rp .s^^ MJWt JUl 3^ <-> ;jju^^ i^^^"" jo"^ %ojnv3-j lEUNIVERr-v ■ lOS-ANCEir^ ^OFCAUFO ■AOSANCEI ' '^/Sil3AINflJ >y /. ^VOSANCFl -r» o . E z: =! '^ ^-^ o '^.i/OJIlVD'J ;E-UNIVER% -rnr.. vOFCAllfo;,w ^OFCALIFC 'd 133NYSOI .^aaAiNamv* ^^Aiiviiairi^ >&Aavaan % g 0imm\o/-^ 0, &Aavaaii# ^c ^HIBRARYQa ^ii» A S ^0FCAIIF0%, to ^^Aavaaii# >&Aavaan# < -n «-J _ ^ O u. ca ^WEUNIVERS/A . , ^ ^ o ^ ^^ I? ove ; A boundless store of it he spent With lavishment. And when therewith that house became All in a strange sort glorified ; For through whole beauty, as of flame. Those things, resplendent far and wide, Did draw unto them great acclaim ; Lo, many a man there was who tried With base alloys to do the same, And gat men's shame. But all about that house he set A wondrous flowering thing — his speech, That without ceasing did beget Such fair unearthly blossoms, each SERAPHITUS. 29 Seemed from some paradise, and wet As with an angel's tears, and each Gave forth some long perfume to let No man forget. A new delicious music erred For ever through the devious ways Tangled with blooming of each word ; As though in that enchanted maze Some sweet and most celestial bird Were caught, and, hid from every gaze, Did there pour forth such song as stirred All men who heard. Before him was perpetual birth -> Of flowers whereof, aye, more and more, The world begetteth a sad dearth ; And those rare balms man searcheth for, Fair ecstasy, and the soul's mirth : Half grudgingly the angels bore That one should waste on a lost earth Things of such worth. 3° SERAPHITUS. It may be, with a strange delight, After an age of gazing through That mirror of things infinite That well nigh burns the veil of blue Drawn down between it and our sight — It may be, with a joy all new, He sought the darkness and the light Of day and night. It may be, that, upon some wave Which through the incense-laden skies Scarce forced its ripple, there once clave A thin earth-fragrance — in such wise It smote his sense and made him crave For that strange sweet : maybe, likewise, The leaves their subtle perfume gave Up from some grave : And pleasant did it seem to heap About the heart dim spells that lull Profoundly between death and sleep. To feel mid earthly soothings, dull SERAPHITUS. 31 And sweet, upon the whole sense creep The dream — Hfe-long and wonderful, That hath all souls of men to keep Lest they should weep. But often, when there seemed to fall Bright shadows of half-blindness, thin. And like fine films wTought over all The flashing sights of Heaven within ; While that fair perishable wall Of flesh so barred and shut him in That scarce a silver spirit-call Reached him at all — O then the Earth failed not to bring. Indeed through many a day and eve — ■ The strength of all her flowering About him ; nor forgot to weave, With soft perpetual murmuring. Her spells, that such a sweet way grieve, And hold the heart to each fair thing. Yea, with a sting : 32 SERAPHITUS. And, sometimes, with strange prevalence He felt those dim enchantments float Most soothingly upon liis sense ; AMiile faint in memory remote, Brought down the heart knew not from whence, The thought of heaven withm him smote — And many a yearning did commence Vague and intense — Fair part of that unknown disease Of dull material love, whereby The luring flower-semblances Of earthliness and death would try To bind his heart beyond release To each fair mortal sympathy, That Death at length might wholly seize Him with all these. And, surely, on some shining bed Of flowers in full summer's gleam ; Or when the autumn time had shed Its wealth of perfume and its dream SERAPHITUS. 33 On some rich eve — no thing of dread To all his spirit did it seem, To dream on, feeling sweet earth spread Over his head. •X- But, one long twilight — hushed and dim- The blue unfathomable clime Of heaven seemed wholly to o'erbrim With presence of the Lord — sublime ; And voices of the Seraphim Fell through the ether like a chime : He rose : his past way seemed to him Like a child's whim. THE LOVER. T WAS not with the rest at play ; My brothers laughed in joyous mood ; But I — I wandered far away Into the fair and silent wood ; And with the trees and flowers I stood, As dumb and full of dreams as they : — For One it seemed my whole heart knew, Or One my heart had known long since. Was peeping at me through the dew ; And with bright laughter seemed to woo My beauty, like a Fairy prince. THE LOVER. 35 Oh, what a soft enchantment filled The lonely paths and places dim ! It was as though the whole wood thrilled, And a dumb joy, because of him, Weighed down the lilies tall and slim, And made the roses blush, and stilled The great wild voices in half fear : It was as though his smile did hold All things in trances manifold ; And in each place as he drew near The leaves were touched and turned to gold. And well I seemed to know, the while. It was for me and for my sake, He wrought that magic with his smile, And set the unseen spells to make The lonely ways I loved to take So full of sweetness, to beguile My heart and keep me there for hours ; And sometimes I was sure he lay Beside me hid among the flowers, Or climbed above me, and in play Shook down the white tree-bloom in showers. 36 THE LOVER. But more and more he seemed to seek My heart : till, dreaming of all this, I thought one day to hear him speak, Or feel, indeed, his sudden kiss Bind me to some great unknown bliss : Then there would stay upon my cheek Full many a light and honied stain, That told indeed how I had lain Deep in the flowery banks all day ; And round me too there would remain Some strange wood-blossom's scent alway. 'Twas not the bright and fond deceit Of that first summer, — whose great bloom Quite overcame me with its sweet. And seemed to fill me and consume My very brain with its perfume ; — 'Twas no false spell made my heart beat With such a joy to be alone With all the bloom and all the scent : It was a thing 1 dared not own, Already whispered there and known, Already with my whole life blent. THE LOVER. 37 It was this secret, vast, sublime, Too full of wonder to be told — Whose extreme rapture from that time Doth ever more and more enfold My spirit, like a robe of gold. Or, as it were, the magic clime Of some fair heaven about me shed — Wherein are songs of unseen birds, And whispers of delicious words More sweet than any man hath said Of all the living or the dead. — O, the incomparable love Of him, my Lover ! — O, to tell Its way and measure were above The throbbing chords of speech that swell Within me ! — Doth it not excel All other, sung or written of? Yea now, O all ye fair mankind — Consider well the gracious line Of those your lovers ; call to mind Their love of you, and ye shall find Not one among them all like mine. 38 THE LOVER. It seems as though, from calm to calm, A whole fair age had passed me by, Since first this Lover, through a charm Of flowers, wooed so tenderly, I had no fear of drawing nigh, Nor knew, indeed, that — with an arm Closed round and holding me — he led My eager way from sight to sight Of all the summer magic — right To where himself had surely spread Some pleasant snare for my delight. And now, in an eternal sphere. Beneath one flooding look of his — Wherein, all beautiful and dear, That endless melting gold that is His love, with flawless memories Grows ever richer and more clear — My hfe seems held, as some faint star Beneath its sun : and through the far Celestial distances for miles, To where vast mirage futures are, I trace the gilding of his smiles. THE LOVE J?. 39 And, in the long enthralling dream, That, ever — through each purer zone Of love translating me — doth seem To bring my spirit near his own, I hear the veiled angelic tone Of many voices ; as I deem, Assuring me of something sweet, And strange, and wondrous, and intense ; Which thing they evennore repeat In fair half parables, from whence I draw a vague all-blissful sense. For, one by one, e'en as I rise, And feel the pure Ethereal Refining all before my eyes : Whole beauteous worlds material Are seen to enter gradual The great transparent paradise Of this my dream ; and, all revealed, To break upon me more and more Their inward singing souls, and yield A wondrous secret half concealed In all their loveliness before. 40 THE LOVER. And so, when, through unmeasured days, The far effulgence of the sea Is holding me in long amaze. And stealing with strange ecstasy My heart all opened silently ; — There reach me, from among the sprays. Ineffable fiiint words that sing Within me, — how, for me alone, One who is lover — who is King, Hath dropt, as 'twere a precious stone, That sea — a symbol of his throne. And now, indeed, some precious time It hath, — all inexpressible ! All rapture ! — yea, through many a rhyme Of wordless speech made fairly well, And beauteous worlds' whole visible Unbosomings of love sublime — It hath some blessed while become Familiar, how all things take part For him to whose love I am come, And in their ways — not weak nor dumb — Are ever calling on my heart. THE LOVER. 4 1 And, through the long charmed sohtude Of throbbing moments, whose strong Hnk Is one dehcious hope pursued From trance to trance, the while I think And know myself upon the brink Of His eternal kiss, — endued With part of him, the very wind Hath power to ravish me in sips Or long mad wooings that unbind My hair, — wherein I truly find The magic of his unseen lips. And, so almighty is the thrill I feel at many a faintest breath Or stir of sound — as 'twere a rill Of joy traversing me, or death Dissolving all that hindereth My thought from power to fulfil Some new embodiment of bliss, — I do consume with the immense Delight as of some secret kiss, And am become like one whose sense Is used with raptures too intense ! 3 42 THE LOVER. O like some soft insidious breath, Whose first invasion winneth cjuite To all its madness or its death The heart, resisting not the might And poison of its new delight, — E'en so is this that entereth In whispers, or through subtly wrought Enchantment snaring every thought ; Yea, by the whole mysterious pore Of life, — this joy surpassing aught That heart of man hath kno-wn before. And, though, indeed, a hapless end Of damning ruin were but sure, Yet could I none of me defend From such a sweet and perfect lure ; But must, as long as they endure, To all these sorceries still lend My heart ; believing how I stand Nigh some unearthly bliss that lies Dissembled all before my eyes ; — Do I not see a radiant Hand Transmuting earth, and air, and skies ? THE LOVER. 43 — And is not the great language mute The stars' deep looks are wont to melt Upon my soul, the very suit Of this unearthly wooer — felt So clearly pleading — I have knelt Full oft, most dreading to pollute The holy rapture with a sigh ? And doth not every accent nigh Consume each Past to a thin shred ; While endless visions glorify My sight, and haloes touch my head ? Yea, mystic consummation ! yea, Wondrous suitor, — whosoe'er Thou art ; that in such mighty way, In distant realms, athwart the air And lands and seas, with all things fair, Hast wooed me even till this day ; — It seems thou drawest near to me ; Or I, indeed, so nigh to thee, 1 catch rare breaths of a delight Fro;r. thy most g'orious country, see Its distant glow upon some height. 3—2 44 THE LOVER. At times there is vouchsafed me, e'en Some sign that certainly foretells Of thee at hand : so I have seen — Caught by no earthly clash of bells — A gleam of silver citadels ; Distant, and radiant with such sheen As only on high virgin snows, Or from the diamond one knows ; Displayed a moment, without shroud. Eclipsing all the night's fair shows From some dim pinnacle of cloud : Or, tlirough a calm hushed interval Of most charmed thinking, there hath passed. And with no rumour or footfall, A troop of blonde ones who surpassed All tales of loveliness amassed In my child's dreamland ; costumed all As for a bridal ; who did shine With such a splendour on each face, And light upon the garments fine, I knew them surely of a race That dwells in that fair realm of thine. THE LOVER. 