OVELETTERS OFA 
 VIOLINIST i 
 
 • RIC MACKAY 
 
Paste. ?J?4VT> ,. 
 
 i LU 
 
 Book 
 
 Copyright N°_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
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LOVE-LETTERS 
 
 of& Violinist* 
 
 Eric 
 
 ftM.C*JdweIl Co. 
 New York^'Boiton. 
 
Two Copies Received 
 St.. 13 1906 
 j Gcpyrisht Entry , 
 
 | if, 13, tjt I 
 
 S CLASS /{ yicNo. 
 
 I IS L U 4 A 
 
 ) COPY'S/ •'^ 
 
 
 xfV" 
 
 ' Copyright, igo6 
 By< H. M. Caldwell Co. 
 
Love Letters of a Violinist 
 
wM—rn 
 

 Contents 
 
 LETTER 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Prelude 
 
 II. 
 
 Sorrow 
 
 
 III. 
 
 Regrets 
 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yearnings . 
 
 
 V. 
 
 Confessions 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 Despair 
 
 
 VII. 
 
 Hope . 
 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A Vision 
 
 
 IX. 
 
 To - MORROW 
 
 
 X. 
 
 A Retrospect 
 
 
 XI. 
 
 Faith . 
 
 
 XII. 
 
 Victory 
 
 
 24 
 
 36 
 
 48 
 
 60 
 72 
 84 
 
 97 
 109 
 121 
 133 
 
Love Letters of a 
 Violinist 
 
 LETTER FIRST 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 Teach me to love thee as a man, in 
 
 prayer, 
 
 May love the picture of a sainted nun, 
 
 And I will woo thee, when the day is 
 
 done, 
 
 With tears and vows, and fealty past 
 
 compare, 
 And seek the sunlight in thy golden hair, 
 And kiss thy hand to claim thy beni- 
 son. 
 
 I shall not need to gaze upon the skies, 
 Or mark the message of the morning 
 breeze, 
 
 i 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 Or heed the notes of birds among the 
 trees, 
 If, taught by thee to yearn for Paradise, 
 I may confront thee with adoring eyes 
 And do thee homage on my bended 
 knees. 
 
 For I would be thy pilgrim; I would 
 bow 
 Low as the grave, and, lingering in 
 
 the same, 
 Live like a sceptre; or be burnt in 
 flame 
 To do thee good. A kingdom for a vow 
 I'd freely give to be elected now 
 
 The chief of all the servants of thy 
 fame. 
 
 Yea, like a Roman of the days of old, 
 I would, for thee, construct a votive 
 shrine, 
 
And fan the fire, and consecrate the 
 wine ; 
 And have a statue there, of purest gold, 
 And bow thereto, unlov'd and uncon- 
 soled, 
 But proud withal to know the statue 
 thine. 
 
 For it were sacrilege to stand erect, 
 And face to face, within thy chamber 
 
 lone, 
 To urge again my right to what hath 
 flown: 
 A bygone trust, a passion coldly check'd ! 
 Were I a king of men, or laurel-deck'd, 
 I were not fit to claim thee as mine 
 own. 
 
 What am I then ? The sexton of a joy, 
 So lately slain, — so lately on its bier 
 3 
 
£H Love Letters 
 
 Laid out in state, — I dare not, for 
 the fear 
 Of this dead thing, regard it as a toy. 
 It was a splendid Hope without alloy, 
 And now, behold! I greet it with a 
 tear. 
 
 It is my pastime, and my penance, too, 
 My pride, my comfort, and my discon- 
 tent, 
 To count my sorrows ere the day is 
 spent, , 
 And dream, at night, of love within the 
 
 blue 
 Of thy sweet eyes, and tremble through 
 and through, 
 And keep my house, as one that doth 
 lament. 
 
 Have I not sinn'd? I have; and I am- 
 curst, 
 
 4 
 
of a Violinist H£ 
 
 And Misery makes the moments, as 
 
 they fly, 
 Harder than stone, and sorrier than a 
 sigh. 
 Oh, I did wrong thee when I met thee 
 
 first, 
 And in my soul a fantasy was nurs'd 
 That seem'd an outcome of the upper 
 sky. 
 
 I thought a poor musician might aspire; 
 I thought he might obtain from thee a 
 
 look, 
 As Dian's self will smile upon a 
 brook, 
 And make it glad, though deaf to its de- 
 sire, 
 And tinge its ripples with a tender fire, 
 And make it thankful in its lonely 
 nook. 
 
 5 
 
iH Love Letters 
 
 I thought to win thee ere the waning 
 days 
 Had caught the snow, ere yet a word 
 
 of mine 
 Had pall'd upon thee in the summer 
 shine ; 
 And I was fain to meet thee in the ways 
 Of wild romance, and cling to thee, and 
 gaze, 
 Between two kisses, on thy face 
 divine. 
 
 Ay! on thy face, and on the rippling 
 hair 
 That makes a mantle round thee in 
 
 the night, 
 A royal robe, a network of the light, 
 Which fairies brought for thee, to keep 
 
 thee fair, 
 And hide the glories of a beauty rare 
 6 
 
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 As those of sylphs, whereof the poets 
 write. 
 
 I thought, by token of thy matchless 
 form, 
 To curb thy will, and make thee mine 
 
 indeed, 
 From head to foot. There is no other 
 creed 
 For men and maids, in safety or in storm, 
 Than this of love. Repentance may be 
 warm, 
 But love is best, though broken like a 
 reed. 
 
 " She shall be mine till death ! " I wildly 
 said, 
 " Mine, and mine only." And I 
 
 vow'd, apace, 
 That I would have thee in my dwell- 
 ing-place ; 
 
 7 
 
•SH Love Letters 
 
 Yea, like a despot, I would see thee led 
 
 Straight to the altar, with a tear unshed, 
 
 A wordless woe imprinted on thy face. 
 
 I wanted thee. I yearned for thee afar. 
 " She shall be mine," I cried, " and 
 
 mine alone. 
 A Gorgon grief may change me into 
 stone 
 If I be balk'd." I hankered for a star, 
 And soar'd, in thought, to where the 
 angels are, 
 To snatch my prize beyond the torrid 
 zone. 
 
 I heeded not the teaching of the past. 
 I heeded not the wisdom of the years. 
 " She shall be mine," I urged, " till 
 death appears, 
 For death, I know, will conquer me at 
 last." 
 
 8 
 
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 And then I found the sky was overcast ; 
 And then I felt the bitterness of tears. 
 
 "Behold!" I thought, "Behold, how 
 fair to see 
 Is this white wonder ! " And I wish'd 
 
 thee well 
 But, like a demon out of darkest hell, 
 I marr'd thy peace, and claim'd thee on 
 
 the plea 
 Of pride and passion ; and there came to 
 me 
 The far-off warning of a wedding- 
 bell. 
 
 A friend of thine was walking to her 
 doom, 
 A wife-elect, who, ere the summer sun 
 Had plied its course, would weep for 
 what was done, — 
 9 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 A friend of thine and mine, who, in the 
 
 gloom 
 Of her own soul, had built herself a 
 
 tomb, 
 To tremble there, when tears had 
 
 ceas'd to run. 
 
 On this I brooded ; but ah ! not for this 
 Did I abandon what I sought the 
 
 while : 
 The dear damnation of thy tender 
 smile, 
 And all the tortures that were like a 
 
 bliss, 
 And all the raptures of a holier kiss 
 Than fair Miranda's on the magic 
 isle. 
 
 I urged my suit. " My bond ! " I did 
 exclaim, 
 
 10 
 
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 " My pink and white, the hand I love 
 
 to press, 
 The golden hair that crowns her lover 
 
 liness ; 
 And all the beauties which I cannot 
 
 name ; 
 All, all are mine, and I will have the 
 
 same, 
 Though she should hate me for my 
 
 love's excess." 
 
 I knew myself. I knew the withering fate 
 That would consume me, if, amid my 
 
 trust, 
 I sued for Hope as beggars for a crust, 
 " O God ! " I cried, entranced though 
 
 desolate, 
 " Hallow my love, or turn it into hate." 
 And then I bow'd, in anguish, to the 
 dust. 
 
 ii 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 LETTER SECOND 
 
 SORROW 
 
 Yes, I was mad. I know it. I was mad, 
 For there is madness in the looks of 
 
 love ; 
 And he who frights a tender, brooding 
 dove 
 Is not more base than I, and not so sad ; 
 For I had kilFd the hope that made me 
 glad, 
 And curs'd, in thought, the sunlight 
 from above. 
 
 He was a fool, indeed, who lately tried 
 To touch the moon, far-shining in the 
 
 trees. 
 He clomb the branches with his hands 
 
 and knees, 
 
of a Violinist *# 
 
 And craned his neck to kiss what he 
 
 espied. 
 But down he fell, unseemly in his pride, 
 And told his follies to the fitful breeze. 
 
 I was convicted of as strange a thing, 
 And wild as strange; for, in a hope 
 
 forlorn, 
 I fought with Fate. But now the flag 
 is torn 
 Which, like a herald in the days of 
 
 spring 
 I held aloft. The birds have ceased to 
 sing 
 The dear old songs they sang from 
 morn to morn. 
 
 All holy things avoid me. Breezes pass 
 And will not fan my cheek, as once 
 they did. 
 
 13 
 
#1 Love Letters 
 
 The gloaming hies away like one for- 
 bid; 
 And day returns, and shadows on the 
 
 grass 
 Fall from the trees; and night and morn 
 amass 
 No joys for me this side the coffin-lid. 
 
 Absolve me, Sweet! Absolve me, or I 
 die; 
 And give me pardon, if no other 
 
 boon. 
 Ay, give me pardon, and the sun and 
 moon, 
 And all the stars that wander through 
 
 the sky 
 Will be thy sponsors, and the gladden'd 
 cry 
 Of one poor heart will thank thee for 
 it soon. 
 
 14 
 
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 And mine Amati — my beloved one — 
 The tender sprite who soothes, as best 
 
 he may, 
 My fever'd pulse, and makes a roun- 
 delay 
 Of all my fears — e'en he, when all is 
 
 done, 
 Will be thy friend, and yield his place to 
 none 
 To wish thee well, and greet thee day 
 by day. 
 
 For he is human, though, to look at 
 him, 
 To see his shape, to hear — as from 
 
 the throat 
 Of some bright angel — his ecstatic 
 note, 
 A sinful soul might dream of cherubim. 
 
 l $ 
 
#: Love Letters 
 
 Ay! and he watches when my senses 
 swim, 
 And I can trace the thoughts that o'er 
 him float. 
 
 Often, indeed, I tell him more than man 
 E'er tells to woman in the honied 
 
 hours 
 Of tranced night, in cities or in 
 bowers ; 
 And more, perchance, than lovers in the 
 
 span 
 Of absent letters may, with scheming, 
 plan 
 For life's surrender in the fairy 
 towers. 
 
