A DRJEAMS^ WOMEN , V THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Je. a n S. Fel ton n .'"9/v? a! u U u J 'fe? A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN Y UL \ \ \ REAM OF AIR WOMEN WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON FISHER DECORATIONS BY E STETSON CRAWFORD INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS'MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYKH.HT 190/ THE BOBBS-MKHIUI.L COMPANY OCTOBER TO THE FAIR WOMEN OF OUR DREAMS 2098228 A Dream of Fair Women CONTENTS LINES FROM 13 . Alfred Tennyson Marjorie '., . . . 21 Meredith Nicholson Love's Ideal 27 . . William Winter From "My Witness" By courtesy of the author The Light of Love . 33 James WhitcombRiley The Love Gase 38 Frank L. Stanton k Like a Lilac ... 43 Maurice Francis Egan By courtesy of the author 51 . Mena Kemp Ogden LINKS FKOM The Nun 57 . . . Leigh Hunt O T Beware .... 63 . Henry Wadsworth Ky courtesy of Longfellow "Houghton, Mifflin and Company Son-,' . . . 69 . George MacDonaU Ballad of Fair Sinners 7o . . Samuel McCoy Song 81 . . Thomas Carew To Hear Her Sing . 87 James WhitcombRiley Her Beautiful Eyes . 93 James WhitcombRiley O c^ At the Church Gate . 99 William Makepeace Thackeray She Walks in Beauty 103 . . . Lord Byron Private Theatricals . Ill . . Louise Imogene By courtesy ,>f the author GllinCV Laughing Son 117 James WhitcombRiley Postscript . . . . 123 . Ernest Wentworth From "The Yellow Hook" By courtesy of John Lane Company I Love My Jean . . 129 . . Robert Burns The Time I've Lost in Wooing .... 135 . Thomas Moore I, turning, saw, throned on a flowery rise, One sitting on a crimson scarf unroll'd; A queen, with swarthy cheeks and bold, black eyes, Brow-bound with burning gold. Ci NL< She, flashing forth a haughty smile, began: "I govern' d men by change, and so I sway'd All moods. 'Tis long since I have seen a man. Once, like the moon, I made \ \ The ever- shifting currents of the blood, According to my humor, ebb and flow. I have no men to govern in this wood : That makes my only woe." An arch of blue above a quiet lake, And still low shores where languid ripples break; In quiet deeps of wood the brooding June Watches the shadows of late afternoon, And o'er the water idle swallows slip With startled cries, to find their wings adrip! A But pleasantest of all it is to see There, in the swaying hammock, Marjorie, Repeating rhythmic tales the while her eyes Mirror the lake, the wood, the shore, the skies Her grave voice leads afar through golden ways Up sunny slopes among the fair dream days, Where trumpets faintly blow from guarded walls And Youth (or Marjorie!) the answer calls. Her young face is good and fair, Lily-white and rosy-red; And the brown and silken hair Hovers, mist-like, round her head. And her voice is soft and low, Clear as music and as sweet; Hearing it, you hardly know Where the sound and silence meet ' -, All the magic, who can tell, Of her laughter and her sighs? Or what heavenly meanings dwell In her kind, confiding eyes? All her ways are winning ways, Full of tenderness and grace; And a witching sweetness plays Fondly o'er her gentle face. The clouds have deepened o'er the night Till, through the dark profound, The moon is but a stain of light, And all the stars are drowned; And all the stars are drowned, my love, And all the skies are drear; But what care we for light above, If light of love is here? The wind is like a wounded thing That beats about the gloom With baffled breast and drooping wing, And wail of deepest doom ; And wail of deepest doom, my love ; But what have we to fear From night, or rain, or winds above, With love and laughter here? A red rose at Lucinda's feet: Ho! gallants east and west, Who'll race that royal rose to greet Who'll wear it on his breast? A red rose at Lucinda's feet : Who loves Luanda best? A red rose at Luanda's feet: Ho! gallants speed amain! That rose hath known her kisses sweet- Her lips its crimson stain! A red rose at Luanda's feet: What knight the rose will gain? A -4 s A red rose at Luanda's feet: See where her lips have pressed! Through light and storm sure-mettled fleet, Speed, lovers, east and west! A red rose at Luanda's feet: Who loves Luanda best? A \ Like a lilac in the spring Is my love, my lady-love ; Purple-white, the lilacs fling Scented blossoms from above: So my love, my lady-love, Throws soft glances on my heart; Ah, my dainty lady-love, Every glance is Cupid's dart. Like a pansy in the spring Is my love, my lady-love; For her velvet eyes oft bring Golden fancies from above: Ah, my heart is pansy-bound By those eyes so tender-true; Balmy heart' s-ease have I found, Dainty lady-love, in you. Like the changeful month of spring Is my love, my lady-love; Sunshine comes and glad birds sing, Then a rain-cloud floats above: So your moods change with the wind, April-tempered lady-love ; All the sweeter, to my mind. You're a riddle, lady-love. Sweetheart, I dare not think how soon Our clasping hands must part, Our flying feet be out of tune, And all untuned in y heart: The veiy sleeve that little hand Caresses with its touch Is thrilling 'neath the gentle clasp That honors it so much. The rose, whose petals burst apart Against your sunny hair, Thus nestled to my heart has shed A lifetime fragrance there. Play on, fairy strain, too soon Will silence break the spell, How sad, how sweet the last dear waltz Before we say farewell. If you become a nun, dear, A friar I will be; In any cell you run, dear, Pray look behind for me. The roses all turn pale, too; The doves all take the veil, too; The blind will see the show; What! you become a nun, my dear? I'll not believe it, no! If you become a nun, dear, The bishop Love will be; The Cupids every one, dear, Will chant, "We trust in thee!" The incense will go sighing, The candles fall a-dying, The water turn to wine: What! you go take the vows, my dear? be mine. I know a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! She has two eyes, so soft and brown, Take care! She gives a side-glance and looks down, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! c And she has hair of a golden hue, Take care! And what she says, it is not true, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! She has a bosom as white as snow; Take care! She knows how much it is best to show; Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! She gives thee a garland woven fair; Take care! It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! c Eyes of beauty, eyes of light, Sweetly, softly, sadly bright! Draw not, ever, o'er my eye, Radiant mists of ecstasy. Be not proud, glorious orbs ! Not your mystery absorbs ; But the starry soul that lies Looking through your night of eyes One moment be less perfect, sweet ; Sin once in something small; One fault to lift me on my feet From love's too perfect thrall! 