45 O thou my Destiny ! O thou My own — my very Love — my Lord ! Whom from the first day until now My heart, divining, hath adored So perfectly it hath abhorred The tie of each frail human vow — O I would whisper in thine ear — Yea, may I not, once, in the clear Pure night, when, only, silver shod The angels walk ? — thy name, I fear And love, and tremble saying — GOD ! A WHISPER FROM THE GRAVE. A /T Y Life points with a radiant hand, Along a golden ray of sun That lights some distant promised land, A fair way for my feet to run : My Death stands heavily in gloom, And digs a soft bed in the tomb Where I may sleep when all is done. The flowers take hold upon my feet ; Fair fingers beckon me along ; I find Life's promises so sweet Each thought within me turns to song : But Death stands digging for me — lest Some day I need a little rest, And come to think the way too long. A WHISPER FROM THE GRAVE. 47 O seems there not beneath each rose A face ? — the bkish comes burning through ; And eyes my heart akeady knows Are fining themselves from the blue, Above the world ; and One, whose hair Holds all my sun, is coming, fair, And must bring heaven if all be true : And now I have face, hair, and eyes ; And lo, the Woman that these make Is more than flower, and sun, and skies ! Her slender fingers seem to take My whole fair life, as 'twere a bowl. Wherein she pours me forth her soul, And bids me drink it for her sake. Methinks the world becomes an isle ; And there — immortal, as it seems — I gaze upon her face, whose smile Flows round the world in golden streams : Ah, Death is digging for me deep, Lest some day I should need to sleep And solace me with other dreams ! 48 A WHISPER FROM THE GRA VE. But now I feel as though a kiss Of hers should ever give me birth In some new heaven of life-long bliss ; And heedlessly, athwart my mirth, I see Death digging day by day A grave ; and, very far away, I hear the falling of the earth. Ho there, if thou wilt wait for me Thou Death ! — I say — keep in thy shade ; Crouch down behind the willow tree, Lest thou shouldst make my love afraid ; If thou hast aught with me, pale friend, Some flitting leaf its sigh shall lend To tell me when the grave is made ! And lo, e'en while I now rejoice. Encircled by my love's fair arm, There cometh up to me a voice. Yea, through the fragrance and the charm ; Quite like some sigh the forest heaves Quite soft — a murmur of dead leaves. And not a voice that bodeth harm : " A WHISPER FROM THE GRA VE. 49 lover, fear not — have thou joy ; For life and love are in thy hands : 1 seek in no wise to destroy The peace thou hast, nor make the sands Run quicker through thy pleasant span ; Blest art thou above many a man, And fair is She who with thee stands : I only keep for thee out here — far away, as thou hast said. Among the willow trees — a clear Soft space for slumber, and a bed ; That after all, if life be vain, And love turn at the last to pain, Thou mayst have ease when thou art dead. O grieve not : back to thy love's lips Let her embrace thee more and more, Consume that sweet of hers in sips : 1 only wait till it is o'er ; For fear thou'lt weary of her kiss, And come to need a bed like this Where none shall kiss thee evermore. 50 A WHISPER FROM THE GRAVE. Believe each pleasant muttered vow She makes to thee, and see with ease Each promised heaven before thee now ; I only think, if one of these Should fail thee — O thou wouldst need then To come away right far from men, And weep beneath the willow trees. And, therefore, have I made this place. Where thou shouldst come on that hard day, P'ull of a sad and weary grace ; For here the drear wind hath its way With grass, and flowers, and withered tree — As sorrow shall that day with thee, If it should happen as I say. And, therefore, have I kept the ground. As 'twere quite holy, year by year ; The great wind lowers to a sound Of sighing as it passes near ; And seldom doth a man intrude Upon the hallowed solitude. And never b- " to shed a tear. A WHISPER FROM THE GRA VE. 5 1 So, if it be thou come, alas, For sake of sorrow long and deep, I_Death, the flowers, and leaves, and grass— Thy grief-fellows, do mourn and weep : Or if thou come, with life's whole need To rest a life-long space indeed, I too and they do guard thy sleep. Moreover, sometimes, while all we Have kept the grave with heaviness, The weary place hath seemed to be Not barren of all blessedness : Spent sunbeams rest them here at noon. And grieving spirits from the moon Walk here at night in shining dress. And there is gazing down on all Some great and love-like eye of blue, Wherefrom, at times, there seem to fall Strange looks that soothe the place quite through ; As though indeed, if all love's sweet And all Ufe's good should prove a cheat, They knew some heaven that might be true. 52 A WHISPER FROM THE GRAVE. — It is a tender voice like this That comes to me in accents fair : Well ; and through mucli of love and bliss, It seemeth not a thing quite bare Of comfort, e'en to be possest Of that one spot of earth for rest, Among the willow trees down there. BISCLAVARET. Bisclaveret ad nun en Bretan, Garwall I'apelent li Xorman. Jadis le poet-hum oir, E souvent suleit avenir, Humes plusurs Garwall devindrent E es boscages meisun tindrent. Marie de France : Lais. IN either mood, to bless or curse, God bringeth forth the breath of man ; No angel sire, no woman nurse Shall change the work that God began : One spirit shall be like a star. He shall delight to honour ofie ; Another spirit he shall mar ; None shall xmdo what God hath done. S6 BISCLAVARET. The weaker holier season wanes ; Night comes with darkness and with sins ; And, in all forests, hills, and plains, A keener, fiercer life begins. And, sitting by the low hearth fires, I start and shiver fearfully ; For thoughts all strange and new desires Of distant things take hold on me ; And many a feint of touch or sound Assails me, and my senses leap As in pursuit of false things found And lost in some dim path of sleep. But, momently, there seems restored A triple strength of life and pain ; I thrill, as though a wine were poured Upon the pore of every vein : 1 burn— as though keen wine were shed On all the sunken flames of sense — Yea, till the red flame grows more red, And all the burning more intense, BISCLAVARET. And, sloughing weaker lives grown wan With needs of sleep and weariness, I quit the hallowed haunts of man And seek the mighty wilderness. — Now over intervening waste Of lowland drear, and barren wold, I scour, and ne'er assuage my haste, Inflamed with yearnings manifold ; Drinking a distant sound that seems To come around me like a flood ; While all the track of moonlight gleams Before me like a streak of blood ; And bitter stifling scents are past A-dying on the night behind, And sudden piercing stings are cast Against me in the tainted wind. And lo, afar, the gradual stir. And rising of the stray wild leaves ; The swaying pine, and shivering fir, And windy sound that moans and heaves 4 57 58 DISCLAVARET. In first fits, till with utter throes The whole wild forest lolls about : And all the fiercer clamour grows, And all the moan becomes a shout ; And mountains near and mountains far Breathe freely : and the mingled roar Is as of floods beneath some star Of storms, when shore cries unto shore. But soon, from every hidden lair Beyond the forest tracts, in thick Wild coverts, or in deserts bare, Behold They come — renewed and quick- The splendid fearful herds that stray By midnight, when tempestuous moons Light them to many a shadowy prey, And earth beneath the thunder swoons. — O who at any time hath seen Sight all so fearful and so fair, Unstricken at his heart with keen Whole envy in that hour to share BISCLAVARET. 59 Their unknown curse and all the strength Of the wild thirsts and lusts they know, The sharp joys sating them at length, The new and greater lusts that grow ? But who of mortals shall rehearse How fair and dreadfully they stand, Each marked with an eternal ciu'se, Alien from every kin and land ? — Along the bright and blasted heights Loudly their cloven footsteps ring ! Full on their fronts the lightning smites, And falls like some dazed baffled thing. Now through the mountain clouds they break. With many a crest high-antlered, reared Athwart the storm : now they outshake Fierce locks or manes, glossy and weird, That sweep with sharp perpetual sound The arid heights where the snows drift, And drag the slain pines to the ground, And all into the whirlwind lift 4—2 6p BISCLA VARE T. ' The heavy sinking slopes of shade From hidden hills of monstrous girth, Till new unearthly lights have flayed The draping darkness from the earth. Henceforth what hiding-place shall hide All hallowed spirits that in form Of mortal stand beneath the wide And wandering pale eye of the storm ? The beadsman in his lonely cell Hath cast one boding timorous look Toward the heights ; then loud and well, — Kneeling before the open book — All night he prayeth in one breath, Nor spareth now his sins to own : And through his prayer he shuddereth To hear how loud the forests groan. For all abroad the lightnings reign, And rally, with their lurid spell, The multitudinous campaign Of hosts not yet made fast in hell : ' BISCLAVARET, 6l And us indeed no common arm, Nor magic of the dark may smite, But, through all elements of harm. Across the strange fields of the night — Enrolled with the whole giant host Of shadowy, cloud-outstripping things Whose vengeful spells are uppermost, And convoyed by unmeasured wings, We foil the thin dust of fatigue With bright-shod phantom feet that dare All pathless places and the league Of the light shifting soils of air ; And loud, mid fearful echoings. Our throats, aroused with hell's own thirst, Outbay the eternal trumpetings ; The while, all impious and accurst, Revealed and perfected at length In whole and dire transfigurement, With miracle of growing strength We win upon a keen warm scent. 62 BISCLAVARET. Before us each cloud fastness breaks ; And o'er slant inward wastes of light, And past the moving mirage lakes, And on within the Lord's own sight — We hunt the chosen of the Lord ; And cease not, in wild course elate, Until we see the flaming sword And Gabriel before His gate ! O many a fair and noble prey Falls bitterly beneath our chase ; And no man till the judgment day, Hath power to give these burial place ; But down in many a stricken home About the world, for these they mourn ; And seek them yet through Christendom In all the lands where they were born. And oft, when Hell's dread prevalence Is past, and once more to the earth In chains of narrowed human sense We turn, — around our place of birth, BISCLA VARET. 63 We hear the new and piercing wail ; And, through the haunted day's long glare, In fearful lassitudes turn pale With thought of all the curse we bear. But, for long seasons of the moon, When the whole giant earth, stretched low, Seems straightening in a silent swoon Beneath the close grip of the snow, We well nigh cheat the hideous spells That force our souls resistless back, With languorous torments worse than hell's To the frail body's fleshly rack : And with our brotherhood the storms, Whose mighty revehy unchains The avalanches, and deforms The ancient mountains and the plains, — We hold high orgies of the things, Strange and accursed of all flesh. Whereto the quick sense ever brings The sharp forbidden thrill afresh. ^4 BISCLAVARET. And far away, among our kin, Already they account our place With all the slain ones, and begin The Masses for our soul's full grace. THOUGHT. T^HERE is no place at all by night or day, Where I — who am of that hard tyrant Thought The slave — can find security in aught, But He, almighty, reaching me, doth lay His hand upon me there, so rough a way Assaulting me, — however I am caught, Walking or standing still — that for support I sometimes lean on anything I may : Then when he hath me, ease is none from him Till he do out his strength with me ; cold sweat Comes o'er my body and on every limb ; My arm falls weak as from a fierce embrace ; And, ere he leaveth me, he will have set A great eternal mark upon my face. THE STORY OF THE KING. nPHIS is the story of the King : Was he not great in everything ? He built him dwelling-places three : In one of them his Youth should be ; To make it fair for many a feast He conquered the whole East ; He brought delight from every land, And gold from many a river's strand, And all things precious he could find In Perse, or utmost Ind. THE STORY OF THE KING. 67 There, brazen guarded were the doors ; And o'er the many painted floors The captive women came and went ; Or, with bright ornament, Sat in the pillared places gay, And feasted with him every day, And fed him with their rosy kiss : O there he had all bliss ! Then afterward, when he did hear There was none like him anywhere, He would behold the sight so sweet Of all men at his feet : And, since he heard that certainly Not like a man was he to die. For all his lust that palace vast It seemed too small at last. Therefore, another house he made, So wide that it might hold arrayed The thousands peers of his domain And last his godlike reign ; 68 THE STORY OF THE KING. And here he was a goodly span, While before him came every man To kneel and worship in his sight : O there he had all might ! And yet, most surely, it befel He tired of this house as well : Was it too mighty after all ? Or still perhaps too small ? Strangely in all men's wonderment. He left it for a tenement He had all builded in one year : Now he is dwelling there. He took full Utde of his gold ; And of his pleasures manifold He had but a small heed, they say, That day he went away : — O, the new dwelling he hath found Is but a man's grave in the ground, And taketh up but one man's space In the burial place. THE STORY OF THE KING. 69 And now, indeed, that he is dead. The nations have they no more dread ? Lo, is not this the King they swore To worship evermore ? Will no one Love of his come near And kiss him where he lieth there. And warm his freezing lips again ? — Is this then all his reign ? He must have longed ere tliis to rise And be again in all men's eyes ; For the place where he dwelleth now Lonely it is I trow : But, just to stand in his ovm hall And feel the warmth there once for all — O would he not give crowns of gold ? For the place is so cold ! But over him a tomb doth stand, The costhest in all the land ; And of the glory that he bore It telleth evermore. — 7° THE STORY OF THE KING. So these three dwellings he hath had, And mighty he hath been and glad, O hath he not been sad as well ? Perhaps — but who can tell ? This is the story of the King : Was he not great in everything ? PALM FLOWERS. T N a land of the sun's blessing, Where the passion-flower grows, My heart keeps all worth possessing ; And the way there no man knows. — Unkno^\^l wonder of new beauty ! There my Love lives all for me ; To love me is her whole duty, Just as I would have it be. All the perfumes and perfections Of that clime have met with grace In her body, and complexions Of its flowers are on her face. 72 PALM FLOWERS. All soft tints of flowers most vernal, Tints that make each other fade : In her eyes they are eternal, Set in some mysterious shade. Full of dreams are the abysses Of the night beneath her hair ; But an open dawn of kisses Is her mouth : O she is fair. And she has so sweet a fashion With her languid loving eyes, That she stirs my soul with passion, And renews my breath with sighs. Now she twines her hair in tresses With some long red lustrous vine ; Now she weaves strange glossy dresses From the leafy fabrics fine : And upon her neck there mingle Corals and quaint serpent charms. And bright beaded sea-shells jingle Set in circlets round her arms. PALM FL WEBS. 73 There — in solitudes sweet smelling, Where the mighty Banyan stands, I and she have found a dwelling Shadowed by its giant hands : All around our banyan bowers Shine the reddening palm-tree ranks, And the wild rare forest flowers Crowded on high purple banks. Through the long enchanted weather — Ere the swollen fruits yet fall, While red love-birds sit together In thick green, and voices call From the hidden forest places. And are answered with strange shout By the folk whose myriad faces All day long are peeping out From shy loopholes all above us In the leafy hollows green, — While all creatures seem to love us, And the lofty boughs are seen S 74 PALM FLOWERS.' (Hided and for ever haunted By the far ethereal smiles — Through the long bright time enchanted, In those solitudes for miles, I and She — at heart possessing Rhapsodies of tender thought — Wander, till our thoughts too pressing Into new sweet words are wrought. And at length, with full hearts sinking Back to silence and the maze Of immeasurable thinking, In those inward forest ways, We recline on mossy couches, Vanquished by mysterious calms, All beneath the soothing touches Of the feather-leaved fan-palms. Strangely, with a mighty hushing, Falls the sudden hour of noon ; When the flowers droop with blushing, And a deep miraculous swoon PALM FLOWERS. 75 Seems subduing the whole forest \ Or some distant joyous rite Draws away each bright-hued chorist : Then we yield with long delight Each to each, our souls deep thirsting ; And no sound at all is nigh, Save from time to time the bursting Of some fire-fed fruit on high. Then with sudden overshrouding Of impenetrable wings, Comes the darkness and the crowding Mysteries of the unseen things. O how happy are we lovers In weak wanderings hand in hand ! — Whom the immense palm forest covers In that strange enchanted land ; Whom its thousand sights stupendous Hold in breathless charmed suspense ; Whom its hidden sounds tremendous And its throbbing hues intense 5—2 76 PALM FLOWERS. And the mystery of each glaring Flower o'envhelm with wonder dim ; — We, who see all things preparing Some Great Spirit's world for him ! Under pomps and splendid glamour Of the night skies limitless ; Through the weird and growing clamour Of the swaying wilderness ; Through each shock of sound that shivers The serene palms to their height, By white rolling tongues of rivers Launched with foam athwart the night ; Lost and safe amid such wonders, We prolong our human bliss ; Drown the terrors of the thunders In the rapture of our kiss. By some moon-haunted savanna, In thick scented mid-air bowers Draped about with some liana, O what passionate nights are ours ! ■ PALM FLO WERS. 7 7 O'er our heads the squadron dances Of the fire-fly wheel and poise ; And dim phantoms charm our trances, And link'd dreams prolong our joys — Till around us creeps the early Sweet discordance of the dawn, And the moonlight pales, and pearly Haloes settle round the mom ; And from remnants of the hoary Mists, where now the sunshine glows. Starts at length in crimson glory Some bright flock of flamingoes. O that land where the suns linger And the passion-flowers grow Is the land for me the Singer : There I made me, years ago, Many a golden habitation, Full of things most fair to see ; And the fond imagination Of my heart dwells there with me. 7$ PALM FLOWERS. Now, farewell, all shameful sorrow ! Farewell, troublous world of men ! I shall meet you on some morrow, But forget you quite till then. AN EPIC OF WOMEN. I. CREATION. Nam non in hac serumnosa miseriaram valle, in qua ad laborem ceteri mortales nascimur, producta est. Boccaccio : De claris mulieribus. A ND God said, " Let us make a thing most fair, — A Woman with gold hair, and eyes all blue :" He took from the sun gold and made her hair, And for her eyes He took His heaven's own hue. 82 CREA TION. He sought in every precious place and store, And gathered all sweet essences that are In all the bodies : so He made one more Her body, the most beautiful by for. Pure coral with pure pearl engendering, Bore Her the foirest flower of the sea ; And for the wonder of that new-made thing God ceased then, and nothing more made He. So the beginning of her was this way : Full of sea savours, beautiful and good, Made of sun, sky, and sea, — more fair than they — On the green margin of the sea she stood. The coral colour lasted in her veins. Made her lips rosy like a sea-shell's rims ; The purple stained her cheeks with splendid stains. And the pearl's colour clung upon her limbs. She took her golden hair between her hands ; The faded gold and amber of the seas Dropped from it in a shower upon the sands ; The crisped hair enwrapped her like a fleece : CREA TION. %l And through the threads of it the sun lost gold, And fell all pale upon her throat and breast With play of lights and tracings manifold : But the whole heaven shone full upon the rest. Her curved shapes of shoulder and of limb, Wrought fairly round or dwindling delicate, Were carven in some substance made to dim With whiteness all things carven or create. And every sort of fairness that was yet In work of man or God was perfected Upon that work her bosom, where were set In snows two wondrous jeweh-ies of red. The sun and sea made haloes of a light Most soft and gHmmering, and wreathed her close Round all her wondrous shapes, and kept her bright In a fair mystery of pearl and rose. The waves fell fawning all about her there Down to her ancles ; then, with kissing sweet. Slackened and waned away in love and fear From the bright presence of her new-formed feet. 84 CREA TJON. The green-gray mists were gathering away In distant hollows underneath the sun Behind the round sea ; and upon that day The work of all the world-making was done. The world beheld, and hailed her, form and face ; The ocean spray, the sunlight, the pure blue Of heaven beheld and wondered at her grace ; And God looked out of heaven and wondered too. And ere a man could see her with desire, Himself looked on her so, and loved her first. And came upon her in a mist, hke fire, And of her beauty quenched his god-like thirst. He touched her wholly with his naked soul, At once sufficing all the new-made sense For ever : so the Giver Himself stole The gift, and left indeed no recompense. All lavishly at first He did entreat His leman ; yea, the world of things create He rolled like any jewel at her feet. And of her changeful whim He made a fate. CREATION. 85 He feasted her with ease and idle food Of gods, and taught her lusts to fill the whole Of life ; withal He gave her nothing good, And left her as He made her — without soul. And lo, when he had held her for a season In His own pleasure-palaces above, He gave her unto man ; this is the reason She is so fair to see, so false to love. II. THE WIFE OF HEPH^STUS. T T E was not fair to look on as a god — Her husband whom God gave her ; for his face, Not as the golden face of Phcebus glowed ; Nor in his body was there light or grace : But he was rugged-seeming ; all his brows Were changed and smeared with the great human toil; His limbs all gnarled and knotted as the boughs And limbs of mighty oaks are : many a soil THE WIFE OF HEPH^STUS. 87 Was on his skin, coarse-coloured as a bark ; Yea, he was shorn of beauty from the birth ; But strong, and of a mighty soul to work With Fate and all the iron of the earth. Thereto he had a heart even to love That woman whom God gave him ; and his part Of fate had been quite blest — ay, sweet enough, Having her beautiful and whole of heart. But when he knew she was quite false and vain, He slew her not because she was so fair ; Yea, spite of all the rest, had rather slain Himself, than lost the looking on her hair. For then the labouring days had seemed to last Longer than ever : all had been too sore, Not to be borne as erst, — the world so vast — Vaster than ever it had seemed before ! But, when he knew it, heavily the ire — Darkly the sorrow of it -wrought on him ; The hollows of his eyes were filled with fire ; ^ The fruitless sweat was dried upon each limb : 88 THE WIFE OF HEPH^STUS. Raging he went, and full of lust to kill : O he was filled with a great despair ; But added labour unto labour still, And slew her not because she was so fair. In all of life was nothing that atoned For that hard fate : in hearing of all heaven, About the iron mountain world he groaned ; But no return of pitying was given. The iron echoes in a mighty blast Flung up his voice toward the sweet abodes In the blue heaven : his pain was known at last In every palace of the painless gods. He had no part but wholly to upbraid Them, — meters of his evil measured fate, Who first made fair, then spoiled the thing they made, And mingled all their gifts mth love and hate. Yet he was moved at length some way to win Vengeance, and all at once, on her and Him — , That god Avith whom she rather chose to sin Than with a man to love : when earth was dim — THE WIFE OF HEPH^STUS. 89 Full of unearthly shadows in the night, He came upon those lovers unaware ; And fairly caught them locked in their delight : Limb over limb he bound them in a snare. For first with all his craft he did invent A curious toil of meshes, strongly set With supple fibrous thread and branches bent : Full tightly they were bounden in that net. Yet, not until with many a growing gray And change that wrought among the shifting shade, Day — softly changing all things — warned away Their loves and sins, knew they the fate they had. And when they were but striving to undo Delicious bonds of love that needs no chain, Then were they held : — though love had let them go A stronger bond than love's bade them remain. And, spite of many a throe of sudden strength, And all their tortuous striving to be free ; Yea, they were held : — till the sun came at length. And all the gods came out of heaven to see. 6 9° THE WIFE OF HEPHJES TUS. For there they saw and knew Him from afar, Vanquished and in no honourable phght, No less a god than Ares god of war, Ares the red and royal in all fight ; But now quite shorn indeed of arms and fame, Spoiled of his helm and harness of each limb ; Yea, quite inglorious and brought to shame For a mere love, with such rude stratagem ! The golden peals of god-like laughter brake And rang down beautiful beneath the sun ; For well they saw, indeed, for whose fair sake Their brother was so fallen and undone. Phoebus himself, with many a secret pride Of love — unshamed in any of his loves — Leant on his golden bow, and laughed aside, ' And made some fair light saying that still moves From lips to lips at all the mirthful feasts Of them above who have eternal rights To joys and loves, and wine that never wastes, And life never to end their days or nights. THE WIFE OF HEPH^STUS. 9t And well they knew Heplisestus where, hard by, He stood, inglorious, daring all their eyes : The gods all beautiful — they laughed on high At him, his woes and all his blasphemies. But surely never was there such a play For mirth of idle gods !— Nor such a shame Ever become of love, as on that day In sight of all the gods their love became ! Who were betrayed so, — in whatever sin Lips could with lips, face could with face commit, Yea lips or limbs of lovers could begin, — That they were bound and kept quite close in it : For vainly in the meshes of that snare They strove, with shuddering limbs and starting cries. Entangled more with many a mesh of hair Caught in the manifold intricacies ! So She was found indeed most beautiful, Yet full of shame and false in all she was ; So before gods who make and gods who rule, And him her husband, she was found, alas ! 6—2 92 THE WIFE OF HEPHAESTUS. Yet, after all, Hephcestus — he, her lord — For all that sin, her death he would not have ; But, for his love's sake and great Phoebus' word, Loosed her, and made her free, and all forgave. III. CLEOPATRA. Cleopatra Egyptia femina fuit, totius orbis fabula. O HE made a feast for great Marc Antony : Her galley was arrayed in gold and light ; That evening, in the purple sea and sky, It shcne green-golden like a chrysolite. She was reclined upon a Tyrian couch Of crimson wools : out of her loosened vest Set on one shoulder with a serpent brooch Fell one arm white and half her foamy breast. 94 CLEOPATRA. And, with the breath of many a fanning plume, That wonder of her hair that was hke wine — Of mingled fires and purples that consume, Moved all its m}stery of threads most fine — Moved like some threaded instrument that thrills, Played on with unseen kisses in the air Weaving a music from it, working spells We feel and know not of — so moved her hair : And under saffron canopies all bright With clash of lights, e'en to the amber prow, Crept like enchantments subtle passing sight, Fragrance and siren music soft and slow. Amid the thousand viands of the feast. And Nile fruits piled in panniers, where they vied With palm-tree dates and melons of the East, She waited for Marc Antony and sighed. — Where tarries he ? — What gift doth he invent For costly greeting ? — How with look or smile, Out of love treasures not already spent Prepares he now her fondness to beguile ? CLEOPATRA. 95 — But lo, he came between the whiles she sighed ; Scarce the wave murmurs troubhng, — lo, most dear, His galley, with the oars all softly plied. Warned her with music distant, and drew near. And on that night — for present, — he did bring A pearl ; and gave it her with kissing sweet : " Would half the Roman empires were this thing," He said, " that I might lay them at your feet." Fairly then moved the magic all arrayed About that fragrant feast ; in every part The soft Egyptian spells did lend their aid To work some strange enamouring of the heart. It was her whim to show him on that night All she was queen of ; like a perfect dream, Wherein there should be gathered in one sight The gold of many lives, as it might seem Spent and lived through at once, — so she made pass A splendid pageantry of all her East Beauteous and captive, — so she did amass The richness of each land in that one feast. 96 CLEOPA TRA. More jewelries than one could name or know, Set in a thousand trinkets or in crowns Each one a sovereignty, in glittering row Numbered the suppliant lands and all her thrones. And fairest handmaidens in gracious rank, Their captive arms enchained with links of gold, Knelt and poured forth the purple wine she drank, Or served her there in postures manifold. And beaded women of a yellow Ind Stood at the couch, with bended hand to ply Great silver feathered fans wherein the wind Gat all the choicest fumes of Araby. There in the midst, of shape uncouth and hard, Juggled his arts some Ethiopian churl ; Changing fierce natures of the spotted pard Or serpents of the Nile that creep and curl. And many a minstrelsy of voice and string. Twining sweet sounds like tendrils delicate. Seemed to ensnare the moments — seemed to cling Upon their pleasure all interminate. CLEOPATRA. 97 But now at length she made them serve her \\'ine In the most precious goblet, — \\ine that shed Great fragrance, in a goblet fair with shine Of jewels : so they poured the wine out red : And lo, to mark that more than any feast And honour Antony, — or for mere pride To do so proud a vanity, at least The proudest, vainest, woman ever tried — She took the unmatched pearl, and, taking, laughed ; And when they served her now that wine of worth She cast it gleaming in ; then Avith the draught Mingling she drank it in their midst with mirth. And all that while upon the ocean high, The golden galle}-, heavy in its light. Ruled the hoarse sea-sounds with its revelry — Changing afar the purples of the night ! IV. CLEOPATRA. "\ 1 THEN Cleopatra saw 'twas time to yield Even that love, to smite nor be afraid, Since love shared loss, — yea, when the thing was sealed, And all the trust of Antony betrayed ; And when, before his eyes and in full sight Of the still striving ships, that gleaming line Of galleys decked for no rude field of fight Fled fair and unashamed in the sunshine ; CLEOPATRA. 99 Then, surely, he fell down as one but blind Through sudden fallen darkness, even to grope If haply some least broken he might find Of all the broken ends of life and hope. Well, out of all his fates now was there none But Death, the utter end ; and for no sake, Save for some last love-look beneath the sun, Had he delayed that end of all to take ! But now, because love — armed indeed of him With utter rule of all his destinies — Had chosen even to slay him for a whim, And the mere remnant was none else than his, And since, for sure, the sorest way of death Were but to die not falling at the feet Of that one woman who with look or breath Could change it if she would and make it sweet; He chose before all fame he might have caught With death in foremost fighting, now to cling Upon her steps who at this last had ^vTought His death-wound shameful with a lover's sting. lOO CLEOPATRA. O how the memories seemed to throb and start Welling from out the unstanched past ! — seemed nigh Already opening there in all his heart The canker wound wherewith he was to die ! And so, though she were quite estranged, and now He held no costlier gift to win her with ; Yet, following, he would find her, and, somehow, Lay in her hands that latest gift — his death : For now all piteously his heart relied On a mere hope of love dwindled to this — To fall some fair waste moment at her side And feel perhaps a tear or even a kiss ; Since surely, in some waste of day or night, He thought, the face of love out of the Past, With look of his, should rise up in her siglit And make some kind of pleading at the last. Therefore, when all the heavy heated day Of rowing on the waters was nigh done, And like a track of sweetness past away Waned on the wave the last track of the sun, CLEOPATRA. lOI At length with scarce a sound or warning cry, Save of the rowers ceasing from the oar, He reached her side and prayed her pass not by ; Yea, prayed her bear him yet a httle more. But truly this well-nigh availed to move Her — Cleopatra — vA'Ca remorse for all : She knew not of such pardon, e'en from love ; Nor craved to look upon his utter fall. And, first, when it was told her how he came And sought to reach the galley where she was, She faltered for a while with fear and shame, And bade them scarce give way to let him pass : Only at length he showed them the plain sight How he was broken and so soon to die ; Then they fell back all grieved and gave him right, And scarce believed the man was Antony. And yet he could not speak ; but lay forlorn Crouched up about the gilded quivering prow, Three days, from morn to night and night to mom, As one whom a sore burden boweth low. I02 CLEOPA TRA. Harshly the sea-sounds taunted him at will, And seemed in mocking choruses combined ; Each bitter inward thought was uttered shrill On shrieking tongues of many a thwart-blown wind. And where with onward beak the galley clave Full many a silver mouth in the blue mere, The turned up whitened lips of every wave Rang out a bitter cadence on his ear. But first awhile his thoughts were taking leave Sadly of Rome, and all the pageant days ; For now at length he saw and would believe The end of triumphs and the end of praise. And now he did survey, apart from uTath, The various fates of men both great and small ; How litde reign or glory any hath ; And how one end comes quickly upon all ; And thought if love had been — had been quite love, One little thing in each man's life for bliss, Then had the grief been paid with sweet enough And a lost crown forgo tien for a kiss ; CLEOPATRA. I03 While now, as though men played with fall and rise Of mere base monies of the common mart, To-day they strove for love as for a prize, To-morrow compassed fame with every art ; And one who should but half trust any face Of seeming fame, or follow love too well, To set his heart a moment in love's place — That man should fall, — yea, even as he fell. And he thought how, since the first fate began, The lot of every one hath been so cast : One woman bears and brings him up a man, Another woman slays him at the last ; While all so hardly leaguered are men's ways And love so sharp a snare for them contrives, The fleeting span of one fair woman's days Sufficeth many heroes' loves and lives ! — But now, when he had thought all this and more, He lay there and yet moved not from his place ; The love of her was in bim like a sore, And he lived waiting to behold her face. I04 CLEOPATRA. At length they drew nigh to a land by name Tsenarus ; and the third day, at its eve, In guise of one who moumeth the Queen came Weeping, and prayed him rise up and forgive. V. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 1% /r Y heart is heavy for each goodly man 'WTiom croAvned woman or sweet courtezan Hath slain or brought to greater shames than death. But now, O Daughter of Herodias ! I weep for him, of whom the story saith, Thou didst procure his bitter fate : — Alas, He seems so fair ! — May thy curse never pass I 7 To6 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. Where art thou \vrithing ? Herod's palace-floor Has fallen through : there shalt thou dance no more ; And Herod is a worm now. In thy place, — Salome, Viper !— do thy coils yet keep That woman's flesh they bore with such a grace ? Have thine eyes still the love-lure hidden deep, The ornament of tears, they could not weep ? Thou wast quite perfect in the splendid guile Of woman's beauty ; thou hadst the whole smile That can dishonour heroes, and recal Fair saints prepared for heaven back to hell : And He, whose unlived glor)' thou mad'st fall All beautiful and spotless, at thy spell, Was great and fit for thee by whom he fell. O, is it now sufficing sweet to thee — Through all the long uncounted years that see The undistinguished lost ones waste away — To twine thee, biting, on those locks that bleed, As bled they through thy fingers on that day ? Or hast thou, all unhallowed, some fierce need Thy soul on his anointed grace to feed ? THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. loy Or hast thou, rather, for that serpent's task Thou didst accompUsh in thy woman-mask, Some perfect inconceivable reward Of serpent's shmy pleasure ? — all the thing Thou didst beseech thy master, who is Lord Of those accursed hosts that creep and sting, To give thee for the spoil thou shouldest bring ? He was a goodly spoil for thee to win ! — Men's souls and lives were wholly dark with sin ; And so God's world was changed with wars and gold. No part of it was holy ; save, maybe. The desert and the ocean as of old : — But such a spotless way of life had he, His soul was as the desert or the sea. I think he had not heard of the far towns ; Nor of the deeds of men, nor of kings' crowns ; Before the thought of God took hold of him, As he was sitting dreaming in the calm Of one first noon, upon the desert's rim. Beneath the tall fair shadows of the palm. All overcome with some strange inward bahn. 7—2 Io8 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. But then, so wonderful and lovely seemed That thought, he straight became as thougli he dreamed A vast thing false and fair, which day and night Absorbed him in some rapture — very high Above the common swayings of delight And general yearnings, that quite occupy Men's passions, and suffice them till they die : Yea, soon as it had entered him — that thought Of God — he felt that he was being wTought All holy : more and more it filled his heart ; And seemed, indeed, a spirit of pure flame Set burning in his soul's most inward part. And from the Lord's great wilderness there came A mighty voice calling on him by name. He numbered not the changes of the year, The days, the nights, and he forgot all fear Of death : each day he thought there should have been A shining ladder set for him to climb Athwart some opening in the heavens, e'en To God's eternity, and see, sublime — His face whose shadow passing fills all time. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. IO9 But he walked through the ancient Avilderness. O, there the prints of feet were numberless And holy all about him ! And quite plain He saw each spot an angel silvershod Had lit upon ; where Jacob too had lain The place seemed fresh, — and, bright and lately trod, A long track showed where Enoch walked with God. And often, while the sacred darkness trailed Along the mountains smitten and unveiled By rending lightnings, — over all the noise Of thunders and the earth that quaked and bowed From its foundations — he could hear the voice Of great Elias prophesying loud To Him whose face was covered by a cloud. Already he was shown so perfectly The awful mystic grace and sanctity Of all the earth, there was no part his feet With sandal covering might dare to tread ; Because that in it he was sure to meet The fair sword-bearing angels, or some dread Eternal prophet numbered with the dead. 1 1 THE DA UGHTER OF HERODIAS. So he believed that he should purify His body, till the sin of it should die, And the unfailing spirit and great word Of One — who is too bright to be beheld. And in his speech too fearful to be heard By mortal man — should come down and be held In him as in those holy ones of eld. And to believe in this was rapture more Than any that the thought of living bore To tempt him : so the pleasant days of youth Were but the days of striving and of prayer ; And all the beauty of those days, forsooth. He counted as an evil or a snare. And would have left it in the desert there. Ah, spite of all the scourges that had bit So fiercely his fair body, branding it With many a painful over-written vow Of perfect sanctity — what man shall say How often, weak with groanings, he would bow Before the angels of the j^lace, and pray That all his body might consume away ? THE DA UGHTER OF HERODIAS. 1 1 1 For through whole bitter days it seemed in vain That all the mighty desert had no stain Of sin around him ; that the burning breaths Went forth from the eternal One, and rolled For ever through it, filling it with deaths, And plagues, and fires ; that he did behold The earthquakes and the wonders manifold : It seemed in vain that all the place was bright Ineffably with that unfading light No man who worketh evil can abide ; That he could see too with his open eyes Fair troops of deathless ones, and those that died In martyrdoms, or went up to the skies In fiery cars — walk there with no disguise ; — It seemed in vain that he was there alone With no man's sin to tempt him but his own ; — Since in his body he did bear about A seeming endless sin he could not quell With the most sharp coercement, nor cast out Through any might of prayer. O, who can tell — Save God — how often in despair he fell ? I 1 2 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 'The very stones seemed purer far than he ; And every naked rock and every tree Looked great and cahn, composed in one long thought Of hoHness; each bird and creeping thing Rejoiced in bearing some bright sign that taught The legend of an ancient minist'ring To some fair saint of old there sojourning. Yea, all the dumb things and the creatures there Were grand, and some way sanctified ; most fair Tlie very lions stood, and had no shame Before the angels ; and what time were poured The floods of the Lord's anger forth, they came Quite nigh the lightnings of the Mount and roared Among the roaring thunders of the Lord : Yet He — while in him day by day, divine, 'l"he clear inspired thought went on to shine. And heaven was opening every radiant door Upon his spirit — He, in that fair dress Of weak humanity his senses bore, 1 )id feel scarce worthy to be there, and less Than any dweller in the wilderness. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 1 13 Wherefore his limbs were galled with many a stone ; And often he had wrestled all alone With their fair beauty, conquering the pride And various pleasure of them with some quick And hard inflicted pain that might abide, — Assailing all the sense with constant prick Until the lust or pride fell faint and sick. Natheless there grew and stayed upon his face The wonderful unconquerable grace Of a young man made beautiful with love ; Because the thought of God was wholly spread Like love upon it ; and still fair above All crowned heads of kings remained his head Whereon the halo of the Lord was shed. Ah, how long was it, since the first red rush Of that surpassing thought made his cheek blush With pleasure, as he sat — a tender child — And wondered at the desert, and the long Rough prickly paths that led out to the wild Where all the men of God, holy and strong, Had dwelt and purified themselves — how long ? — IT4 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. Before he rose up from his knees one day, And felt that he was purified as they ; That he had trodden out the sin at last, And that the light was filling him within ? How many of the months and years had past Uncounted ? — But the place he was born in No longer knew him : no man was his kin, O then it was a most sweet, holy will That came upon him, making his soul thrill With joy indeed, and with a perfect trust, — For he soon thought of men and of the king All tempted in the world, with gold and lust, And women there, and every fatal thing, And none to save their souls from perishing — And so he vowed that he would go forth straight From God there in the desert, with the great Unearthliness upon him, and adjure The nations of the whole world with his voice ; Until they should resist each pleasant lure Of gold and woman, and make such a choice As his, that they might evermore rejoice. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. , II5 Thus beautiful and good was He, at length, Who came before King Herod in his strength, And shouted to him with a great command To purify himself, and put away That unclean woman set at his right hand ; And after all to bow himself and pray. And be in terror of the Judgment Day ! He never had seen houses like to that Fair-columned, cedar-builded one where sat King Herod. Flawless cedar was each beam, Wrought o'er with flaming brass : along the wall Great brazen images of beasts did gleam, With wondrous flower-works and palm trees tall ; And folded purples hung about it all. He never had beheld so many thrones. As those of ivory and precious stones Whereon the noble company was raised About the king : — he never had seen gems So costly, nor so wonderful as blazed Upon their many crowns and diadems, And trailed upon their garments' trodden hems : 1X6 THE DAUGHTER OE HERODIAS. But lie had seen in mighty Lebanon The cedars no man's axe hath ht upon ; And he had often worshipped, falHng douTi In dazzHng temples opened straight to him, Where One who had great lightnings for His crown Was suddenly made present, vast and dim Through crowded pinions of the Cherubim ! \M-ierefore he had no fear to stand and shout To all men in the place, and there to flout Those fair and fearful women who were seen Quite triumphing in that work of their smile To shame a goodly king. And he cast, e'en A sudden awe that undid for a while The made-up shameless visages of guile. And when Herodias — that many times Polluted one, assured now in all crimes Past fear or turning — when she, her fierce tongue Thrice forked with indignation, hotly spoke Quick wild beseeching words, wherewith she clung To Herod, praying him by some death-stroke To do her vengeance there before all folk — THE DAUGHTER OF HERO BIAS. 1 1? Ah, spite of every urging that her hate Did put into her Hps, — so fair and great Seemed that accuser standing weaponless, Yet wholly terrible with his bright speech As 'twere some sword of flaming holiness, That no man dared to join her and beseech His death ; but dread came somehow upon each. For he was surely terrible to see So plainly sinless, so divinely free To judge them ; being in a perfect youth, Yet walking like an angel in a man Reproving all men with inspired truth. And Herod himself spoke not, but began To tremble : through his soul the warning ran. — Then that Salome did put off the shame Of her mere virgin girlhood, and became A woman ! Then she did at once essay Her beauty's magic, and unfold the wings Of her enchanted feet, — to have men say She slew him — bom indeed for wondrous things. Her dance was fit to ruin saints or kings. Il8 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. O, her new beauty was above all praise ! She came with dancing in shy devious ways, And while she danced she sang. The virgin bandlet of her forehead brake, Her hair came round her like a shining snake ; To loving her men's hearts within them sprang The while she danced and sang. Her long black hair danced round her like a snake Allured to each charmed movement she did make ; Her voice came strangely sweet ; She sang, " O, Herod, wilt thou look on me — Have I no beauty thy heart cares to see ?" And what her voice did sing her dancing feet Seemed ever to rej^eat. She sang, " O, Herod, wilt thou look on me ? What sweet I have, I have it all for thee ;" And through the dance and song She freed and floated on the air her arms Above dim veils that hid her bosom's charms : The passion of her singing was so strong It drew all hearts along. THE DA UGHTER OF HERODIAS. 1 1 9 Her sweet arms were unfolded on the air, They seemed Hke floating flowers the most fair — White hUes the most choice ; And in the gradual bending of her hand There lurked a grace that no man could withstand ; Yea, none knew whether hands, or feet, or voice, Most made his heart rejoice. The veils fell round her like thin coiling mists Shot through by topaz suns, and amethysts, And rubies she had on ; And out of them her jewelled body came. And seemed to all quite like a slender flame That curled and glided, and that burnt and shone Most fair to look upon. Then she began, on that well-polished floor. Whose stones seemed taking radiance more and more From steps too bright to see, A certain m,easure that was like some spell Of winding magic, wherein heaven and hell Were joined to lull men's souls eternally In some mid ecstasy : I20 THE DAUGHTER OF HRRODIAS. For it was so inexplicably wrought Of soft alternate motions, that she taught Each sweeping sujiplc limb, And in such intricate and wondrous ways With bandings of her body, that the praise Lost breath upon men's lips, and all grew dim Save her so bright and slim. And through the swift mesh'd serpents of her hair That lash'd and leapt on each place white and fair Of bosom or of arm. And through the blazing of the numberless And whirling jewelled fires of her dress, Her perfect face no passion could disarm Of its reposeful charm. Her head oft drooped as in some languid death Beneath brim tastes of joy, and her rich breath Heaved faintly from her breast ; Her long eyes, opened fervently and wide, Did seem with endless rapture to abide In some fair trance through Avhich the soul possest Love, ecstasy, and rest. THE DAUGHTSr OF HERODIAS. 121 But lo — while each man fixed his eyes on her, And was himself quite filled with the stir His heart did make \\ithin — The place was full of devils every^vhere: They came in from the desert and the air ; They came from all the palaces of sin, And each heart they were in : They lurked beneath the purples, and did crawl Or crouch in unseen corners of the hall, Among the brass and gold ; They climbed the brazen pillars till they lined The chamber fair ; and one went up behind The throne of Herod — fearful to behold — The Serpent king of old. Yea, too, before those blinded men there went Some even to Salome ; and tliey lent Strange chamis she did not shun. She stretched her hand forth, and inclined her ear ; She knew those men would neither see nor hear : A devil did support her head, and one Her steps' light fabric spun. 8 122 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. O, then her voice with singing all unveiled, In no trained timid accents, straight assailed King Herod's open heart : The amorous suppHcation wove and wound Soft deadly sins about it ; the words found Fair traitor thoughts there, — singing snakes did dart Their poison in each part. She sang, " O look on me, and look on Love : We three are here together, and above — What heaven may there be ? None for thine heart without this spell of mine, Yea, this my beauty, yea, these limbs that shine And make thy senses shudder ; and for me, No heaven without thee ! " O, all the passion in me on this day Rises into one song to sweep away The breakers of Love's bond ; For is it not a pleasant bond indeed, And made of all the flowers in life's mead ? And is not Love a master fair and fond ? And is not Death beyond ? THE DAUGHTER OF HEROD I AS. I 23 " O, who are these that will adjure thee, King, To put away this tender flower-thing, This love that is thy bliss ? Dost thou think thou canst live indeed, and dare The joyless remnant of pale days, the bare Hard tomb, and feed through cold eternities Thy heart without one kiss ? " Dost thou think empty prayers shall glad thy lips Kept red and living with perpetual sips Of Love's rich cup of wine ? That thy fair body shall not fall away, And waste among the worms that bitter day Thou hast no lover round thy neck to twine Fond arms like these of mine ? " I say they are no prophets, — very deaths. And plagues, and rottenness, do use their breaths Who speak against delight ; Pale distant slayers of humanity Have tainted them, and sent them, forth to try Weak lures to make man give up joyous right Of days for empty night. 8-2 124 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. " I tell thee, in their wilderness shall be No herbs enough for food for them and thee, No rock to give thee drink ; I tell thee, all their heavens are a cheat, Or but a mirage to betray thy feet. And draw thee quicker to some grave's dread brink Where thou shalt fall and sink. " Turn rather unto me, and hear my voice Against these desert bowlings, and rejoice : Now surely do I crave To treble this my beauty, and embalm I\Iy words with deathless thrill, singing the psalm Of pleasure to thee, King, — so I may save I'hy fair days from this grave, " Yea, now of all my beauty will I strive With these mad prophesiers till I drive Tlieir ravings from thine ear : Against their rudeness I will set my grace, My softness, and the magic of my face ; And spite of all their curses thou shalt hear And let my voice draw near : THE DAUGHTER OF HE ROD I AS. l 2\ " Against their loud revilings I will try The long low-speaking pleadings of my sigh, All my heart's tender way ; Against their deserts — here, before thine eyes My love shall open thee a paradise, Where, if thou comest, thou shalt surely stay And seek no better way: " And rather than these haters of thy joy Should anyhow allure thee to destroy Thy heart's prosperity, — O, I ^\'ill throw my woman's arms entwined About thy body ; ere thy lips can find One word of yielding, I will kiss them dry : — And failing, let me die ! *' But look on me, for it is in my soul To make the measure of thy glory whole — With many goodly things To crown thee, yea, with pleasure and with love, Till there shall scarcely be a name above King Herod's, in the mouth of one who sings The fame of mighty kings : 126 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. " l-'or see how great and fair a realm is this — My untried love — the never con([uered bliss All hoarded in my hrcast ; My beauty and my love were jewels meet To make tlie glory of a king complete, And I, — O thou of kingship half-possest — Can crown thee with the rest ! " I stand before thee^ — on my head the crown CJf all thou lackest yet in lliy renown — Ah, King, take this of me ! And in my hand I bear a brimming cup That sparkles ; to thine eyes I hold it up : A royal draught of life-long pleasure — see, The wine is fit for thee ! " Ah, wilt thou pass me ? Wilt thou let me give Thy fair life to some meaner man to live ? Nay, here — if I am sweet — Thou shalt not. I will save thee with the sight Of all my sweetness, save thee with the might And charm of all my singing lii)s' deceit, Or with my dancing feet. THE DA UGHTER OF HERODIA S. 127 '• I have indeed some power. A lure lies Within my tender lips — behind my eyes — Concealed in all my way ; And while I seem entreating, I compel, Yea, while I do but plead, I use a spell — Ah secretly — but surely. Who are they That ever turn away ? " No^, thou hast barely seen bright glittering The gilded cup of pleasures that I swing Before thy reeling gaze, — The deep beginnings of sweet drunkenness Are in thy heart already, more or less. And on thy soul deliciously there preys A thirst no joy allays. " Dost thou not feel, each time my long hair sweeps The gloAvnng floor, how through thy being creeps A vague yet sweet desire ? — How wTithes in every sense a tiny snake Of pleasure biting till it seems to wake A fever of sharp lusts that never tire, Unquenchable as fire ? 128 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. " Is there not uTought a madness in thy brain Each time my thin veils part and close again — Each time their flying ring Is seen a moment's space encircling me With filmy changes — each time, rapidly Rolled down, their cloud-like gauzes billowing About my limbs they fling ? " Ah, seek not in this moment some cold will ; Attend to no false pratings that would kill Thy heart, and make thee fall : But now a little lean to me, and fear My charming. Ah, thy fame to me is dear ! Some wound of mine, when me thou couldst not call, Might slay thee after all. " For even while I sing, the unseen grace Of Love descending hath filled all this place With most strong prevalence ; His miracle is raging in the breasts Of all these men, and mightily he rests On me and thee. His power is too intense, No curse shall drive him hence. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 1 29 " — 0, Love, invisible, eternal God, In whose delicious ways all men have trod, This day Thou truly hast My heart : thy inspiration fills my tongue With great angelic madness ; I have sung Set words that in my bosom thou hast cast — Thine am I to the last ! " My feet are like two liquid flames that leap For joy at thee ; I feel thy spirit sweep — Yea, like a southern Avind — Through all the enchanted fibres of my soul ; I am a harp o'er which thy vast breaths roll, And one day thou shalt break me : none shall find A ^vreck of me behind. " And now all palpitating, O I pray Thy utmost passion while I cry — away With all Love's enemies ! A man — borne up between the closing wings Of two eternities of unknown things, May catch this seraph charmer as he flies, And hold him till he dies ; 130 THE DAUGHTER OE IIERODIAS. " And yet some bitter ones, whom coming night Hath wholly entered, grudge man this small right Of joy, and seek to fill His rushing moment with the monstrous hiss Of shapeless terrors, poisoning the bliss Brief nestled in his bosom — merely till Forced out by its death chill ! " What voice is this the envious wilderness Hath sent among us foully to distress And haunt our lives with fear ? What vulture, shrieking on the scent of death — What yelping jackal — what insidious breath Of pestilence hath ventured to draw near, And enter even here ? " No kindred flesh of fair humanity Yon fiend hath, seeking through lives doomed to die Death's foretaste to infuse : His body is but raised up from the slain Unburied thousands that long years have lain About the desert : Death himself doth choose His pale disguise to use. THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. T3I " But, even though he be from some new God, He shall not turn us who love's ways have trod, Nor make us break love's vow. Nay, rather, if a single beauty dwells In me, if in that beauty there be spells To win my will of any man — O thou, King Herod, hear me now ! — " Let it be for his ruin ! Ah, let me. With all in me thou countest fair to see, Procure this and no more ! If yet, with tender prevalence, my voice May ask a thing of thee — this is my choice, Though thou wouldst buy my sweets with all thy store — This all I sell them for. " Yea, are there lures of softness in my eyes ? My eyes are — for his death. Is my heart's prize A seeming fair reward ? My virgin heart is — for his blood here shed ; Its passion — for the falling of his head ; And on that man my kiss shall be outpoured Who slays him with the sword !" 132 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. Invisible — in supernatural haze, Of shapes that seem not shapes to human gaze — The devils were half awed as they did stand Around her \ each one in his separate hell All inwardly was forced to praise her well : And every man was fain to lose his hand Or do all that sweet woman might command. There was a tumult. — Cloven foot and scale Of fiend with iron heel and coat of mail Were rolled and hustled in the rage to slay That fair young Saviour : when they murdered him And brought his head, still beautiful — though dim And drenched with blood — the aureole did play Above it, slowly vanishing away. I weep to think of him and his fair light So quenched — of him thrust into some long night Of unaccomplishment so soon, alas ! And Thou, who on that ancient i)alace floor Didst dance, where dost thou writhe now evermore — Salome, Daughter of Herodias ? O woman-viper — may thy curse ne'er pass ! VI. HELEN. A FTER long years of all that too sweet sin That held her ever in the far strange land, She felt her heart was stricken, felt begin Great strokes of sorrow smiting like a hand. She turned away from all the long delight Which had so filled and blinded all the past ; The sweet sin rose up bitter in the night And turned the love to sickness at the last. She and her lover in their goodly halls Gazed on each other no more the old way ; About the face of each clung shado^vy palls Of sadness all unchanged through many a day. 134 HELEN. And now, along the fair courts marble-floored, F:ach met the looks of other all aghast With rueful thoughts unstanched yet ne'er out- poured ; And their trailed robes touched mournful as they passed. Into the lonely paths of Ida sweet For sorrow, dark and very sweet with leaves. Came Helen : weary at her bosom beat The sad thoughts all the summer noons and eves. Strange : as her eyes sought where the sea was held Gathered into dim distances of blue, Down in her heart a dim Past she beheld, Wherein were memories like an ocean too. And strange, there, long u])-pcnt, the memories stirred Like waves long rolling : in her heart at length AH the fair time from which her years had erred Came up against her now with all its strength. HELEN. 135 Back from the earliest love-time there was sent A tide of all the long untasted sweet Of days forgotten, summers that were spent, And eves when love and lover used to meet ; And heavy wafts of perfume that was knoA\Ti E'en from those dark familiar laurel trees That hid where love and lover were alone Rolled back upon the heart with sore disease : And from the early home there came no less Than the reproach of each remembered gaze Of friends, and want of all the happiness They gave her in their simple Spartan ways. And now her heart strove, longing, to divine The several thoughts of her they had devised In separate years that passed by with no sign ; Yea, to have known their pain she would have prized : For now when toward them her heart was wTOught Quite weak, and from no tenderness forbore, They seemed all strong against her, with hard thought And faces turning from her evermore. 13^ HELEN. And with tlic vision of them so deceived Came piteous memories of the waning face Of the Old man who sat all shamed and grieved Lonely beside the hearth's familiar place. Before her soon in very semblance 'gleamed The Spartan homestead there unaltered, plain, With all the household things; yea, till she dreamed All were yet to begin that way again, And IMenelaus the next golden morn Were still to come for her with wedlock blest. As though not all deserted and forlorn He strayed — the lone man without love or rest. But most she yearned between her fear and love, To see him now — divining what was due To wrath and sorrowing to change and move His features from the fashion that she knew : For now the first time after all those years The face seemed an}how her way to seek ; — But turned upon her now with all its tears And vengeance of reproach at length to wreak ; HELEN. 137 — And seemed to hold her through her love come back, Unforeseen, and how come, she could not tell ; So that the wrath of it, the grief could rack Her heart, — yet her heart craved therewith to dwell. He was her husband — it should ever seem ; And that home, surely it was still her home ; And years since some long voyage or a dream ; And now no more the heart was fain to roam : Nay, but was true to where it felt begin Love and the rosy ecstasies so brief; And that was surely love and the rest sin, That all delight and all the other grief. And now though none should render her heart's right In any fair place where she used to sit, She would have prayed for a mere alien's sight Of all it was so little pain to quit : 9 138 HELEN. Just to draw near, some silent hour, alone, Unheralded, unwelcomed, and behold Her husband and remember him her own, And be quite near him only as of old : And perchance, for some grief that was exprest Plainly upon his face, she might have dared To enter in, and after all been blest Some remnant of his pity to have shared. — Alas, too surely, for long years, all thought And love of her had jjerished from his heart ; Until on all her memory were wrought Dishonour, and with him she had no part ; — And this the while, so held of alien joys, She spared no thought for him and for his pain, Nor fancied the least echo of his voice Sent forth a thousand times to her in vain ; When, might-be many a time, his earnest grief Sent It so truly seeking her quite near, Vainly it fell on some dumb flower or leaf Beside her, never cherished in her ear. HELEN. 139 And shethought howoneday — she heedingnought— The last voice on the fruitless air was borne And died almost a taunt, and the last thought Of her was changed to hate or utter sconi. And she thought how since that time, day by day, The man had learnt to live without her need, And been quite happy perhaps many a way, All without loving her or taking heed. And that which was the great woe had scarce grown In any gradual way ; but with a burst Her life was torn apart from peace, and thrown Far from the love that seemed its own at first All for a mere girl's fancy too — a whim For foreign faces and some ruddier south, And no real choice to die away from him Who won the truest troth in love and youth. Now it was bitter to be quite outcast. And bitter — when this thought of dying crost Her heart — to reach him no more at the last Than in mere rumour, as of one long lost. 9—2 14° HELEN. She looked upon the great sea rolled between Herself and Lacedasmon : but the Past, The sins and all the falseness that had been Seemed like an ocean deeper and more vast. VII. A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. — CO, Woman ! I possess you. Yes, at length, Once wholly and for ever you are mine ! That cursed burden on my memory, Your whole past life's betrayal — let it go : Ay, let it perish, and, for me at least. Let life begin this moment, though we die But three hours hence ! Is this your little voice My Love, enthralling, winning my whole faith With mere increasing sweetness in its tones, Dissolving, exorcising, as it used, 142 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. Ah too infallibly, the phantom thing, I'he doubt, the dread within me ? ah, my Sweet, Is this once more your voice assuring me — W^ith some rare music rather than one word Of those fair whispered oaths of constancy ; Yea, till, as ever, I am come to smile And glory in you, and believe you pure — All mine, for ever, past a change in thought ? But no ! // is the little voice of the Steel Here safe against my breast and fairly hid: TJie Steel is singing to me, very low, A tender song entrancing me; — O joy ! The Steel says you will ne'er escape me more ; You will be true to me ; you will be mine ; No man shall touch you after me ; no face, However strangely fair, shall have the art To draw one look from you, to charm and rouse That wondrous little snake of treachery That was for ever lurking for me — sure To spring upon me out of the least look Or promise, safe to be curled up beneath A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 143 The simplest seeming offering in your hand. Yes, 'tis a thing at length as good as this The steel is singing to me : did you hear, You should but love it — since it pleads so well It makes me put whole faith in you once more. P'or now three days and nights indeed — while I, Contending for you with the love I gave Against the curse I owed you, raged and thought It was my madness — this little voice Was striving mth me, singing all the time, Upon a low sweet soothing tune, strange words Of promise that seemed like the distant taunts Of all my past beliefs, and that I sought To cover with my curses ; till, last night, My soul grew faint with hearing them — how sweet, How full of good they were. Then I fell still. Yea, stunned, and Avith my head upon the ground ; And through the shut bleared darkness of my eyes, I seemed to see the room about me lit And fearful, and the Sword from off the wall Unscabbarded before me in the midst, Most terrible and living, and in light — 144 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. Just like a great archangel with the glare Of burning expiations full on him. O then my soul did call upon the Steel ; And the Steel heard and swore to me. My soul Tore forth the hidden-rooted love of thee, Thy treasured words — each one a cruel worm That gnaws me through for ever, thy fair face From the first inmost shrine, thy early kiss, Thy separate falsenesses, all my despair, My utter helplessness — and flung them down. The very writhing entrails of my life Become one inward horror to be borne No longer. And there came about me, loud, The mocking of a thousand impious tongues. That seemed to clash and rattle hideously From ancient hollow sepulchres of men Long buried and forgotten ; for my love Their gibe was, for my faith, for my despair. For my long blindness : and at last I knew. And, understanding, called with a great voice Upon the Steel : and the Steel heard me there, And swore to me — for you and me and God ! A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 145 Sing on, little voice : She cannot hear ; There is a pact between us. Now I stand And feel her eyes' soft element A\Tithin, Upon, around me, melting away life Into these few full throbbing moments. — Lo ! Her tears again — her disavowal clean Of any thought of falseness. Lo ! her words — • I might have lived beside her all these days In perfect joy ; words, blandishments and tears Already staggering me with their old might Of coiling fascinations ; and one tear A drop that, falling straight into my heart, Fills it too full for speaking a long time The ready thing of pardon and of love. See ! am I Lord here ? — This fair sight of Her, Working the whole impassioned prodigy As 'twere of all her beauty, just to win Me this time and, at any cost, be queen Of this one present, as of many pasts — Hath ever it been fairer, more complete ? 146 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. Who else hatli had her more and called her his Than here I have her calling herself mine ? I would indeed he might draw near just now, Yea, void of feigning, in some wonted way, And feel a cold look from her plant him there Outside the circle where this molten love Of her whole smile is showered upon me, And know her no more his now than mine then. But what do I here with a thought like this ? Those men I deemed my rivals — what are they To me now ? Why I could put them to shame And taunt them now myself for insolent Pretenders who have never known what 'tis To conquer love. — Ay, what compared with me Seem all the famous lovers of great queens Or splendid cruel mistresses, whose woes — Deceived, betrayed, reviled — have made them shine With some bright share of every age's tears ? What but mere fools ? weak sufferers of wrong From creatures whom they held in their own hands ? A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 147 Or passionless, or lacking any strength To seize their fair worlds passing them so nigh Rather than linger in some sickly trail Of sweetness left behind and die of shame ? O all ye Messahnas of old time — Ye Helens, Cleopatras, ye Dalilahs, Ye Maries, ye Lucrezias, Catharines — Fair croAMied or uncrowned — courtezans alike Who played with men a calculated game — Your moves their heart-wounds, deaths and ruins — sure Of your inconstancy and their soft loves, Had I been lover in the stead of them, Methinks the histories of you had been changed, And some of your worst falsenesses redeemed By flawless faithfulness to one last love. But now I am content, I have love here ; And I thank God for love — yea, is it sweet ? Yea, is it best of all his gifts to man ? — I see her splendid smile there — feel her arms .Already coming round me ! — ^Who but I Can answer ? Who but I have had it whole 148 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. Like this ? ( The Steel is singing to me now, Still hidden in my breast — a low sweet song. ) Ah, this time there is no doubt! 'tis all true: Her arms may fold me — fondle me, and I May wholly yield myself to their caress Quite sure it leaves no atom in reserve For any other after me. And lo, She is right worthy of a greater one Than all the lovers that have ever loved And, trembling, lost their women and themselves For splendour — such as stains for me and turns My eyes disgusted from the vaunted white Of many a bosom impudently bared — Is in that bosom closely veiled, whose veils I may undo — yea now, and with these hands ; It is my right. And then, O joy, to know That this, so much more wonderful than those, Shall ne'er be seen by anyone but me ! (Ah, sing on litde voice !) But, as I said, — Yes, she is worthy ! — Come to me, my Sweet : You have the greatest beauty God has made. A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 149 I think that. Let me kiss your forehead once, Twice, thrice, and say it is diviner white, And hallowed with a brighter radiant grace Than Cleopatra's was, and swear therewith I kiss it with a passion greater far Than Antony's was : yea, let me \\Tite there This thing in kisses that none can efface. " Ah, you believe me now, dear love ?" she says : Yes : I say yes. (Sing on ! ^ Twas you sa?ig : yes ; You bade me answer so. I trust you most.) " Dear Love, let us go lie upon that bed. " I should delight to know it just the grave, " So I might keep this faith and happiness, *' That yours — this mine — both safe for evermore, " So I might lie down sure that no mischance, " No doubt, no calumny, could come to change " Me — yours, you — mine, and peace for evermore." She says this, and she leads me by the hand. Her head is like a lily drooping down. — My passion ! Yea I will not J^aulk thee now : 150 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. I need not : for I feel that what I am Is something more than man, that conquers man. What is it ? I know not : a flame, a thought ; But cold, but calm, unalterable, pure, As far above the fume of the base lust That dulls and levels all men, as, perhaps, Was that strange flame or thought that made Man first And Woman then to bring the man to nought, Which fate I, who indeed am not a god, Who am not Hercules, nor Samson, no. Nor Antony — which fate I yet will change. Nay, passion, rather I will urge thee on ; For I shall be above thee all the time A cold impartial watcher, hard to foil. Attentive that thou gettest all thine own Not tampered with — -lest, in some little thing, Thou art betrayed, or with a semblance served, Yea, for a blind fool as thou ever wert. — O take thy fill of looking on this snow In which thy heart finds such delicious death ; A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 151 Do out thine utmost revel on the bloom Of this rare flower's beauty, now at full ; Whose summer is just perfected to-night And laid before thee, heightened with the tint Of first mysterious sadness, like a touch Of far-off autumns. Do not shun that mouth : For there, indeed, a thing most dainty-sweet — The last kiss that was sown a precious seed By Love at the beginning — waits for thee, The fullest, the most perfect of them all. The earth \\dll never fashion forth, and Love Will never with his summer paint again So beautiful a flower. I am clasped With such arms as I would might hold me so For evermore in heaven. All around, The strange unearthly fragrance of her hair Is coming up, and, with an element Divine as some transparent rosy cloud, EnwTapping both of us ; ay, and, as though — A very cloud of magic — it had borne 152 A TRO TH FOR E TERNITY. Us, lifted far away from thought, and Hfe, And days, and earthUness — we seem to voyage Through most ethereal atmospheres, and seas Upon whose soft sustaining waves we drift, And draw no sound from either distant shore Of ending or beginning : and the bliss, Unspeakable and perfect, that we feel Seems making and remaking evermore Our souls through this eternity. Alas ! One little thread — I strive in vain to break — Is holding me : a memory, a thought, The pricking of a half- numbed wound through sleep, The constant teazing of a winged thing. The bitterness wherewith some ceaseless fans Of life gnaws through, and breaks our dream of it — Some such pursues and racks me. But 'tis well : I know the dream is mine to make my own ; I know what dragon guards this paradise, And with what paltry lies he fools mankind. Ah, how the universe must jeer to see A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 1 53 All men so smoothly cheated of their o%vn ! — And when I slay this dragon, I have all. I cannot stir now. Many a knotted tress Is on me, like a thousand-threaded chain Twined many times about my limbs. I dream No more : I feel her small and gliding hands Seek mine j and while the burning rapid words Her full heart furnishes hiss in mine ear, My sight is peering blindly through the dark Of her vast hair — a cavernous ab3-ss Of blackness traversed by mad shooting sparks Or fearful gleams of blood. — ^\^lat things she says ! " — Let this be as it were my bridal night, " If you doubt all the Past. I am yours now ; " Take this for the beginning, and trust me ; " I will be yours for ever, — not a look, " A word, a thought shall e'er dishonour you." — And, if I had not heard this very thing Before, once, twice, innumerable times, I should not plunge as I do now, my head Still deeper in the fathomless dark hair, lO 154 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. And see tears falling from me — as it seems — To fall on through a drear eternity. But, hark, another voice ! Whence comes it ? — Whence ? From here, beneath the pillow ; yes, 'tis harsh And not like hers ; but speaks a sweet thing — this : / swear for Her it shall be so : trust Me ! Ah, yes — my Love, my own, I answer you ; I part with all the Past, forgive, deny, Refuse to see it. All my soul is yours ; I never loved a moment in this world, But what was love was wholly meant for you. Yea, even before I saw you as you are. Or knew your name, the vaguest breaths of love Were but sent forward to me from the days When you should come, preparing me for you. I know in truth there never was a time Wherein I saw no part of you — nor sign To love you by ; for all my sun, my light, My flowers, my world would be the saddest blank, A TRO TH FOR E TERNITY. 1 5 5 The day you were not ; you have these in you, And are yourself in them ; and, on the day You go, you take them all away with you ; And so 'twas you I saw when I saw them And said : — " Tliat Lady jnine shall have a head Like yonder drooping lily on whose white The summer's breath may never set a stain ; And She shall have a heaven for her hair As deep, and dark, and splendid, as the one I dream beneath ; and She shall have such eyes As ever seem to me those still blue lakes I come on in the t^vilight of the woods And find Avide open under the thick fringe Of violets — that fascinate me so With gazing on me ; yes, and, for her smile, She shall but use that magic of the sun That so transfigures all the day with light, And gives my heart already such a thrill As if She smiled at me :" — my Love, 'twas you I saw then, dreamed of, waited for ; 'twas you ; My heart attests it, looking on you now. — So this of mine is such a perfect love lO — 2 156 A TROTH- FOR ETERNITY. You see, it could not change nor turn away ; — It is the only love God made for you, As you He made for me and from the first Revealed to me. Therefore it cannot be That you are false to me, — that I no way Can save and keep you mine^ — you whom He gave To me for ever, to be brought as mine Before Him at the last. My precious one. You are all worthy of me — are my crown Untarnished, perfect, for you have not sinned ; 'Tis I have sinned, — not being strong at once To save both pure in you. Did not your lips Completely make you mine of your own will ? Did you not swear yourself to me at first. Yea, in God's name, before him ? So that I — Yes, I, have let you, all against your heart, Be brought to do sad things you would have shunned ; Because I had the way, and used it not, To keep you from thern. — Ah, I curse myself ! — My own, my Love ! — those gentle words of yours, Those promises — repeat them • yes, once more : A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 157 You will be mine ; you are mine ; yes, my Love, I do believe you now ; I may, I can — (For that sings under the pillow ; believe Me ! — ) I bless and kiss you for them all. She sleeps. The Steel is singing to me now ; its voice Creeps through and through; — go on, she cannot hear — TJie thi?igs it sings are death and love ; ay, love That death keeps true ; — She sleeps, she cannot hear. There is no sort of madness in my brain ; But rather a great strength, a calm, as though A more than human spirit dwelt with mine. And yet I do perceive that, since last night, My eyes have been bewildered with the glare Of mighty blades and swords that seem to whirl And strike around me, and transform the world With an exceeding splendour cold and bare ; A thousand films are as it were cut through ; And all the beauty, supernatural 158 A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. And real of things seems only to endure. The Steel is an immense magician : yes — Love, Beauty, Life — a touch can change them all And make them wholly fit for me and great. See now where it is gleaming through her hair ! 'Tis like a fair barbaric ornament Ablaze with glancing points of diamonds Stuck in and out between the writhing black. Or, rather, 'tis as fearful and as bright As some fierce snake of azure lightning curled Sinister under the dark mass of night, That ever, with his sudden forke'd flash Piercing some crevice, doth illumine it. I could be gazing on this sight for hours. O, Woman ! — you are greatest in the world : You have all fairest things ; all joy is yours To give and take away ; you have all love ; Your beauty is to man's heart as the sun That doles out day and night to the whole earth ; You have strange gifts of passion and sweet words In truth you are right splendid, — and well fit, A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. 159 I think, to be the leman of a god : But all too fair, and yet not good enough, To be the spouse and helpmate of one man. — For this : there is a serpent in you hid ; It dwells in the invisible of thought, Or crouches in some comer of your heart, Or is engendered in the ardent flame Of your quick passions, — where, it matters not ; But never doth it cease so to distil Its wily poison into all you are Or do or feel, it makes you turn and stab Wliere most you thought to love, — it sets your lips In league mth falsehood to betray your heart, Puts plotting in your heart against your lips. You cannot will your heart to any man But you must seek, for very wantonness — As tempts the snake within you — ^just the straight Betrayal of that man — his love, his faith, As though you had not willed yourself at first : And if you did not this somehow, j^our life Would seem to you a nipped and withered thing, Your beauty good for nought. You are made so. l6o A TROTH FOR ETERNITY. — Therefore, my Love, I will not let you wake. Nay — though you are so pure now and have sworn — Lest you betray me as you did last time. And times before that, having sworn as now. But you are mine — my beautiful, my own ! And your lips said it while your heart beat here Against mine — thrilling with a thought of me ; Your looks were almost piteous with a prayer That I — that God would save you. Shall your mouth, The chaste, the holy one that I have kissed Be desecrate once more ? Shall your own arms Embrace and hug the very shame of you ? Shall this, your heart that made you mine, be false — Go once more seeking out adulteries ? Not so : I strike the holy steel in it, — It was the only way to keep her mine. (1867.) /^ WOMAN whose familiar face I hold In my most sacred thought as in a shrine, \Vho in my memories art become divine — Dost thou remember now those years of old When out of all thine oavti life thou didst mould This life and breathe thy heart in this of mine, Winning, for faith in that fair work of thine, To rest and be in heaven ? — Alas, behold ! — Another woman coming after thee Hath had small pity, — with a wanton kiss Hath quite consumed my heart and ruined this The life that was thy work : O, Mother, see ; Thou hast lived all in vain, done all amiss ; Come down from heaven again, and die with me ! DEATH. T CLOSE my eyes and see the inward things : The strange averted spectre of my soul Is sitting undivulged, angeUc, whole, Beside the dim internal flood that brings Mysterious thought or dreams or murmurings, From the immense Unknown : beneath him roll The urging formless waves beyond control And darkened by the vague foreshadowings As heretofore ; yea, for He hath not stirred. Too weak was that my life, too poor each word To lure my soul from all it waiteth for : — I am with God who holds His purpose still And maketh and remaketh evermore ; I am with God and waiting for His will. THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. T F 3^ou go over desert and mountain, Far into the country of sorrow, To-day and to-night and to-morrow, And maybe for months and for years ; You shall come, with a heart that is bursting For trouble and toiling and thirsting, You shall certainly come to the fountain At length,— to the Fountain of Tears. Very peaceful the place is, and solely For piteous lamenting and sighing. And those who come living or dying Alike from their hopes and their fears ; THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. 1 67 Full of cypress-like shadows the place is, And statues that cover their faces : But out of the gloom springs the holy And beautiful Fountain of Tears. And it flows and it flows with a motion So gentle and lovely and listless, And murmurs a tune so resistless To him who hath suffered and hears — You shall surely— without a word spoken, Kneel down there and know your heart broken, And yield to the long curb'd emotion That day by the Fountain of Tears. For it grows and it grows, as though leaping Up higher the more one is thinking ; And ever its tunes go on sinking More poignantly into the ears : Yea, so blessed and good seems that fountain, Reached after dry desert and mountain, You shall fall down at length in your weeping And bathe your sad face in the tears. 1 68 THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. Then, alas ! while you lie there a season, And sob between living and dying, And give up the land you were trying To find mid your hopes and your fears ; — O the world shall come up and pass o'er you ; Strong men shall not stay to care for you, Nor wonder indeed for what reason Your way should seem harder than theirs. But perhaps, while you lie, never lifting Your cheek from the wet leaves it presses, