, 
 And another koss after ; — Hu-ri-jce ! 
 
 Then Bhagbati thirsted : " Bearers, stay ! 
 
 I would drink at the tank here ! " — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 " Take from my cup," the Mirza said : 
 
 " Oh, not to-day will I take ! " quoth she : 
 
 " For this was my father's tank, who is dead. 
 And it soon will be distant ! " — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 She quaffed one draught from her hollowed palm, 
 And again she dipped it ; — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 Then leaped in the water, dark and calm. 
 
 And sank from the sight of them. — Hu-ri-jee ! 
 
 Sorely the Mirza bewailed, and hid 
 His face in his cloth, for rage to be 
 
 So mocked : " See, now, in all she did 
 Bhagbati fooled me ! " — Hu-ri-jee !
 
 A BIHARI MILL-SONG. 173 
 
 Grieving, the Mirza cast a net 
 
 Dragging the water ; — Hii-ri-jcc ! 
 
 Only shells and weeds did he get, 
 
 Shells and bladder-weeds. — Hu-ri-jcc ! 
 
 Laughing, a net cast Horil Singh, 
 
 Dragging the water ; — Hu-ri-jcc I 
 Lo ! at the first sweep, up they bring 
 
 Dead, cold Bhagbati — fair to see ! 
 
 Laughing, homeward the Rajput wends. 
 Chewing his betel ; " for now," quoth he, 
 
 " In honour this leap of Bhagbati ends 
 Ten generations ! " — Hu-ri-jcc !
 
 ( 174 ) 
 
 HINDOO FUNERAL SONG- 
 
 Call on Eama ! call to Rama ! 
 Oh, my brothers, call on Rama ! 
 
 For this Dead 
 
 Whom we bring, 
 Call aloud to mighty Rama ! 
 
 As we bear him, oh, my brothers, 
 Call together, very loudly, 
 
 That the Bhiits 
 
 May be scared ; 
 That his spirit pass in comfort. 
 
 Turn his feet now, calling " Rama," 
 Calling " Rama," who shall take him 
 
 When the flames 
 
 Make an end : 
 Ram ! Ram ! — oh, call to Rama !
 
 ( 173 ) 
 
 SONG OF THE SERPENT 
 CHARMERS. 
 
 Come forth, oh, Snake ! come forth, oh, glittering 
 
 Snake ! 
 Oh shining, silent, deadly Nug ! appear, 
 Dance to the music that we make. 
 
 This serpent-song, so sweet and clear, 
 Blown on the beaded gourd, so clear, 
 So soft and clear. 
 
 Oh, dread Lord Snake ! come forth and spread thy 
 
 hood, 
 And drink the milk and suck the eggs ; and show 
 Thy tongue ; and own the tune is good : 
 
 Hear, IMaharaj ! how hard we blow ! 
 Ah, Maharaj ! for thee we blow ; 
 See how we blow !
 
 176 SONG OF THE SERPENT-CHARMERS. 
 
 Great Uncle Snake ! creep forth and dance to-day ! 
 
 This music is the music snakes love best ; 
 
 Taste the warm white new milk, and play 
 Standing erect, with fangs at rest, 
 Dancing on end, sharp fangs at rest. 
 Fierce fangs at rest. 
 
 Ah, wise Lord Nag ! thou comest ! — Fear thou not ! 
 We make salaam to thee, the Serpent-King, 
 Draw forth thy folds, knot after knot ; 
 
 Dance, Master ! while we softly sing ; 
 
 Dance, Serpent ! while we play and sing, 
 We play and sing. 
 
 Dance, dreadful King ! whose kisses strike men dead ; 
 Dance this side, mighty Snake ! the milk is here ! 
 
 \_TIicy seize the Cobra ly the nccTc.'] 
 Ah, shahash ! pin his angry head ! 
 
 Thou fool ! this nautch shall cost thee dear ; 
 Wrench forth his fangs ! this piping clear 
 It costs thee dear !
 
 ( ^n ) 
 
 SONG OF THE FLOUR-MILL. 
 
 TuRX the merry mill-stone, Gimga ! 
 
 Pour the golden grain in ; 
 Those that twist the Churrak fastest 
 The cakes soonest win : 
 Good stones, turn ! 
 The fire begins to burn ; 
 Gunga, stay not ! 
 The hearth is nearly hot. 
 Grind the hard gold to silver, 
 
 Sing quick to the stone ; 
 Feed its mouth with dal and bajri, 
 It will feed us anon. 
 
 Sing, Gunga ! to the mill-stone, 
 It helps the wheel hum ; 
 
 M
 
 178 SONG OF THE FLOUR-MILL. 
 
 Blithesome hearts and willing elbows 
 Make the fine meal come : 
 Handsful three 
 For Gopal, you, and me ; 
 Now it falls white, 
 Good stones, bite ! 
 Drive it round and round, my Gunga ! 
 
 Sing soft to the stone ; 
 Better corn and churrak-working 
 Than idleness and none. 
 
 [Note. — The above three songs were written to native Hindoo 
 melodies.]
 
 ( 179 ) 
 
 "STUDENTS' DAY" IN THE 
 NATIONAL GALLERY. 
 
 Out of all the hundred fair Madonnas 
 
 Seen in many a rich and distant city — 
 
 Sweet Madonnas, with the mother's bosoms ; 
 
 Glad Madonnas, with the eyes of anguish ; 
 
 Rapt Madonnas, caught in clouds to heaven — 
 
 (Clouds of golden, glad, adoring Angels — ) 
 
 She of Florence, in the chair, — so perfect ! 
 
 She that was the " Grand Duke's " wealth and glory. 
 
 She that makes the picture " of the Goldfinch," 
 
 Ghirlundajo's, with the cloak and jewels ; 
 
 Guido's Queen, whom men and angels worship, 
 
 Delia Robbia's best ; and that sweet " Perla " — 
 
 Seville's bright boast — Mary of Murillu,
 
 i8o ''STUDENTS' DAY." 
 
 (Painted — so tliey vow — " with milk and roses.") 
 
 Gnido Reni's Quadro at Bologna, 
 
 Munich's masterpiece, grim Durer's Goddess ; 
 
 Yes ! and thy brave work — Beltraffio mio ! — 
 
 Many as the lessons are I owe them, 
 
 Thanks and wonder ; worship ; grateful memories, 
 
 Oftenest I shall think of Perugino's, 
 
 Do you know it ? Either side a triptych 
 Stands an armed Archangel — as to guard her — 
 Glorious — with great wings, and shining armour : 
 In the middle panel, pure and tender. 
 Clasping close her hands, with adoration, 
 (All the Mother's love — the Mortal's worship — 
 In their yearning, in their reverence, painted) 
 Gazes Mary on the Child. A seraph 
 Holds Him, smiling, at her knees ; and, smiling, 
 Looks she down, with spirit humbly-happy, 
 Full — to heart's brim — of the Peace of Heaven, 
 Reverence mingles with the Mother's passion, 
 But no touch of sadness, or of doubting. 
 Far away a river runneth seaward,
 
 "STUDENTS' DAY." iSi 
 
 (Little now — like Truth — like Truth, to widen) 
 
 Leads the light across a blue dim country, 
 
 Under peaks — by forests — to the ocean : 
 
 Soft and warm, a pearly sky broods over 
 
 Where three Winged-Ones, at the Father's footstool, 
 
 Sing the " peace and good-will " song to mortals. 
 
 If you ask me why that Perugino 
 Of the rest can never be forgotten 
 Let this serve : I learned a lesson by it, 
 AVatching one whose light and faithful fingers — 
 Following touch by touch her lovely labour — 
 Caught the Master's trick, and made him modern. 
 While she bent above her new Madonna, 
 Laid the splendid smalts, and touched the crimsons. 
 Swept the shadows under the gilt tresses, 
 Smoothed the sinless brows, and drooped the eyelids, — 
 What the Master did, so also doing, — 
 I betliought me " True and good the toil is ! 
 Noble thus to double gifts of beauty ! 
 Yet, alas ! this ' peace and good- will ' anthem, — 
 If the dear Madonna knew what ages —
 
 1 82 ''STUDENTS' DAY." 
 
 Slowly following ages — would creep o'er us, 
 And those words be still as wind that passes, 
 Breathing fragrance from a land we know not, 
 Sighing music to a tune we catch not, 
 Stirring hearts, as leaves, i' the night, a little 
 Shake, and sleep again, and wait for sunlight, 
 (Sweet, glad sunlight ! oh, so long a-coming !) 
 Would she smile so ? I had painted rather — 
 (While she listened to those singing Angels,) 
 Mary, with a sword-blade in her bosom, 
 (Sword that was to pierce her heart, of all hearts !) 
 I had shown her with deep eyes of trouble, 
 Half afraid to credit that Evangel ; 
 I had limned her ' pondering all those sayings,' 
 All our later aofonies foreseeinsr, 
 After all our years have heard ' the tidings.' " 
 
 But the Artist, painting bold and largely, 
 Washiner soft and clear the broadening^ colours : 
 With a liberal brush, at skilful working, 
 Linking lights and shadows on the visage. 
 Dropped ly hazard there, one drop of water !
 
 " STUDENTS' DA Y." 183 
 
 '' Lo, a tear ! " I thought ; " that teaches Pietro ! 
 
 That is wiser than the Master's wisdom ! 
 
 Now the picture's meaning Avill be perfect ! 
 
 For she could not be so cahn — Christ's Mother — 
 
 Could she ? even though Archangels kept her ! 
 
 Could she ? even thouojh those sangr in Heaven ! 
 
 Knowing how her world would roll beyond them, 
 
 Twenty centuries past this sacred moment, 
 
 Out of sound of this angelic singing ; 
 
 Loaded with the wrongs Christ's justice rights not. 
 
 Reddened with the blood Christ's teachings staunch not, 
 
 Reeking with the tears Christ's pity stays not : 
 
 Let the tear shine there ! it suits the story ! 
 
 Tear and smile go wondrous well together ! 
 
 Seeing that this song was sung by Angels ; 
 
 Seeing that the foolish world gainsays it. 
 
 That one lustrous drop completes the picture ! 
 
 You forgot it ! Peter of Perugia ! " 
 
 Ah ! I did not know an Artist's wisdom ! 
 I had still to learn my deepest lesson : 
 She I watched, with better thought inspired,
 
 1 84 "STUDENTS' DAY." 
 
 Took some tender colour in her pencil, 
 
 (Faint dawn-colour, — blush of rose — I marked not !) 
 
 Touched the tear, and melted it to brightness, 
 
 Spread it in a heavenly smile all over, 
 
 Magically made it turn to service ; 
 
 Till that tear, charged with its rosy tintings, 
 
 Deepened the first sweet smile, and left it lovelier, — 
 
 Like the Master's work, complete, sufficient ! 
 
 Then I thought : " Pietro's wise Madonna 
 Was too wise to weep at little sorrows ! 
 Christ, and She, and Heaven, and all the angels 
 Last ; — 'tis sin, and grief, alone which passes ! 
 Eoses grow of dew, and smiles from weeping ! 
 Sweetest smile is made of saddest tear-drop ! 
 She hath not forgotten we shall sufier ! 
 In her heart that sword — to the heft — is planted. 
 But beyond the years, she sees Time over ; 
 Past the Calvary she counts ' the mansions.' 
 Dear Madonna ! — wise to be so happy ! 
 Should you weep, because we have not listened ? 
 We shall listen ! and His Mother knows it ! "
 
 '' STUDENTS' DAY." 185 
 
 This is why — of many rare Madonnas, — 
 Most of all I think on Perngino's ; 
 I who know so many more and love them ! 
 This is why I thank my gentle artist, 
 She who taught me that, a student's Avisdom !
 
 ( i86 ) 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TOMB AT SWANS- 
 COMBE CHURCH. 
 
 Where, tlirougli western windows, dieth- 
 
 Gold and rose — tlie sunset's liglit, 
 With his dame, in marble, lieth 
 
 Andrew Weldon, armed Knight : 
 Side by side, the legend sayeth, 
 
 These two lived and died : 
 Seemeth it most fair and fit 
 
 To rest so, side by side. 
 
 Nothing here, above or under, 
 
 Of fanatic gloom ; 
 No fool's fear of death's deep wonder 
 
 Spoils their simple tomb :
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TOMB. 1S7 
 
 Seems it that the sculptor carved it 
 
 Only for to show 
 What the Lady and the Knight were 
 
 Now they are not so. 
 
 Silvery twitters of swift swallows 
 
 Reach them, flashing by ; 
 Shadows of the spear-leaved sallows 
 
 On their foreheads lie, 
 Shadows of the flickering sallows, 
 
 Of the fragrant limes. 
 Waving to-day as green and gay 
 
 As in their vanished times. 
 
 Fair, be sure, was this great lady. 
 
 Eyes, I guess, whose blue, 
 Cold and calm, but beaming steady, 
 
 Tender seemed and true. 
 Certes ! of a noble presence, 
 
 Dutiful and staid, 
 Worth inesse was glad before her, 
 
 Worthlessnesse dismayed.
 
 1 88 THE KNIGHTS TOMB. 
 
 Read beneath, in golden letters 
 
 Proudly written down, 
 Names of all lier " sonnes and daugliteres ! " 
 
 Eacli a matron- crown : 
 Deftly carved in ruff and wimple, 
 
 Kneeling figures show 
 Small heads over smaller, rising 
 
 In a solemn row. 
 
 These her triumphs : — sterner token 
 
 Chronicles her Lord ! 
 Hangs above him, grim and broken, 
 
 Gilded helm and sword : 
 Sometimes, when with quire and organ 
 
 All the still air swings, 
 Red with the rust, and grey with the dust. 
 
 Low rattles the blade, and rings. 
 
 Time was. Knight, that tiny treble, 
 Should have stirred thy soul 
 
 More than drums and trumpets rebel 
 Braying after Noll :
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TOMB. 189 
 
 No more figlit, now I — nay, nor flight, now ! 
 
 The rest which thou hast given 
 
 In chancel-shade to yon good blade 
 
 God gives thy soul in Heaven. 
 
 Somewhere on this summer morning 
 
 In this English isle, 
 Gleams a cheek wliose soft adorning, 
 
 Lady ! wears thy smile ! 
 Some one in the Kealm, whose fathers 
 
 Suffered much and long, 
 Owes that sword and its good Lord 
 
 Thanks for a righted wrong. 
 
 Therefore for that maiden pray I 
 
 Dame ! God thee assoil ! 
 Therefore for that freeman say I 
 
 Knight ! God quit thy toil ! 
 And for all Christian men — and me — 
 
 Grace from the gracious Lord 
 To write our name with no more shame, 
 
 And sheath as clean a sword. 
 
 June 1857.
 
 ( I90 ) 
 
 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. 
 
 " I L I C E T." 
 
 In Roman houseliolds, when their dear ones died, 
 Thrice by his name the living called the dead ; 
 
 And, silence only answering as they cried, 
 
 Hicct ! — " go thou then ! " — the mourners said. 
 
 Ilicct I let her part ! the Poet's child, 
 Herself a mistress of the lyric song : 
 
 Ilicet ! — to a world so sad and wild 
 
 To wish her back were far less love than wrong. 
 
 Ilicet ! hard the word for those to say 
 
 Who know what gentleness is gone from earth ; 
 
 Harder for those whose dwelling, day by day, 
 Shone with her presence — echoed to her mirth :
 
 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. 191 
 
 Yet, if He wills it — whom she soars to meet 
 
 — The Lord of this world's vineyard — shall we ask 
 
 "Who toil on, in the burden and the heat, 
 A later wage for her — a longer task ? 
 
 Ilicd ! let her go ! though it were brave, — 
 In the hot vintage, where the strongest fail, 
 
 "Weeding God's grapes from thistles — still to have 
 Her silver hymns o'er weariness prevail ! 
 
 To hear her gentle, certain, spirit of ruth 
 
 Share its great sureties with less happy brothers. 
 
 And — from eyes bright with Heav'n's light — teach the 
 truth 
 Of " little children pleading for their mothers." 
 
 Ilicct ! Otherwhere they need those strains. 
 Sounding so true for men — albeit low ; 
 
 A throne was vacant (though its steps were pains). 
 For a soul, tried, pure, perfect — let her go ! 
 
 Sigh not " so young ! " — " such promise ! " — " ah ! a 
 flower 
 That longer life had sunned to fruit of gold ! "
 
 192 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. 
 
 Be still and see ! — God's year, and day, and hour, 
 By lapse of mortal minutes is not told. 
 
 Wlio go are called — ilicct ! let her go ! 
 
 Though a sweet harp is silent in the land, 
 A soft voice hushed — and, never more below, 
 
 Poet and poet's child join song and hand. 
 
 Ilicet ! ilicet ! nos ihiimis ! — 
 
 To that divinest region of the skies. 
 
 Whence with clear sight she sees, knows, pities us. 
 We shall attain ! — Vex not the dead with sighs.
 
 ( 193 ) 
 
 THE THREE ROSES. 
 
 " Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down 
 Each with its loveliness as with a crown. 
 Drooped in a florist's window in a town. 
 The first a lover bought. It lay at rest, 
 Like flower on flower that night, on beauty's breast. 
 The second rose, as virginal and fair. 
 Shrank in the tangles of a harlot's hair. 
 The third a widow, with new grief made wild, 
 Shut in the icy palm of her dead child." 
 
 — Aldrich, Flower and Thorn. 
 
 These Roses (in the world we do not see) 
 
 Strove for the palm. Tims spake the beauteous Three 
 
 THE MAIDEN'S EOSE. 
 
 I AM the happiest flower. I lay 
 
 Dying, as suits sweet blossoms best ; 
 It was not pain to pass away 
 
 Upon her warm and fragrant breast. 
 
 N
 
 194 THE THREE ROSES. 
 
 Blossom on blossoms, so we slept ; 
 
 My odours riclier with her breath, 
 My white leaves whitest where I crept 
 
 Closer, to die delightful death. 
 
 I heard her secrets, pure and soft ; 
 
 She kissed me, prayed for him, and laid 
 His gift where, since, his cheek full oft 
 
 Nestles ; he knows what words she said : 
 
 And how, when morn ope'd the bright eyes, 
 She locked me in a casket close ; 
 
 Nothing can take away my prize. 
 The kiss she gave her faded Rose. 
 
 The crown, fair sisters ! I must hold ; 
 
 I died upon that heavenly bed ; 
 She buried me in silk and gold ; 
 
 I made them lovers, being dead.
 
 THE THREE ROSES. 195 
 
 THE WIDOW'S KOSE. 
 
 I AM tlie wisest Rose : there lay 
 
 A dew-drop on me when she shut 
 
 The little ice-cold palm, and put 
 My blossom there to fade away. 
 
 It was a tear for her and me 
 
 That she should grieve, and I should go 
 Clasped in a hand that did not know. 
 
 And set to eyes that could not see ; 
 
 Torn from my garden green and bright, 
 As he too ; first-born of her spring. 
 Once flower-fair, now a lost, dead thing. 
 
 Hidden with me in graveyard night. 
 
 But, lo ! it was not thus at all ! 
 
 I did not tliink that Howers could see 
 
 The wonder of the worlds to be, 
 When the poor leaves of this life fall.
 
 196 THE THREE ROSES. 
 
 For while tliey wept, and sadly threw 
 The black earth on our coffin-lid, 
 A light came there where we were hid, 
 
 A wind breathed softer than I knew. 
 
 Tliere shine no sunbeams so on earth, 
 There is no air blows in such wise 
 As this that swept from Paradise, 
 
 And turned grave-gloom to grace and mirth, 
 
 I saw him rise unspeakably ; 
 I saw how subtle Life receives 
 New gifts from Death. It was but leaves- 
 Dead leaves — we left there, I and he. 
 
 And clasped in that small hand I came — 
 A spirit-Rose as he was spirit — 
 The further marvels to inherit 
 
 Of Life, which is for all the same. 
 
 Crown me, white sisters ! When she bent — 
 That tender mother by his grave — 
 'Twas I who, with a rose-waft, gave 
 
 The thoucrht that filled her with content.
 
 THE THREE ROSES. 197 
 
 THE HARLOT'S ROSE. 
 
 I WAS the blessed flower ! Give back 
 The crown, dear sisters ! for you lack 
 My joy — you ! that her bosom bore ; 
 You they entombed ! — my deeper loi'e. 
 
 'Twas sweet in lovely death to fade, 
 Rose-blossom on rose-bosom laid ; 
 'Twas rare in grasp of Death, to see 
 The flower of Life blow changelessly. 
 
 But I, most happy of all three. 
 Rejoice for what he did to me ; 
 Binding my bud on locks that rolled 
 Their wasted wealth in rippled gold. 
 
 For loveless love he set me there ; 
 
 With thankless thanks she found me fair ; 
 
 Laughed with sad eyes to hear him tell 
 
 The gold, with white and green, " went well."
 
 198 THE THREE ROSES. 
 
 "We did our kind : she to bestow 
 God's grace in her rich beauty so 
 That good grew evil ; I to scent 
 Her steps, and be Sin's ornament. 
 
 Yet 'twas my duty to seem sweet, 
 She had such bitter bread to eat ! 
 She put me at her breast — I heard 
 Her heart-beats speaking, without word. 
 
 " Each spring I plucked such long ago," 
 She said — " Ah, God ! if we could grow 
 Clean like spring roses — white again — 
 Forgetting last year's rain and stain ! " 
 
 She said — " Ah, God ! ah, mother ! — some 
 Are blooming so about my home, 
 The home-scent makes me dream — let be ! 
 I have no lover that loves me." 
 
 " What was it that we read in class ? 
 ' And she su2'>X'0sing Him ' — alas ! 
 ' The gardener.' Fool ! as if God's Son 
 Cares for the flowers that are done ! "
 
 THE THREE ROSES. 199 
 
 Thereat our lips and leaves did kiss — 
 
 I was as sweet and soft in this 
 
 To her as any Rose could be — ■ 
 
 " God's flowers forgive ! " she sighed — " Doth He ?" 
 
 And fondling me, as though she felt 
 Her mother's kisses on her melt, 
 The tear-drops from her painted lids 
 Ean on the rouge. " What eye forbids," 
 
 She said, " to try if any hear ? " 
 Mocking herself, she sighed this prayer : 
 '•' Oh, Christ ! I am Thy wilted Rose, 
 Renew me ! Thou renewest those ! " 
 
 Then laughed, — but did not see, as I, 
 The angels gather at her crv, 
 Their fine plots weaving out of sight 
 To help this soul that strove aright. 
 
 She did not feel the great wings fold 
 Thenceforward o'er her locks of gold: 
 Nor know thenceforward that the place 
 Was sentinelled by Shapes of grace.
 