 And he consoles me. There is none I 
 find, 
 None in the world, so venturesome 
 and wild, 
 
 16 
 
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 And yet withal, so tender, true, and 
 mild, 
 As he can be. And those who think him 
 
 blind 
 Are much to blame. His ways are ever 
 kind; 
 And he can plead as softly as a child. 
 
 And when he talks to me I feel the touch 
 Of some sweet hope, a feeling of con- 
 tent 
 Almost akin to what by joy is meant. 
 And then I brood on this; for Love is 
 
 such, 
 It makes us weep to want it overmuch, 
 If wayward Fate withhold his full 
 consent. 
 
 Oh, come to me, thou friend of my de- 
 sire, 
 My lov'd Amati ! At a word of thine 
 17 
 
3H Love Letters 
 
 I can be brave, and dash away the 
 brine 
 From off my cheek, and neutralize the 
 
 fire 
 That makes me mad, and use thee as a 
 lyre 
 To curb the anguish of this soul of 
 mine. 
 
 Wood as thou art, my treasure, with the 
 strings 
 Fair on thy form, as fits thy parent- 
 age, 
 I cannot deem that in a gilded cage 
 Thy spirit lives. The bird that in thee 
 
 sings 
 Is not a mortal. No! Enthralment 
 flings 
 Its charm about thee like a poet's rage. 
 
 iS 
 
Thou hast no sex; but, in an elfish way, 
 Thou dost entwine in one, as in a 
 
 troth, 
 The gleesome thoughts of man and 
 maiden both. 
 The voice is fullest at the flush of day, 
 But after midnight there is much to say 
 In weird remembrance of an April oath. 
 
 And when the moon is seated on the 
 throne 
 Of some white cloud, with her attend- 
 ants near — 
 The wondering stars that hold her 
 name in fear — 
 Oh! then I know that mine Amati's 
 
 tone 
 Is all for me, and that he stands alone, 
 First of his tribe, belov'd without a 
 peer. 
 
 19 
 
#£ Love Letters 
 
 Yea, this is so, my Lady! A fair form 
 Made of the garner'd relics of a tree, 
 In which of old a dryad of the lea 
 Did live and die. He flourish'd in a 
 
 storm, 
 And learnt to warble when the days 
 were warm 
 And learnt at night the secrets of the 
 sea. 
 
 And now he is all mine, for my caress 
 And my strong bow, — an Ariel, as 
 
 it seems, — 
 A something sweeter than the sweet- 
 est dreams; 
 A prison'd wizard that has come to bless 
 And will not curse, though tortured, 
 more or less, 
 By some remembrance that athwart 
 him streams. 
 
 20 
 
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 It is the thought of April. 'Tis the 
 tie 
 That made us one ; for then the earth 
 
 was fair 
 With all things on 't, and summer in 
 the air 
 Tingled for thee and me. A soft 
 
 reply 
 Came to thy lips, and I was like to die 
 To hear thee make such coy confes- 
 sions there. 
 
 It was the dawn of love or (so I 
 thought) 
 The tender cooing of thy bosom- 
 bird— 
 The beating heart that flutter'd at a 
 word, 
 And seem'd for me alone to be so fraught 
 
•SH Love Letters 
 
 With wants unutter'd! All my being 
 > caught 
 
 Glamour thereat, as at a boon con- 
 ferr'd. 
 
 And I was lifted, in a minute's space 
 As nigh to Heaven as Heaven is nigh 
 
 to thee, 
 And in thy wistful glances I could 
 see 
 Something that seem'd a joy, and in thy 
 
 face 
 A splendour fit for angels in the place 
 Where God has named them all in 
 their degree. 
 
 Ah, none so blest as I, and none so 
 proud, 
 In that wild moment when a thrill 
 was sent 
 
of a Violinist 
 
 FtT 
 
 Right through my soul, as if from 
 thee it went 
 As flame from fire ! But this was disal- 
 
 low'd ; 
 And I shall sooner wear a winter 
 shroud 
 Than thou revoke my doom of banish- 
 ment. 
 
 2 3 
 
SH Love Letters 
 
 LETTER THIRD 
 
 REGRETS 
 
 When I did wake, to-day, a bird of 
 Heaven, 
 A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering 
 
 sprite, 
 Did seem to sing a song for my 
 delight ; 
 And, far away, did make its holy steven 
 Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are 
 seven ; 
 And I did weep thereat in my despite. 
 
 O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious 
 king 
 Of all this splendour that we call the 
 earth ! 
 
 24 
 
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 For thee the lark distils his morning 
 worth, 
 But who will hear the matins that I 
 
 sing? 
 Who will be glad to greet me in the 
 spring, 
 Or heed the voice of one so little 
 worth ? 
 
 Who will accept the thanks I would 
 entone 
 For having met thee? and for having 
 
 seen 
 Thy face an instant in the bower 
 serene 
 
 Of perfect faith? The splendour was 
 thine own, 
 
 The rapture mine; and Doubt was over- 
 thrown, 
 
 25 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 And Grief forgot the key-note of its 
 threne. 
 
 I rose in haste. I seiz'd, as in a trance, 
 My violin, the friend I love the best 
 (After thyself, sweet soul!) and 
 wildly press'd, 
 And firmly drew it, with a master's 
 
 glance, 
 Straight to my heart! The sunbeams 
 seem'd to dance 
 Athwart the strings, to rob me of my 
 rest. 
 
 For then a living thing it did appear, 
 And every chord had sympathies for 
 
 me; 
 And something like a lover's lowly 
 plea 
 Did shake its frame, and something like 
 a tear 
 
 26 
 
Fell on my cheek, to mind me of the 
 year 
 When first we met, we two, beside 
 the sea. 
 
 I stood erect, I proudly lifted up 
 
 The Sword of Song, the bow that 
 
 trembled now, 
 As if for joy, my grief to disallow. — 
 Are there not some who, in the choicest 
 
 cup, 
 Imbibe despair, and famish as they sup, 
 Sear'd by a solace that was like a 
 vow? 
 
 Are there not some who weep, and can- 
 not tell 
 Why it is thus? And others who 
 
 repeat 
 Stories of ice, to cool them in the 
 heat? 
 
 27 
 
#3 Love Letters 
 
 And some who quake for doubts they 
 
 cannot quell, 
 And yet are brave? And some who 
 
 smile in Hell 
 For thinking of the sin that was so 
 
 sweet ? 
 
 I have been one who, in the glow of 
 youth, 
 Have liv'd in books, and realized a 
 
 bliss 
 Unfelt by misers, when they count 
 and kiss 
 Their minted joys; and I have known, 
 
 in sooth, 
 The taste of water from the well of 
 Truth, 
 And found it good. But time has 
 alter'd this. 
 
 28 
 
of a Violinist Hr 
 
 I have been hated, scorn'd, and thrust 
 away, 
 By one who is the Regent of the 
 
 flowers, 
 By one who, in the magic of her 
 powers, 
 Changes the day to night, the night to 
 
 day, 
 And makes a potion of the solar ray 
 Which drugs my heart, and deadens 
 it for hours. 
 
 I have been taught that Happiness is 
 coy, 
 And will not come to all who bend 
 
 the knee; 
 That Faith is like the foam upon the 
 sea, 
 And Pride a snare, and Pomp a foolish 
 toy, 
 
 29 
 
•$H Love Letters 
 
 And Hope a moth, whose wings we may 
 destroy ; 
 And she I love has taught these 
 things to me. 
 
 Yes, thou, my Lady! Thou hast made 
 me feel 
 The pangs of that Prometheus who 
 
 was chain'd 
 And would not bow, but evermore 
 maintain'd 
 A fierce revolt. Have I refused to 
 
 kneel ? 
 I do it gladly. But to mine appeal 
 No answer comes, and none will be 
 ordain'd. 
 
 Why, then, this rancour? Why so cold 
 a thing 
 As thy displeasure, O thou dearest 
 One? 
 
 30 
 
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 I meant no wrong. I stole not from 
 the sun 
 The fire of Heaven; but I did seek to 
 
 bring 
 Glory from thee to me; and in the 
 Spring 
 I pray'd the prayer that left me thus 
 undone. 
 
 I pray'd my prayer. I wove into my 
 song 
 Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the 
 
 bleak, 
 The wan despair that words can never 
 speak. 
 I pray'd as if my spirit did belong 
 To some old master, who was wise and 
 strong 
 Because he lov'd, and suffer'd, and 
 was weak. 
 
 3i 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 I curb'd the notes, convulsive, to a sigh, 
 And, when they falter'd most, I made 
 
 them leap 
 Fierce from my bow, as from a sum- 
 mer sleep 
 A young she-devil. I was fired thereby 
 To bolder efforts, and a muffled cry 
 Came from the strings, as if a saint 
 did weep. 
 
 I changed the theme. I dallied with 
 the bow 
 Just time enough to fit it to a mesh 
 Of merry notes, and drew it back 
 afresh 
 To talk of truth and constancy and woe, 
 And life, and love, and madness, and 
 the glow 
 Of mine own soul which burns into 
 my flesh. 
 
 32 
 
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 It was the Lord of music, it was he 
 Who seiz'd my hand. He forced me, 
 
 as I play'd, 
 To think of that ill-fated fairy-glade 
 Where once we stroll'd at night; and 
 
 wild and free 
 My notes did ring; and quickly unto 
 me 
 There came the joy that maketh us 
 afraid. 
 
 Oh ! I shall die of tasting in my dreams 
 Poison of love and ecstasy of pain; 
 For I shall never kneel to thee again, 
 Or sit in bowers, or wander by the 
 
 streams 
 Of golden vales, or of the morning 
 beams 
 Construct a wreath to crown thee on 
 the plain! 
 
 33 
 
-SH Love Letters 
 
 Yet it were easy, too, to compass this, 
 So thou wert kind; and easy to my 
 
 soul 
 Were harder things if I could reach 
 the goal 
 Of all I crave, and consummate a bliss 
 In mine own fashion, and compel a kiss 
 More fraught with honour than a 
 king's control. 
 
 It is not much to say that I would 
 die, — 
 It is not much to say that I would 
 
 dare 
 Torture, and doom, and death, could 
 I but share 
 One kiss with thee. For then, without a 
 
 sigh, 
 I'd teach thee pity, and be graced 
 thereby, 
 
 34 
 
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 Wet with thy tears, and shrouded by 
 thy hair. 
 
 It is not much to say that this is so ; 
 Yet I would sell my substance and my 
 
 breath, 
 And all the joy that comes from 
 Nazareth, 
 And all the peace that all the angels 
 
 know, 
 To lie with thee, one minute, in the 
 snow 
 Of thy white bosom, ere I sank in 
 death! 
 
 35 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 LETTER FOURTH 
 
 YEARNINGS 
 
 The earth is glad, I know, when night 
 is spent, 
 For then she wakes the birdlings in 
 
 the bowers; 
 And, one by one, the rosy - footed 
 hours 
 Start for the race; and from crimson 
 
 tent 
 The soldier-sun looks o'er the firament; 
 And all his path is strewn with festal 
 flowers. 
 
 But what his mission ? What the happy 
 quest 
 Of all this toil? He journeys on his 
 way 
 
 36 
 
As Caesar did, unbiass'd by the sway 
 Of maid or man. His goal is in the 
 
 west. 
 Will he unbuckle there, and, in his rest, 
 Dream of the gods who died in Nero's 
 day? 
 
 Will he arraign the traitor in his camp? 
 The Winter Comet who, with 
 
 streaming hair, 
 Attack'd the sweetest of the Pleiads 
 fair 
 And ravish'd her, and left her in the 
 
 damp 
 Of dull decay, nor re-illumed the lamp 
 That show'd the place she occupied 
 in air. 
 
 No; 'tis not so! He seeks his lady- 
 moon, 
 
 37 
 
#£ Love Letters 
 
 The gentle orb for whom Endymion 
 
 sigh'd, 
 And trusts to find her by the ocean 
 tide, 
 Or near a forest in the coming June; 
 For he has lov'd her since she late did 
 swoon 
 In that eclipse of which she nearly 
 died. 
 
 He knew her then; he knew her in the 
 glow 
 Of all her charms. He knew that she 
 
 was chaste, 
 And that she wore a girdle at her 
 waist 
 Whiter than pearl. And when he eyed 
 
 her so 
 He knew that in the final overthrow 
 
 38 
 
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 He should prevail, and she should be 
 embraced. 
 
 But were I minded thus, were I the 
 sun, 
 And thou the moon, I would not 
 
 bide so long 
 To hear the marvels of thy wedding- 
 song ; 
 For I would have the planets, every one, 
 Conduct thee home, before the day was 
 done, 
 And call thee queen, and crown thee 
 in the throng. 
 
 And, like Apollo, I would flash on thee, 
 And rend thy veil, and call thee by 
 
 the name 
 That Daphne lov'd, the loadstar of 
 his fame ; 
 
 39 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 And make myself for thee as white to 
 
 see 
 As whitest marble, and as wildly free 
 As Leda's lover with his look of flame. 
 
 And there should then be fetes that 
 should not cease 
 Till I had kiss'd thee, lov'd one! in 
 
 a trance 
 Lasting a lifetime, through a life's 
 romance ; 
 And every star should have a mate 
 
 apiece, 
 And I would teach them how, in ancient 
 Greece, 
 The gods were masters of the maidens' 
 dance. 
 
 I should be bold to act; and thou 
 should'st feel 
 
 40 
 
Terror and joy combined, in all the 
 
 span 
 Of thy sweet body, ere my fingers ran 
 From curl to curl, to prompt thee how 
 
 to kneel; 
 And then, soul-stricken by thy mute 
 appeal, 
 I should be quick to answer like a 
 man. 
 
 What! have I sinn'd, dear Lady? have 
 I sinn'd 
 To talk so wildly? Have I sinn'd 
 
 in this ? 
 An angel's mouth was surely meant 
 to kiss! 
 Or have I dreamt of courtship out in 
 
 Inde 
 In some wild wood? My soul is fever- 
 thinn'd, 
 
 4i 
 
#=1 Love Letters 
 
 And fierce and faint, and frauded of 
 its bliss. 
 
 I will not weep. I will not in the night 
 Weep or lament, or, bending on my 
 
 knees, 
 Appeal for pity! In the clustered 
 trees 
 The wind is boasting of its one delight; 
 And I will boast of mine, in thy despite, 
 And say I love thee more than all of 
 these. 
 
 The rose in bloom, the linnet as it sings, 
 The fox, the fawn, the cygnet on the 
 
 mere, 
 The dragon-fly that glitters like a 
 spear, — 
 All these, and more, all these ecstatic 
 things, 
 
 42 
 
of a Violinist Hr 
 
 Possess their mates; and some arrive on 
 wings, 
 And some on webs, to make their 
 meanings clear. 
 
 Yea, all these things, and more than I 
 can tell, 
 More than the most we know of, one 
 
 and all, 
 Do talk of Love. There is no other 
 call 
 From wind to wave, from rose to aspho- 
 del, 
 Than Love's alone — the things we can- 
 not quell, 
 Do what we will, from font to 
 funeral. 
 
 What have I done, I only on the earth, 
 That I should wait a century for a 
 word? 
 
 43 
 
«$H Love Letters 
 
 A hundred years, I know, have been 
 deferr'd 
 Since last we met, and then it was in 
 
 dearth 
 Of gladsome peace; for, in a moment's 
 girth, 
 My shuddering soul was wounded 
 like a bird. 
 
 I knew thy voice. I knew the veering 
 sound 
 Of that sweet oracle which once did 
 
 tend 
 To treat me grandly, as we treat a 
 friend ; 
 And I would know 't if darkly under- 
 ground 
 I lay as dead, or, down among the 
 drown'd, 
 I blindly stared, unvalued to the end. 
 44 
 
of a Violinist f# 
 
 There! take again the kiss I took from 
 thee 
 Last night in sleep. I met thee in a 
 
 dream 
 And drew thee closer than a monk 
 may deem 
 Good for the soul. I know not how it 
 
 be, 
 But this I know: if God be good to me 
 I shall be raised again to thine es- 
 teem. 
 
 I touched thy neck. I kiss'd it. I was 
 bold. 
 And bold am I to-day, to call to 
 
 mind 
 How, in the night, a murmur not un- 
 kind, 
 Broke on mine ear; a something new 
 and old 
 
 45 
 
#1 Love Letters 
 
 Quick in thy breath, as when a tale is 
 told 
 Of some great hope with madness in- 
 tertwined. 
 
 And round my lips, in joy and yet in 
 fear, 
 There seemed to dart the stings of 
 
 kisses warm. 
 These were my honey-bees, and soon 
 would swarm 
 To choose their queen. But ere they 
 
 did appear, 
 I heard again that murmur in mine ear 
 Which seem'd to speak of calm before 
 a storm. 
 
 " What is it, love ? " I whispered in 
 my sleep, 
 And turned to thee, as April unto 
 May. 
 
 46 
 
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 " Art mine in truth, mine own, by 
 night and day, 
 Now and for ever ? " And I heard thee 
 
 weep, 
 And then persuade; and then my soul 
 did leap 
 Swiftly to thine, in love's ecstatic 
 sway. 
 
 I fondled thee! I drew thee to my 
 heart, 
 Well knowing in the dark that joy 
 
 is dumb. 
 And then a cry, a sigh, a sob, did 
 come 
 Forth from thy lips. ... I waken'd, 
 
 with a start, 
 To find thee gone. The day had taken 
 part 
 Against the total of my blisses' sum. 
 47 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 LETTER FIFTH 
 
 CONFESSIONS 
 
 O Lady mine! O Lady of my Life! 
 Mine and not mine, a being of the 
 
 sky 
 Turn'd into Woman, and I know not 
 why — 
 Is't well, bethink thee, to maintain a 
 
 strife 
 With thy poor servant? War unto the 
 knife, 
 Because I greet thee with a lover's 
 
 Is't well to visit me with thy disdain, 
 And rack my soul, because, for love 
 
 of thee, 
 I was too prone to sink upon my knee, 
 48 
 
of a Violinist ^ 
 
 And too intent to make my meaning 
 
 plain, 
 And too resolved to make my loss a gain 
 To do thee good, by Love's immortal 
 
 plea? 
 
 O friend! forgive me for my dream of 
 bliss. 
 Forgive: forget; be just! Wilt not 
 
 forgive ? 
 Not though my tears should fall, as 
 through a sieve 
 The salt sea-sand ? What joy hast thou 
 
 in this: 
 To be a maid, and marvel at a kiss? 
 Say! Must I die, to prove that I can 
 live? 
 
 Shall this be so? E'en this? And all 
 my love 
 
 49 
 
## Love Letters 
 
 Wreck'd in an instant? No, a gentle 
 
 heart 
 Beats in thy bosom; and the shades 
 depart 
 From all fair gardens, and from skies 
 
 above, 
 When thou art near. For thou art like 
 a dove, 
 And dainty thoughts are with thee 
 where thou art. 
 
 Oh! it is like the death of dearest kin, 
 To wake and find the fancies of the 
 
 brain 
 Sear'd and confused. We languish 
 in the strain 
 Of some lost music, and we find within, 
 Deep in the heart, a record of a sin, 
 The thrill thereof, and all the bliss- 
 ful pain. 
 
 So 
 
of a Violinist H£ 
 
 For it is deadly sin to love too well, 
 And unappeased, unhonour'd, unbe- 
 
 sought, 
 To feed on dreams; and yet 'tis aptly 
 thought 
 That all must love. E'en those who 
 
 most rebel 
 In Eros' camp have known his master- 
 spell ; 
 And more shall learn than Eros yet 
 has taught. 
 
 But I am mad to love. I am not wise. 
 I am the worst of men to love the 
 
 best 
 Of all sweet women! An untimely 
 jest, 
 A thing made up of rhapsodies and 
 sighs, 
 
 5i 
 
•SH Love Letters 
 
 And unordained on earth, and in the 
 skies, 
 And undesired in tumult and in rest. 
 
 All this is true. I know it. I am he. 
 I am that man. I am the hated 
 
 friend 
 Who once received a smile, and 
 sought to mend 
 His soul with hope. O tyrant! by the 
 
 plea 
 Of all thy grace, do thou accept from me 
 At least the notes that know not to 
 offend. 
 
 See! I will strike again the major chord 
 Of that great song, which in his early 
 
 days, 
 Beethoven wrote; and thine shall be 
 the praise, 
 
 52 
 
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 And thine the frenzy like a soldier's 
 
 sword 
 Flashing therein; and thine, O thou 
 
 adored 
 And bright true Lady! all the poet's 
 
 lays. 
 
 To thee, to thee, the songs of all my joy, 
 To thee the songs that wildly seem to 
 
 bless, 
 And those that mind thee of a past 
 caress. 
 Lo ! with a whisper to the Winged Boy 
 Who rules my fate, I will my strength 
 employ 
 To make a matin-song of my distress. 
 
 But playing thus, and toying with the 
 notes, 
 I half forget the cause I have to 
 weep; 
 
 53 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 And, like a reaper in the realms of 
 sleep, 
 I hear the bird of morning where he 
 
 floats 
 High in the welkin and in fairy boats 
 I see the minstrels sail upon the 
 deep. 
 
 In mid-suspension of my leaping bow 
 
 I almost hear the silence of the night; 
 
 And, in my soul, I know the stars 
 
 are bright 
 
 Because they love, and that they 
 
 nightly glow 
 To make it clear that there is nought 
 below, 
 And nought above, so fair as Love's 
 delight. 
 
 But shall I touch thy heart by speech 
 alone, 
 
 54 
 
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 Without Amati? 
 
 Shall I prove, by 
 
 words, 
 
 
 That hope is meant for men as well 
 
 as birds; 
 
 
 That I would take 
 
 a scorpion, or a 
 
 stone, 
 
 
 In lieu of gold, and 
 
 sacrifice a throne 
 
 To be the keeper 
 
 of thy flocks and 
 
 herds? 
 
 
 Ah no, my Lady! 1 
 
 zhough I sang to 
 
 thee 
 
 
 With fuller voice 
 
 ! than sings the 
 
 nightingale — 
 
 
 Fuller and softer 
 
 in the moonlight 
 
 pale 
 
 
 Than lays of Keats, 
 
 or Shelley, or the 
 
 free 
 
 
 And fire-lipp'd Byron — there would 
 
 come to me 
 
 
 55 
 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 No word of thine to thank me for 
 the tale. 
 
 Thou would'st not heed. Thou would'st 
 not any-when, 
 In bower or grove — or in the holy 
 
 nook 
 Which shields thy bed — thou 
 would'st not care to look 
 For thoughts of mine, though faithful 
 
 in their ken 
 As are the minds of England's fighting 
 men 
 When they inscribe their names in 
 Honour's book. 
 
 Thou would'st not care to scan my face, 
 and through 
 This face of mine, the soul, for scraps 
 of thought. 
 
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 Yet 'tis a face that somewhere has been 
 taught 
 To smile in tears. Mine eyes are some- 
 what blue 
 And quick to flash (if what I hear be 
 true) 
 And dark, at times, as velvet newly 
 wrought. 
 
 But wilt thou own it? Wilt thou in 
 the scroll 
 Of my sad life, perceive, as in a hive, 
 A thousand happy fancies that con- 
 trive 
 To seek thee out? Thy bosom is the 
 
 goal 
 Of all my thoughts, and quick to thy 
 control 
 They wend their way, elate to be 
 alive. 
 
 57 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 But there is something I could never 
 bring 
 My soul to compass. No! could I 
 
 compel 
 Thy plighted troth, I would not have 
 thee tell 
 A lie to God. I'll have no wedding- 
 ring 
 With loveless hands around my neck to 
 cling ; 
 For this were worse than all the fires 
 of hell. 
 
 I would not take thee from a lover's 
 lips, 
 Or from the rostrum of a roaring 
 
 crowd, 
 Or from the memory of a husband's 
 shroud, 
 Or from the goblet where a Caesar sips. 
 
of a Violinist £# 
 
 I would not touch thee with my finger- 
 tips, 
 But I would die to serve thee, — and 
 be proud. 
 
 And could I enter Heaven, and find 
 therein, 
 In all the wide dominions of the air, 
 No trace of thee among the natives 
 there, 
 I would not bide with them — No! not 
 
 to win 
 A seraph's lyre — but I would sin a sin, 
 And free my soul, and seek thee 
 otherwhere ! 
 
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#? Love Letters 
 
 LETTER SIXTH 
 
 DESPAIR 
 
 I am undone. My hopes have beggar' d 
 me, 
 For I have lov'd where loving was 
 
 denied. 
 To-day is dark, and Yesterday has 
 died, 
 And when To-morrow comes, erect and 
 
 free, 
 Like some great king, whose tyrant will 
 he be, 
 And whose defender in the days of 
 pride ? 
 
 I am not cold, and yet November bands 
 Compress my heart. I know the 
 month is May, 
 60 
 
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 And that the sun will warm me if I 
 stay. 
 But who is this ? Oh, who is this that 
 
 stands 
 Straight in my path, and with his bony 
 hands 
 Appeals to me to turn some other 
 
 It is the phantom of my murder'd joy, 
 Which once again has come to perse- 
 cute, 
 And tell me the tales which late I did 
 refute. 
 But lo! I now must heed them, as a 
 
 boy 
 Takes up, in tears, the remnants of a toy, 
 Or bard forlorn the fragments of a 
 lute. 
 
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#4 Love Letters 
 
 It is the ghost that, day by day, did come 
 To tempt my spirit to the mountain- 
 
 It is the thing that wept, and would 
 not speak, 
 And, with a sign, to show that it was 
 
 dumb, 
 Did seem to hint at Death that was the 
 sum 
 Of all we know, and all we strive to 
 seek. 
 
 And now it comes again, and with its eye 
 Bloodshot and blear, though pallid in 
 
 its face, 
 Doth point, exacting, to the very place 
 Where I do keep, that no one may descry, 
 A lady's glove, a ribbon, and a dry, 
 A perjur'd rose, which oft I did em- 
 brace. 
 
 62 
 
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 It means, perchance, that I must make 
 an end 
 Of all these things, and burn them as 
 
 a fee 
 To my Despair, when down upon my 
 knee. 
 O piteous thing! have pity; be my 
 
 friend ; 
 Or say, at least, that blessings will 
 descend 
 On her I love, on her if not on me ! 
 
 The Shape did smile; and, wildly, with 
 a start, 
 Did shrivel up, as when a fire is spent, 
 Whereof the smoke obscured the firm- 
 ament. 
 And then I knew it had but tried my 
 
 heart, 
 To teach me how to play a manly part, 
 
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#1 Love Letters 
 
 And strengthen me in all my good in- 
 tent. 
 
 And here I stand alone, e'en like a leaf 
 In sudden frost, as quiet as the wing 
 Of wounded bird, which knows it can- 
 not sing. 
 A child may moan, but not a mountain 
 
 chief. 
 If we be sad, if we possess a grief, 
 The grief should be the slave, and not 
 the king. 
 
 Yes, I will pause, and pluck from out the 
 Past 
 The full discernment of my sorry 
 
 cheer, 
 And why the sunlight seems no longer 
 clear, 
 And why, in spite of anguish, and the 
 vast, 
 
of a Violinist £# 
 
 The sickly blank that o'er my life is cast, 
 I cannot kneel to-day, or shed a tear. 
 
 It was thy friendship. It was this I 
 had, 
 This and no more. I was a fool to 
 
 .doubt, 
 I was a fool to strive to put to rout 
 My many foes : — thy musings tender- 
 glad, 
 Which all had said : — " Avoid him ! he 
 is mad — 
 Mad with his love, and Love's erratic 
 shout." 
 
 I should have known, — I should have 
 guess'd in time, — 
 That, like a soft mirage at twilight 
 
 hour, 
 My dream would melt, and rob me of 
 its dower. 
 
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iH Love Letters 
 
 I should have guess'd that all the heights 
 
 sublime, 
 Which look'd like spires and cities built 
 
 in rhyme, 
 Would droop and die, like petals from 
 
 a flower. 
 
 I should have known, indeed, that to the 
 brave 
 All things are servants. But my lost 
 
 Delight 
 Was like the ship that founders in a 
 night, 
 And leaves no mark. How then? Is 
 
 Passion's grave 
 All that is left beside the sobbing wave? 
 The foam thereof, the saltness, and 
 the blight? 
 
 I had a fleet of ships, and where are 
 they? 
 
 66 
 
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 Where are they all? and where the 
 
 merchandise 
 I treasured once — an empire's golden 
 prize, 
 The empire of a soul, which, in a day, 
 Lost all its wealth? I was deceiv'd, I 
 say, 
 For I had reckon'd on propitious skies. 
 
 I look'd afar, and saw no sign of wrack. 
 I look'd anear, and felt the summer 
 
 breeze 
 Warm on my cheek; and forth upon 
 the seas 
 I sent my ships; and would, not have 
 
 them back, 
 Though some averr'd a storm was on the 
 track 
 Of all I lov'd, and all I own'd of 
 these. 
 
 67 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 One ship was " Joy," the second 
 " Truth," the third 
 " Love in a Dream," and, last not 
 
 least of all, 
 " Hope," and " Content," and " Pride 
 that hath a Fall." 
 And they were goodly vessels, by my 
 
 word, 
 With sails as strong as pinions of a bird, 
 And crew that answer'd well to 
 Duty's call. 
 
 In one of these — in " Hope " — where 
 I did fly 
 A lofty banner, — in this ship I 
 
 found 
 Doom's-day at last, and all my crew 
 were drown'd. 
 Yes, I was wreck' d in this, and here I 
 lie, 
 
 68 
 
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 Here on the beach, forlorn and like to 
 die, 
 With none to pray for me on holy 
 ground. 
 
 O sweet my Lady! If thou pass this 
 
 way, 
 
 And thou behold me where I lie beset 
 
 By wind and wave, and powerless to 
 
 forget, 
 
 Wilt not approach me thoughtfully and 
 
 say: — 
 " This man was true. He lov'd me 
 night and day 
 And though I spurn'd at him, he loves 
 me yet." 
 
 Wilt not withhold thy blame, at least 
 to-night, 
 And shed for me a tear, as one may 
 grieve 
 
 69 
 
#t Love Letters 
 
 For people known in books, for men 
 who weave 
 Ropes out of sand, to lead them to the 
 
 light? 
 Oh! treat me thus, and, by thy hand so 
 white, 
 I will forego the dreams to which I 
 cleave. 
 
 Be just to me, and say, when all is o'er, 
 When some such book is calmly laid 
 
 aside : 
 " The shadow-men have liv'd and 
 lov'd and died ; 
 The shadow-women will be vexed no 
 
 more. 
 But there is One for whom my heart is 
 sore, 
 Because he took a shadow for his 
 guide." 
 
 79 
 
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 Say only this ; but pray for me withal, 
 And let a pitying thought possess thee 
 
 then, 
 Whether at home, at sea, or in a glen 
 In some wild nook. It were a joy to fall 
 Dead at thy feet, as at a trumpet's call, 
 For I should then be peerless among 
 men! 
 
 7i 
 
#| Love Letters 
 
 LETTER SEVENTH 
 
 HOPE 
 
 tears of mine ! Ye start I know not 
 
 why, 
 Unless, indeed, to prove that I am 
 
 glad, 
 Albeit fast wedded to a thought so 
 
 sad 
 
 1 scarce can deem that my despair will 
 
 die, 
 Or that the sun, careering up the sky, 
 Will warm again a world that seem'd 
 so mad. 
 
 And yet, who knows ? The world is, to 
 the mind, 
 Much as we make it; and the things 
 we tend 
 
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 Wear, for the nonce, the liveries that 
 we lend. 
 And some such things are fair, though 
 
 ill-defined, 
 And some are scathing, like the wintry 
 wind ; 
 And some begin, and some will never 
 end. 
 
 How can I think, ye tears! that I have 
 been 
 The thing I was — so doubting, so 
 
 unfit, 
 And so unblest, with brows for ever 
 knit, 
 And hair unkempt, and face becoming 
 
 lean 
 And cold and pale, as if I late had seen 
 Medusa's head, and all the scowls of 
 it? 
 
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#* Love Letters 
 
 Oh, why is this ? Oh, why have I so 
 long 
 Brooded on grief, and made myself a 
 
 bane 
 To golden fields and all the happy 
 plain 
 Where once I met the Lady of my 
 
 Song, 
 The lady for whose sake I shall be 
 strong, 
 But never weak or diffident again? 
 
 I was too shorn of hope. I did em- 
 ploy 
 Words like a mourner; and to Her I 
 
 bow'd, 
 As one might kneel to Glory in its 
 shroud. 
 But I am crown'd to-day, and not so 
 coy — 
 
 74 
 
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 Crown'd with a kiss, and sceptred with a 
 
 joy; 
 
 And all the world shall see that I am 
 proud. 
 
 I shall be sated now. I shall receive 
 More than the guerdon of my wildest 
 
 thought, 
 More than the most that ecstasy has 
 taught 
 To saints in Heaven; and more than 
 
 poets weave 
 In madcap verse, to warn us, or deceive; 
 And more than Adam knew ere Eve 
 was brought. 
 
 I know the meaning now of all the signs, 
 And all the joys I dreamt of in my 
 
 dreams. 
 I realize the comfort of the streams 
 75 
 
#1 Love Letters 
 
 When they reflect the shadows of the 
 pines. 
 
 I know that there is hope for celan- 
 dines, 
 And that a tree is merrier than it 
 seems. 
 
 I know the mighty hills have much 
 to tell; 
 And that they quake, at times, in 
 
 undertone, 
 And talk to stars, because so much 
 alone 
 And so unlov'd. I know that, in the 
 
 dell, 
 Flowers are betroth'd, and that a wed- 
 ding-bell 
 Rings in the breeze on which a moth 
 has flown. 
 
 76 
 
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 I know such things, because to loving 
 hearts 
 Nature is keen, and pleasures, long de- 
 
 lay'd, 
 Quicken the pulse, and turn a truant 
 shade 
 Into a sprite, equipp'd with all the darts 
 That once were Cupid's; and the day de- 
 parts, 
 And sun and moon conjoin, as man 
 with maid. 
 
 The lover knows how grand a thing is 
 love, 
 How grand, how sweet a thing, and 
 
 how divine 
 More than the pouring out of choicest 
 wine ; 
 More than the whiteness of the whitest 
 dove ; 
 
 77 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 More than the glittering of the stars 
 above ; 
 And such a love, O Love ! is thine and 
 mine. 
 
 To me the world, to-day, has grown so 
 fair 
 I dare not trust myself to think of it. 
 Visions of light around me seem to flit, 
 And Phoebus loosens all his golden hair 
 Right down the sky ; and daisies turn and 
 stare 
 At things we see not with our human 
 wit. 
 
 And here, beside me, there are mosses 
 green 
 In shelter'd nooks, and gnats in bright 
 
 array, 
 And lordly beetles out for holiday; 
 78 
 
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 And spiders small that work in silver 
 
 sheen 
 To make a kirtle for the Fairy Queen, 
 That she may don it on the First of 
 
 May. 
 
 I hear, in thought, I hear the very 
 words 
 That Arethusa, turn'd into a brook, 
 Spoke to Diana, when her leave she 
 took 
 Of all she lov'd — low-weeping as the 
 
 birds 
 Shrill'd out of tune, and all the 
 frightened herds 
 Scamper' d to death, in spite of pipe 
 and crook. 
 
 I know, to-day, why winds are made to 
 sigh 
 
 79 
 
tH Love Letters 
 
 And why they hide themselves, and 
 
 why they gloat 
 In some old ruin ! Mote confers with 
 mote, 
 And shell with shell ; and corals live and 
 
 die, 
 And die and live, below the deep. And 
 why ? 
 To make a necklace for my lady's 
 throat. 
 
 And yet the world, in all its varied 
 girth, 
 Lacks what we look for. There is 
 
 something base 
 In mere existence — something in the 
 face 
 Of men and women which accepts the 
 
 earth, 
 And all its havings, as its right of birth, 
 80 
 
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 But not its quittance, not its resting- 
 place. 
 
 There have been moments, at the set of 
 sun, 
 When I have long'd for wings upon 
 
 the wind, 
 That I might seek a planet to my 
 mind, 
 More full-develop'd than this present 
 
 one; 
 With more of scope, when all is said and 
 done, 
 To satisfy the wants of human kind. 
 
 A world with thee, a home in some 
 remote 
 And unknown region, which no sage's 
 
 ken 
 Has compass'd yet; of which no 
 human pen 
 
 81 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 Has traced the limits; where no terrors 
 
 float 
 In wind or wave, and where the soul 
 
 may note 
 A thousand raptures unreveaPd to 
 
 men. 
 
 To be transported in a magic car, 
 
 On some transcendent night in early 
 
 June, 
 Beyond the horn'd projections of the 
 moon; 
 To have our being in a bridal star, 
 In lands of light, where only angels are, 
 Athwart the spaces where the comets 
 swoon. 
 
 To be all this : to have in our estate 
 Worlds without stint, and quit them 
 for the clay 
 
 82 
 
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 Of some new planets where a sum- 
 mer's day 
 Lasts fifty years; and there to celebrate 
 Our Golden Wedding, by the will of 
 Fate — 
 This were a subject for a seraph's lay. 
 
 This were a life to live, — a life in- 
 deed, — 
 A thing to die for ; if, in truth, we die 
 When we but put our mortal vest- 
 ments by. 
 This were a climax for a lover's need 
 Sweeter than songs, and holier than the 
 creed 
 Of half the zealots who have sought 
 the sky. 
 
 83 
 
LETTER EIGHTH 
 
 A VISION 
 
 Yes, I will tell thee what, a week ago, 
 I dreamt of thee, and all the joy 
 
 therein 
 Which I conceiv'd, and all the holy 
 din 
 Of throbbing music, which appear'd to 
 
 flow 
 From room to room, as if to make me 
 know 
 The power thereof to lead me out of 
 sin. 
 
 Methought I saw thee in a ray of light, 
 This side a grove — a dream within 
 a dream — 
 
 84 
 
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 With eyes of tender pleading, and the 
 gleam 
 Of far-off summers in thy tresses bright ; 
 And I did tremble at the gracious sight, 
 
 As one who sees a naiad in a stream. 
 
 I follow'd thee. I knew that, in the 
 wood, 
 Where thus we met, there was a tryst- 
 
 ing-place. 
 I follow'd thee, as mortals in a chase 
 Follow the deer. I knew that it was 
 
 good 
 To track thy step, and promptly under- 
 stood 
 The fitful blush that flutter'd to thy 
 face. 
 
 I followed thee to where a brook did 
 run 
 
 85 
 
-^ Love Letters 
 
 Close to a grot; and there I knelt to 
 
 thee. 
 And then a score of birds flew over 
 me, — 
 Birds which arrived because the day was 
 
 done, 
 To sing the Sanctus of the setting sun ; 
 And then I heard thy voice upon the 
 lea. 
 
 " Follow ! " it cried. I rose and follow'd 
 fast; 
 And, in my dream, I felt the dream 
 
 was true, 
 And that, full soon, Titania, with her 
 crew 
 Of imps and fays, would meet me on the 
 
 blast. 
 But this was hindered; and I quickly 
 passed 
 
 86 
 
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 Into the valley where the cedars 
 grew. 
 
 And what a scene, O God! and what 
 repose, 
 And what sad splendour in the burn- 
 ing west : 
 A languid sun low-dropping to his 
 rest, 
 And incense rising, as of old it rose, 
 To do him honour at the daylight's 
 close, — 
 The birds entranced, and all the winds 
 repress'd. 
 
 I followed thee. I came to where a 
 shrine 
 Stood in the trees, and where an oaken 
 
 gate 
 Swung in the air, so turbulent of late. 
 87 
 
-$H Love Letters 
 
 I touch'd thy hand; it quiver'd into 
 
 mine ; 
 And then I look'd into thy face benign, 
 And saw the smile for which the 
 angels wait. 
 
 And lo! the moon had sailed into the 
 main 
 Of that blue sky, as if therein did 
 
 poise 
 A silver boat; and then a tuneful 
 noise 
 Broke from the copse where late a breeze 
 
 was slain; 
 And nightingales, in ecstasy of pain, 
 Did break their hearts with singing 
 the old joys. 
 
 " Is this the spot? " I cried, " is this the 
 spot 
 
Where I must tell thee all my heart's 
 
 desire ? 
 Is this the time when I must drink the 
 fire, 
 And eat the snow, and find it fever-hot? 
 I freeze with heat, and yet I fear it 
 not; 
 And all my pulses thrill me like a 
 lyre." 
 
 A wondrous light was thrown upon thy 
 
 face ; 
 It was the light within; it was the 
 
 ray 
 Of thine own soul. And then a voice 
 
 did say, 
 " Glory to God the King, and Jesu's 
 
 grace 
 Here and hereafter!" And about the 
 
 place 
 
 89 
 
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 A radiance shone surpassing that of 
 day. 
 
 It was thy voice. It was the voice I 
 prize 
 More than the sound of April in the 
 
 dales, 
 More than the songs of larks and 
 nightingales, 
 And more than teachings of the worldly- 
 wise. 
 " Glory to God," it said, " for, in the 
 skies, 
 And here on earth, 'tis He alone 
 prevails." 
 
 And then I asked thee : " Shall I tell 
 thee now 
 All that I think of, when, by land and 
 sea, 
 
 90 
 
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 The days and nights illume the world 
 for me? 
 And how I muse on marriage, as I 
 
 bow 
 In God's own places, with a throbbing 
 brow? 
 And how, at night, I dream of kissing 
 thee? " 
 
 But thou did'st answer: "First behold 
 this man! 
 He is thy lord, for love's and lady's 
 
 sake ; 
 He is thy master, or I much mistake." 
 And I perceiv'd, hard by, a phantom 
 
 wan 
 
 And wild and kingly, who did, walking, 
 span 
 The open space that lay beside the 
 brake. 
 
 91 
 
#? Love Letters 
 
 It was Beethoven. It was he who 
 came 
 From monstrous shades, to journey yet 
 
 awhile 
 In pleasant nooks, and vainly seek the 
 smile 
 Of one lov'd woman — she to whom his 
 
 fame 
 Had been a glory had she sought the 
 same, 
 And lov'd a soul so grand, so free 
 from guile. 
 
 It was the Kaiser of the land of song, 
 The giant-singer who did storm the 
 
 gates 
 Of Heaven and Hell, a man to whom 
 the Fates 
 Were fierce as furies, and who suffer'd 
 wrong 
 
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 And ached and bore it, and was brave 
 and strong, 
 But gaunt as ocean when its rage 
 abates. 
 
 I knew his tread. I knew him by his 
 look 
 Of pent-up sorrow — by his hair un- 
 kempt 
 And torn attire — and by his smile 
 exempt 
 From all but pleading. Yet his body 
 
 shook 
 With some great joy; and onward he 
 betook 
 His echoing steps the way that I had 
 dreamt. 
 
 I bow'd my head. The lordly being 
 pass'd. 
 
 93 
 
#3 Love Letters 
 
 He was my king, and I did bow to 
 
 him. 
 And when I rais'd mine eyes they were 
 as dim 
 As tears could make them. And the 
 
 moon, aghast, 
 Glared in the sky ; and westward came a 
 blast 
 Which shook the earth like shouts of 
 cherubim. 
 
 I held my breath. I could have fled 
 the place, 
 As men have fled before the wrath of 
 
 God, 
 But I beheld my Lady where she 
 trod 
 The darken'd path; and I did cry. apace: 
 " Help me, my Lady! " and thy lustrous 
 face 
 
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 Gladden'd the air, and quicken'd all 
 the sod. 
 
 Then did I hear again that voice of 
 cheer. 
 " Lovest thou me," it said, " or music 
 
 best? " 
 I seized thy hand, I drew thee to my 
 breast. 
 "Thee, only thee!" I cried. "From 
 
 year to year, 
 Thee, only thee — not fame!" And 
 silver-clear, 
 Thy voice responded : " God will 
 grant the rest." 
 
 I kiss'd thine eyes. I kiss'd them where 
 the blue 
 Peep'd smiling forth; and proudly as 
 before 
 
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•£H Love Letters 
 
 I heard the tones that thrill'd me to 
 the core. 
 "If thou love me," they said, " if thou 
 
 be true, 
 Thou shalt have fame, and love, and 
 music too ! " 
 Entranced I kiss'd the lips that I 
 adore. 
 
of a Violinists 
 
 LETTER NINTH 
 
 TO - MORROW 
 
 O Love! O Love! O Gateway of De- 
 light! 
 Thou porch of peace, thou pageant of 
 
 the prime 
 Of all God's creatures! I am here to 
 climb 
 Thine upward steps, and daily and by 
 
 night 
 To gaze beyond them, and to search 
 aright 
 The far-off splendour of thy track 
 sublime. 
 
 For, in thy precincts, on the further side, 
 Beyond the turret where the bells are 
 rung, 
 
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#4 Love Letters 
 
 Beyond the chapel where the rites 
 are sung, 
 There is a garden fit for any bride. 
 O Love! by thee, by thee are sanctified 
 The joys thereof to keep our spirits 
 young. 
 
 By thee, dear Love! by thee, if all be 
 well — 
 And we be wise enough to own the 
 
 touch 
 Of some bright folly that has thrill'd 
 us much — 
 By thee, till death, we may regain the 
 
 spell 
 Of wizard Merlin, and in every dell 
 Confront a Muse, and bow to it as 
 such. 
 
 Love ! Happy Love ! Behold me where 
 I stand 
 
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 This side thy portal, with my strain- 
 ing eyes 
 Turn'd to the Future. Cloudless are 
 the skies, 
 And, far adown the road which thou hast 
 
 spann'd, 
 I see the groves of that elected land 
 Which is the place I call my paradise. 
 
 But what is this ? The plains are known 
 to me ; 
 The hills are known, the fields, the 
 
 little fence, 
 The noisy brook as clear as innocence, 
 And this old oak, the wonder of the 
 
 lea, 
 Which stops the wind to know if there 
 shall be 
 Sorrow for men, or pride, or recom- 
 pense. 
 
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 ^__ _— m m 
 
£H Love Letters 
 
 I know these things, yet hold it little 
 blame 
 To know them not, though in their 
 
 proud array, 
 The flowers advance to make the 
 world so gay. 
 Ah, what a change ! The things I know 
 
 by name 
 Look unfamiliar all, and, like a flame, 
 The roses burn upon the hedge to-day. 
 
 The grass is velvet. There are pearls 
 thereon, 
 And golden signs, and braid that doth 
 
 appear 
 Made for a bridal. This is fairy gear 
 If I mistake not. I shall know anon. 
 Nature herself will teach me how to con 
 The new-found words to thank the 
 glowing year. 
 
 IOQ 
 
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 This is the path that led me to the 
 brook ; 
 And this the mead and this the 
 
 mossy slope, 
 And this the place where breezes did 
 elope 
 With giddy moths, enamour'd of a look ; 
 And here I sat alone, or with a book, 
 Dreaming the dreams of constancy and 
 hope. 
 
 I loved the river well; but not till now 
 Did I perceive the marvels of the 
 
 shore. 
 This is a cave, and this an emerald 
 floor ; 
 And here Sir Eglantine might make a 
 
 vow, 
 And here a king, a guilty king, might 
 bow 
 
#S Love Letters 
 
 Before a child, and break his word no 
 more. 
 
 The day is dying. I shall see him die, 
 And I shall watch the sunset, and the 
 
 red 
 Of all that splendour when the day is 
 dead. 
 And I shall see the stars upon the sky, 
 And think them torches that are lit on 
 high 
 To light the Lord Apollo to his bed. 
 
 And sweet To-morrow, like a golden 
 bark, 
 Will call for me, and lead me on apace 
 To where I shall behold, in all her 
 grace, 
 Mine own true Lady, whom a happy 
 lark 
 
of a Violinist H£ 
 
 Did late salute, appointing, after dark, 
 A nightingale to carol in his place. 
 
 Oh, come to me! Oh, come, beloved 
 day, 
 
 sweet To-morrow! Youngest of 
 the sons 
 
 Of old King Time, to whom Creation 
 runs 
 As men to God. Oh, quickly with thy 
 
 ray 
 Anoint my head, and teach me how to 
 pray, 
 As gentle Jesus taught the little ones. 
 
 I am aweary of the waiting hours, 
 
 1 am aweary of the tardy night, 
 The hungry moments rob me of de- 
 light, 
 
 The crawling minutes steal away my 
 powers ; 
 
 103 
 
■SH Love Letters 
 
 And I am sick at heart, as one who 
 cowers, 
 In lonely haunts, remov'd from human 
 sight. 
 
 How shall I think the night was meant 
 for sleep, 
 When I must count the dreadful hours 
 
 thereof, 
 And cannot beat them down, or bid 
 them doff 
 Their hateful masks? A man may wake 
 
 and weep 
 From hour to hour, and, in the silence 
 deep, 
 See shadows move, and almost hear 
 them scoff. 
 
 Oh, come to me, To-morrow! like a 
 friend, 
 
 104 
 
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 And not as one who bideth for the 
 
 clock. 
 Be swift to come, and I will hear 
 
 thee knock, 
 And though the night refuse to make an 
 
 end 
 Of her dull peace, I promptly will 
 
 descend 
 And let thee in, and thank thee for the 
 
 shock. 
 
 Dear, good To-morrow! in my life, till 
 now, 
 I did not think to need thee quite so 
 
 soon. 
 I did not think that I should hate the 
 moon, 
 Or new or old, or that my fevered 
 
 brow 
 Requir'd the sun to cool it. I will bow 
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#4 Love Letters 
 
 To this new day, that he may grant 
 the boon. 
 
 Yes, 'twill consent. The day will dawn 
 at last. 
 Day and the tide approach. They 
 
 cannot rest. 
 They must approach. They must by 
 every test , 
 
 Of all men's knowledge, neither slow 
 
 nor fast, 
 Approach and front us. When the night 
 is past, 
 The morrow's dawn will lead me to 
 my quest. 
 
 Then shall I tremble greatly, and be 
 glad, 
 For I shall meet my true-love all 
 alone, 
 
 1 06 
 
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 And none shall tell me of her dainty 
 zone, 
 And none shall say how sweetly she is 
 
 clad; 
 But I shall know it. Men may call me 
 mad; 
 But I shall know how bright the 
 world has grown. 
 
 There is a grammar of the lips and 
 eyes, 
 And I have learnt it. There are 
 
 tokens sure 
 Of trust in love; and I have found 
 them pure. 
 Is love the guerdon then? Is love the 
 
 prize ? 
 It is! It is! We find it in the skies, 
 And here on earth 'tis all that will 
 endure. 
 
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#1 Love Letters 
 
 All things for love. All things in some 
 divine 
 And wish'd for way, conspire, as Na- 
 ture knows, 
 To some great good. Where'er a 
 daisy grows 
 There grows a joy. The forest-trees 
 
 combine 
 To talk of peace when mortals would 
 repine ; 
 And he is false to God who flouts the 
 rose. 
 
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 LETTER TENTH 
 
 A RETROSPECT 
 
 I walk again beside the roaring sea, 
 And once again I harken to the speech 
 Of waves exulting on the madden'd 
 beach. 
 A sound of awful joy it seems to me, 
 A shuddering sound of God's eternity, — 
 Telling of things beyond the sage's 
 reach. 
 
 I walk alone. I see the bounding waves 
 Curl'd into foam. I watch them as 
 
 they leap 
 Like wild sea-horses loosen' d from 
 the deep. 
 And well I know that they have seen 
 the graves 
 
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•SH Love Letters 
 
 Of shipwreck'd sailors; for Disaster 
 paves 
 The fearful fields where reapers 
 cannot reap. 
 
 Out there, in islands where the summer 
 sun 
 Goes down in tempest, there are loath- 
 some things 
 That crawl to shore, and flap un- 
 sightly wings. 
 But here there are no monsters that can 
 
 run 
 To catch the limbs of bathers; no! 
 not one; 
 And here the wind is harmless when 
 it stings. 
 
 There is a glamour all about the bay, 
 As if the nymphs of Greece had tar- 
 ried here. 
 
 no 
 
The sands are golden, and the rocks 
 appear 
 Crested with silver ; and the breezes play- 
 Snatches of song they hummed when far 
 away, 
 And then are hush'd, as if from sud- 
 den fear. 
 
 They think of thee. They hunt; they 
 meditate. 
 They will not quit the shore till they 
 
 have seen 
 The very spot where thou did'st stand 
 serene 
 In all thy beauty; and of me they 
 
 prate, 
 Knowing I love thee. And, like one 
 elate, 
 The grand old sea remembers what 
 hath been. 
 
«$H Love Letters 
 
 How many hours, how many days we 
 met 
 Here on the beach, in that delirious 
 
 time 
 When all the waves appear'd to 
 break in rhyme. 
 Life was a joy, and love was like a 
 
 debt 
 Paid and repaid in kisses — good to get, 
 And good to lose — unhoarded, yet 
 sublime. 
 
 We wander'd here. We saw the tide 
 advance, 
 We saw it ebb. We saw the widow'd 
 
 shore 
 Waiting for Ocean with its organ 
 roar, 
 Knowing that, day by day, through 
 happy chance, 
 
of a Violinist *# 
 
 She would be wooed anew, amid the 
 dance 
 Of bridal waves, high-bounding as be- 
 fore. 
 
 And I remember how, at flush of morn, 
 Thou did'st depart alone, to find a 
 
 nook 
 Where none could see thee; where a 
 lover's look 
 Were profanation worse than any scorn ; 
 And how I went my way, among the 
 corn, 
 To wait for thee beside the Shepherd's 
 brook. 
 
 And lo! from out a cave thou did'st 
 emerge, 
 Sweet as thyself, the flower of 
 Womankind. 
 
 "3 
 
iH Love Letters 
 
 I know 'twas thus: for, in my secret 
 mind, 
 I see thee now. I see thee in the surge 
 Of those wild waves, well knowing that 
 they urge 
 Some idle wish, untalk'd-of to the 
 wind. 
 
 I think the beach was thankful to have 
 known 
 Thy warm, white body, and the 
 
 blessedness 
 Of thy first shiver; and I well can 
 guess 
 How, when thy limbs were toss'd and 
 
 overthrown, 
 The sea was pleased, and every smallest 
 stone, 
 And every wave, was proud of thy 
 caress. 
 
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 A maiden diving, with dishevell'd hair, 
 Sheer from a rock ; a syren of the deep 
 Call'd into action, ere a wave could 
 leap 
 Breast-high to daunt her; Daphne, by a 
 
 prayer, 
 Lured from a forest for the sea to 
 bear — 
 This were a dream to fill a poet's 
 sleep. 
 
 This were a thing for Phoebus to have 
 eyed; 
 And he did eye it. Yea, the Deathless 
 
 One 
 Did eye thy beauty. It was madly 
 done. * 
 
 He saw thee in the rising of the tide. 
 He saw thee well. The truth is not de- 
 nied; 
 
 "5 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 The shore was proud to show thee to 
 the sun. 
 
 Never since Venus, at a god's decree, 
 Uprose from ocean, fias there lived on 
 
 earth 
 A face like thine, a form of so much 
 worth ; 
 And nowhere has the moon-obeying sea 
 Known such perfection, down from 
 head to knee, 
 And knee to foot, since that Olympian 
 birth. 
 
 And, sooth, the moon was anxious to 
 have placed 
 Her head beside thee, on the waters 
 
 bright. 
 But she was foil'd; for thou so late 
 at night 
 
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 Wouldst not go forth: no! not to be 
 
 embraced 
 By Nature's Queen, though, round 
 
 about the waist, 
 She would have ring'd thee with her 
 
 softest light. 
 
 Ah me! had I a lute of sovereign 
 power 
 I would enlarge on this, and plainly 
 
 show 
 That there is nothing like thee here 
 below, — 
 Nothing so comely, nothing in its dower 
 Of youth and grace, so like a human 
 flower, 
 And white withal, and guiltless as the 
 snow. 
 
 For thou art fair as lilies, with the 
 flush 
 
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## Love Letters 
 
 That roses have while waiting for a 
 
 kiss; 
 And when thou smilest nothing comes 
 amiss ; 
 The earth is glad to see thy dimpled 
 
 blush. 
 Had I the lute of Orpheus I would hush 
 All meaner sounds to tell the stars of 
 this. 
 
 I would, I swear, by Pallas' own con- 
 sent, 
 Inform all creatures whom the stars 
 
 behold 
 That thou art mine, and that a pen 
 of gold, 
 With ink of fire, though by an angel 
 
 lent, 
 Were all too poor to tell my true con- 
 tent, 
 
 118 
 
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 And how I love thee seven times 
 seventy fold. 
 
 And sure am I that, in the ancient days, 
 Achilles heard no voice so passing 
 
 sweet, 
 And none so trancing none that could 
 compete 
 With thine for fervour; none in watery 
 
 ways 
 Where Neptune dwelt, so worthy of the 
 praise 
 Of Thetis' son, the sure and swift of 
 feet. 
 
 He never met upon the plains of Troy 
 Goddess or maiden so divinely 
 
 fraught. 
 Not Helen's self, for whom the Tro- 
 jans fought, 
 
 119 
 
Was like to thee. Her love had much 
 
 alloy, 
 But thine has none. Her beauty was a 
 
 toy, 
 But thine's a gem, unsullied and un- 
 
 bought. 
 
 And ne'er was seen by poet, in a sweven, 
 An eye like thine, a face so fair to 
 
 see 
 As that which makes the sunlight 
 sweet to me. 
 Nor need I wait for death, or for the 
 
 levin 
 In yonder cloud, to find the path to 
 Heaven. 
 It fronts me here. 'Tis manifest in 
 thee! 
 
of a Violinist ^ 
 
 LETTER ELEVENTH 
 
 FAITH 
 
 Now will I sing to God a song of 
 praise, 
 And thank the morning for the light 
 
 it brings, 
 Ay! and the earth for every flower 
 that springs, 
 And every tree that, in the jocund days, 
 Thrills to the blast. My voice I will 
 upraise 
 To thank the world for every bird 
 that sings. 
 
 I will unpack my mind of all its fears. 
 I will advance to where the matin 
 fires 
 
Absorb the hills. My hopes and my 
 desires 
 Will lead me safe; and day will have 
 
 no tears 
 And night no torture, as in former 
 years, 
 To warp my nature when my soul 
 aspires. 
 
 I will endure. I will not strive to 
 peep 
 Behind the barriers of the days to 
 
 come, 
 Nor, adding up the figures of a sum, 
 Dispose of prayers as men dispose of 
 
 sleep. 
 I cannot count the stars, or walk the 
 deep ; 
 But I can pray, and Faith shall not be 
 dumb. 
 
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 I take myself and thee as mine estate — 
 Thee and myself. The world is 
 
 centred there. 
 If thou be well I know the skies are 
 fair; 
 If not, they press me down with leaden 
 
 weight, 
 And all is dark; and morning comes 
 too late; 
 And all the birds are tuneless in the 
 air. 
 
 I need but thee: thee only. Thou alone 
 Art all my joy: a something to the 
 
 sight 
 As grand as Silence, and as snowy 
 white. 
 And do thou pardon if I make it known, 
 As oft I do, with mine Amati's tone, 
 Amid the stillness of the starry night. 
 123 
 
#5 Love Letters 
 
 Oh, give me pity of thy heart and 
 mind, 
 Mine own sweet Lady, if I vex thee 
 
 now. 
 If the repeating of my constant vow 
 Be undesired, have pity! I were blind, 
 And deaf and dumb, and mad, were I 
 inclined 
 To curb my feelings when to thee I 
 bow. 
 
 Forgive the challenge of my longing 
 lips 
 If these offend thee; and forgive me, 
 
 too, 
 If I perceive, within thine eyes of 
 blue, 
 
 More than I utter — more than, in 
 eclipse, 
 
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 A man may note atween the argent 
 tips 
 Of frighted Dian whom the Fates 
 pursue. 
 
 It is the thing I dream of; 'tis the 
 thing 
 We know as rapture, when, with 
 
 sudden thrill, 
 It snares the heart and subjugates 
 the will; 
 I mean the pride, the power, by which 
 
 we cling 
 To natures nobler than the ones we 
 bring, 
 To keep entire the fire we cannot chill. 
 
 Coyest of nymphs, my Lady! whom I 
 seek 
 As sailors seek salvation out at sea, 
 
 !25 
 
■SH Love Letters 
 
 And poets fame, and soldiers vic- 
 tory, 
 Behold! I note the blush upon thy 
 
 cheek, 
 The flag of truce that tells me thou are 
 meek 
 And soon wilt yield thy fortress up 
 to me. 
 
 It is thy soul ; it is thy soul in arms 
 Which thus I conquer. All thy 
 
 furtive sighs, 
 And all the glances of thy wistful 
 eyes, 
 Proclaim the swift surrender of thy 
 
 charms. 
 I kiss thy hand ; and tremors and alarms 
 Discard, in parting, all their late 
 disguise. 
 
 126 
 
They were not foes. They knew me, 
 one and all; 
 They knew I lov'd thee, and they 
 
 lured me on 
 To try my fortune, and to wait 
 thereon 
 For just reward. The scaling of the 
 
 wall 
 Was not the meed; there came the 
 festival, 
 And now there comes the crown that 
 I must don. 
 
 O my Beloved ! I am king of thee, 
 And thou my queen; and I will wear 
 
 the crown 
 A little moment, for thy love's 
 renown. 
 Yea, for a moment, it shall circle me, 
 
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<$H Love Letters 
 
 And then be thine, so thou, upon thy 
 knee, 
 Do seek the same, with all thy tresses 
 down. 
 
 For woman still is mistress of the man, 
 Though man be master. 'Tis the 
 
 woman's right 
 To choose her king, and crown him 
 in her sight, 
 And make him feel the pressure of the 
 
 span 
 Of her soft arms, as only woman can; 
 For, with her weakness, she excels 
 his might. 
 
 It is her joy indeed to be so frail 
 That he must shield her ,* he of all the 
 world 
 
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 Whom most she loves; and then, if 
 he be hurl'd 
 To depths of sorrow, she will more 
 
 avail 
 Than half a senate. Troubles may 
 assail, 
 But she will guide him by her lips 
 impearl'd. 
 
 A woman clung to Caesar; he was 
 great, 
 And great the power he gain'd by sea 
 
 and land. 
 But when he wrong'd her, when he 
 spurn' d the hand 
 Which once he knelt to, when he scofFd 
 
 at Fate, 
 Glory dispers'd, and left him desolate; 
 For God remember'd all that first was 
 plann'd. 
 
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#=1 Love Letters 
 
 The cannon's roar, the wisdom of the 
 sage, 
 The strength of armies, and the thrall 
 
 of kings — 
 All these are weak compared to 
 weaker things. 
 Napoleon fell because, in puny rage, 
 He wrong' d his house ; and earth became 
 a cage 
 For this poor eagle with his batter'd 
 wings. 
 
 Believe me, Love! I honour, night and 
 day, 
 The name of Woman. 'Tis the nobler 
 
 sex. 
 Villains may shame it; sorrows may 
 perplex ; 
 But still 'tis watchful. Man may take 
 away 
 
 130 
 
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 All its possessions, all its worldly sway, 
 And yet be worshipp'd by the soul he 
 wrecks. 
 
 A word of love to Woman is as sweet 
 As nectar'd rapture in a golden bowl; 
 And when she quaffs the heavens 
 asunder roll, 
 And God looks through. And, from 
 * his judgment-seat, 
 He blesses those who part, and those 
 who meet, 
 And blesses those who join the links 
 of soul with soul. 
 
 And are there none untrue? God 
 knows there are! 
 Ay, there are those who learn in 
 time the laugh 
 
 131 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 That ends in madness — women who 
 for chaff 
 Have sold their corn — who seek no 
 
 guiding-star, 
 And find no faith to light them from 
 afar; 
 Of whom 'tis said : " They need no 
 epitaph." 
 
 All this is known; but lo! for sake of 
 One 
 Who lives in glory — for my mother's 
 
 sake, 
 For thine, and hers, O Love ! — I 
 pity take 
 On all poor women. Jesu's will be 
 
 done! 
 Honour for all, and infamy for none, 
 This side the borders of the burning 
 lake. 
 
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 LETTER TWELFTH 
 
 VICTORY 
 
 Now have I reach'd the goal of my 
 desire, 
 For thou hast sworn — as sweetly as 
 
 a bell 
 Makes out its chime — the oath I love 
 to tell, 
 The fealty-oath of which I never tire. 
 The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre, 
 And sings, and rings, the thoughts 
 that o'er it swell. 
 
 The air is fill'd with voices. I have 
 found 
 Comfort at last, enthralment, and a 
 joy 
 
 133 
 
3H Love Letters 
 
 Past all belief; a peace without al- 
 loy. 
 There is a splendour all about the 
 
 ground 
 As if from Eden, when the world was 
 drown'd, 
 Something had come which death 
 could not destroy. 
 
 It seems, indeed, as if to me were sent 
 A smile from Heaven — as if to-day 
 
 the clods 
 Were lined with silk — the trees 
 divining rods, 
 And roses gems for some high tourna- 
 ment. 
 I should not be so proud, or so con- 
 tent, 
 If I could sup, to-night, with all the 
 gods. 
 
 134 
 
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 A shrined saint would change his place 
 with me 
 If he but knew the worth of what I 
 
 feel. 
 He is enrobed indeed, and for his 
 weal 
 Hath much concern; but how forlorn is 
 
 he! 
 How pale his pomp ! He cannot sue to 
 thee, 
 But I am sainted every time I kneel. 
 
 I walk'd abroad, to-day, ere yet the 
 dark 
 Had left the hills, and down the 
 
 beaten road 
 I saunter'd forth a mile from mine 
 abode. 
 I heard, afar, the watch-dog's sudden 
 bark, 
 
 '35 
 
#4 Love Letters 
 
 And, near at hand, the tuning of a 
 lark, 
 Safe in its nest, but weighted with an 
 ode. 
 
 The moon was pacing up the sky 
 serene, 
 Pallid and pure, as if she late had 
 
 shown 
 Her outmost side, and fear'd to make 
 it known; 
 And, like a nun, she gazed upon the 
 
 scene 
 From bars of cloud that seemed to stand 
 between, 
 And pray'd and smiled, and smiled 
 and pray'd alone. 
 
 The stars had fled. Not one remain'd 
 behind 
 
 136 
 
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 To warm or comfort; or to make 
 
 amends 
 For hope delay'd, — for ecstasy that 
 ends 
 At dawn's approach. The firmament 
 
 was blind 
 Of all its eyes ; and, wanton up the wind, 
 There came the shuddering that the 
 twilight sends. 
 
 The hills exulted at the Morning's 
 birth, — 
 And clouds assembled, quick, as her- 
 alds run 
 Before a king to say the fight is won. 
 The rich, warm daylight fell upon the 
 
 earth 
 Like wine outpour'd in madness, or in 
 mirth, 
 To celebrate the rising of the sun. 
 137 
 
•SH Love Letters 
 
 And when the soaring lark had done his 
 prayer, 
 The holy thing, self-poised amid the 
 
 blue 
 Of that great sky, did seem, a space 
 or two, 
 To pause and think, and then did clip 
 
 the air 
 And dropped to earth to claim his guer- 
 don there. 
 "Thank God! " I cried, " My dear- 
 est dream is true ! " 
 
 I was too happy, then, to leap and dance ; 
 But I could ponder ; I could gaze and 
 
 gaze 
 From earth to sky and back to wood- 
 land ways. 
 The bird had thrill'd my heart, and 
 cheer'd my glance, 
 138 
 
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 For he had found to-day his nest- 
 romance, 
 And lov'd a mate, and crown'd her 
 with his praise. 
 
 Love! my Love! I would not for a 
 
 throne, , 
 I would not for the thrones of all the 
 
 kings 
 Who yet have liv'd, or for a seraph's 
 
 wings, 
 Or for the nod of Jove when night hath 
 
 flown, 
 Consent to rule an empire all alone. 
 No ! I must have the grace of our two 
 
 rings. 
 
 1 must possess thee from the crowning 
 
 curl 
 Down to the feet, and from the beam- 
 ing eye 
 
 i39 
 
#1 Love Letters 
 
 Down to the bosom where my treas- 
 ures lie. 
 From blush to blush, and from the rows 
 
 of pearl 
 That light thy smile, I must possess 
 thee, girl, 
 And be thy lord and master till I 
 die. 
 
 This, and no less: the keeper of thy 
 fame, 
 The proud controller of each silken 
 
 tress, 
 And each dear item of thy loveliness, 
 And every oath, and every dainty name 
 Known to a bride: a picture in a frame 
 Of golden hair, to turn to and caress. 
 
 And though I know thee prone, in vacant 
 hours, 
 
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 To laugh and talk with those who cir- 
 cumvent 
 
 And make mad speeches; though I 
 know the bent 
 Of some such men, and though in ladies' 
 
 bowers 
 They brag of swords — I know my 
 proven powers; 
 
 I know myself and thee, and am con- 
 tent. 
 
 I know myself; and why should I 
 demur? 
 The lily, bowing to the breeze's play, 
 Is not forgetful of the sun in May. 
 She is his nymph, and with a servitor 
 She doth but jest. The sun looks down 
 at her, 
 And knows her true, and loves her 
 day by day. 
 
 m 
 
•SH Love Letters 
 
 E'en so I thee, O Lady of my Heart! 
 O Lady white as lilies on the lea, 
 And fair as foam upon the ocean free 
 Whereon the sun hath sent a shining 
 
 dart! 
 E'en so I love thee, blameless as thou art, 
 And with my soul's desire I compass 
 thee. 
 
 For thou art Woman in the sweetest 
 sense 
 Of true endowment, and a bride in- 
 deed 
 Fit for Apollo. This is woman's 
 need: 
 To be a beacon when the air is dense, '■ 
 A bower of peace, a lifelong recom- 
 pense — - 
 This is the sum of Woman's worldly 
 creed. 
 
 142 
 
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 And what is Man the while? And 
 what his will? 
 And what the furtherance of his 
 
 earthly hope ? 
 To turn to Faith, to turn, as to a 
 rope 
 A drowning sailor; all his blood to spill 
 For One he loves, to keep her out of 
 ill — 
 This is the will of Man, and this his 
 scope. 
 
 'Tis like the tranquil sea, that knows 
 anon 
 It can be wild, and keep away from 
 
 home 
 A thousand ships — and lash itself to 
 foam — 
 And beat the shore, and all that lies 
 thereon — 
 
 i43 
 
#? Love Letters of a Violinist 
 
 And catch the thunder ere the flash has 
 gone 
 Forth from the cloud that spans it 
 like a dome. 
 
 This is the will of Man, and this is mine. 
 But lo! I love thee more than wealth 
 
 or fame, 
 More than myself, and more than 
 those who came 
 With Christ's commission from the goal 
 
 divine. 
 Soul of my soul, and mine as I am thine, 
 I cling to thee, my Life! as fire to 
 flame. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 144 
 
Remarque Edition of 
 Literary Masterpieces 
 uniform witH tliis 
 volume n« >« v^ v^ 
 
 Sonnets from the Portuguese 
 
 By Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 Virginibus Puerisque 
 
 By Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 Friendship and Love 
 
 By Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 Heroism and Character 
 
 By Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 Poor Richard's Almanac 
 
 By Benjamin Franklin. 
 The School for Scandal 
 
 By Sheridan. 
 Destruction of Pompeii 
 
 By Pliny and Bulwer. 
 Sir Roger de Coverley Papers 
 
 By Addison. 
 Thoughts of Marcus Atifelius 
 
 Selections. 
 Lord Chesterfield's Letters 
 
 Selections. ' '" , 
 
#f Remarque Series 
 
 ii Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 
 
 1 2 Milton 
 
 By Lord Macaulay. 
 
 13 Enoch Arden 
 
 By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 14 Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of 
 
 Sleepy Hollow 
 By Washington Irving. 
 
 15 Rochefoucauld's Maxims 
 
 16 Rab and His Friends 
 
 By Dr. John Brown. 
 
 17 She Stoops to Conquer 
 
 By Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 18 Old Christmas 
 
 By Washington Irving. 
 
 19 Vision of Sir Launfal 
 
 By James Russeli LoweJl 
 
 20 Leaves of Grass 
 
 Selections. By Walt Whitman. 
 
 21 Elegy and Other Poems 
 
 By Thomas Gray. 
 
 22 Sweetness and Light 
 
 By Matthew Arnold. 
 
 23 Golden Thoughts 
 
 By Archbishop Fenelon. 
 
 24 Wit and Wisdom 
 
 By Sidney Smith. 
 
 25 A Christmas Carol 
 
 By Charles Dickens. 
 
 26 Will 6> the Mill and Biographical Sketch 
 
 By R. L. Stevenson. 
 
Remarque Series !# 
 
 27 Men and Women 
 
 By Robert Browning. 
 
 28 Napoleon Addresses and Anecdotes 
 
 29 Passion in the Desert, and an Episode 
 
 in the Reign of Terror. Selected 
 Prose Works of Honore de Balzac 
 
 30 Poems of Sentiment 
 
 By Byron. 
 
 31 Some Fruits of Solitude. Reflections 
 
 and Maxims 
 By William Penn. 
 
 32 Letters to a Young Man about Town 
 
 By William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 33 Golden Wings. A Prose Romance and 
 
 a Poem 
 By William Morris. 
 
 34 Selected Poems 
 
 By John Boyle O'Reilly, 
 
 35 The Discourses of Epictetus 
 
 Selections. 
 
 36 Evangeline 
 
 By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 37 The Holy Grail 
 
 By Alfred* Lord Tennyson. 
 
 38 Atala 
 
 By Francois Rene Auguste Chateaubri- 
 and. 
 
 39 Armando 
 
 By Edmond and Jules de Gonccurt. 
 
 40 Corsair and Lara 
 
 By Lord Byron. 
 

 
 
 #4 Remarque Series 
 
 41 
 
 The Gold Bug 
 
 
 By Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 42 
 
 Juliet and Romeo 
 
 
 From the Italian of Luigi da Porto. 
 
 43 
 
 L'Arlesienne 
 
 
 By Alphonse Daudet. 
 
 44 
 
 Manon Lescaut. Vol. 1. 
 
 
 By Abbe Prevost. 
 
 45 
 
 Manon Lescaut. Vol. n. 
 
 4 6 
 
 Paul and Virginia 
 
 
 By Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 47 
 
 Peter Schlemihl 
 
 
 By Adelbert von Chamisso. 
 
 48 
 
 Werther 
 
 
 By J. W. von Goethe. 
 
 49 
 
 Undine 
 
 
 By Friedrich, Baron de La Motte-Fou» 
 
 
 que. 
 
 5° 
 
 Tales of a Wayside Inn 
 
 
 By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 5* 
 
 King of the Golden River, The 
 
 
 By John Ruskin. 
 
 52 
 
 Love Letters of a Violinist 
 
 
 , By Eric Mackay. 
 
 53 
 
 Sketches of Young Couples 
 
 
 By Charles Dickens. 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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