'fir She's back! her penance, self-imposed, is over! Lent passed, now for ten naughty months in clover! The Devil is to have his due, the rascal! And ball-room whispers drown the Thoughts of Pascal. A if Gad ! how demurely, cowled and robed, she scorned us ! Given time, she would have quite de-hoofed, de-horned us! But Vogue, which sets the style for prayers as well as pleasures Took pity, opened doors, gave hack our treasures! IX. Then take this welcome from a gray old sinner Who's told to diet, but prefers his dinner: Lent's well enough as, say, an appetizer, But, sanctus dixit, she who dines is wiser! Y Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties, Orient deep, These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note To hear her sing to hear her sing- It is to hear the birds of Spring In dewy groves on blooming sprays Pour out their blithest roundelays. Such joy it is to hear her sing, We fall in love with everything The simple things of every day Grow lovelier than words can say. To hear the bulbul's voice that shook The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh What wonder we in homage bring Our hearts to her to hear her sing! O her beautiful eyes! they are blue as the dew On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run As the morn shifts the mists and the clouds from the skies So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes. And her beautiful eyes are as mid-day to me, When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes. her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own As a glory glanced down from the glare of the Throne; And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise- So I grope through the night of her beautiful eyes. The minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming ; They've hush'd the minster bell; The organ 'gins to swell; She's coming, she's coming! Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. My lady comes at last, Timid and stepping fast And hastening thither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes she's here, she's past! May heaven go with her! Kneel undisturb'd, fair saint! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through heaven's gate, Angels within it. She walks in beauty like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies' And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear, their dwelling-place \N And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow ; But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. You were a haughty beauty, Polly, (That was in the play,) I was the lover melancholy, (That was in the play.) And when your fan and you receded, And all my passion lay unheeded, If still with tenderer words I pleaded, That was in the play! I met my rival at the gateway, (That was in the play,) And so we fought a duel straightway. (That was in the play). But when Jack hurt my arm unduly, And you rushed over, softened newly, And kissed me, Polly! truly, truly, Was that in the play? Sing us something full of laughter; Tune your harp, and twang your strings, Till your glad voice, chirping after, Mate the song the robin sings; Loose your lips, and let them flutter Like the wings of wanton birds, Though they naught but laughter utter, Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. Sing in ringing tones that mingle In a melody that flings Joyous echoes in a jingle Sweeter than the minstrel sings; Sing of Winter, Spring or Summer, Clang of war, or low of herds; Trill of cricket, roll of drummer- Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. Like the lisping laughter glancing From the meadow brooks and springs, Or the river's ripples dancing To the tune the current sings Sing of Now, and the Hereafter ; Let your glad song, like the birds', Overflow with limpid laughter Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. ttr This enviable paper! Oh, to think That it will go, will really, really go To her, my mistress. Had it soul to know What enviable paper ! Oh, to think \ A M Mj ty /> The sweet light of her eyes, her sweet, clear eyes, Shall shine on it; her sweet, cool hands caress it, And bear it to her sweet, warm lips; and press it To the sweet, pale roses of her cheek. First, eyes, Hands, lips, and cheek, and then, at night, all night, In the sweet darkness of her room (ah, so!) In the sweet stillness of her room (speak low!) I guess where it will lie, at night, all night. 0' a' the airts the wind can hlaw, I dearly lo'e the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lass that I lo'e best; There wild woods grow, and rivers row, Wi' mony a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. c I see her in the dewy flowers, Sae lovely, sweet and fair: I hear her voice in ilka bird, Wi' music charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green; There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean. \v The time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorn' d the lore she brought me, My only books Were woman's looks, And folly's all they've taught me. . A< *r"TrCtv-:~ Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him, the Sprite, Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted. Like him, too, Beauty won me, But while her eyes were on me, If once their ray Was turn'd away, Oh! winds could not outrun me. And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No, vain, alas! the endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever; Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. OT181996 ii II Mill II Hill || III III A 000 052 305 o