 200 THE THREE ROSES. 
 
 But when again she bound her hair, 
 And set me in its tresses fair, 
 I did not " shrink," (as he has said :) 
 I was too proud ! for we were led 
 
 By holy hands through lane and street, 
 Past things to speak of is not meet ; 
 Till when the tender plot had place, 
 God's mercy met her face to face. 
 
 In all this earth there is not one 
 
 So desolate and so undone, 
 
 Who hath not rescue if they knew 
 
 A heart-cry goes the whole world through. 
 
 Of thousands cruel one was kind ; 
 
 JFc found the hand she could not find ; 
 The fragrance of me brought her cry — 
 
 We saved her ; those Wise Ones and I, 
 
 I and her angels ! She hath rest ! 
 Of all Eose-service mine was best. 
 Oh, sisters white ! no longer boast ; 
 Give me the crown ! My joy was most !
 
 ( 201 ) 
 
 ALLA MANO BELLA MIA DONNA. 
 
 Listen ! poets, loving-iiearted, 
 Here abiding — hence departed ; 
 Ye who ranged the realms above 
 Seeking symbols of your love ; 
 Provence bards and Persian Saadis 
 Eloquently lauding ladies ; 
 Frauenlob — the Minnesinger 
 Mourned of maidens, — and that brinsrer 
 Of delight to camp and grove, 
 Camoens, the Lord of love ; 
 Praise as proudly as ye list, 
 All the honied lips ye kissed ; 
 Vaunt your true loves' violet eyes. 
 Vow them bluer than the skies ;
 
 202 ALL A MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 
 
 Swear no south-wind ever came 
 Sweet and soft as she you name ; 
 Nor no lily ever grew 
 White as that which bloomed for you ! 
 Look ! I fling you down a glove 
 In one dear name that I love — 
 Never hand so fair and fine 
 As my lady's — Katharine. 
 
 Yes ! I know it — Father Homer ! 
 Too long in thy rolls a roamer 
 Not to know how radiant mighty 
 Rose the sea-born Aphrodite ; 
 Yes ! I know the pearly splendour 
 Of that hand, whose curvings tender, 
 Silver glinting under gold. 
 Combed away the sea-foam bold. 
 And I worship, bending low, 
 Here's awful arm of snow ; 
 And of mortal boldness shorn 
 Hail the Rosy-fingered Morn ; 
 But those Gods above the thunder
 
 ALLA MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 203 
 
 Are for fear and reverent wonder ; 
 She whose gentle hand I praise 
 Woman is, with woman's ways, 
 And I hold this gage of mine 
 None a hand — like Katharine. 
 
 All the bards that lips have kissed 
 Enter angry on the list, 
 And the legions that appear, 
 Might move any heart to fear. 
 Lo ! Athenian Sophocles — 
 Virgil, too, my fancy sees — 
 And I sink my spear-head bright 
 As beseemeth younger knight ; 
 And I kneel, but not to yield, 
 For I keep the tented field — 
 Vowing no such hand was seen 
 "Were Electra twice a Queen, 
 And Lavinia's hue as fair 
 As 'twas bragged in Latin air : 
 Nay, nor faulter for Sybilla, 
 Or the careless-eyed Camilla,
 
 204 ALL A MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 
 
 Though her wounded wrist did shine 
 Likest " ivory, stained with wine ; " 
 Let them go, my noble Masters, 
 With a sigh for Love's disasters, 
 And the challenge — none so fine ! 
 None a hand — like Katharine. 
 
 Dante ! spirit sad and lone ! 
 Laughing love thou hast not known ; 
 Weeping love attends on thee, 
 With its mortal mystery ; 
 And thine Angel, Beatrice, 
 Aweth with her hand of ice. 
 Thou Petrarca ! dost thou frown ? 
 Lay thy latest sonnet down ! 
 Set thy shining lance in rest ! 
 For I tilt upon thy breast : 
 Say'st thou, " like a curving shell. 
 Where the tender pink does dwell," 
 Gleamed thy Laura's milky hand, 
 Lo ! I read it ! and I stand 
 Firm of foot to make it seem,
 
 ALL A MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 205 
 
 Even so my Love's doth gleam, 
 And tliis sfentle hand of mine 
 Gave a heart — thus did not thine. 
 
 Ah ! Dan Chaucer ! — art thou he, 
 Morning star of minstrelsy ? 
 Eldest of the English quire, 
 Highest hill — touched first with fire. 
 Pass ! no bow of mine is bent 
 At the heart where I have leant, 
 And thy dream of Marguerite 
 Was a vision of my Sweet. 
 
 Next to thee what champions come ? 
 There be valorous poets some — 
 Other some whose steel I scorn 
 In unknightly hands yborne ; 
 At the last a Minstrel proud 
 Rideth high amid the crowd. 
 Knight of Lady Una he. 
 And I do him courtesy ; 
 Yet though " whiter than the snow " 
 Gleamed that noble Dame, I trow,
 
 2o6 ALLA MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 
 
 White as snow, and tlierewitli warm 
 
 Is my Lady's loving arm, 
 
 And not golden Oriana, 
 
 Nor maid Amoret's high manner, 
 
 Waved a hand as white and fine 
 
 As the hand of Katharine. 
 
 Com'st thou Tasso, with thy crew, 
 Eastern-aired Armida too ? 
 Oh ! a lustrous lady she, 
 " Beautiful, exceedingly ; " 
 But her Asian soul I doubt, 
 Looking from those large eyes out ; 
 And her white wrist plays a part. 
 Beating not as beats her heart ; 
 Hence, Enchantress ! hence, too, thou 
 Mistress of the southern brow ; 
 Though thou be'st Boccaccio's best 
 " Bocca bacciata " hath no zest ! 
 After thee there floats another 
 Like as sister of one mother, 
 Ariosto's Angelique,
 
 ALLA MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 207 
 
 Hide her hand, and hide her cheek ! 
 Let a nobler Dame have life 
 Led by nobler knight to strife — 
 High born, great, and graceful too 
 All thy loving songs are true ; 
 Swear, Lord Surrey, stoutly swear, 
 Was never woman half so fair ? 
 And I will swear that Geraldine 
 Had no such hand as Katharine. 
 
 Nay ! high poets, let it be 
 Thine to thee, and mine to me, 
 For I see th' accepted King 
 Of all earthly minstrelling, 
 Crowned with homely Avon lilies 
 As his regal way and will is. 
 Mighty Master ! let me speak ; 
 Though Queen Cleopatra's cheek 
 Shamed the rosy lotus-dyes, 
 And her hand in Anthony's 
 Whiter than dove's milky wing. 
 Lay a plaything for a King ;
 
 2o8 ALL A MA NO BELLA MIA DONNA. 
 
 Yet, an' thou slialt pardon yield, 
 Tims I leave the foughten field, 
 All as fair and yet more true 
 Than was known to one but you. 
 Is that fair frank hand of mine 
 That gave to me Katharine ? 
 
 January 1856.
 
 ( 209 ) 
 
 THE HYMN OF THE PRIESTESS 
 OF DIANA. 
 
 Oh. of all maidens Mistress ! Help at need 
 Of souls unstained, and bosoms virginal ! 
 With vervain and with fragrant gums we feed 
 
 The flame that burned, and burns, and ever shall ; 
 Feed thou the fire that flames with holy thought, 
 And let the world to thy white shrine be brought. 
 
 The altar-light, mounting to find thy face, 
 
 Gleams back upon us from the brow divine, 
 
 Filling with placid splendour all the place : 
 
 Fill so the earth, supremest Goddess mine ! 
 
 That men, awaking out of fancied light, 
 
 May know it, matched with Dian's noon-timo — 
 
 night. 
 

 
 210 HYMN OF THE PRIESTESS OF DIANA. 
 
 brow, where shame can never come to sit ! 
 
 cheek of snow, which bhish can never melt ! 
 ear, that hears no word or wish unfit ! 
 
 breast, which thought unsainted never felt ! 
 Show thyself, Dian ! unto other eyes 
 As unto ours, thy deep-sworn votaries. 
 
 For we, who round about thine altar go. 
 
 Thou Daughter of the Father of the world ! 
 Know thee divinest ; — if men knew thee so 
 
 Then were the false gods from their temples hurled ; 
 And mortals, leaving blind and sinful yearning, 
 Should scorn false beauty, beauty true discern- 
 ing. 
 
 Queen of the quiet sky ! — the night's full Moon ! 
 
 Be moon ! and j^ierce the darkness of this cloud, 
 Whereunder wander, in a dreamful swoon, 
 The fellows of our blood, a witless crowd ; 
 Send thou the silver rav that lightens this ; 
 Show them the path which goes by good to 
 bliss.
 
 HYMN OF THE PRIESTESS OF DIANA. 211 
 
 Huntress of noble harts — high-purposed Maid ! 
 
 Whose sandal tied for free and fearless chase 
 
 Is fairer than the cestas proud, displayed 
 
 By her of Cyprus — stand in pride of place 
 
 Before the eves of men, and lead them on 
 
 To hunt beside thee, turning off for none. 
 
 Ah, bliss ! beside thee — by thee — in thy spirit — 
 
 The chase of life along the years to lead, 
 Conquering desire by high desire to merit 
 The joy of joys, the love of loves, the meed 
 Of untold peace, waiting th' unshaken faith 
 Firm held through life, in full repose on 
 death. 
 
 For Thou, of all the gods, hast these to give — 
 
 The kingdom of a calm and equal mind ; 
 The kiss — cold, true, — bidding the soul's life live 
 To meet caresses, tarrying yet behind, 
 
 But past hope tender, like the dreams the 
 
 moon 
 Left on the forehead of Endymion.
 
 212 HYMN OF THE PRIESTESS OF DIANA. 
 
 A'heu ! we speak of things we cannot know, 
 
 And knowing, in this presence we were dumb ; 
 But on the winds wliich round thy portal go 
 Echoes from Aphrodite's revels come, 
 
 Marring our hymns. High Goddess ! make men 
 
 see 
 The " Foam-Born's "" beauty but a blot to thee. 
 
 I
 
 ( 213 ) 
 
 TO A SLEEPING LADY. 
 
 Darling ! as you lie there sleeping, witli the holy 
 angels keeping 
 Watch and ward around your pillow, shading it 
 with wings of gold ; 
 Sentinels whose happy duty is to guard your grace and 
 beauty ; 
 While you lie there dreaming, seeming all your 
 sweet self, chaste and cold ; 
 Wlio would think that the true treasure of that casket, 
 beyond measure 
 Rich, and fair, and finished, is not where the lovely 
 casket lies ? 
 That they see the palace-portal set ajar, and the Immortal 
 Gone forth from its rosy gateway, locking satin lids 
 on eyes ?
 
 214 TO A SLEEPING LADY. 
 
 Yet so is it ! Fairest woman ! and what's there is 
 but the human 
 Robe and raiment which your spirit wears, to walk 
 with all the rest, 
 Regal raiment ! ah, the silky wavelets of that hair ! 
 the milky 
 Whiteness of the brow ! the neck ! the soft hands 
 folded o'er the breast ! 
 As a Queen's grace seems to linger in the pearl-strings 
 which her finger 
 Loosens — so thy soul leaves glory on that sleeping 
 form of thine ; 
 But the beautiful, still body is not that which most I 
 worship, 
 And vour soul : mv Pride ! mv Bride ! — is here, and 
 talking low with mine. 
 
 All because, at such an hour. Love hath so much 
 charm and power, 
 Life hath so much deeper knowledge of its march 
 and mystery,
 
 TO A SLEEPING LADY. 215 
 
 That — so soon as I invite it — coy no longer, but de- 
 lighted 
 Forth thy sweet and stately spirit comes for fellow- 
 ship with me ! 
 And, beside my spirit sitting, thoughts with deep 
 thoughts interknitting, 
 Speaking plainly in a silence, clearer, dearer far 
 than speech, 
 Mine grows all thine inmost being ; and I see thee — 
 more than seeing — 
 I and thou as one together : blended, ended, each 
 in each.
 
 ( 2I6 ) 
 
 TO STELLA. 
 
 Sweet Soul! suddenly met, utterly loved, 
 
 At the first eye-glance of our sudden meeting ! 
 I look back on tlie ways whereby I moved 
 
 To this fair fate, my lonely life completing : 
 I did not seek, you, Dear ! no vision tender 
 
 Bade me expect you on my rayless road ! 
 There was no dreamy dawning of the splendour 
 
 Your white light sheds ! no morning grey that 
 shewed 
 Where my Star waited under life's horizon ! — 
 
 Ah, fair, pure, silvery Star ! set not again ! 
 Better no lamp to fix the sailors' eyes on 
 
 Than one brief beam cast on the cold dark main !
 
 ( 217 ) 
 
 INSCRIBED ON A SKULL PICKED UP ON 
 THE ACROPOLIS AT ATHENS. 
 
 I AM the skull of Nedjm, a Turk, 
 
 Who fought at Athens with the Giaour 
 When cannon-balls were hard at work 
 
 Shattering the Parthenon — that hour 
 A classic fragment took me fair 
 
 Under the waist-cloth, and so made 
 " Ruins " of me. For long years there 
 
 My remnants with the rest have laid. 
 Scant burial got we from the Greek — 
 
 The green fly and the hooded crow 
 Helped the hot sun to leave me sleek, 
 
 'I'il], as thou seest, my pate did grow 
 Wliite as new Parian. At the last 
 
 A Briton spied me, as he passed
 
 :i8 ON A SKULL. 
 
 Roaming the strewed Acropolis, 
 
 And lightly fashioned me to this. 
 Drink ! if thou wilt ; and, drinking, say 
 
 Never did ancient craftsman make 
 Cyathus, Krater, Patera 
 
 Fitter a mighty thirst to slake. 
 But ! call not me a thinof of the clod ! 
 
 The Parthenon owned no such plan ! 
 Man made that temple for a God, 
 
 God made these temples for a man !
 
 ( 219 ) 
 
 DEDICATIOxN OF A POEM FROM 
 THE SANSKRIT. 
 
 Kate ! on the daisies of your English grave 
 I lay this little wreath of Indian flowers, 
 
 Fraofrant for me because the scent thev have 
 Breathes of the memory of our wedded hours ; 
 
 For others scentless ; and for you, in heaven. 
 Too pale and faded, dear dead wife ! to wear, 
 
 Save that they say — what makes all fault forgiven — 
 That he who brings them lays his heart, too. there. 
 
 Ajrril g, 1S65.
 
 220 ) 
 
 THE NEW LUCIAN. 
 
 [To H. D. Traill, E>q., on the Dedication of his book, " The 
 
 New Lucian.'"] 
 
 " At that eternal parting of the ways," 
 
 Thou say'st, good Friend ! looking to see it come 
 When hands which cling, unclasp ; arms disembrace ; 
 
 And lips, that murmured love to lips, are dumb. 
 Aye ! it will come — the bitter hour ! — but bringing 
 
 A better love beyond, more subtle-sweet ; 
 A higher road to tread ; with happier singing. 
 
 And no cross-ways to part familiar feet ! 
 Smil'st thou, my later Lucian ! knowing too well 
 
 Hope's under-ache, Faith's fallacies all sped ? 
 Yet THAT which gave thee thy fair gift, to tell 
 
 How in Elysium chat th' unsilenced Dead, 
 Shall some day whisper : " Lo ! the Life Immortal! 
 Enter ! for thee stands wide the golden portal ! "
 
 ( 221 ) 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE 
 PRINCESS ALICE. 
 
 [It will be remembered that Her Royal Highness died of 
 diphtlieria, contracted from tlie caresses of her little son, 
 whom she was nursing.] 
 
 Tender and true ! whose virtue was thy crown ! 
 Whose royalty was royally to live ! 
 Death, sent to fetch thee, laid his arrow down. 
 And prayed that Love the bitter call would give ; 
 But Love, who could not stop such gentle breath, 
 Whispered thy child to give the Kiss of Death !
 
 ( 222 ) 
 
 FACIES NON OMNIBUS UNA. 
 
 Not a life below tlie sun 
 But is precious — unto one ! 
 -Not an eye, however dull, 
 But seems — somewhere — beautiful ; 
 Not a heart, howe'er despised, 
 But is passioned for and prized. 
 Fool ! who laughs at lack of graces, 
 Each man hath a manv faces !
 
 ( 223 ) 
 
 ARMAGEDDON. 
 
 A WAR SOXG OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 Marching down to Armageddon — 
 
 Brothers, stout and strong ! 
 Let us cheer tlie way we tread on 
 
 "With a soldier's song ! 
 Faint we bv the wearv road, 
 
 Or fall we in the rout, 
 Dirge or Poean, Death or Triumph !— 
 
 Let the song ring out ! 
 
 We are they who scorn the scorners- 
 Love the lovers — hate 
 
 None within the world's four corners- 
 All must share one fate j
 
 124 ARMAGEDDON. 
 
 We are tliey whose common banner 
 
 Beai's no badge nor sign, 
 Save the Light which dyes it white — 
 
 The Hope that makes it shine. 
 
 We are they whose bugle rings, 
 
 That all the wars may cease ; 
 We are they will pay the Kings 
 
 Their cruel price for Peace ; 
 We are they whose steadfast watchword 
 
 Is what Christ did teach, — 
 " Each man for his Brother first — 
 
 And Heaven, then, for each." 
 
 We are they who will not falter- — 
 
 Many swords or few — 
 Till we make this Earth the altar 
 
 Of a worship new ; 
 We are they who will not take 
 
 From palace, priest, or code, 
 A meaner Law than " Brotherhood " — 
 
 A lower Lord than God.
 
 ARMAGEDDON. 22; 
 
 Marcliing down to Armageddon — 
 
 Brothers, stout and strong ! 
 Ask not wliy tlie way we tread on 
 
 Is so rough and long ! 
 God will tell us when our spirits 
 
 Grow to grasp His plan ! 
 Let us do our part to-day — 
 
 And help Him, helping Man ! 
 
 Shall we even curse the madness, 
 
 Which for '' ends of State," 
 Dooms us to the long, long sadness, 
 
 Of this human hate ? 
 Let us slay in perfect pity, 
 
 Those that must not live ; 
 Vanquish, and forgive our foes — 
 
 Or fall, — -and still forgive ! 
 
 We are those whose unpaid legions, 
 
 In free ranks arrayed, 
 Massacred in many regions — 
 
 Never once were stayed :
 
 226 ARMAGEDDON. 
 
 We are they whose torn battalions — 
 Trained to bleed, not fly ! 
 
 Make our agonies a triumph — 
 Conquer, while we die ! 
 
 Therefore, down to Armageddon — 
 
 Brothers, bold and strong ; 
 Cheer the glorious way we tread on 
 
 With this soldier's song ! 
 Let the armies of the old Flags 
 
 March in silent dread ! 
 Death and Life are one to us, 
 
 Who fight for Quick and Dead !
 
 ( 227 ) 
 
 THE FOUR CROWNS. 
 
 [Written upon the death of the Prince Consort.] 
 
 Throned before the people 
 
 Queen of land and sea, 
 While from tower and steeple 
 
 Crashed the clangorous glee ; 
 First of four — enamelled 
 
 All with kingdoms round, 
 The crown of this, our England, 
 
 Upon thy brow was bound. 
 
 Next, in happiest hours, 
 Came the crown of life ; 
 
 Love's fair wreath of flowers 
 Diademed thee Wife :
 
 228 THE FOUR CROWNS. 
 
 Hailed, Princess and Woman, 
 Honoured, Queen and Spouse, 
 
 Half the golden burden 
 Lightened on thy brows. 
 
 Yet a crown came after, 
 
 Waiting thee to wear ; 
 Little children's laughter 
 
 Rippled in thine ear. 
 At thy knee, most Noble ! 
 
 Learning how to reign. 
 Princes and princesses 
 
 Grew — a gracious train. 
 
 Then, that coronation, 
 
 Grander than of Queen, 
 Making highest station 
 
 Higher than had been. 
 Did betide thee ! binding 
 
 On thy drooping brow 
 Sorrow's thorny circlet — 
 
 Death hath crowned thee now.
 
 THE FOUR CROWNS. 
 
 Oil, our Queen ! our Mother ! 
 
 Thou, of all, know'st all ; 
 Jov or sorrow — other 
 
 Cannot hence befalL 
 Sad, imperial Forehead ! 
 
 Sceptred, weary Hand ; 
 "Widowed Heart ! the Greatest 
 
 And Loneliest in the Land !
 
 ( 230 ) 
 
 HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR 
 SQUARE. 
 
 'The foot set firm, — the hand upon the hilt, — 
 The warrior-gaze, — as innocent of fear 
 
 As any maid's of shame, — which, past the guilt 
 And blood and battle, sees the triumph clear ; 
 
 Stand so in bronze ! — large to thy levelled eye, 
 In the supreme imperial peril dawning, 
 
 " Hoc sifjno vinces" shines upon- the sky; 
 
 And calm as one who knows his Master's warning ; 
 
 Stand thou in bronze ! — stand ! what thou wert, a rock 
 Whereon Rebellion's yeasty billows breaking. 
 
 Drove wave on wave, — lashed high — and from tlie 
 shock 
 Fell back in shattered foam ; — thyself unshaking : 
 
 I
 
 HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 231 
 
 So stand ! — tlie busy feet of men go by thee, 
 Each one to-dav the safer for that sword ; 
 
 Meeanee's just and valiant chief is nigh thee, 
 Palraerstou ; Beaconsfield ; the great Sea-lord ; 
 
 Well met in some far-off serenest session, 
 The unimpassioned rest of great men gone ; 
 
 And here together set — love's poor profession ! — 
 In storied effigy, and sculptured stone. 
 
 Ah ! speaking stone, and bronze, cunningly graven 
 To show these Champions of the English name. 
 Are men's hearts such, that knave, and fool, and craven, 
 I Can pass ye daily, and be still the same ? 
 
 But, true and faithful servant ! somewhere plaining 
 That labour multiplies and wage is none, 
 
 Read Havelock's history, and thereby gaining 
 The comfort of his courage, copy one 
 
 Who all life's chilly spring and summer dreary 
 Wrought in pure patience what he found to do, 
 
 l^ossessing his own soul — not once a-weary — 
 Content, because God was contented too.
 
 232 HAVELOCK IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 
 
 Wlierefrom he hived the honey which is sweetest, 
 
 The flower of all the flowers of all a life, ; 
 
 A wisdom so perfected, so completest, 
 
 Great soldiers gave him place to stem the strife : 
 
 Which never given, Havelock's highest glory 
 
 Had lacked our knowledge, not his Master's praise, i 
 
 One splendid page been lost from England's story, 
 But not one leaf from his immortal bays. 
 
 Go to! and work — God's servant — serving men; 
 
 Bethinking how the ranks closed up, and cried, 
 " ^^^y for the General ! " and his answer then, — 
 
 " You have made ivay, my lads ! " — fair time for I 
 
 pride ! 
 
 June 1S62.
 
 ( 233 
 
 OXFORD REVISITED, 
 
 ^lOTHER ! mild Mother 1 after many years — 
 So many that the head I bow turns grey — 
 Come I once more to thee, thinking to say 
 ill what far lands, through what hard hopes and fears, 
 'Mid how much toil and triumph, joys and tears 
 I taught thy teaching ; and, withal, to lay 
 At thy kind feet such of my wreaths as may 
 Seem least unworthy. But what grown child dares 
 Offer thee honours. Fair and Queenly One ! 
 
 Tower-crowned, and gii'dled with thy silver streams, 
 ]\Iother of ah ! so many a better son ? 
 
 Let me but list thy solemn voice, which seems 
 Like Christ's, raising my dead : and let mo be 
 Back for one hour — a Boy — beside thy knee. 
 
 Miui 1883.
 
 ( 234 ) 
 
 A DUET. 
 
 He: 
 
 '« Ah ! — if you knew ! if I dared to discover 
 
 Half that my heart feels to-day : 
 If there were words for so faithful a lover, 
 
 Soft enough, fond enough, — say ! 
 Would you be vexed at my passionate pleading ! 
 
 Would you believe it was true ? 
 How would the beautiful eyes look, — conceding? 
 
 Eebuking ? Ah, Sweet ! if you knew ! " 
 
 She: 
 " How can I know, when a glance of relenting 
 
 Stays the rash whisper, half-said ? 
 How can I know when, — while I am consenting, 
 
 ' No " — is the sentence vou dread ?
 
 A DUET. 235 
 
 Sometimes — I tliink I should never believe you, 
 Sometimes — my thought — is not so ; 
 
 If you say nothing-, no answer can grieve you, 
 Onlv then — what can I know ? "
 
 ( --3(> ) 
 
 THE ALTAR OF PITY 
 
 TFrom the " Thebais" of Statius.] 
 
 In tlie mid-city — to no might}' God 
 
 Dedicate — rose an altar. Pity built 
 
 Her gentle seat there, and the miserable 
 
 Made all its consecration : never lacked 
 
 That Altar suppliants ! none are turned away ! 
 
 Whoso doth ask is heard ; for day and night 
 
 The shrine stands open, and the offering 
 
 Of woful wail is free. A frugal faith ! 
 
 No spice-fed flames burn there ! no costly blood 
 
 Is shed : with tears — salt tears — the marble reeks. 
 
 No image soars above, no bronze hath ta'en 
 
 Stamp of the Deity ! She loves to dwell
 
 THE ALTAR OF PITY. 237 
 
 Deep in the thoughts, — liitl in the aching heart. 
 And ever hath she trembling worshippers : 
 And ever is the spot thick with a throng 
 Sad-faced ; the happy only know it not !
 
 -JO J 
 
 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY. 
 
 [Suggested by a sketch of John Millais, Esq., E.A., representing 
 a skeleton shooting an arrow by wv^xX, into the habitations 
 of a fortified town.] 
 
 How did it come to his mind ? the fleshless aud 
 
 horrible dream — 
 Gruesome, cruel, and weird — making the murk more 
 
 grim ; 
 Standing stark-naked in bone, which the star-light 
 
 sets all a-gleam — 
 Shooting his shot at the town, the little town silent 
 
 and dim ? 
 
 Said we not, each to the other, " Death is an Angel 
 
 of Light ! " 
 While our tears as they rolled gave the lie to our 
 
 lips ?
 
 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY. 239 
 
 Here's one paints us the thing awful, authentic, aright — 
 Tells the Truth straight out, from the skull to the 
 spiked toe-tips ! 
 
 So, if you opened this page an idle moment to soothe, 
 Madam ! or Sir ! — as may be — best close the volume 
 
 for good ; 
 Here's no matter to flatter flesh and blood in their youth' 
 Here's an Artist in earnest — Death's picture on worm- 
 eaten wood ! 
 
 But if you ask what he meant, yonder the Tuscan 
 
 town lies 
 Under the curtains of midnight, spangled with planet 
 
 and star, 
 All looking down so calm ! so splendid ! as if the eyes 
 Of numberless Angels wei'e watching our one little 
 
 world from afar. 
 
 And I hear on the rampart-stones the heel of the 
 
 sentinel ring ; 
 And I see him halt and count the chimes of the 
 
 midnight bell,
 
 240 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY. 
 
 And lie listens towards us here ; — " Bat 'tis only the 
 
 cicalas sing ! " 
 And he shoulders his musket again, and passes the 
 
 word, " All's well ! " 
 
 And awa}", within those walls, I know there is pleasure 
 
 and pain ; 
 (Ah me ! the sorrows and joys wherewith one town 
 
 may be fraught !) 
 There's scented smoke horn the censers, where the 
 
 people pray in vain. 
 And a tlare from the pharos - lantern to bring the 
 
 feluccas to port. 
 
 And I seem to see in the gleam which hangs all over 
 
 the town, 
 Cresset lights of a banquet, and merry torchbearers 
 
 who go — 
 Their jolly feet false with the wine — in laughter up 
 
 and down. 
 With rose-crowns awry on their heads — and cornets 
 
 that cheerily blow.
 
 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY. 241 
 
 Ah, and I know that, beneath the beautiful roof of the 
 
 night, 
 Bridal couches are spread, and lovers at last are one, 
 Who sav, '' If God would will that it never more 
 
 should be light, 
 Then stay on the other side, and wait till we wish for 
 
 thee, Sun ! " 
 
 Laughter, and music, and banquets, and roses, and 
 
 revelry, 
 And prayers in the churches to please the Keeper of 
 
 heaven and hell, 
 And the ships with spices and bales ploughing bravely 
 
 in from the sea. 
 And still that sentinel looks from the wall and cries, 
 
 " All's well ! " 
 
 Doth he not see, close by, this spectre we see so 
 
 plain, 
 Who blisters the growing grass with the bones of his 
 
 clattering feet ? 
 
 And makes the still air reek with the fester of live 
 
 things slain, 
 
 Q
 
 242 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY. 
 
 And turns to corpse-light, on his skull, the star-light 
 holy and sweet ? 
 
 Cannot he hear the Voice — still — small — that comes 
 
 with this thing ? 
 Drives it, striding along ; halts it, elbows and knees, 
 Says to the skeleton bowman, " Now fit thy shaft to 
 
 the string, 
 Shoot me a shot at the town ; for the hour is come to 
 
 these ! " 
 
 Cursed Bowman ! who shoot'st with an arrow dipped in 
 
 the pest ! 
 Maker of all ! Whose will is good, though Thou wiliest 
 
 we die ! 
 It is changed in that little town from joy at its gayest 
 
 and best. 
 To cramps that curdle the blood, and tortures that 
 
 glaze the eye. 
 
 The sentinel, careless of all, stalks quiet upon the wall ; 
 But the pilot has yielded the helm of his vessel with a 
 scream :
 
 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY 
 
 243 
 
 At the banquet the guests drop dead — the worshippers, 
 
 priests, and all, 
 Fly ! ere they chant " Amen ; " — and that sweet bridal 
 
 dream, 
 
 Which the lovers dreamed together — but half asleep — 
 
 while their lips 
 Still kissed, for fear lest a minute from love's brief 
 
 rapture be took — 
 Is ended in this, that one from the arms of the other 
 
 slips. 
 And that other — chilled by the corpse — turns corpse 
 
 herself, at a look. 
 
 Ah, Thou Lord, Thou God ! Who sendest this pestilent 
 
 wraith ! 
 Giver of life. Who hast given the instinct to love to 
 
 live. 
 Teach us another lesson — to render it back in faith. 
 When the messenger comes like this, with a ghastly 
 
 message to give : 
 
 Ah, Thou Lord, Thou God ! our souls are the little 
 town :
 
 244 THE CHOLERA IN ITALY. 
 
 At the twanging of that black bow, ill fare they who 
 
 there do dwell ; 
 But help our souls to hear, through the darkness that 
 
 settles down, 
 Thy sentinel on the wall, crying always to all, '•' All's 
 
 well!" 
 
 I
 
 ( 245 > 
 
 REST. 
 
 His Mother was a Prince's child, 
 
 His Sire a crowned King ; 
 There lacked not to his splendid lot 
 
 What power or wealth could bring ; 
 Great nobles served him, bending low, 
 
 Strong captains wrought his will ; 
 Fair fortune ! — but it wearied him. 
 
 His spirit thirsted still ! 
 
 For him the glorious music rang 
 
 Of singers, silent long ; 
 Grave histories told, in scrolls of old, 
 
 The strife of right and wrong ;
 
 246 REST. 
 
 For him Philosophy imveird 
 
 Athenian Plato's lore, 
 Might these not serve to fill a heart ? 
 
 Not these ! he sigh'd for more 1 
 
 He loved I — the truest, newest lip 
 
 That ever lover pressed, 
 The queenliest mouth of all the south 
 
 Long love for him confessed : 
 Eound him his children's joyousness 
 
 Rang silverly and shrill ; 
 Thrice happy ! save that happiness 
 
 Missed something — something still I 
 
 To battle all his spears he sent, 
 
 In streams of winding steel ; 
 On breast and head of foeman dead 
 
 His warhorse set its heel ; 
 The jewell'd housings of its flank 
 
 Swung wet with blood of kings ; 
 Yet the rich victory seemed rank 
 
 With the blood-guilt it brings I
 
 REST. 247 
 
 The splendid passion seized his soul, 
 To heal, by statutes sage. 
 
 The ills that bind our hapless kind, 
 And chafe to crime and rage ; 
 
 And dear the people's blessing was, 
 The praising of the poor ; 
 
 But evil stronofer is than thrones, 
 
 And darkness doth endure ! 
 
 He laid aside the sword and pen. 
 
 And lit the lamp, to wrest 
 From nature's range the secrets strange. 
 
 The treasures of her breast; 
 And wisdom deep his guerdon was, 
 
 And wondrous things he knew ; 
 Yet from each vanquish'd mystery 
 
 Some harder marvel grew ! 
 
 No pause ! no respite ! no sure ground. 
 
 To stay the spirit's quest ! 
 Tn all around not one thing found 
 
 So good as to be " best ; "
 
 248 REST. 
 
 Not even love proved quite divine ; 
 
 Therefore his search did cease, 
 Lord of all gifts that life can give 
 
 Save the one sweet gift — Peace ! 
 
 Then came it ! — crown, sword, wreath — each lay, 
 
 An unregarded thing ! 
 The funeral sheet from head to feet, 
 
 Was mantle to that king ! 
 And, strange ! — Love, leai'ning, statecraft, sway, 
 
 Look'd always on before, 
 But those pale, happy, lips of clay. 
 
 Asked nothing ! — nothing more !
 
 ( 249 ) 
 
 THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF 
 THE VICTORIA CROSS. 
 
 To-day tlie people gather from the streets, 
 To-dav the soldiers muster near and far ; 
 
 Peace, Avith a glad look and a grateful, meets 
 Her rugged brother War. 
 
 To-day the Queen of all the English land. 
 
 She who sits high o'er Kaisers and o'er Kings, 
 
 Gives with her royal hand — th' Imperial hand 
 Whose grasp the earth en-rings — 
 
 Her Cross of Valour to her worthiest ; — 
 No golden toy with milky pearls besprent. 
 
 But simple bronze, and for a warrior's breast 
 A fair, fit ornament.
 
 2 50 THE VICTORIA CROSS. 
 
 And richer than red gold that dull bronze seems, 
 Since it was bought with lavish waste of worth 
 
 Whereto the wealth of Earth's gold-sanded streams 
 Were but a lack, and dearth. 
 
 Muscovite metal makes this English Cross, 
 Won in a rain of blood and wreath of flame ; 
 
 The guns that thundered for their brave lives' loss 
 Are worn hence, for their fame ! 
 
 For, listen ! all ye maidens laughing-eyed, 
 And all ye English mothers, be aware ! 
 
 Those who shall pass before ye at noon-tide 
 Your friends and champions are. 
 
 The men of all the army and the fleet. 
 The very bravest of the very brave, 
 
 Linesman and Lord — these fought with equal feet 
 Firm-planted on their grave. 
 
 The men who, setting light their blood and breath 
 So they might win a victor's haught renown, 
 
 Held their steel straight against the face of Death, 
 And frowned his frowning down.
 
 THE VICTORIA CROSS. 251 
 
 And some that grasped tlie bomb, all fury-fraugbt, 
 And hurled it far, to spend its spite away — 
 
 Between the rescue and the risk, no thought — 
 Shall pass our Queen this day. 
 
 And some who climbed the deadly glacis-side, 
 For all that steel could stay, or savage shell ; 
 
 And some, whose blood upon the Colours dried 
 Tells if they bore them well ! 
 
 Some, too, Avho, gentle- hea,rted even in strife. 
 Seeing their fellow or their friend go down, 
 
 Saved his, at peril of their own dear life, 
 And won the Civic Crown. 
 
 Well done for them ; and, fair Isle, well for thee ! 
 
 While that thy bosom beareth sons like those 
 " The little gem set in the silver sea " 
 
 Shall never fear her foes. 
 
 1856.
 
 C 252 ) 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN 
 
 BELLE." 
 
 Fair sio-ht ! for a crew 
 
 Of Englishmen true, 
 When homeward their course they hold, 
 
 With sails bleached white 
 
 By the tropic light, 
 And sheathing a-glitter like gold ; 
 
 Fair sight ! from the rails, 
 
 — When the Topman hails 
 " Land ho ! on the larboard ! " — to see 
 
 The green waves leap 
 
 At the white clifTs steep 
 On the shore of the land of the free : —
 
 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 
 
 Fair music they make together, 
 The cliff and the climbing foam ; 
 
 And it sounds in the bright blue weather 
 Like the wanderer's welcome home. 
 
 But when the east wind howleth, 
 And the great seas rise and rave, 
 
 Another sight 
 
 Is that belt of white, 
 And another sound's on the wave ; 
 
 Small welcome for wildered vessel, 
 When the billows, giant and grey, 
 
 Break — sworn on the sand 
 
 Her keel to strand, 
 And her ribs on the rocks to lay ! 
 Oh ! the silver gates of your island 
 
 Were liker the gates of hell, 
 In the mist of that winter morning 
 
 To the crew of the " Northern Belle." 
 
 We left New York for London, 
 (And the wind left with us too '.) 
 
 253
 
 254 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 
 
 We thrashed our way 
 
 Through Atlantic spray, 
 And ran the Channel through ; 
 'Tvvas three on the morning of Monday 
 When we let the anchors go 
 
 Ten cables, or more, 
 
 From Kingsgate shore, 
 To ride out the storm and snow ; 
 Ten cables from where green meadows. 
 And quiet homes could be seen. 
 
 No greater space 
 
 From peril to peace — 
 But the savage sea between ! 
 
 Yet a greater space 
 To us had been grace. 
 For still as we neared the shore. 
 The wild white roll of the waves on the 
 shoal 
 Roared round us more and more ; 
 Roared out, in a ring around us. 
 You might see them fore and aft,
 
 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 255 
 
 On ragged ledge, 
 
 And splintered edge, 
 All mad to dash our craft ; 
 While the weltering rocks, 
 With their sea-weed locks 
 Awash in the whirling froth, 
 Stood up like slaves 
 Of the winds and waves. 
 
 Waiting to wreak their wrath. 
 
 Not yet, brave ship ! 
 
 For the anchor's grip 
 Is fast in the ooze and shell ; 
 
 The gusts may shake, 
 
 And the great surge break, 
 But the iron holds her well. 
 
 If a smith could tell, 
 
 As his sledge-hammer fell, 
 That each little link should hold 
 
 The craft and the crew, 
 
 And their lives' hope too. 
 His strokes would be strong and bold !
 
 256 WRECK OF THE " NORTHERN BELLE/' 
 
 Ease, ease, mad strain I 
 
 Hold, hold, good cliain ! 
 We freshened the hawse once more ; 
 
 'Twas ten of the day, 
 
 And the vessel lay 
 Stern on to the snow-dimmed shore. 
 
 And now from the town 
 
 They hurry down, 
 For the crv is " A Wreck ! " "A Wreck ! 
 
 (Ah I under their tread 
 
 Is the firm green mead, 
 'Neath ours but the slippery deck). 
 
 Kind souls ! they shout ! 
 
 Look ! yonder comes out 
 A lugger from off the land, 
 
 Brave crew and craft ! — 
 
 Ready fore and aft ! — 
 She will lend us a helping hand : 
 
 'Bout ship ! so, so ! 
 
 She stays, — yes ! no ! 
 Port, port ! ah Heaven ! that sea —
 
 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 257 
 
 Gone — vessel and men 
 While the heart beats ten ! 
 Gone, — drowned, for their charity ! 
 
 Rose from each lip 
 
 On shore, and ship, 
 A cry, a groan, a prayer ; 
 
 While the nine hearts brave 
 
 Went under the wave, 
 And their death-cry hung in air ; 
 
 No seaman but felt 
 
 His man's heart melt ; — 
 But the masts were down ere now. 
 
 And the raffle and wreck, 
 
 Scarce clear of the deck, 
 Hung, fouling the larboard bow ; 
 
 So w^e shouted at last, 
 
 " Clear away that mast 
 Or else we are ill bested ! 
 
 God take those home ! 
 
 When our turn's come 
 The dead can bury the dead."
 
 258 WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN BELLE.'' 
 
 Thus, all that day, 
 
 In snow and spray, 
 For dear life still we toiled ; 
 
 And faint and few 
 
 The bold words grew 
 As nearer the breakers boiled ; 
 
 And still, like a steed 
 
 Reined back at speed, 
 The ship did plunge and rear ; . 
 
 While the burly main 
 
 Strove on in vain 
 To crack our cable and gear : 
 
 Till the twilight gloom. 
 
 Like the earth on the tomb. 
 Came over, and hid the town ; 
 
 And the last we could see. 
 
 They were busy a-lee 
 Dragging the life-boats down. 
 
 Ah me ! no boat 
 In that surf could float, 
 No oarsmen cleave a way ;
 
 WRECK OF THE "NORTHERN BELLE." 259 
 
 No eve so brip^ht 
 
 As to pierce the niglit 
 That on land and water lay : 
 
 Oh I leaden dark ! 
 
 That left no spark 
 Of star, in the wild wet sky, 
 
 Not one pale ray 
 
 To glimmer and say 
 That God and help were nigh. 
 
 The timbers racked, 
 
 The cables cracked, 
 Wilder the waters dashed ; 
 
 Ease her I no need — 
 
 The ship is freed ! 
 She drove, — she rose, — she crashed ! 
 
 Then settled and fell 
 
 The " Northern Belle," 
 As one who no more strives ; 
 
 But the foremast stood, 
 
 Good Canada wood. 
 With nine and twenty lives :
 
 26o WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 
 
 If dreadful the day 
 
 As none can say, 
 Oh ! the night was terribler far, 
 
 As each man chmg 
 
 To the shrouds, or hung 
 Ice-cold, on the icy spar ; 
 
 And hearts beat slow, 
 
 As the night did go. 
 Like a lazily-ticking clock ; 
 
 Till we longed to drop 
 
 From the dripping top 
 Nor wait for the last sure shock. 
 
 Then, while she did grind, 
 "We called to mind 
 
 Each one, his own home-place, 
 New Jersey townSj, 
 And Connecticut downs. 
 
 And the pleasant meadows of maize : 
 We thought of brothers, 
 And wives and mothers. 
 
 With whom we should never be ;
 
 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 261 
 
 Of our babies plaj'ing, 
 
 Or perhaps a prayer saying 
 For " daddy," far off at sea ; 
 
 And we said prayers 
 
 To mingle with theirs, 
 And held for the daylight still, 
 
 Which came anon 
 
 When hope was gone 
 As God's best mercies will. 
 
 For, soon as the clouds, 
 
 Like great grey shrouds, 
 Let out the Lazarus-light, 
 
 We looked to land 
 
 And saw on the sand, 
 Good God ! a cheery sight ; — 
 
 Seven noble men 
 
 (Christ save them, then !) 
 That would not see us drown. 
 
 With oars in hand, 
 
 And the life-boat manned, 
 (The life-boat dragged from the town ;)
 
 262 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 
 
 And they gave us a clieer 
 
 We could plainly hear, 
 Which we answered with aching throat 
 
 Ah then ! dear life ' 
 
 To watch the strife 
 Between the storm and the boat. 
 
 More strong and steep 
 
 The waves did leap 
 For every stroke she made ; 
 
 As they were bound 
 
 To see us drowned, 
 And would not be gainsayed : 
 
 " Now, now I ah now I 
 
 Pull bow I pull bow ! 
 Oh ! yonder swells a sea, 
 
 She swamps ! — no ! no I 
 
 Thank God, not so ! 
 She rounds beneath our lee," 
 
 — Thrice with a freight 
 
 Of lives they fight 
 Their way — stern down and stem —
 
 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 263 
 
 Then — safe and sound. 
 On the English ground ! 
 Thanks to the Lord, and them. 
 
 Look ye, mates mine ! 
 
 There be stories fine 
 Of Greek and Roman deed ; 
 
 But when all's done 
 
 There was never one 
 Of better help at need. 
 
 Which man of our crew, 
 
 My messmates true, 
 But holds his life a gift 
 
 From those brave Seven, 
 
 Henceforward, please Heaven, 
 To be used with thoughtful thrift ! 
 
 To be held on earth 
 
 For service of worth. 
 Save when Englishmen cry — and then 
 
 Come storm, come slaughter, 
 
 To be spent like water 
 For the sake of the Kingsgate men.
 
 264 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 
 
 There are those at home, 
 
 When the news is come, 
 Will crowd to hear of the ship, 
 
 With great tears rounding, 
 
 And glad hearts bounding, 
 And blessings a-pant on the lip. 
 
 There are girls there, plenty, 
 
 Not come to twenty. 
 Too shy and demure to speak. 
 
 Real ladies, — would kiss 
 
 For love of this, 
 Each man of that crew on his cheek : 
 
 Ay ! count it grand 
 
 To touch but a hand 
 Of the Seven, who staked their lives, 
 
 Lost seamen to save 
 
 From a cold sea-grave, 
 And send them to sisters and wives. 
 
 I'll say one thing 
 Before I bring 
 This plain sea-song to its end.
 
 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 265 
 
 Such hearts of gold, 
 
 More than state-craft old, 
 Will help all quarrels to mend. 
 
 America sent, 
 
 With warm intent. 
 Your ship for a new-year's token, 
 
 You give her back 
 
 Our lives from wrack, 
 Shall such friends ever be broken ? 
 
 No ! no ! they shall stand 
 
 Hand fast in hand, 
 All sisterly — side by side — 
 
 And none ever tell 
 
 Of the " Northern Belle," 
 Save with flushes and smiles of pride. 
 
 Yet more's to do, — 
 That first boat's crew 
 In this verse shall be given, 
 That Yankee boys 
 With a ready voice 
 May say the list of the Seven.
 
 266 WRECK OF THE ''NORTHERN BELLE." 
 
 The men I write 
 
 In the " Mary White," 
 George Castle's boat, did go — 
 
 John, Castle's brother, 
 
 George Fox, another, 
 Ned Emptage and Jem Rowe — 
 
 Those gallant five 
 
 Did save alive 
 Our crew from the " Northern Belle," 
 
 With Robert Miller 
 
 And William Hiller 
 
 • • • • . a 
 
 I have no more to tell. 
 Hastings, Jan. 23, 1857.
 
 ( 267 ) 
 
 A HOME SONG. 
 
 The swallow is come from his African home 
 
 To build on the Eugiish eaves ; 
 The Sycamore wears all his glistering spears, 
 
 And the Almond rains roseate leaves ; 
 And — dear Love ! — with thee, as with bird and with 
 tree, 
 
 "Tis the time of blossom and nest, 
 Then, what good thing of the bountiful Spring 
 
 Shall I liken to thee — the best ? 
 
 Over the streamlet the rose-bushes bend 
 
 Clouded with tender green. 
 And green the buds grow upon every bough, 
 
 Thoucrh as vet no rose-tint is seen ;
 
 268 A HOME-SONG. 
 
 Like those, thou art come to thy promise of bloom, 
 
 Like theirs, thine shunneth the light ; 
 Break, rose-bud ! — and let a longing heart know 
 
 If the blossom be red or white ! 
 
 Up the broad river with swelling sails, 
 
 A glorious vessel goes, 
 And not more clear in the soft blue air 
 
 Than in the still water she shows ! 
 Dost thou not go with as brave a show. 
 
 And, sooth, with as swelling a state ? 
 Oh, come into harbour with that thou bear'st, 
 
 Dear ship ! — for I eagerly wait. 
 
 Fair ship ! — ah, Kate ! none beareth a freight 
 
 As precious and rich as thine, 
 And where's the rose-bush that will burgeon and blush 
 
 With a blossom like thine and mine ? 
 — Well ! well ! — we do, as the meadow birds too, 
 
 Since meadows with gold were dyed. 
 The hen sits at rest in the hidden nest. 
 
 And her mate sings glad at her side. 
 
 SwANSCOMBE, April 1857.
 
 ( 269 ) 
 
 FOND FANCIES. 
 
 Fond fancies, past the telling, 
 Come o'er me — idly spelling 
 The mvstic meaninsfs dwelling 
 
 In what these Hindoos taught ; 
 So fast they rise — and faster, 
 That I bid them over-master 
 Slow study ; — and far past her 
 
 Carry my willing thought ! 
 
 Carry my thoughts, confessing 
 Each dear and separate blessing, 
 (Ah ! how beyond expressing. 
 
 Except with eyes, sweet wife !)
 
 270 FOND FANCIES. 
 
 Each help, from Love's hid heaven, 
 That thy gentle soul has given 
 To a soul else overdriven 
 
 In the eager race of life. 
 
 Sweetheart ! how dull beside them 
 Seems all that would outpride them I 
 How weak, what may betide them 
 
 To bring to fall or fear 
 This joy to live together 
 In changeless summer weather ! 
 No clouds to gloom or gather ! 
 
 No seasons in our year ! 
 
 Past all weak words the pleasure, 
 The luxury, the treasure, 
 Of knowing without measure 
 
 This fondness fully-grown ; 
 So that love, no more careful, 
 Nor fanciful, nor fearful, 
 Takes — heart, and eye, and ear-full — 
 
 The love that is its own !
 
 FOND FANCIES. 271 
 
 Let sfo old leofends! sweeter 
 Than fruit of lotus-eater, 
 Diviner and completer, 
 
 Than Circe's anodyne ; 
 To lessen sadness sent us, 
 And to double gladness lent us, 
 The true, unpressed, nepenthos 
 
 Is true love's honey-wine ! 
 
 Let go the pride of learning, 
 The foolishness of spurning 
 Life's life, for larg^e discerning 
 
 Of vain philosophies ! 
 •' The highest truth lies nearest ! " 
 "Twas a Greek said it, Dearest ! 
 Of sages the sincerest, 
 
 Grey old Pheidippides ! 
 
 And let go that mad battle 
 Which tempts us, with its rattle 
 To join — like June-mad cattle, 
 
 In sinful strife for place !
 
 272 FOND FANCIES. 
 
 The sin is not wortli sinning ; 
 The end mocks the beginning ; 
 The only prize worth winning 
 
 Is ours, without the race ! 
 
 Therefore, when fears do fret me, 
 Whenever wikl winds threat me, 
 I fold my sails and get me 
 
 To the harbour of thv breast ; 
 Safe there from outer riot. 
 Like a bird whom fierce hawks fly at, 
 Escaped, and brooding quiet 
 
 Down in his happy nest ! 
 
 June iS6o.
 
 ( 273 ) 
 
 TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF 
 
 WALES 
 
 ON HER FIRST ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. 
 
 FiEKCE, brown-bearded, enclad in the spoils of wolf and 
 
 of wild-cat, 
 Keener in ravin than wolves, than wild-cats wilder in 
 
 onset, 
 Came, in the days gone by, the Danes to the shores of 
 
 the Angles, 
 Came on an errand of blood — to beleaguer, to burn, 
 
 and to ravage. 
 Ploughing up furrows of foam on the grass-green 
 
 meads of the North Sea
 
 274 TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 
 
 Steered the old Vikings their course, one hand on the 
 
 helm of their galley, 
 One on the helve of their axe : and when from Flam- 
 borough's foreland, 
 Shading his eyes from the glimmer of sunrise, the 
 
 watcher beheld them 
 Holding right on for the coast, with the signs and 
 
 the standards of battle, 
 Loud thro' the wolds ran the cry, " The Dane ! the 
 
 Dane cometh hither ! " 
 Flickered with warning flames the crests of the hills, 
 
 and the cressets. 
 Mothers and maidens fled inland — fast gathered the 
 
 bowmen and billmen. 
 Grim the welcome awaiting those strangers! — such 
 
 greeting as arrows 
 Carry on wings of wrath, such kisses as edge of sword 
 
 renders ; — 
 All their room in the land as much as the length of 
 
 their lances, 
 Nay, or beneath its turf, the length of the Chieftains 
 who bore them.
 
 TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 275 
 
 Fair, golden-haired, and glad with the joy of her 
 
 youth and her beauty, 
 Daughter herself of a Prince, of a Prince the loved 
 
 and the chosen, 
 Comes in these happier days the Dane to the shores 
 
 of the Angles, 
 Comes on an errand of love, to the music of soft 
 
 hymengeals. 
 Over the silver-green seas, which kiss the keel of her 
 
 vessel. 
 Bending their foreheads on this side and that to the 
 
 Maiden of Norseland 
 (Rightfully Queen of the waves by her Father's right 
 
 and her Husband's), 
 Speeds the sweet Princess to land ; and all the voices 
 
 of gladness 
 Tell that she is arrived whose hand the Prince of the 
 
 English 
 Takes in the sight of God and man for tlic hand of 
 
 his consort —
 
 276 TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 
 
 Consort in splendours and cares, in tlie gloom and tlie 
 
 glitter of ruling. 
 Warm the welcome awaiting this lovely and winning 
 
 invader ! 
 Such as men give with the lips when the heart has 
 
 gone forward before them ; 
 Such as a nation of freemen, not apt to flatter for 
 
 fashion. 
 Make, when the innocent past is a pledge of the happy 
 
 to-morrows. 
 
 Princess ! weak is one voice in the throng and clamour 
 
 of voices. 
 Poor one flower in the rain of the roses that shower 
 
 at thy footsteps, 
 Faint one prayer in the anthem of litanies uttered to 
 
 bless thee ; 
 Yet to thy young fair face I make an Englishman's 
 
 greeting, 
 On thy path to the altar I lay this wreath from 
 
 a singer. 
 Unto the God of the altar we pray for blessings together,
 
 TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 277 
 
 We — of the men whose fathers encountered thy fathers 
 
 with battle, 
 These — of the women whose mothers turned pale at the 
 
 galleys of Denmark, 
 Heralds of happiness now, sea-birds that bring from 
 
 the Xorland 
 Unto our Prince his Bride — and to England omens of 
 
 gladness.
 
 ( 278 ) 
 
 TO F. C. H. 
 
 In the shade of the Castle elm-trees, 
 
 Under the College limes, 
 Wherever we sate in deep debate 
 
 We said it a hundred times ; 
 
 With hearts that beat together 
 At the glad defiance hurled 
 
 Against that Fear, whose shadow drear 
 Chills an awakening world ; 
 
 With a smile at the Saintly heaven, 
 And a sigh for the Priestly hell. 
 
 Together we stood to make it good, 
 However our fate befell,
 
 TO F. C. H. 279 
 
 That God is One for all living, 
 One God of His living and dead ; 
 
 That Faith and Love have a crown above 
 Whatever their creed, we said ; 
 
 Whatever their creed or countrv, 
 Whatever their lansfuaq-e or line, 
 
 Though a thousand Articles thundered 
 Against their Right divine. 
 
 The Challenge is come to a battle. 
 The flag of the Truth streams out ; 
 
 Her soldiers, — a maniple, — muster. 
 Her enemies gather — a rout ; 
 
 And Thou, who had'st loved to hurtle 
 
 A Lancelot of the frav, 
 To the side of the fewer and truer, 
 
 Ah me ! art dead ere the day. 
 
 Dear voice ! so clear and gentle, 
 
 Art still, for evermore ? — 
 Kind hand, so fast and faithful. 
 
 Art cold — as never before ? —
 
 28o TO F. C. H. 
 
 Still ! cold ! — by the Jumna river 
 Lie the bones of a murdered man ; 
 
 We know not the slain from the slayers, 
 Our brother from Ali Khan. 
 
 — In the days of the bloody rebellion 
 Shot down, and left in his blood — 
 
 How should we ? — the jackals took something, 
 And something: the wolves of the wood. 
 
 "O 
 
 And the impulse of human affections 
 That hunger to have what they love, 
 
 Moans over those blank recollections, 
 While thou dost pity — above : 
 
 Dost pity us — splendidly seated 
 
 With the workmen of God who die ; 
 
 Thy task done — ah ! so early ! 
 Thy wages won — oh, so high ! 
 
 Thou seest the " whence " and the " whither," 
 
 Most noble and happy Friend ! 
 Thou watchest the strife of our lower life ; 
 
 Oh, awful ! — thou knowest its end.
 
 TO F. C. H. 281 
 
 I wait — I whisper no question 
 
 Whose answer is Death's to speak ; 
 
 I know it is wise to be foolish, 
 I know it is strong to be weak : 
 
 And wise, to their own discomfort, 
 
 And bold for their fellows' sake 
 Meseems these Seven speak out under heaven ; '■'^ 
 
 And theirs is the side I take. 
 
 The side we took when we sojourned 
 
 Under the Indian palms, 
 Watching, with Brahmans and Shastris, 
 
 These thousfht-storms breakino- our calms. 
 
 Let break ! — through Life's rough water, 
 Dear Friend ! — more dear, being dead. 
 
 As we sailed, consorts, together. 
 So sail I alone to thee, Fred ! 
 
 And under the Castle elm-trees, 
 In the shade of the College limes, 
 
 * Written at the time of " Essays and Reviews."
 
 282 
 
 TO F. C. H. 
 
 None sits in tliy seat at deep debate ; 
 I say by myself, at times, 
 
 That God is one God of all living, 
 Who maketh alive His dead, 
 
 That Hope and Love have a crown above, 
 I say, — -as we often said, 
 
 Whatever their creed or country. 
 Whatever tlieir language or line, 
 
 Though a thousand Articles thundered 
 Against their Riglit divine. 
 
 January 1858.
 
 ( 283 ) 
 
 HE AND SHE. 
 
 " She is dead ! " they said to him. " Come away ; 
 Kiss her ! and leave her ! — thy love is clay ! "' 
 
 Thev smoothed her tresses of dark-brown hair ; 
 On her forehead of marble they laid it fair : 
 
 Over her eyes, which gazed too much, 
 They drew the lids with a gentle touch ; 
 
 With a tender touch they closed up well 
 The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell ; 
 
 About her brows, and her dear, pale face 
 They tied her veil and her marriage-lace ; 
 
 And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes ; — 
 Which were the whiter no eye could choose !
 
 284 HE AND SHE. 
 
 And over her bosom tliey crossed her hands, 
 " Come away," they said, — " God understands ! " 
 
 And then there was silence ; — and nothing there 
 Bat the Silence — and scents of the eglantere, 
 
 And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary ; 
 
 For they said, " As a lady should lie, lies she ! " 
 
 And they held their breath as they left the room, 
 With a shudder to g-lance at its stillness and gloom. 
 
 But he — who loved her too well to dread 
 The sweet, the stately, the beautiful Dead, — 
 
 He lit his lamp, and took the key, 
 
 And turned it ! — Alone again — he and she ! 
 
 He and she ; but she would not speak. 
 
 Though he kiss'd, in the old place, the quiet cheek ; 
 
 He and she ; yet she would not smile, 
 Though he called her the name that was fondest ere- 
 while ; 
 
 He and she ; and she did not move 
 To any one passionate whisper of love !
 
 HE AND SHE. 285 
 
 Then he said, " Cold lips ! and breast without breath ; 
 Is there no voice, — no language of death, 
 
 " Dumb to the ear, and still to the sense, 
 But to heart and to soul distinct, — intense ? 
 
 " See, now, — I listen with soul, not ear — 
 What was the secret of dying, Dear ? 
 
 " Was it the infinite wonder of all. 
 That you ever could let life's flower fall ? 
 
 " Or was it a greater marvel to feel 
 The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ? 
 
 " Was the miracle greater to find how deep, 
 Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep ? 
 
 " Did life roll backward its record, Dear, 
 
 A.nd show, as they say it does, past things clear ? 
 
 " xVnd was it the innermost heart of the bliss 
 To find out, so, what a wisdom love is ? 
 
 " Oh. perfect Dead ! oh. Dead most dear, 
 I hold the breath of my soul to hear ;
 
 286 HE AND SHE. 
 
 " I listen — as deep as to horrible bell, 
 
 As bigb as to heaven ! and you do not tell ! 
 
 " There must be pleasures in dying, Sweet, 
 To make you so placid from head to feet ! 
 
 " I would tell you, Darling, if I were dead, 
 And 'twere yoiir hot tears upon my brow shed. 
 
 " I would say, though the Angel of death had laid 
 His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. 
 
 " You should not ask, vainly, with streaming eyes, 
 Which in Death's touch was the chiefest surprise ; 
 
 " The very strangest and suddenest thing 
 Of all the surprises that dying must bring." 
 
 • *•••• 
 
 Ah ! foolish world ! Oh ! most kind Dead ! 
 Though he told me, who will believe it was said ? 
 
 Who will believe that he heard her say, 
 
 With the soft rich voice, in the sweet old way : — 
 
 " The utmost wonder is this, — I hear, 
 
 And see you, and love you, and kiss you, Dear ;
 
 HE AND SHE. 287 
 
 " I can speak, now you listen with soul alone ; 
 If your soul could see, it would all be shown 
 
 " What a strange delicious amazement is Death, 
 To be without body and breathe without breath. 
 
 " I should laugh for joy if you did not cry ; 
 Oh, listen ! Love lasts ! — Love never will die. 
 
 " I am only your Angel who was your Bride ; 
 And I know that, though dead, I have never died."
 
 ( 288 ) 
 
 ON A DEAD LADY 
 
 Non 'pud far Morte il dolce viso amaro, 
 Ma 7 dolce viso dolce pud far Morte. 
 
 Death cannot change her face, tender and fair ! 
 'Tis she who changes Death, and makes him dear.
 
 ( 289 ) 
 
 / 
 
 THE THREE STUDENTS. 
 
 [From tlie German.] 
 
 There came three students from over the Rhine, 
 To a certain good hostel they turned them for wine. 
 
 " Ho ! Landlady, have you strong wine and beer ? 
 How fareth the Fraulein, your daughter dear ? " 
 
 " My beer is fresh, and my wine is bright ; 
 Mv child will be shrouded and buried to-night." 
 
 They drew the door of her death-room back, 
 There she slept in her coffin black : — 
 
 The first he lifted the veil from the dead, 
 And bared his curls, and bended, and said, 
 
 " Ah ! could'st thou but live again, Maiden, here 
 
 From this day forth I would love thee dear ! " 
 
 T
 
 290 THE THREE STUDENTS. 
 
 Tlie second spread softly the face-clotli again, 
 And his tears fell fast as the midsummer rain : 
 
 " Dead ! art thou, Lisbeth ? cold, lip and brow ? 
 Ah, God ! I learn how I loved thee now ! " 
 
 But the third in his hand did the little hand take, 
 And kissed the white forehead, and smiled, and spake 
 
 " I love thee to-day as I loved thee before, 
 I shall love thee as truly for evermore."
 
 ( 291 ) 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Lute ! breathe thy lowest iu my Lady's ear, 
 
 Sing while she sleeps, " Ah ! belle dame, aimez- 
 
 vous ? 
 
 Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here, 
 And wake to find it, as my love is, true ; 
 
 Then, Avhile she listens in her warm white nest. 
 Say in slow music, — softer, tenderer yet. 
 
 That lute-strings quiver when their tone's at rest, 
 And mv heart trembles when my lips are set. 
 
 Stars ! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies, 
 Shine through the roses for a lover's sake ; 
 
 And feend your silver to her lidded eyes, 
 Kissing them very gently till she wake ;
 
 292 SERENADE. 
 
 Then, while she wonders at the lay and light, 
 Tell her, though morning endeth star and song, 
 
 That ye live still, when no star glitters bright. 
 And my love lasteth, though it finds no tongue.
 
 ( 293 ) 
 
 L Y D I A 
 
 [From Horace.] 
 
 He. 
 
 As Ions: as I was dear to vou, and none — 
 
 Not one, save I — 
 Dared lock his arms about your neck, the Sun 
 Saw no King happier underneath the sky. 
 
 She. 
 
 As long as you loved Lydia more than all. 
 
 And Chloe's face 
 Had not made Lvdia's naujjht, men niioht me call 
 The happiest girl of all the Roman race.
 
 294 LYDIA. 
 
 He. 
 Well ! now, that's past ! and Cliloe binds my heart 
 
 With lute and voice ; 
 Whom so I love that, if Death's fatal dart. 
 Aimed at her life, struck mine, I should rejoice. 
 
 She. 
 Ah ! yes — 'tis past ! I love a Thurian boy, 
 
 Who dotes on me ; 
 And for his dear sake I would die with joy. 
 Nay, or twice over — were the thing to be. 
 
 He. 
 
 But — just suppose — the old love could come back 
 
 As good as new ! 
 That Chloe with her golden hair should pack. 
 And my heart open all its gates to you ! 
 
 She. 
 Supposing that — oh ! well ! — my Thurian's dear, 
 
 And you — alas ! 
 Are wild as Adria, and more light than air. 
 Yet, Love ! with you life and dark Death I'd pass.
 
 ( 295 ) 
 
 DANTE AND HIS VERSES. 
 
 [From the French.] 
 
 Dante had writ two lines : — the lines 
 
 Talked ; — Quoth the one, " Fame's gateway shines 
 
 Open for us." 
 
 " Oh ! 'tis but ink 
 We are ! " says t'other. 
 
 " Dost thou think 
 Thoughts perish ? " the first line replied ; 
 
 " What's Thouofht but Noufjht ? " the second cried. 
 
 " Nay I feel'st thou not th' immortal stir 
 In every word and character ? " 
 Asks one. 
 
 Sighs t'other, " Not a jot ! 
 I feel dead letters ! "
 
 296 DANTE AND HIS VERSES. 
 
 To the spot 
 Comes Dante, reads his lines ; — thinks deep 
 Then blots one verse, and one will keep. 
 They knew ! — his pen was Destiny ! 
 One was to live, and one to die.
 
 ( 297 ) 
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD 
 
 A STORY OF THE STARS. 
 
 At the noon of a May niglit, 
 When the stars are all alight, 
 
 And the white moon wanders through the grey 
 While softly over all 
 God's piteous hand doth fall, 
 
 To shield tired eyes from the day ; — 
 
 At such a night's noon, 
 
 I watched the stars and moon, 
 Till they and I alone did seem to be ; 
 
 Till, in that silver throng 
 
 Sorely my soul did lung 
 To rove at will, and many wonders see.
 
 igS ■ THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 Wlierefore I let it Inrsre, 
 
 And up from Earth's dim marge 
 
 It bounded like a horse with broken rein ; 
 From the Dragon's flaminor crest 
 To Orion's star-bound breast, 
 
 It roamed upon that planet-studded plain. 
 
 On the broad flank of the Bear, 
 Dubhe flashed fierce and clear, 
 
 Lighting his glancing eyes and gleaming tusk ; 
 And the Lion shook his mane, 
 And the great star-feathered Crane 
 
 Was up among his brothers of the dusk. 
 
 In the Northern Bull's bright van 
 
 I saw dread Aldebaran, 
 Andromeda's wild hair I saw a-flame ; 
 
 By the Lyre's glittering strings, 
 
 Down through the Swan's white wings, 
 Unto a lovely, lonely light I came ; 
 
 A cloud of splendour sent 
 Out on the firmament 
 As 'twere the breath of each liffht-laden star ;
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD. 299 
 
 A stream of splendour seen 
 Broad in that sea of slieen, 
 Like Indian rivers flowing seaward far. 
 
 None other orbs did move 
 
 In such sweet show of love ; 
 None shone like those 'mid the sky companies ; 
 
 I knew the Sisters Seven 
 
 Were the light-bearers of Heaven, 
 Whom men do name the tearful Pleiades. 
 
 On each sphere's rolling rim 
 
 Each held an urn at brim, 
 And poured its molten silver down her world ; 
 
 In which fiir gift of light 
 
 Its live things took delight. 
 And she in them : — one orb alone was furled 
 
 In gloom ; nor ray did send, 
 Save when the Six did bend 
 Their sister glances on the lonely One ; 
 Whereat I could descry 
 A sad, mild Majesty, 
 
 « 
 
 Sitting unlighted on a lightlcss sun.
 
 300 THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 Why she alone of Seven 
 
 Nor gave nor took in Heaven 
 Heaven's gift and gladness — Heaven-filling light — 
 
 Wherefore God's awful wrath 
 
 Sent her that lampless path, 
 And dimmed her crown among the Queens of Night 
 
 I longed, and sought to hear ; — 
 
 Oh ! gather round and near, — 
 I know that starless Angel's story through ; 
 
 It was not all a dream, 
 
 It did not wholly seem, — 
 Listen ! I strike low strings ! and tell it true. 
 
 " Ah ! Sisters Six, lead mv dark star and me, 
 For I am Merope — blind Merope, 
 And I ffo shorn of light, who lio'hted all. 
 Oh ' splendent Sister Stars ! gleam on my path, 
 And show me where it winds among the worlds ; 
 Nor turn your glances hence, because I sit 
 And moan upon the story of my sin ; 
 For I am Merojje — blind Merope, —
 
 u 
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD. 301 
 
 Merope — light-abandoned Merope, 
 
 Who stood between God's lowest and God's love. 
 
 Oh, thrice twain Sisters ! lead my world along. 
 In the beginning when none was save He, 
 God flung from both great hands His star-seed forth 
 Over the endless meadows of the void ; 
 Wherein, as in the grain the broad green blade, 
 Life lay, and life's high loves and happy ends ; 
 And unto each He gave fit ministrant, 
 And faithful warder. Some were kings of snns, 
 And dipped their cressets in the molten gold 
 That rippled round His throne ; and other some 
 Fed on their borrowed glory, and w^ere glad, 
 Frail spirits, shunning the full glance of God ; 
 Some, with the vaporous wreaths they did bestride, 
 Faded or were illumed ; and some at speed 
 Rode errant angels, singing thorough space, 
 Curbing the Comets to their headlong course ; 
 And unto some He gave a gentler gift. 
 To tend the lower worlds, and shine for them ; 
 And unto us, His youngest-born, the Earth,
 
 2 THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 An ever-needing, never-ceasing care : 
 
 For chief He cliarofed our Seven Sister-li^bts 
 
 To wax and wane above her, keeping aye 
 
 Mid station : and at noon and night, and ever, 
 
 To listen open-eared, and bear above 
 
 Unto His feet its children's cries and tears, — 
 
 For all tears that do fall, fall for God's ear. 
 
 Ai, ai ! it was our charge — a gracious charge, 
 
 Ai, ai ! I lost love's task unlovingly ; 
 
 For I am Morope — blind Merope, — 
 
 Merope, — light-abandoned Merope, 
 
 Who stood between God's lowest and God's love. 
 
 Oh, Sisters Six ! I follow plainingly, — 
 For I am Merope ; and on my brow 
 God, at the giving of the silver worlds. 
 Laying His hand, left splendour. None of all. 
 Sisters — not one of all your gleaming band, 
 Wore whiter glory, or stood nearer Him. 
 First of the seven lights I came and went. 
 And unto me Electra bent her beams, 
 And Maia bowed her brightness — and ye three,
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD. 303 
 
 Alcyone. Celajno, Taygete, 
 
 And silver Sterope, next me in place, 
 
 Took lire from me, and tended me with love. 
 
 I was a perfect Angel of pure ray, 
 
 Chosen a chief of Planets. Woe is me ! 
 
 I am a wildered World in well-known paths. 
 
 For I am Merope, — rash Merope, — 
 
 She that was great in Heaven become the least, 
 
 Standing between God's lowest and God's love. 
 
 Oh, Sisters ! lead me with the sound of song, 
 Sweep solemn music forth from balanced wings. 
 And leave it cloudlike in the fluttered sky, 
 That I may feel and follow. Ah ! my light, 
 My vanished lovely light ! I sate in place 
 With wakeful eyes and kept the earth in ken ; 
 And ye around me waited for my word. 
 Far down below the cone of shadow crept 
 Whereunder lay Earth's night, and from its gloom 
 Prayers, and the sound of tears, and other sounds 
 Which unto angel ears are strange, came up 
 Like smoke from peaked volcano, and our vans
 
 304 THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 Fanned them fresh breath to take them on to God. 
 
 Sisters ! amid the myriad cries that rose 
 
 From lips that Night's nepenthe could not calm, 
 
 Came a long prayer for mercy, growing loud 
 
 As it waxed hopeless ; — she who uttered it, 
 
 A sad, stained woman, with a fair fierce cheek. 
 
 Kneeling beside the UacJc rim of a river, 
 
 The rim of a Hack river, surging out 
 
 From a great city's glare into the gloom. 
 
 I saw her — and ye saw her, Sisters mine, 
 
 Pluckingr the mother's bosom from her babe 
 
 Ere the waves took them — one starved dead of love. 
 
 And one of life — both crying one heart-cry 
 
 That asked God's pity in pain's common tongue ; 
 
 And ye said, '•' Sister, let it go above ; " 
 
 But I, who, knowing all things, knew her sin. 
 
 And what deed stained the raiment of her soul, 
 
 Answered, " It goetli not, her grief is just ; " 
 
 And struck it down the sky. Woe ! woe ! her crv 
 
 Fell, and then rose, and grew up from a groan 
 
 Into a voice, — a voice that struck the Stars 
 
 And bounded from their brilliant capes, and rolled
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD. 305 
 
 Louder than thundering crash of orb on orb, 
 Thrilling the Planets, till each Angel knew 
 The very voice of God, saying, " Thou Star ! 
 Thou, ]\[erope ! go earthward." Ah, my light ! 
 Oh, Sisters, lead my world on while I weep, 
 For I am Merope, — blind Merope, 
 Merope, — light-abandoned Merope, 
 Wlio heard unmoved God's lowest ask His love. 
 
 List no more, holy Sisters, list no more ! 
 Bar the white porch of each unshamed ear 
 With double-folded wing, for I must speak 
 Of things that enter not at that high gate, — 
 The mournful matter of a mortal life, 
 Whereto I went — hence, — but I know not how ! 
 Fairer are homes of heaven, yet very fair 
 Thy fields and fountains were, my prison-house ! 
 Caverns and woods, valleys and veiny brooks ; 
 And thou, too, mountain-cradled Indian stream ! 
 By whose green brim my feet new from the clouds 
 Touched the hard earth, and stood : in whose great 
 towns
 
 J 
 
 06 THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 My spirit breathed harsh air of earth, — and lived : 
 
 Within the temple of that country's God 
 
 Amid the Indian maids I moved as one, 
 
 And took the manner of their race and tongue. 
 
 And wore their vest and veil, and bore the name 
 
 An earthly father gave, and called his boy 
 
 A gentle human boy, loving and brave. 
 
 My brother I — Oh, woe ! woe ! light me along ! 
 
 For I am Merope, — shamed Merope, 
 
 She that was made God's lowest on the earth. 
 
 Standing between God's lowest and His love. 
 
 Oh ! Stars, — I say not Sisters, saying this : — 
 War rose in that our home, spears fringed the walls 
 Where corn bristled before ; an old fierce king 
 Sought us for slaves, and men laid down their lives 
 That others might live free. My brother fought 
 A-front in all the battles, for these hands 
 Buckled the steel which kept his heart from harm. 
 And fed his quiver. Sinless human love 
 Touched me ; and on the battlements by night. 
 Gazing unknowingly upon mine own,
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD. 307 
 
 I charged Star- Angels to shine fair for him, 
 And send him favouring beams. At such a time, 
 The captain of the chariots of the king, 
 Watching our wall, cast eyes of earnest love 
 On me, and lit my soul up with a flame 
 Wherein all maiden meekness, fear and faith. 
 Courage to strive and purity to pray, 
 And tlie last little wrack of glory lost, 
 Melted as May snow melts under the sun, 
 And left a bare bad heart. Oh ! hear me not, 
 High Stars ! a cursed thing is loveless love, — 
 Accursed of Heav'n ; I knew it, and I fell. 
 Am I not Merope ? — dark Merope, 
 That Merope whom God's wrath did cast down, 
 Standing between God's lowest and God's love ? 
 
 Sisters 1 lead me along. The Pkxuets pale, 
 The powers of Heaven are pale to hear in Heaven 
 The story of my shame. Ai, ai ! light on ! 
 I hurry to the ending. Many an eve, — 
 Oh, silver Worlds, ye saw it ! — we did meet, 
 And drank the burning cup of Passion dry.
 
 5o8 THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 Nor slacked the draught, nor stayed, though we 
 
 might see 
 The dreggy poison through the purple wine. 
 Ah, a strong thing is Love I strong as a curse 
 To drag the soul to woe, — strong as a prayer 
 To lift it to sweet grace * I swore to him 
 To yield the city open-gated up 
 Unto his thirsty swords, for pity went, 
 And faith, and fair thoughts, — all but headlong love. 
 At his strong breath. My brother kept the guard 
 I' the eastern gate : I took him food, and tried • 
 The buckles of his breast plate, — one I loosed. 
 And drew his battle-knife, and laughingly 
 Struck on the tempered scales, whereat he smiled, 
 And bade me strike amain : good sooth ! I did, — 
 Down through the stolen passage past his heart. 
 So that life left him ere the bright blood came ; 
 Then I flung back the portals, and let in 
 A sea of stormy plumes, — it swept along 
 One little breath- time ; soon a rock-like band 
 j^Xgt it — and stayed — and turned, and scattered it. 
 Ten to a hundred, fighting for the right.
 
 THE LOST PLEIAD. 309 
 
 And speared the backs of the fliers, for all fled 
 Save one ; and him, under my wringing hands. 
 The savage lances stabbed through greave and groin : 
 Then mine eyes swam in blood ; some angry gripe 
 Somewhither haled the reeking corse and me 
 Past howlinsf citizens. Oh, let me end ! 
 Oh ! light sad Merope, and let her end ! 
 Merope, — hope- abandoned Merope, 
 Who stood between God's lowest and God's love ! 
 
 Ah, sapphire-vested Sisters I ah, crowned Lights ! 
 Bear with my moan a little ; I must tell 
 How human life did leave me. It was when 
 The stream whereby we lived did slowly rise 
 To flood its reeded banks. I, gaining sight, 
 Waking in fetters by the dark stream-side. 
 Saw under me the swelling tide, and knew 
 Cold Death was creeping upward. Oh ! 1 shrieked. 
 And strained tlie links that liehl mo to the slime. 
 And sank soul-stricken on the bloody breast 
 Of what I loved, — he lay there, and on mine 
 My child, poor fool ! I tore him oil", and thou,
 
 3IO THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 Mad, bleeding, passion-poisoned, wild with woe, 
 
 Kneeling beside the hlach rim of the river, — 
 
 The rim of the black river, surging out 
 
 From the great citys glare into the gloom, 
 
 I cried aloud to Heaven. The cry came back, 
 
 As I had sipnrned it ! Yes, I knew it all ! 
 
 As I had spurned it, sitting on my Star I 
 
 Yes, yes ! I knew it all, and one wild space 
 
 God's anger scatlied me ; then the kind quick waves 
 
 Lapped o'er my lip and washed the foul life out ; 
 
 And then, I know not what, — and then I sat. 
 
 Dark on my darkling star. Maker of all I 
 
 I do adore Thee, Mighty, Merciful, 
 
 Pitying all things, Thou didst pity me, 
 
 Who pitied not ; for I am Merope, — 
 
 Ai, ai ! Light-bearers, I am Merope, 
 
 Merope, — Heaven-exiled Merope, 
 
 Who stood between God's lowest and God's love.
 
 ( 311 ) 
 
 AMADIS OF GAUL TO DON QUIXOTE 
 DE LA MANCHA. 
 
 [From the Spanish.] 
 
 Tiiou, wlio didst imitate the mournful manner 
 
 Of my most lonely and despised life, 
 And — leaving joy for suffering and strife — 
 
 Upon the bare hill-side didst pitch thy banner ! 
 Thou, whoso unshamed eyes with tears oft ran o'er — 
 
 Salt, dripping tears I — when, giving up all proper 
 Vessels of use, silver, and tin, and copper, 
 
 Thou atest earth's herbs on the earth, — a woeful 
 dinner ! 
 Rest thou content. Sir Knight ! Ever and ever —
 
 2 AMADIS TO DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Or, at the least, while thro' the hemispheres 
 Golden Apollo drives his glittering mares — 
 Famous and praised shall be thy high endeavour I 
 Thy land of birth the glory of all nations ! 
 Thy chronicler's, the crown of reputations !
 
 J'J 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 
 
 [Suggested by the well-known picture of ^Ir. Holman Hunt, in 
 which the uplifted forni. of Christ, resting with extended 
 arms from His labour in the carpenter's shop at Nazareth, 
 throws upon the wall of the Virgin's house a figure of a 
 Cross.] 
 
 Light and Shadow ! Shadow and Light ! 
 
 Twins that were born at the birth of the sun 1 
 One the secret of all things bright ; 
 
 The secret of all things sombre, one ; 
 
 One the joy of tlie radiant day ; 
 
 One the spell of the dolorous night : 
 One at the dew-fall bearing sway ; 
 
 One at the day-break, rosy and white. 
 
 Sister and brother, born of one mother. 
 Made of a thought of the Infinite One 
 
 Made by the wisdom of God — and none otlier — 
 Li times when the times were not begun.
 
 314 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 
 
 One witL the morning-star for its gem, 
 Glad Eospliorus, herald of beams ; 
 
 One that wears for its diadem 
 
 Pale, sad Hesperus, planet of dreams. 
 
 One for the glory and one for the gloom ; 
 
 One to show forth and one to shrond ; 
 One for tlie birth and one for the tomb ; 
 
 One for the clear sky and one for the cloud. 
 
 Sister and brother, for ever and ever, 
 
 Nowise disparted, and nowhere a-twain ; 
 
 Mvsteries no man's thinkino; shall sever ; 
 Marvels none can miss, or explain. 
 
 Light, which without a shadow shines not ! 
 
 Shadow, which shows not unless by light ! 
 (For that which we see to sight combines not, 
 
 Except by the sides that escape the sight.) 
 
 Is this the parable ? this the ending ? 
 
 That nothing lives for us unless with a foil ; 
 That all things show by contrast and blending- 
 
 Pleasure by Pain, and Rest by Toil ?
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 315 
 
 Strength by Weakness, and Gladness by Sorrow ; 
 
 Hope by Despair, and Peace by Strife ; 
 The Good by the Evil, the Day by the Morrow ; 
 
 Love by Hatred, and Death by Life ? 
 
 Ah ! then I hate you, Shadow ! Shadow ! 
 
 Gliost and ghoul of the glittering Light ! 
 If the gold of wisdom, the El Dorado 
 
 Of Art mnst be had in this sorrowful sight. 
 
 Shadow ! we know how lovely and tender 
 
 Are the deeds you do with your witchcraft dim ; 
 
 What wonderful sorcery tempers the splendour 
 Of light, in your sisterly play with, him ! 
 
 We know what rose-leaf lips would be cold 
 Without the soft finish of warm half-light ; 
 
 We know what tresses would lose their gold 
 If you did not gloss it and gild it aright. 
 
 We know how weary tlie dawns would go 
 
 Lacking the promise of placid eves ; 
 We know how fiercely the hours could glow 
 
 Without the kind shadows under tlie leaves ;
 
 3i6 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 
 
 Yes ! and we know how joy would tire, 
 
 And gladness turn madness, and life be undone 
 
 And strength prove weakness, and Hope expire. 
 And Love droop wingless, if change were none. 
 
 And, Holiest Shadow of God's great hand ! — 
 That makest the sleep and the spangled night — 
 
 I know that by Thee we understand 
 
 The stars which in silver His glories write. 
 
 And we seem to know that, to eyes like ours, 
 Dawn by Dusk must usher its state ; 
 
 That hearts win hope from the darkest hours. 
 And Love kisses best with a shudder at Hate. 
 
 But, Shadow ! Shadow ! Ghost of the Light ! 
 
 Be Sadness ! be Softness ! be solemn Gloom ! 
 Be Death ! be Doubt ! be the secret of Night ! 
 
 Be the spell of Beauty ! but past the tomb 
 
 Thou wendest not with us, accursed Shadow ! 
 
 That makest a fable of all real things : — 
 The gold of wisdom, the El Dorado 
 
 Of art, a happier musing brings
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 31 
 
 Far off — worlds off — in the Pleiads seven 
 
 Is a Star of the Stars — Alcyone — 
 The orb which mores never in all the Heaven, 
 
 The centre of all sweet Light we see. 
 
 And there, thou Shadow of Earth's pale seeming ! 
 
 The wisest say no shadow can be, 
 But perfect splendours, lucidly streaming, 
 
 And Life and Light at intensity. 
 
 Then whv did the artist show it thus — 
 The Sorrow of Sorrows personified — 
 
 Painting the carpenter's Son for us 
 
 And the Shadow behind of the Crucified ? 
 
 Meek and sweet in the sun He stands, 
 Drinking the air of His Syrian skies ; 
 
 Lifting to Heaven toil-wearied hands, 
 
 Seeing " His Father " with those mild eyes ; 
 
 Gazing from trestle and bench and saw, 
 To the Kingdom kept for His rule above. 
 
 Christ, the Lord ! we see with awe ! 
 Ah ! Joseph's son ! we look with love !
 
 3r8 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 
 
 All ! Maiy Mother ! we watch with moans 
 Marking that phantom thy sweet eyes see, 
 
 That hatefal Sluidow upon the stones, 
 That sign of a coming agony ' 
 
 Did it happen so once in Nazareth ? 
 
 Did a Christmas sun show such a sia-ht. 
 Making from Life a spectre of Death, 
 
 Mocking our " Light of the World " with Light ? 
 
 He tells us — this artist — one Christmas-tide, 
 The sunset painted that ominous Cross ; 
 
 The shadows of evening prophesied 
 
 The hyssop to Him, and to us the loss. 
 
 For, her pang is the pang of us, every one : 
 Wherever the Light shines the Shadow is ; 
 
 Where beams a smile must be heard a moan ; 
 The anguish follows the flying bliss. 
 
 Yon crown which the Magi brought to her, 
 It makes a vision of brows that bleed ; 
 
 Yon censer of spikenard and balm and myrrh, 
 It looks on the wall like a '' sponge and reed."
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 319 
 
 And, therefore, long ago was it written — - 
 
 Of a Christmas to come in the realms of Light — 
 
 " The curse shall depart and death shall be smitten, 
 And then there shall he no more nic/ht." 
 
 Christ, our Lord, in that Shadowless Land, 
 Be mindful of these sad shadows which lie ! 
 
 Look forth and mark what a woeful band 
 Of glooms attend us across Thy sky ! 
 
 " Christmas ! " and liear what wars and woe ! 
 
 " Christmas ! " and see what grief o'er all I 
 Lord Christ ! our suns shine out to show 
 
 Crosses and thorns on Time's old wall I 
 
 So, if Thou art where that star gleams, 
 
 Alcyone, or higher still. 
 Send down one blessed ray which beams 
 
 Free of all shadows — for they kill !
 
 ( 320 ) 
 
 CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 [Suggested by the picture of RemLrandt in 
 the National Gallery.] 
 
 Master, well done ! tliy sombre colours stoop, 
 
 As what tliey paint did, to the root of things ! 
 Thy Christ hath eyes, whose weary glances droop, 
 
 Marred with much love, and all the ache it brino-s : 
 Thy children — soft, albeit, their Syrian grace — 
 
 Clasp sun-burnt breasts, and drink of milk that cost 
 Sweat to provide it ; from each mother's face 
 
 Is gone the bridal beauty ; lapsed and lost 
 Bliss from these bondsmen ; yet, how the Divine 
 
 Breaks through the clay ! how Truth's gold gilds the 
 story !
 
 CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN. 321 
 
 How longing for heaven's light makes earth's gloom 
 shine ! 
 How lovely, at its lowest, is love's glory ! 
 We see him as He sate in Palestine. 
 
 Lord Christ ! these are the little ones that come ! 
 
 Thou spakest, " Suffer them ; " yea, Thou didst say, 
 " Forbid them not, for in my kingdom some 
 
 Are like to such ! " Lord ! do Angels lay 
 Small aching heads on sorrow-laden bosoms ? 
 
 Do Thy young angels toil, and starve, and weep ? 
 Hardly for these will ope life's morning blossoms 
 
 Before their days bring griefs, their nightly sleep 
 Dreams of the Roman whip. Ah, Master Mild ! 
 
 Be some great secret of Thy kingdom said 
 To keep the grown man glad as this male child. 
 
 The woman pure as is that tender maid ! 
 They " see Thy Father's face ! " Then, how beguiled ? 
 
 Little sweet sister, standing at His knee ! 
 
 Siiiull peasant sister ! sucking at tliy thumb, 
 
 X
 
 322 CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 Touched to tliy tiny heart with the mystery, 
 
 Glad to be brought, but far too shy to come ; 
 Ah ! tremble, but steal closer ; let it cover 
 
 All of thy head, that potent, piteous hand ; 
 And, mothers ! reach your round-eyed babies over 
 
 To take their turn, nought though they understand. 
 For these thereby are safe, being so kissed 
 
 By that Love's lips which kisses out of heaven ; 
 And we, with little children, but no Christ, 
 
 Press near ; perchance the blessing may be given 
 From theirs to ours, though we His face have missed.
 
 *. J 
 
 23 ) 
 
 ON A CYCLAMEN, 
 
 PLUCKED AT CAN A OF GALILEE, AND PRESENTED 
 
 TO A BRIDE. 
 
 Only a Flower ! but, then, it grew 
 
 On the green mountains which en-ring 
 
 Kana-el-Jelil ; looking to 
 
 The village, and the little Spring ! 
 
 The Love which did those bridals bless 
 
 Ever and ever on you shine ! 
 Make happier all your happiness. 
 
 And turn its water into wine !
 
 ( 324 ) 
 
 A DISCOURSE OF BUDDHA. 
 
 Herewith, a broken gem of Buddha's lore ! 
 One beamlet of the brightness of his love ! 
 Rose-light which lingers when the sun is down 
 Such space that men may find a path thereby. 
 Ananda told his Brethren of the robe 
 In the full Sangha, saying, " I have heard ! " 
 
 Ananda said : " Upon a certain morn 
 At Rajagriha, in Wasanta-time, 
 Lord Buddha sate — the great Tathagato — 
 Speaking with wayfarers words such as these. 
 There was a temple built to Surya 
 Between the dyers' sheds and grain-market, 
 With white porch sheltered by a peepal-tree ; 
 Whereby he sate ; and a priest questioned him — 
 " Which is Life's chief good. Master ? " And he spake
 
 A DISCOURSE OF BUDDHA. 325 
 
 " Shadows are good when the high sun is flaming, 
 
 From wheresoe'er they fall ; 
 Some take their rest beneath the holy temple, 
 
 Some by the prison- wall. 
 
 " The King's gilt palace-roof shuts out the sunshine, 
 
 So doth the dyers' shed ! 
 Which is the chiefest shade of all these shadows ? " 
 
 " They are alike ! " one said. 
 
 " So is it," quoth he : " with all shows of living ; 
 
 As shadows fall, they fall ! 
 Rest under, if ye must, but question not 
 
 Which is the best of all. 
 
 " Yet, some trees in the forest wave with fragrance 
 
 Of fruit and bloom o'erhead ; 
 And some are evil, bearing fruitless branches. 
 
 Whence poisonous air is spread." 
 
 " Therefore, though all be false, seek, if ye must, 
 
 Ilifrht shelter from life's heat. 
 Lo ! those do well who toil for wife and child 
 
 Threading the burning street !
 
 326 A DISCOURSE OF BUDDHA. 
 
 " Good is it helping kindred I good to dwell 
 
 Blameless and just to all ; 
 Good to give alms, with goodwill in the heart, 
 
 Albeit the store be small ! 
 
 " Good to speak sweet and gentle words, to be 
 
 Merciful, patient, mild ; 
 To hear the Law, and keep it, leading days 
 
 Innocent, undefiled. 
 
 " These be chief goods — for evil by its like 
 
 Ends not, nor hate by hate : 
 By love hate ceaseth ; by well-doing ill ; 
 
 By knowledge life's sad state. 
 
 " But see where soars an eagle ! mark those wings 
 
 Which cleave the blue, cool skies ! 
 What shadow needeth yon proud Lord of Air 
 
 To shield his fearless eyes ? 
 
 " Rise from this life ; lift upon pinions bold 
 
 Hearts free and great as his ; 
 The eagfle seeks no shadow, nor the wise 
 
 Greater or lesser bliss ! "
 
 ( Z'^l ) 
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 Rain — liail — sleet — snow ' — But in my East 
 This is the time when palm-trees quicken 
 
 With flowers, wherefrom the Arabs' feast 
 Of amber dates will tlicnceforth thicken. 
 
 Palms, — he and she — in sight they grow ; 
 
 And o'er the desert-sands is wafted, 
 On light airs of the After-glow, 
 
 That golden dust whence fruit is grafted.
 
 328 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 Ah, happy trees ! who feel no frost 
 
 Of winter-time, to chill your gladness ; 
 
 And grow not close enough for cost 
 
 Of bliss fulfilled, which heightens sadness 
 
 No grey reality's alloy 
 
 Your green ideal can diminish ! 
 
 You have love's kiss, in all its joy, 
 
 Without love's lips, which let it finish ! 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 Fair Grecian legend, that, in Spring, 
 Seeking sweet tale for sunnier hours. 
 
 Fabled how Enna's queen did bring 
 
 Back from the under- world her flowers ! 
 
 Whence come ye else, goblets of gold. 
 Which men the yellow crocus call ? 
 
 You snowdrops, maiden-meek and cold, 
 What other fingers let you fall ?
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 329 
 
 What hand but hers, who, wont to rove 
 
 The asphodel in Himera, 
 Torn thence by an ungentle love, 
 
 Flunw not her favourites awav ? 
 
 Kinar of dark death ! on thoughts that roam 
 Thy passion and thy power were spent : 
 
 When blossom-time is come at home. 
 
 Homeward the soul's strong wings are bent. 
 
 So comes she, with her pleasant wont, 
 When Spring-time chases Winter cold, 
 
 Couchinsf ao^ainst his frozen front 
 Her tiny spears of green and gold. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 Welcome, North-wind ! from the Norland ; 
 Strike upon our foremost foreland. 
 Sweep away across the moorland, 
 
 Do thy lusty kind !
 
 I 
 
 330 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 Thou and we were born together 
 In the black Norwegian weather ; 
 Birds we be of one brave feather, 
 
 Welcome, bully wind ! 
 
 Buss us ! set our girls' cheeks glowing ; 
 
 Southern blood asks sun for flowing, 
 
 North blood warms when winds are blowing, 
 
 Most of all winds, thou ; 
 There's a sea-smack in thy kisses 
 Better than all breezy blisses, 
 So we know, our kinsman this is : 
 
 Buss us ! cheek and brow. 
 
 Eollick out thy wild sea-catches. 
 Boar thy stormy mad sea-snatches, 
 "What bare masts and battened hatches 
 
 Thou hast left behind ; 
 Bing it, till our ears shall ring, too. 
 How thou mad'st the Frenchman bring-to : 
 That's the music Northmen sing to. 
 
 Burly brother wind !
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 331 
 
 Go ! with train of spray and sea-bird, 
 Fling the milky waves to leeward. 
 Drive the ragged rain-clouds seaward, 
 
 Chase the scudding ships ; 
 To the south wind take our ofreetinsf, 
 Bid him bring the Spring — his Sweeting — 
 Say what glad hearts wait her meeting, 
 
 What bright eyes and lips. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 Blossom of the almond-trees, 
 April's gift to April's bees, 
 Birthday ornament of spring, 
 Flora's fairest dauffhterlinw ! — 
 Coming when no flow'rets dare 
 Trust the cruel outer air ; 
 When the royal king-cup bold 
 Will not don his coat of gold ; 
 And the sturdy blackthorn spray 
 Keeps its silver for the May ; — 
 Coming when no flow'rets would. 
 Save thy lowly sisterhood
 
 332 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 Early violets, blue and white, 
 
 Dying for their love of light. 
 
 Almond blossom, sent to teach ns 
 
 That the spring-days soon will reach us, 
 
 Lest, with longing over-tried. 
 
 We die as the violets died. 
 
 Blossom, clouding all the tree 
 
 With thy crimson 'broidery. 
 
 Long before a leaf of green 
 
 On the bravest bough is seen ; 
 
 Ah ! when wintry winds are swingino- 
 
 All thy red bells into ringing. 
 
 With a bee in every bell. 
 
 Almond bloom, we greet thee well ! 
 
 MAY. 
 
 Who cares on the land to stay. 
 Wasting the wealth of a day ? 
 The yellow fields leave 
 For the meadows that heave, 
 And away to the sea — away !
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 333 
 
 To the meadows far out on the deep, 
 Whose ploughs are the winds that sweep 
 
 The green furrows high, 
 
 When into the sky 
 The silvery foam-bells leap. 
 
 At sea ! — my bark — at sea ! 
 
 With the winds, and the wild clouds and me ; 
 
 The low shore soon 
 
 Will be down with the moon, 
 And none on the waves but we ! 
 
 Thy wings are abroad, my bird. 
 
 And the sound of their speed is heard ; 
 
 The scud flieth west, 
 
 And the gull to her nest, 
 But they lag far behind us, my bird ! 
 
 White as my true love's neck 
 
 Are the sails that shadow thy deck ; 
 
 And thine image wan, 
 
 Like the stream-mirrored swan, 
 Lies dim on thy dancing track.
 
 334 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 On ! on ! with a swoop and a swirl, 
 High over the clear waves' curl ; 
 
 Under thy prow, 
 
 Like a fairy, now, 
 Make the blue water bubble with pearl ! 
 
 Lo ! yonder, my lady, the light ! 
 'Tis the last of the land in sight ! 
 
 Look once — and away I 
 
 Bows down in the sj)ray ; 
 Lighted on by the lamps of the night ! 
 
 ^ 
 JUNE. 
 
 Lily of June, pearl-petalled, emerald-leaved ! 
 
 A sceptre thou, a silver-studded wand 
 By lusty June, the Lord of Summer, waved, 
 
 To give to blade and bud his high command. 
 
 Nay ! not a sceptre, but a seated Bride, 
 The white Sultana of a world of flowers, 
 
 Chosen, o'er all their passion and their pride, 
 To reign with June, Lady of azure hours.
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. . 335 
 
 Ah, vestal- bosomed ! Thou that, all the May, 
 From maidenly reserve would'st not depart, 
 
 Till June's warm wooing won thee to display 
 The golden secret hidden at thy heart. 
 
 Lay thy white heart bare to the Summer King ! 
 
 Brim thy broad chalice for him with fresh rain ! 
 Fling to him from thy milky censers, fling 
 
 Fine fragrances, a Bride without a stain ! 
 
 Without ? — look, June ! thy pearly love is smutched ! 
 
 That which did wake her gentle beauty, slays ; 
 Alas ! that nothing lovely lasts, if touched 
 
 By aught more earnest than a longing gaze. 
 
 i 
 
 JULY. 
 
 Proud, on the bosom of the river, 
 
 AVhite-winged the vessels come and go, 
 
 Dropping down with ingots to deliver, 
 Drifting up stately on the flow. 
 
 Mirrored in the sparkling waters under, 
 Mightily rising to the sky,
 
 s 
 
 336 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 Kings of tlie sunshine and the thunder, 
 Come they and go they, in July. 
 
 Quiet, in the reaches of the river, 
 
 Blooms the sea-poppy all alone ; 
 Hidden by the marshy sedges ever, 
 
 Who knows its golden cup is blown ? 
 Who cares if far- distant billows, 
 
 Rocking the great ships to sea, 
 Underneath the tassels of the willows 
 
 Rocks the sea-poppy and the bee ? 
 
 Rocks the marsh-blossom with its burden. 
 
 Only a worker bee at most ! 
 Working for nothing but the guerdon 
 
 To live on its honey in the frost. 
 The outward-bound ye watch, and the incomer ; 
 
 The bee and the blossom none espy ! 
 But those have their portion in the summer. 
 
 In the glad, gold sunshine of July. 
 
 'J 
 
 I
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 337 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 [From the German.] 
 
 0^'CE, with a Landlord wondrous fine, 
 
 A weary guest, I tarried, 
 A golden pippin was his sign. 
 
 Upon a green branch carried ! 
 
 Mine host — he was an apple-tree 
 
 With whom I took my leisure ; 
 Fair fruit, and mellowed juicily, 
 
 He gave me from his treasure. 
 
 There came to that same hostel gay 
 Bright guests, in brave adorning ; 
 
 A merry feast they made all day, 
 And sang, and slept till morning. 
 
 I, too, to rest my body laid 
 
 On bed of crimson clover ; 
 The landlord with his own broad shade 
 
 Carefully spread me over.
 
 338 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 I rose ; — I called to pay tie score, 
 But " No ! " he grandly boweth ; 
 
 Now, root and fruit, for evermore 
 God bless him, while he groweth ! 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 The harvest-moon stands on the sea, 
 
 Her golden rim's adrip ; 
 She lights the sheaves on many a lea, 
 
 The sails on many a ship ; 
 Glitter, sweet Queen ! upon the spray, 
 
 And glimmer on the heather ; 
 Right fair thy ray to gild the way 
 
 Where lovers walk together. 
 
 The red wheat rustles, and the vines 
 
 Are purple to the foot ; 
 And true-love, waiting patient, wins 
 
 Its blessed time of fruit : 
 Lamp of all lovers. Lady-moon ! 
 
 Light these ripe lips together 
 Which reap alone a harvest sown 
 
 Long ere September weather. 
 
 I
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 339 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 A BOLD brunette she is, radiant with mirth, 
 
 Who comes a-tripping over corn-fields cropped ; 
 Fruits and blown roses, from her full arms dropped, 
 
 Carpet her feet along the gladdened earth ; 
 
 Around her brow glitters a careless crown 
 Of bronzed oak, and apple-leaves, and vine ; 
 And russet- nuts and country berries twine 
 
 About her gleaming shoulders and loose gown. 
 
 Like grapes at vintage, where the ripe wine glows, 
 Glows so her sweet cheek, summer-touched but fair ; 
 And, like grape-tendrils, all her wealth of hair, 
 
 Gold on a ground of brown, nods as she goes : 
 
 Grapes too, a-spirt, her brimming fingers bear, 
 A dainty winepress, pouring wet and warm 
 The crimson river over wrist and arm. 
 
 And on her lips — adding no crimson there !
 
 340 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 Ah ! golden autumn hours — fly not so fast ! 
 
 Let the sweet Lady long with us delay ; 
 
 The sunset makes the sun so wished-for, — stay ! 
 Of three fair sisters — loveliest and the last ! 
 
 But after laughter ever follows grief, 
 
 And Pleasure's sunshine bring^s its shadow Pain 
 
 CD 
 
 Even now begins the dreary time again, 
 The first dull patter of the first dead leaf. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 Come ! in thv veil of ashen cloud 
 With mists around thee, like a shroud. 
 And wan face coloured with no liofht 
 Of sun or moon, by day or night ; 
 I would not see thee glad and gay 
 Dark month ! that called my Love away ! 
 
 I would not see thee otherwise 
 Grey month ! that hast the dying eyes ; 
 Cold month ! that com'st with icy hands 
 Chaining the waters and the lands !
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 341 
 
 So didst thou cliill two hearts at play, 
 Dark month ! that called iny Love away ! 
 
 And yet, I know, behind thy mists 
 The bright Sun shines, Love's star subsists ! 
 If we could lift thv veil, mav be. 
 Thy hidden face were good to see ! 
 Come as thou wilt — I sav not iiav. 
 Dark month ! that called mv Love awav ! 
 November 1864. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 In fret- work of frost and spangle of snow 
 Unto his end the year doth wend ; 
 And sadly for some the days did go, 
 And sflad for some were beo-inningf and end ! 
 But — sad or glad — grieve not for his death. 
 Mournfully counting your measures of breath, 
 You, that, before the stars began, 
 Were seed of woman and promise of man, 
 You who are older than Aldebaran ! 
 It was but a ring round about the Sun, 
 One passing dance of the planets done ;
 
 342 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 One step of the Infinite Minuet 
 Which the great worlds pace, to a music set 
 By Life immortal and Love divine : 
 AVhereof is struck, in your threescore and ten, 
 One chord of the harmony, fair and fine, 
 Of that wliich maketh us women and men ! 
 In fret-work of frost and spangle of snow, 
 Sad or glad — let the old year go !
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK 
 
 POETS.
 
 Flowers from Greek gardens, Fannie ! — old turned new, 
 
 Doric, JEolie, Attic, planted liere ; 
 You made the pleasant sunshine, where they grew — 
 
 Such as the growth is, take the blossoms, Dear !
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 FROM THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF THE 
 
 ODYSSEY. 
 
 Thereupon, stripping his tatters away, many-counselled 
 
 Ulysses 
 Strode to the threshold, and stood there, upholding his 
 
 bow, and his quiver 
 Brim-full of shafts ; on the ground poured he rattling 
 
 the swift-winged arrows 
 All in a heap at. his feet, then turned to the suitors and 
 
 spake this : 
 " Yonder match has been played ; ye have seen niy 
 
 skill at the target : 
 Now I will shoot a shot that no man, I fancy, will 
 
 better. 
 Into a different mark — if I may — and Apollo shall aid 
 
 me."
 
 34^ TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Straight at Antinoiis, then, a keen-bladed arrow he 
 
 levelled : 
 Grasping a golden cup stood the chief — a cup with 
 
 two handles ; 
 Deep in the draught he was, no thought in his mind 
 
 of destruction ! 
 How should a lord at the feast, in the midst of the 
 
 banqueters, drinking, 
 Dream that, one against many — nay, though the 
 
 strongest of mortals, 
 Thus could do him to death, and send him to sudden 
 
 perdition ? 
 Even as he quaffed, in the jowl the shaft of Odusseus 
 
 transfixed him : 
 Right thro' the soft o' the neck the steel point 
 
 travelled ; his body 
 Tottered, bowed, and fell ; from his fingers the two- 
 handled goblet 
 Clattered ; a gush of blood burst thick and hot from 
 
 his nostrils ! 
 Sprawling and writhing, the feet of him kicked the 
 
 board and o'erset it,
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 347 
 
 Spilling tlie viands and wine, overturning the roast 
 
 meat and boiled meat, 
 Mixing the cates and fruit with his blood. The 
 
 suitors, affrighted. 
 Sprang from the benches on this side and that side, 
 
 and ran to the dead man. 
 Glaring for shield or for spear along the walls of the 
 
 palace : 
 Not one spear there was, nor sword, nor target to help 
 
 them ; 
 Then they turned with furious words on Odusseus, and 
 
 cursed him : 
 " Stranger, thou shootest too well ; but this is the last 
 
 of thv shooting ! 
 Death shall have thee for this ! Thou hast killed with 
 
 thy villainous arrow 
 One of the Ithaca princes, as noble and lordly as any, 
 Great in birtli and deed : for this thing the vultures 
 
 shall pick thee." 
 
 Each of them waited, expecting the man would 
 surely crave pardon,
 
 348 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Saying, " the arrow slipped," that " the deed was 
 
 wrought maladventure." 
 Fools, who did not feel Death's portals yawning to 
 
 take them ! 
 Then, with terrible eves broke forth the wrathful 
 
 Odusseus : 
 " Dogs ! ye did not think I should ever live to come 
 
 hither, 
 Back from the city of Troy ; and so ye harried my 
 
 palace, 
 Eavished my handmaids, and, I being breathing, ye 
 
 dared to beset her — 
 Her ! my wife, Penelope — her ! with your impudent 
 
 suings, 
 Nothing regarding the gods, who reign in infinite heaven. 
 Neither believing that any man lived who would 
 
 shrewdly requite you. 
 Now for all of you — all ! — the hour is arrived of your 
 
 judgment." 
 
 Sickly their visages waxed with fear as his accents 
 resounded ;
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 349 
 
 Hitlier and thither they rolled their eyes to find any 
 
 refuge ; 
 Only Eurymachus gathered his breath, and answered 
 
 in this way: 
 " If, of a truth, thou art he, the Odusseus of Ithaca, 
 
 living, 
 Just are thy words, and rightful thy wrath at the 
 
 deeds of the princes. 
 Done without shame in thy halls, and done in thy 
 
 fields, without number. 
 Yet this dead man here was the head and front of our 
 
 sinning : 
 He, Antinolis, set us on to the worst of our doings ; 
 Caring not half so much for thy beauteous queen, nor 
 
 to win her. 
 As that this thing might be, the which dread Zeus 
 
 hath foi-bidden, 
 Kamelv, to reig-n alone over all thine Ithacan kino-dom, 
 King and Lord — having slain thy son and gotten his 
 
 birthright. 
 Now he is dead for his scheme ; but do thou have 
 
 mercy and spare us —
 
 3SO TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Liegemen of thine and submissive ; — then we, going 
 
 home to our houses, 
 Thence will bring for whatever was eaten or drunk in 
 
 thy palace 
 Each of us twenty-fold back to thee here, a great 
 
 restitution. 
 Brass and gold we will fetch, and whatsoever may 
 
 please thee, 
 Only be merciful now, and let not thine anger o'er- 
 
 whelm us." 
 
 Him, with a look of fire, the mighty Odusseus thus 
 
 answered : — 
 " Not if ye brought me, Eurymachus ! all that ye have 
 
 on the islands, 
 All that is yours to-day, and all ye may ever own after, 
 Would I for this hold back my hand from its office of 
 
 death here. 
 Deed for deed I will have my price in the blood of 
 
 your bodies. 
 Now, then, choose ye your way to die, and face me 
 
 and fight me ;
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 351 
 
 Else turn about and flv from the fates that I send 
 
 from my bowstring — 
 If, indeed, ye can fly — for I think my shafts will go 
 
 faster." 
 
 Hearing his words, their knees grew loose and their 
 
 hearts were as water ; 
 Yet once more Eurymachus spake — this time to the 
 
 suitors : 
 " Friends, the man is in earnest ; he will not be 
 
 stayed from his purpose, 
 But while one arrow is left he will shoot with his 
 
 terrible bow there 
 Shot upon shot from the threshold, till each of us fall 
 
 by his fellow, 
 Slain in a pile. Recall, then, our manhood ! Stand 
 
 not to be butchered ! 
 Draw what swords we have, and hold the board up 
 
 before us, 
 So, with its fence, let us rush in close order upon 
 
 him I If one man
 
 352 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Thrust his way past the door, he may come to the 
 
 town and call succour, 
 Then peradventure this shooter will pull his bow for 
 
 the last time." 
 
 So. as he spoke, from its scabbard Eurymachus 
 
 drew forth his falchion, — 
 Bronze in the blade, two-edged, — and rushed with a 
 
 yell to the portal. 
 Waving it high ; but right as he came the watchful 
 
 Odusseus 
 Let go a whistling shaft which took him under the 
 
 breast-bone. 
 Plunging barb-deep in the liver. Down out of his 
 
 grasp fell the falchion, 
 Clattering he rolled in the wreck of the festival, 
 
 screaming and twisting : 
 Platters and food flow about, and cups whirled hither 
 
 and thither. 
 While the wretch beat this way and that his head on 
 
 the pavement.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 353 
 
 Mad with the anguish ; and struck with his feet the 
 
 boards and the benches, 
 Beating a frightful tune, till death's fog clouded his 
 
 eyeballs. 
 
 Next Amphinomus faced his fate, and ran at 
 Odusseus 
 
 Headlong, drawing his keen-edged blade, and despe- 
 rately hoping 
 
 If he niio-ht break his wav : but him Telemachus 
 dealt with, 
 
 Striking him quick as he passed with the bronze- 
 barbed spear in the shoulders — 
 
 Riofht throuo-h the back it drove, and out at the ribs 
 made a passage. 
 
 Down with a crash he fell, full-front on the stones of 
 the pavement : 
 
 Nay, and Telemachus left him so, with the spear in 
 his shoulders. 
 
 Dreading lest one of the suitors, the while he tugged 
 at the weapon.
 
 354 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Either witli sword or with club should find him help- 
 less, and slay him ; 
 
 Therefore back to his father he came, and spake in his 
 ear this : • 
 
 " Father, 'twere good I fetched thee shield, and 
 
 spears, and a helmet ; 
 Armed thou shouldst be for the rest of this matter, 
 
 and I, having donned it. 
 Armour will bring for the swineherd and cowherd, if 
 
 thou canst abide here." 
 
 Answered him, under his breath, the watchful and 
 
 mighty Odusseus — 
 " Go for them quickly, Telemachus ! whilst I have 
 
 arrows to stop them. 
 Lest the dogs should see me in straits, and push their 
 
 way past me." 
 
 [Telemachus hastens to tlie upper apartments, and brings 
 the weapons and armour, while Ulysses still shoots into the 
 affrightel flock of princes.]
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 
 
 0J5 
 
 So, when tlie arrows were shot — each arrow a death 
 
 for the suitors — 
 Calmh" he set down his bow at the porch, in the nook 
 
 of the door-post ; 
 Then, about his arm a shiekl of four thicknesses bracing, 
 Over his temples a helmet he fastened, implacably 
 
 nodding 
 'Thwai't his countenance fierce, with its black-plumes 
 
 of horse-hair ; and each hand 
 ■Grasped a spear of bronze, keen-sharpened, awful to 
 
 smite with. 
 
 [The suitors agree tu Inul six javelins at a time against 
 Ulysses, hut Minerva n^nders the first shower vain, and tlie 
 return spears of the four at the door kill four more princes. 
 Hereupon abject terror falls upon the guiltj^ lords. They 
 herd together and rush about, "like cattle when the days are 
 long and hot, and the gad-fly stings," while Ulysses, with his 
 three companions, chases and despatches them " like a hawk 
 striking flutteiing Ijirds." Two only are spared, Phemius 
 the poet, and iMedon. Revenge is complete ! Odusseus 
 looks round, but none are left alive to desjiatch ;] 
 
 All, wherever he gazed, lay motionless, bloody, and 
 dusty,
 
 356 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 TuniLlecl together and foul ; like fish that the fisher- 
 man gathers 
 
 Out from the foamy sea, and hales on the brink of the 
 shingle. 
 
 There they sprawl, gills wide, heaped head and tail, 
 and the sunshine 
 
 Dries them where they lie on the yellow bend of the 
 sea-shore : 
 
 Just so the suitors lay, like a haul of fish, on the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 The heavenly Muses Three 
 
 A branch of laurel gave, which they had plucked. 
 
 To be my sceptre ; and they breathed a song 
 
 In music on my soul, and bade me set 
 
 Things past and things to be to that high strain ; 
 
 Also they bade me sing the race of gods. 
 
 Themselves, at first and last, ever rememberino-. 
 
 Fro VI Hesiod.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. [ 357 
 
 OxCE a liawk said this to a nio-htinofale ; — 
 
 The robber had the sino-er in his claws, 
 
 High up among the clouds, and Philomel, 
 
 Trembling, and nipped in those sharp crooked talons, 
 
 Bewailed : whereat the hawk screamed savasfelv : 
 
 " Why pipe, my friend ? I am too strong to heed ; 
 
 I take vou where I will, for all vour sino-insf ; 
 
 To eat you if I like, or let you go ; 
 
 And he's a fool that fights against his fate : 
 
 He loses, and gets shame, beside his tears." 
 
 From Jlesiod. 
 
 Then Zens let loose his wrath ! his awful heart, 
 IJrimful of anger, gave his will its war ! 
 From Heaven's black vault and high Olympus' crags 
 Impetuous Ijade he start the leashed- up fires : 
 Lightning and thunder and the thunderbolts 
 Flew from his niightv hand — Hame with the crash, 
 And bolts with Ijoth — fire, noise, and bolts all mixed ! 
 Groaned fruitful Mother Earth, wrapped in the war ; 
 All her vast forests crackled, lightning-scorched ; 
 The parched fields heaved and split ; the ocean-floods
 
 358 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Bubbled, witli all their streams, and lurid smoke 
 Curled round tlie Titans fightiDg — whence a glare 
 Blazed up across and through the infinite air ; 
 So that those warrior-ranks, albeit like gods, 
 Were blinded with the dazzle of the flash. 
 And deaf with leaping peals. From Hcsiod. 
 
 "THE WOMAN BORN OF A BEE." 
 
 From youth to age she grows dear to her spouse ; 
 Fills with fair girls and sturdy bovs his house : 
 Among all women womanliest seems. 
 And heavenly grace about her mild l^row gleams. 
 A gentle wife, a noble friend she walks. 
 Nor ever with the gossij^mongers talks ; 
 Such women sometimes Zeus to mortals gives, 
 The glory and the solace of their lives. 
 
 From Shnonidcs of Amorgos. 
 
 Splendour-throned Queen ! immortal Aphrodite ! 
 Daughter of Jove — Enchantress ! I implore thee 
 Vex not my soul with agonies and anguish ; 
 
 Slay me not, Goddess !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 359 
 
 Come in thy pity — come, if I have prayed tliee ; 
 Come at the crv of mv sorrow : in the okl times 
 Oft thou hast heard and left thj- Fathers heaven, 
 
 Left the gokl houses, 
 Yoking thy chariot. Swiftly did the doves fly. 
 Swiftly they brought thee, waving plumes of 
 
 wonder — 
 Waving their pale plumes all across the asther, 
 
 All down the azure ! 
 Very soon they lighted. Then didst thou. Divine 
 
 one ! 
 Laugh a bright laugh from lips and eyes eternal ; 
 Ask me, " What ailed me ? — wherefore out of heaven 
 
 Thus I had called thee ? 
 What it was made me madden in my heart so ? " 
 Question me, smiling — say to me, " My Sappho ! 
 Who is it wrongs thee ? tell me who refuses 
 
 Thee, vainlv si<>:hing." 
 " Be it who it may be, he that flies shall follow ; 
 He that rejects gifts, soon shall bring thee many ; 
 He that hates now shall love thee dearly, madly — 
 
 Ay, though thou wouldst not."
 
 36o TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 So once again come, Mistress ; and, releasing 
 
 Me from my sadness, give me what I sue for ; 
 
 Grant me my prayer, and be as heretofore now 
 
 Friend and Protectress ! 
 
 Froon Sappho. 
 
 Hesperus brins-s all thino^s back 
 
 Which the day-light made us lack ; 
 
 Brings the sheep and goats to rest, 
 
 Brings the baby to the breast. 
 
 Fro))i Sappho. 
 
 Love once among^ the roses 
 
 Perceived a bee reposing. 
 
 And wondered what the beast was, 
 
 And touched it, so it stuno: him. 
 
 Sorely his finger smarted. 
 
 And bitterly he greeted. 
 
 And wrung his hands together ; 
 
 And half he ran, half fluttered 
 
 To Cytherffia's bosom. 
 
 Unto his fair, sweet mother. 
 
 Loud sobbed he, " Ai ! ai ! mother !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 361 
 
 Olola ! I am murdered ! 
 
 Olola ! it has killed me ! 
 
 A small brown snake witli winglets, 
 
 Which men the bumble-bee call, 
 
 Bit me ! " B ut Cythen^a 
 
 Said, laughing, " Ah, my baby, 
 
 If bees' stings hurt so sorely, 
 
 Bethink thee what the smart is 
 
 Of those, Love, whom thou iDiercest." 
 
 From Anacreon. 
 
 Daughter of Justice, winged Nemesis ! 
 
 Queen of the awful eyes, 
 Whose silent sentence judgeth mortal life ! 
 Thou with thy curb of steel, 
 Which proudest jaws must feel, 
 Stayest the snort and champ of human strife ; 
 And, hating miserable pride of men. 
 Dost tame fierce hearts, and turn them meek a^en. 
 
 Under thy wheel, — unresting, trackless, — all 
 Our joys and griefs befall ;
 
 362 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 In thy full siglit our secret things go on ; 
 
 Step after step thy wrath 
 
 Follows the caitiff's path, 
 And at his triunaph breaks his vile neck-bone. 
 To all alike thou nietest out their due, 
 Cubit for cubit, inch for inch — stern — true. 
 
 From Mesomedes. 
 
 Life without golden love — what bliss is this ? 
 
 Oh, let me die when love is dead with me ! 
 
 The stolen words, the honeyed gifts, the kiss, 
 
 These are the blossoms of youth's glorious tree. 
 
 From Mimnermus.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 3^5 
 
 THE FIRST IDYLL OF THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Thy RSI s. 
 
 Softly tlie sway of tho pine-branclies murmurs a 
 melody, Shepherd ! 
 
 Down by the rim of tho fountain, and softly dost thou, 
 on the Pan-pipes, 
 
 Pipe to the pines : next to Pan thou bearest the bell 
 for rare music. 
 
 Say that he wins a great-horn'd goat, then thine is a 
 she-goat ; 
 
 Say that the she-goat is his, but thine is the kid, then ; 
 and tender 
 
 Savours the meat of a kid — till she comes to the bear- 
 ing and milking. 
 
 Goatherd. 
 Sweeter I call thy strain than the tinkle of water that 
 
 trickles, 
 Tinkling, and trickling, and rippling adown the green 
 
 shelves of the mountain.
 
 364 TRANSLATIOXS FROM 
 
 If we must grant the high Muses their prize from the 
 
 pick of the wethers, 
 Certainly thine is a ewe : or if a ewe pleases their fancy, 
 Then at the least will a lamb come to thee — to drive to 
 
 thy sheep-folds. 
 
 Thyrsis. 
 Sit thee adown, good friend — sit down, and pipe to us, 
 
 Shepherd ! 
 Here where the side of the hill slopes fair, and the 
 
 myrtles are thickest, 
 Blow the brave melody out : the yearlings can pasture 
 
 around us ! 
 
 Goatherd. 
 Nay ! 'twere a sin, 'twere a sin ! — the sun's at his 
 
 highest, my Thyrsis ; 
 Pan would be anger'd to hear me — just now, he breaks 
 
 off from hunting, 
 Stretches his hairy limbs in the shade, and puffs his 
 
 great nostrils. 
 Panting, and surly for lack of breath, and longing for 
 
 slumber.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 365 
 
 You now, Thyrsis, might sing ! you know the ballad of 
 
 Daphnis : 
 None of our woodside-singers have half such a trick at 
 
 the measure. 
 Couch we here under these elms, on the grass at the 
 
 foot of the stone-god, 
 Facing the fountain, and looking right on to the moun- 
 
 tains and meadows, 
 Over the tops of the oaks; and if you sing only so 
 
 deftly 
 As vou did once on that dav when Chromis the African 
 
 dared you. 
 Look ! I will give you my goat ; the dam of a couplet 
 
 of weanlings ; 
 Udder she carries for both, and then to fill two of thy 
 
 milk-bowls. 
 Her, and a cup cut in beech, two-handled and polished 
 
 with beeswax, 
 Clean and new, with the smell of the chisel and fresh 
 
 wood about it : 
 All round its rim, on the top, there creeps a string of 
 
 ground ivy,
 
 366 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Twisted and tano-led witli woodbine, while liere and 
 tliere, in the circle, 
 
 Tendrils curl and clasp — with bunches of berries 
 among them. 
 
 Outside a damsel is carved — so fair the o-ods migfht 
 have wrouo'ht her ! 
 
 Neat and trim, with her mantle and net — and — this 
 hand and that hand — 
 
 Two youths — both long-hair'd — both comely — con- 
 tend for her favours 
 
 Angrily ; never a jot cares my pretty jade for their 
 auger ! 
 
 Sometimes she flings a smile to one, and frowns on his 
 fellow. 
 
 Sometimes she softens to t'other — and there they 
 stand in the beech wood, 
 
 Laugh'd at, but mad with love — half-teased, half- 
 pleased at the wanton. 
 
 Next a fislierman comes, cut out on a rock, and its 
 ledges 
 
 Jut up rough and stark ; — the old boy, done to a 
 marvel.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. . 367 
 
 Staoforers and sweats at liis work — just like a fisher- 
 
 man hauling ; 
 Looking upon it you'd swear the work was alive, and 
 
 no picture, 
 So do the veins knot up and swell in his neck and his 
 
 shoulders, 
 For, though he's wrinkled and grey, there's stuff" left 
 
 yet in my ancient. 
 Nest to this old sea-dog you see a vine — all the 
 
 branches 
 Heavy with globing grapes — a little lad sits by a 
 
 thicket, 
 Guarding the grapes, but close at hand two foxes 
 
 come creeping. 
 One in the vineyard munches the clusters — one's after 
 
 the wallet : 
 Gods ! you can see his scheme — he'il keep his eye on 
 
 the vounofster, 
 Till that he finds a chance, and leaves him dinnerless : 
 
 Blind one ! 
 Why do you sit there weaving with grasses a cage for 
 
 your crickets,
 
 368 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Plaiting the grasses, and wholly forgetting your wallet 
 
 and dinner, 
 Wholly forgetting your grapes — wrapped up in those 
 
 grasshopper- engines ? 
 All the work in this cup's filled in with leaves of 
 
 acanthus ; 
 "Tis an iEolic thing — and sooth, of a wonderful 
 
 fancy, 
 Sir I it cost me to buy of the Calydon sailor, a big 
 
 cheese 
 Made of snow-white curds, and a she-goat into the 
 
 bargain ; 
 Yet it has touch'd no lip, but lies this while in my 
 
 cottage. 
 See now ! I mean it for you ! "tis yours, if you sing 
 
 us that ditty 
 Half so well as you sang it before to the Himera 
 
 shepherds. 
 No thanks ! do but sing ! — there's no more sunshine 
 
 nor singing 
 Under the grass — in the realms of the dead men — 
 
 where all is forgotten !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 369 
 
 THE '^ PHARMAKEUTRIA •• OF THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Thestylis ! where are the laurel-leaves ? Quick, girl \ 
 
 bring me the love-spells ! 
 Fasten the scarlet thread, in and out, round the brim of 
 
 the beaker ! 
 Quick ! for I mean to charm my lover, my false- 
 hearted lover. 
 Twelve long days are passed, and he never has once 
 
 come to see me. 
 Knows not if I be living or dead — never sends me 
 
 a message, 
 No ! not even a word at my door ! Has he gone to 
 
 some new love. 
 Light as the pinions of Eros, and careless as Queen 
 
 Aphrodite ? 
 Down to the town I will hasten to-morrow, and see 
 
 him, and ask him 
 
 Face to face, why he treats me so coldly : but Tlies- 
 
 tylis ! thou now 
 
 2 A
 
 370 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Help me to try him with charms ; and, Moon ! 
 
 glitter thy brightest ! 
 Shine, pale Moon ! for thee I invoke, and thy sister 
 
 and shadow- 
 Hecate — the under-world Moon, whom even the little 
 
 dogfs howl at 
 When she goes forth o'er the graves, and all her foot- 
 marks are bloody : 
 Make my magic to-night as strong as ever was Circe's, 
 Potent as white Perimede's, and mighty as Colchian 
 Medea's ! 
 
 Wry-neck ! whirl, and scream, and whirl, and bring 
 
 me my lover ! 
 Turn wheel, turn ! and burn, cake, burn ! Ah ! Thes- 
 
 tylis, sprinkle ! 
 Wliat are you doing to tremble so ? spi'inkle the salt 
 
 on the brazier ! 
 Where were your wits gone, girl ? or is it that you too 
 
 must vex me ? 
 Sprinkle the salt, and say, " Flesh and blood of Delphis 
 
 I scatter ! "
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 371 
 
 Little bird ' scream, and whirl, and scream, and bring 
 me my lover ! 
 
 Delpliis grieves me — in my turn 
 I will grieve him. Laurel, burn ! 
 As thy bright leaves curl and crack, 
 Smoke and blaze and vanish black. 
 Leaving not a leaf to see : 
 l\Iav his bosom love-scorched be ! 
 
 Little bird ! whirl, and scream, little bird ! and bring 
 me my lover ! 
 
 As I melt this waxen ball 
 
 May the great gods hear me call, 
 
 And Delphis melt with love for me ! 
 
 And as this wheel turns i^apidly 
 
 So may Queen Venus speed the cliarms, 
 
 And bring him quickly to my arms I 
 
 Little bird, wliirl, whirl, whirl! scream ! scream I and 
 bring me my lover I
 
 372 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Now I scatter on the flame 
 Bran. Oli ! Artemis ! thy name 
 Moves the Judge of Hell to fear, 
 Bhadamanth himself ! Then hear ! 
 Hear ! ah, hear me ! Thestylis, 
 Did the dogs bark ? Yes, it is ! 
 'Tis the o^oddess in the street ! 
 Beat the cymbals ! quick, girl ! beat ! 
 
 Little bird, scream — scream louder ! and bring me my 
 false-hearted lover ! 
 
 Look ! the restless sea is sleeping, 
 Milk-white ripples curling, creeping ! 
 Listen ! all the winds are quiet, 
 Folded up from rage and riot ! 
 Only in my heart the pain 
 Wakes, and will not sleep again I 
 Bitter pain the sport to be 
 Of him who hath unmaidened me. 
 
 Little bird, whirl — whirl fast ! scream sharp — scream 1 
 call me my lover !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 373 
 
 Thrice libations due I pay, 
 Thi'ice, great goddess ! tliis I say, 
 Whom he loves now I know not, 
 But let her come to be forgot ! 
 Clean forgot from head to feet 
 As Ariadne was at Crete. 
 
 Scream, little bird ! more — more ! scream, whirl, and 
 fetch me my lover 1 
 
 In Arcady there grows a flower, 
 Stings the herds with subtle power, 
 Drives them mad on vale and height : 
 Would I had tliat flower to-night ! 
 Delphis should come quick to me. 
 Come, whate'er his company ! 
 
 Scream for me still, little Ijird ! scream once, and call 
 me my lover ! 
 
 Delphis left this gift with me : 
 In the Are I fling it. Sec !
 
 374 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Burn it red and burn it black, 
 Angry liissiDg flames ! Alack ! 
 It leaps away — he'll not return ! 
 It only burnetii as I burn ; 
 And now 'tis ashes, pale and grey, 
 As pale as I grow day by day. 
 
 Scream ere you die, little bird ! one cry, to call me my 
 lover ! 
 
 Lizards green and gold I take 
 
 (Mighty magic this will make), 
 
 Slit them down from chin to tail. 
 
 Squeeze their cold blood, cold and pale. 
 
 Thestylis, take this to-morrow 
 
 (It can work him bliss or sorrow), 
 
 Lay it on his threshold stone, 
 
 Spit to the left, and say alone, 
 
 " She whose heart you tread on here 
 
 Charms you, Delphis ! Love, or fear ! " 
 
 Dead are you, poor little fool ? and you could not 
 bring me my lover !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 375 
 
 Ah, ine ! what shall I do ? Alone, forlorn .' — 
 
 I'll think the story over of my love, 
 
 How it began — what made the sweet pain come. 
 
 It was the day Anaxo was to walk 
 
 Bearing the basket for great Artemis, 
 
 With striped and spotted beasts in the procession ; 
 
 Oh ! — and yoa recollect — a lioness ! 
 
 Lady Moon ! listen and pity ! and help me, bringing 
 my lover ! 
 
 And my old Thracian nurse, Theucharila, 
 Came — you remember — teasing, tempting me 
 To go and see them pass, and so I went. 
 O fool ! I went wearing my yellow bodice. 
 And Clearista's purple train from Tyre. 
 
 Lady Moon ! listen and pity, and say where tan-ies my 
 lover ! 
 
 And when we came hard by where Lycon lives 
 Upon the paved way, there I saw him first, 
 Delphis, with Ludamippus — oh, you know !
 
 376 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 His hair danced back from ofi' his brow, like sprays 
 Of bright amaracus, when west winds blow, 
 And all his neck, flushed with the heat of the games, 
 Shone as thou shinest, Moon ! but rosier pearl ! 
 
 Lady Moon ! Lady Moon, listen, and pity ; and bring 
 me my lover ! 
 
 I saw him — looked ! loved ! — oh, my foolish eyes ! 
 
 Oh me ! the coward colour of my cheeks ! 
 
 Oh, heart that straight went mad ! I did not mark 
 
 Those tame beasts any more ; how I came home 
 
 I cannot call to mind ; you know I lay 
 
 Ten days and nights indoors, and never rose. 
 
 Lady Moon ! sweet pale Moon ! have mercy, and bring 
 me this lover ! 
 
 I grew as pale — as white as thapsus-wood ! 
 
 Say if I braided up my hair, or sang ! 
 
 Say if I grew not to a ghost, with thinking ! 
 
 When was the day you sought not who he was ? 
 
 "Where was the crone we did not plague for charms 
 
 To bring him ? All in vain ; he never came !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 2>77 
 
 Moon ! hide not thy face. O white Moon ! listen 
 and pity ! 
 
 So I gfrew sick with waitinsf, and I said, 
 
 " Ah, Thestylis, help ! — heal me, or I die ! 
 
 This Greek boy hath bewitched me. Go, my friend, 
 
 Watch at the ofatewav of the wrestlincr-school. 
 
 He Cometh there, I think, to play or sit." 
 
 Silver-faced Queen of the Stars, thou know'st we are 
 not as immortals ! 
 
 " And when he is alone, whisper full soft 
 And say, ' Simoetha bids thee come,' and then 
 If he will, bring him ! " So you went, and came 
 Bringing my love to me. But when I heard 
 His sandals on the stone, and saw his face — 
 
 -'J 
 
 Lady Moon ! hear this now, and pity, and shine 
 while I tell you ! 
 
 And saw his face, — I turned as cold as snow. 
 And tears — I wot not why — sprang to my lids,
 
 378 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 And how to speak I knew not ; not so much 
 As little children startled in the night, 
 That sob, and know it is all well — but sob, 
 And will not stint even for their mother's voice. 
 I was as dumb as dead things, Thestylis ! 
 
 Queen of the planets and stars ! forgive, and listen, 
 and pity ! 
 
 For he, with a bright gladness — not too bold — 
 Entered ; and looked hard once, and then looked 
 
 down, 
 And sat against my feet ; and sitting, said, 
 "Only so little, sweet Simoetha ! thou 
 Hast been the first to speak — as I was first 
 Against Philinus in the race to-day, — 
 
 White-sandalled Mistress of Night ! have patience, 
 and hear me and help me. 
 
 " I should have come, I swear it by my head ! 
 To-morrow at the dusk. I meant to bring 
 Some choice rose-apples in my breast. Mayhap
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 379 
 
 You love them ; and a crowu of poplar leaves 
 Twisted with myrtle-buds and tied with red ; " 
 
 Lady Moon, where is he now ? so soft, so gentle, so 
 fickle ! 
 
 " And, if you had seemed kind, I should have spoke. 
 I was not hopeless, for I won the prize 
 At running, and the maidens call me fair. 
 The one prize I have longed for since the feast 
 Was once to touch the goal of those dear lips ; 
 Then I could rest — not else ! But had you frowned. 
 And bade me go, and barred your door on me, 
 Oh, Sweet ! I think I should have come with lamps 
 And axes, and have stolen you like gold ! " 
 
 Lady Moon, where is he now ? so gentle, so earnest, 
 so winning ! 
 
 " How shall I," he went on, " thank the gods first, 
 And next you — you ! the queen and life of me ! 
 My kindest love — who bad'st me hither come 
 When I did burn for leave — yea ! for I think 
 Hephasstus hath no ilamc like Eros lights ! "
 
 38o TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Lady Moon, look out of heaven, and find liim, and 
 bring him for pity. 
 
 So he spake, low and fair ; and I, alas ! ♦ 
 
 What could I do, but reach my hand to him, 
 
 And let him take it, and take me ; and have 
 
 The kiss he sued for, — and another such ? 
 
 My cheeks were white no more, nor my heart sad, 
 
 Nor any trouble left ; but we sat close. 
 
 And the soft talk bubbled from lip to lip 
 
 Like fountains in the roses. AH that time. 
 
 And many a time we sat so : never once 
 
 He failed to keep his word, and never once 
 
 Left, save with lingering foot. But, on a day, 
 
 He did not come, and then it was I heard 
 
 Stories, that vexed me, of another love : 
 
 Melixa's mother, and the harp-player 
 
 Told me — and both are friends — he'd come no more. 
 
 And that his liouse was loud with pipes and songs, 
 
 And gay with crowns, not woven now for me. 
 
 Oh, Thestylis ! twelve days ago this was. 
 
 And never have I seen him since that time.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 381 
 
 And never shall, except my magic works : 
 Therefore blow up the flame, and whirl tlio wheel ! 
 
 Lady Moon ! speed this spell ; and fetch me my false- 
 hearted lover. 
 
 Speed this spell ! if it brings you, 
 Delphis ! love shall live anew : 
 If in vain I Avatch and wait, 
 Delphis, love will turn to hate. 
 Subtle drugs I treasure here, 
 Drugs of awful force and fear : 
 A S3'rian witch culled these for me 
 In lonely caverns by the sea. 
 Delphis ! if I brew this drink 
 It will send you, as I think, 
 Down to Hades' gate, to seek 
 A colder lip, a paler cheek. 
 Moon ! spare me this at last ! 
 
 Moon ! speed it — if I must. 
 
 And now farewell ! for one day more 
 
 1 wait, and love him as before ! 
 Farewell, pale ]\[oon, and planets bright. 
 Watchers with me this silent m<A\t I
 
 382 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 
 THE TWENTY-SEVENTH IDYLL OF THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Da/ihnis. Wise was tlie beautiful Helen, who fled with 
 
 Paris her Shepherd ! 
 Wise is my beautiful Helen, who kisses her Daphnis 
 
 and loves him ! 
 T/tc Shepherdess. Sir ! never flatter youi'self ! there is 
 
 nothing whatever in kisses ! 
 1). Nothing in kissing, good sooth ! there is this, there 
 
 is honey and heart's-ease ! 
 S. Well then ! I lave my lips, and away goes thy kiss 
 
 with the water ! 
 T). Lavest thy lips ? pretty lips ! now, then, there is 
 
 room for another ! 
 S. Go to thy heifers : Impertinent ' one is enough 
 
 from a maiden. 
 T). Be not too proud, dear Maid ! youth's spring-time 
 
 passes like dreaming ! 
 S. Raisins are nice as grapes, and the dry rose is fra- 
 grant as ever !
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 383 
 
 D. Eose-bud ! come into the shade ! in truth I liave 
 
 somewhat to tell thee. 
 S. Xo ! for right well I remember the nonsense von 
 
 cheated me once with. 
 D. Xay ! but come under the elm-trees and listen 
 
 how sweetly my pipe blows ! 
 S. Pipe by thyself to thy heart's content, for T like not 
 
 the music. 
 I). Ai ! Ai ! anger not Queen Cythergea, the Mistress 
 
 of Maidens ! 
 >S'. Queen Cythera?a may frown, so Artemis guard me 
 
 and love me. 
 IJ. Hush ! never say so ! the goddess will trip thee 
 
 and hopelessly net thee ! 
 S. Trip me what trips she may, — great Artemis' help 
 
 can deliver ; 
 Ah ! take away your hand ! indeed, you will foi'ce me 
 
 to hurt vou. 
 J). Never was maiden alive who shunned Ents ; and 
 
 think'st thou to 'scape him ? 
 S. Nay ! but ])y Pan I will try, tho' thou should'st pray 
 
 him to yoke me.
 
 384 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 D. Yes, but that is because I don't wish a worse lover 
 
 to win thee ! 
 >S'. Worse ! I have plenty for choice, and nothing that 
 
 pleases of plenty ! 
 D. Cruel ! when I — so true — am one, and the fondest 
 
 of any. 
 >S'. Well, dear ! what can I say ? these wedding-s brino- 
 
 oceans of troubles. 
 B. Troubles ? not thev ! nor cares ; but only delierht- 
 
 ings and dances. 
 S. Sure, I have heard people tell all wives are afraid 
 
 of their husbands. 
 J). Nonsense : they do as they please ; j ust show me 
 
 a wife who's not master. 
 S. Then— when the little ones come ; — I quake so at 
 
 thinking of children. 
 D. Artemis, she is thy Queen, and she is the helper of 
 
 child- bed. 
 >S'. Well ! I should horribly dread — moreover, it spoils 
 
 a good figure. 
 I). When you have sweet little babes, girls and boys 
 
 are new grace to their mother.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 385 
 
 >S'. All ! suppose — only suppose — I said " yes," what 
 
 is there to live on ? 
 I). All my sheep and goats, my pastures and groves, I 
 
 shall give thee. 
 S. Swear it, lest after I yield, you will change your 
 
 mind and desert me ! 
 D. Never, so help me Pan ! — no, not if you wished 
 
 rae to leave you, 
 >S'. If I say " yes," would you give me nice clothes, and 
 
 a house, and a sheepfold ? 
 D. Beautiful clothes you shall have, and a house, and 
 
 the best of my sheepfolds. 
 >S'. What could I ever say to my father ? so old, and 
 
 to leave him ! 
 U. Glad of thy marriage he'll be, as soon as he knows 
 
 what my name is. 
 >S^. What is your name, dear Swain ? some names are 
 
 marvellous pretty ! 
 D. Daphnis they call me : my father was Lycidas, 
 
 mother Nomcea. 
 
 S. Highly respectable folk ! and I, too, was born quite 
 
 a lady, 
 
 2 B
 
 386 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 D. Yes ! very nearly, my Sweet ! your father, you 
 
 know, was Menalcas ! 
 S. Oh, well ! show me your grove, and where you have 
 
 builded your cow-pens. 
 D. This is the way ! you will see how tall the cypresses 
 
 grow there. 
 S. Feed on, little she-goats ! I am going awhile with 
 
 the shepherd ! 
 D. Graze on, bulls and cows ! I show this maiden my 
 
 pastures ! 
 >S'. Naughty one ! what do you do ? take away your 
 
 hand from my neck-string. 
 D. Nay, Dear ! I did but seek if these dear little 
 
 apples were ripened. 
 ^S*. Oh, but I tremble, by Pan ! take away your fingers, 
 
 I tell you ! 
 D. Fear nothing ! beautiful Love ! what a coward it is 
 
 to be frightened ! 
 S. No, but you rumple me so ; and, see ! you will ruin 
 
 my amice ! 
 D. Not if you sit on this beautiful fleece which I 
 spread o'er the flowers.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 387 
 
 S. All ! ah ! what can you want to unloosen the 
 
 knot of my girdle ? 
 D. Dear, 'tis a votive gift I would offer to Queen 
 
 Aphrodite. 
 S. Nay, now ! some one will come I indeed, but I 
 
 think I hear something ! 
 D. That is the cypresses singing our marriage-song, 
 
 one to the other. 
 >S'. Look, you have rended my skirt ; oh, stay, now — 
 
 or I shall be naked. 
 D. Ne'er heed the rending ! A new one I'll buy thee, 
 
 far better and finer ! 
 S. Anything now you'll give, but after — perhaps — 
 
 not a salt-pinch. 
 D. Sweetheart ! if life were to give, my life and soul 
 
 I would give thee. 
 aS*. Artemis, be not wroth ! thy maid forgetteth her 
 
 mistress ! 
 D. Eros shall have his calf, and Queen Aphrodite her 
 
 heifer !
 
 388 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 S. Ah me ! here came I, maid ; — but hence go I home- 
 wards no maiden ! 
 
 D. Nay, no maid, but a wife ! no maid, but, may be, 
 a Mother ! 
 
 So these two, in the strength of their youth, and the joy 
 
 of their beauty, 
 Sported, with kisses and talk ; then rose from their 
 
 stolen embracements ; 
 She to her unwitting sheep, to feed the younglings, 
 
 departed 
 Blushing rose-red to the eyes, but in innermost bosom 
 
 rejoicing ; 
 Radiant he to his herds, heart-glad with the bliss of 
 
 the bride-bed.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 389 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ADONIS. 
 
 [fkom BTO^^] 
 
 Woe is me for Adonis 1 gone dead is the comely 
 
 Adouis ! 
 Dead is tlie god-like Adonis ! the young Loves wail 
 
 for him, ai ! ai ! 
 Sleep no more, wrapped in thy mantles of Tyrian, Lady 
 
 of Cyprus ! 
 Rise ! don thy raiment of ashen, pale mourner, and beat 
 
 on thy bosom ! 
 Tell forth thy sorrow to all — he is dead, thy darling 
 
 Adonis. 
 
 Ai ! ai ! wail for Adonis ! — the young Loves wail for 
 
 him, ai ! ai ! 
 Hurt on the hill lies Adonis the beautiful ; torn with 
 
 the boar's tusk, 
 Torn on the ivory thigh with the ivory tusk, his low 
 
 gasping
 
 390 • TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Anguishes Cypris' soul : the dark blood trickles in rivers 
 Down from his snowy side; his eyes are dreamily 
 
 dimming 
 Under their lids ■ and the rose leaves his lip, and the 
 
 kisses upon it 
 Fade, and wax fainter, and faintest, and die, before 
 
 Cypris can snatch them ; 
 Dear to the Goddess his kiss, though it be not the kiss 
 
 of the living ; 
 Dear — but Adonis wists nought of the mouth that 
 
 kissed him a-dying. 
 
 Ai ! ai ! wail for Adonis ! — ai ! ai ! say the Loves for 
 
 Adonis. 
 Cruel ! ah, cruel the wound on the thigh of the hunter 
 
 Adonis, 
 Yet in her innermost heart a deeper wears Queen 
 
 Cytheraea. 
 Round the fair dead boy his hounds pace, dismally 
 
 howling ; 
 Round him the hill-spirits weep ; but chiefest of all 
 
 Aphrodite,
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 391 
 
 Letting her bright hair loose, goes wild thi-ough the 
 
 depths of the forest 
 Passionate, panting, unkempt ; with feet unsandalled, 
 
 whose beauty 
 Thorn-bushes tear as she passes, and drip with the blood 
 
 of the Goddess. 
 Bitterly, bitterly wailing, down all the long hollows she 
 
 hurries. 
 Calling him Husband and Love — her Boy — her Syrian 
 
 Hunter. 
 Meantime dead in his ofore lieth he — from g;vo'u\ unto 
 
 shoulder 
 Bloody ; from breast to thigh ; the fair young flank of 
 
 Adonis, 
 Heretofore white as the snow, dull now, and dabbled 
 
 with purple. 
 
 Ai ! ai ! woe for Adonis ! the Loves say, " Woe for 
 
 Adonis ! "' 
 That which hath killed her sweet lover hath killed a 
 
 grace which was god-like ! 
 Perfect the grace seemed of Cypris so long as Adonis 
 
 was living ;
 
 392 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Gone is her loveliness now — ai ! ai ! gone dead with 
 
 Adonis : 
 All the hills echo it — all the oaks whisper it, " Ah, for 
 
 Adonis ! " 
 Even the river - waves ripple the sorrows of sad 
 
 Aphrodite, 
 Even the springs on the hills drop tears for the hunter 
 
 Adonis ; 
 Tea, and the rose-leaves are redder for grief; for the 
 
 grief Cytherjea 
 Tells in the hollow dells, and utters to townland and 
 
 woodland. 
 
 Cry ! cry ! Lady of Cyprus, " Oh ! dead is my darling 
 
 Adonis ! " 
 Echo answers thee back, " Lo ! dead is thy darling 
 
 Adonis." 
 Who, good sooth, but would say, Ai ! ai ! for her 
 
 passionate story ? 
 When that she saw and knew the wound of Adonis — 
 
 the death-wound — 
 Watched the blood come red from the gash, and the 
 
 white thigh a-waning,
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 393 
 
 Wide outrauglit slie her arms, and bewailed, " Ah ! 
 
 stay, mv Adonis ! 
 Stay for me, ill-starred love ! — stay ! stay ! till I take 
 
 thee the last time, 
 Hold thee and fold thee, and lips meet lips, and mingle 
 
 together. 
 Rouse thee — a little, Adonis ! kiss back for the last 
 
 time, beloved ! 
 Kiss me — kiss me — only so long as the life of a kiss is ! 
 So I may suck from thy soul to my mouth, to my 
 
 innermost heart-beat. 
 All the breath of thy life, and take the last of its love- 
 spell 
 Unto the uttermost end : — one kiss ! I will tenderly 
 
 keep it 
 As I did thee, my Adonis, sith thou dost leave me, 
 
 Adonis ! 
 Far thou dost go and for long — thou goest to the region 
 
 of shadows. 
 Unto a hateful and pitiless Power, and I, the unhappy, 
 Live ! and alack ! am a goddess, and cannot die and 
 
 go after ;
 
 394 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Take thou my spouse, dark Queen! have here my hus- 
 band, as thou art 
 
 Stronger by far than I, and to thee goeth all that is 
 goodly. 
 
 Utterly hapless my fate, and utterly hopeless my grief is. 
 
 Weeping my love who is dead, and hating the Fa*:e 
 that hath slain him. 
 
 Fled is my joy, like a dream ; thou art dead, thrice 
 lovely and longed for ! 
 
 Queen C3'ther8ea is widowed — the Loves in my bowers 
 are idle — 
 
 Gone my charmed girdle with thee ; why, rash one, 
 went'st thou a-hunting ? 
 
 Mad wert thou, being so fair, to match thee with beasts 
 of the forest." 
 
 So grieved the Lady of Cyprus — the young Loves wept 
 
 for her sorrow, 
 Saying " Ai ! ai ! Cythereea ! gone dead is her darling 
 
 Adonis." 
 Drop by drop as the hunter bleeds, the tears of the 
 
 Goddess
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 395 
 
 Fall and blend with the blood, and both on the ground 
 
 become flowers ; 
 -blossoms grow- 
 out of the tear-drops. 
 
 Rose-blossoms grow from the blood, and wind-lilies 
 
 Ai ! ai I comely Adonis — gone dead is the god-like 
 
 Adonis ; 
 "Wander no longer bewailing in glade and in thicket, 
 
 sad Ladv ! 
 Fair is his bed of leaves, and fragrant the couch where 
 
 thy Dead lies. 
 Dead, but as lovely as life — yea, dead — but as lovely 
 
 as sleep is ; 
 Lap him in mantles of silk — such robes as he once 
 
 t 
 
 took delight in 
 When, by thy side, he passed in caressing the season of 
 
 starbeams, 
 Lulled on a couch of gold; — though dead, the raiments 
 
 become him ; 
 Heap on him garlands and blossoms and buds, entomb 
 
 them together ;
 
 396 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 "When that Adonis was dead, the flowers died too, and 
 
 were withered ! 
 Rain on him perfumes and odours, shed myrtle and 
 
 spices upon him ; 
 Let all delightful things die and go with him, for dead 
 
 is the dearest ! 
 
 So lies he lovely, in death-shroud of purple, the fair 
 
 young Adonis ; 
 Hound about his couch the Loves go, piteously 
 
 wailing. 
 Tearing their hair for Adonis ; and one has charge of 
 
 his arrows. 
 One of his polished bow, and one of his well-feathered 
 
 quiver ; 
 One unclasps his sandal, and one in a water-pot golden 
 Brings bright water to lave his limbs, and one at the 
 
 bier-head 
 Fans with her pinions the forehead and eyes of the 
 
 sleeping Adonis. 
 
 Ah ! but for Cypris herself the young Loves sorrow the 
 sorest ;
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 397 
 
 Quenched are the marriage-lamps in the halls of the 
 
 God Hymenajus, 
 Scattered his marriage crowns ; no more he sings, 
 
 " Hymen, oh ! Hymen," 
 " Hymen ! " no more is the song he goes singing, but 
 
 evermore " ai ! ai ! " 
 " Ah, for Adonis," he cries, and " Ah ! " say the Graces, 
 
 "Adonis!" 
 More than the marriage-god even, they weep for the 
 
 Syrian huntsman, 
 One to the other still saying, " Dead — dead is the 
 
 lovely Adonis ! " 
 All the nine Muses bewail — but he hears no more 
 
 music and singing. 
 Nay, not if that he would ; Fate holds him fast and 
 
 for ever. 
 
 Cease, Cythera^a ! thy sobs ; a little while rest from 
 thine anguish, 
 Soon must thy tears flow again, and again come the 
 season of sorrow !
 
 398 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 A SOLDIER^S DEATH. 
 
 Fair and becoming it is for a man 
 
 To fight for home and children and wife ; 
 And death, that comes when the Fates please, can 
 
 Come never but once. To the glorious strife 
 Let each, then, go with a heart of brass. 
 
 As hard as the blade that their brave hands draw ! 
 Die well ! for die we must, alas. 
 
 Though the gods were our fathers. 'Tis Heaven's 
 
 law ! 
 
 From Callinns. 
 
 Never the glorious tale of him dies, nor the deeds of 
 him ever ! 
 Under the earth he may lie, yet he is greater than 
 Fate, 
 Whomso, firm in the battle, unyielding, awaiting his 
 death-blow. 
 Fighting for children and home. Mars the omnipo- 
 tent slew.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 399 
 
 But if lie 'scape the message of death — the far-reach- 
 ing slayer — 
 'Scape it and come safe home, bringing the garland 
 of war ; 
 Then in his town he is honoured, by old men and 
 
 young men together, 
 Many a glory and joy hath he, or ever he dies. 
 
 From Tyrtccus. 
 
 To die must needs be sad, the gods do know it ; 
 
 For were death sweet, they'd die, and straightway 
 
 show it. 
 
 SccppJio. 
 
 A LOVER'S WISH. 
 
 Look'st thou, my Star ! on the Stars ? Ah me ! if I 
 
 were the Heavens, 
 
 How with my thousands of eyes, I would look down 
 
 upon thee ! 
 
 From Plato.
 
 400 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 LOTUS-EATING. 
 Whoso has tasted the honey-sweet fruit from the stem 
 
 of the lotus, 
 Nevermore wishes to leave it, and never once loners to 
 
 go homeward ; 
 There would he stay if he could, content, with the 
 
 eaters of the lotus. 
 Plucking and eating the lotus, forgetting that he was 
 
 returning. 
 
 From Homer (Od. ix. 94). 
 
 TRUE LOVE. 
 
 Drink from my cup. Dear ! live my life ! — be still 
 Young with my youth ! have one heart, word, and 
 
 will, 
 One love for Loth ! let one wreath shade our eyes ; 
 Be mad when I am — wise when I am wise ! 
 
 From the Skolia.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 401 
 
 SWORD AND SPEAR. 
 
 The wealth I have is my sword and spear, 
 Aud the fence I fight with, my buckler fair ; 
 "With these, the lord of all, I go, 
 With these I plough, with these I sow ; 
 With these I tread the sweet red wine 
 From grapes and vats that never were mine ; 
 With these, albeit no varlets I fee, 
 Wherever I come, men lackey me. 
 
 For the knaves are afeard of my sword and spear. 
 And the fence I fight with, my buckler fair ; 
 And so at my knees they humbly fall, 
 Bringing me all, and giving me all ; 
 And they fawn upon me, because of my sword, 
 And because of my spear they call me lord ; 
 For wealth unbounded is sword and spear, 
 And the fence that I fight with, my buckler fair. 
 
 From the Skolia. 
 
 2 c
 
 402 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 PLANTS AND MEN. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! when mallows die, when winter tempests 
 kill 
 
 The light-leaved pallid parsley, or the curly tufted dill, 
 
 They live again, and come to leaf and seed each open- 
 ing year ; 
 
 But we that are the lords of all — we men of wisdom 
 clear, 
 
 So strong and great and crafty, in dying once die out, 
 
 And lie for ever in the ground, stark, quiet, wrapped 
 about 
 
 With sleep that hath no waking up. — 
 
 F7vm Theocritus.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 403 
 
 THE DEATH OF BION. 
 
 Ah ! Bion, tliou art poisoned ! an ill drink hatli brought 
 
 thee low; 
 How could it pass such lips as thine, and not to honey 
 
 grow ? 
 And who in all the world could be so bad in heart and 
 
 head, 
 
 To hear thee sing, then murder thee ? — 'tis Poesy that's 
 
 dead ! 
 
 From Mosclms.
 
 404 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 PRAYER TO THE MUSES. 
 [from proclus.] 
 
 Glory and praise to those sweet lamps of earth, 
 The nine fair Daughters of Almighty Jove, 
 
 Who all the passage dark to death from birth 
 
 Lead wandering souls with their bright beams of love. 
 
 Through cares of mortal life, through pain and woe, 
 The tender solace of their counsel saves ; 
 
 The healing secrets of their songs forego 
 
 Despair ; and when we tremble at the waves, 
 
 On life's wild sea of murk incertitude. 
 
 Their gentle touch upon the helm is pressed, 
 
 Their hand points out the beacon-star of good, 
 
 Where we shall make our harbour, and have rest. 
 
 The planet of our home wherefrom we fell, 
 Allured by this poor show of lower things, 
 
 Tempted among earth's dull deceits to dwell : 
 
 But oh ! great Sisters, hear his prayer who sings.
 
 THE GREEK POETS. 405 
 
 And calm the restless flutter of his breast, 
 
 And fill him with the thirst for wisdom's stream ; 
 
 Nor ever suffer earthly sights unblest 
 
 To turn his vision from the eternal beam. 
 
 Always and -always higher, from the throng 
 Lawless and witless, lead his feet aright 
 
 Life's perils and perplexities among, 
 
 To the white centre of the sacred light. 
 
 Feed him with food of that rich fruit which grows 
 On stems of splendid learning — dower him still 
 
 "With gifts of eloquence to vanquish those 
 
 Who err ; — let soft persuasion change their will. 
 
 Hear, heavenly Sisters, hear ! oh, ye who know 
 The winds of wisdom's sea, the course to steer ; 
 
 Wlio light the flame that lightens all below. 
 And bring the spirits of the perfect there 
 
 Where the immortals are, when this life's fever 
 Is left behind as a dread gulf o'erpassed ; 
 
 And souls, like marinei's, escaped for ever, 
 Throng on the happy foreland, saved at last.
 
 4o6 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 ►So bring, high Muses ! open me the scroll- 
 Where Truth is writ in characters of fire ; 
 
 Roll from my eyes the mists of life — oh ! roll, 
 That I may have my spirit's deep desire. 
 
 Discerning the divine in undivine, 
 
 The god in man — the life of us in death ; 
 
 Nor let dire doubtings pluck this soul of mine 
 From its most precious hope — to merge beneath 
 
 Deep floods of black oblivion, far from bliss, 
 
 From light, from wisdom — never let dark doom 
 
 Shut my lost soul in such despair as this, 
 ]\Iy soul that is so weary of the gloom ! 
 
 But hear and help, ye wise and shining Nine ! 
 
 I yearn and strive towards your heavenly side ; 
 Teach me the secret of the mystic sign, 
 
 Give me the lore that guards, the words that guide. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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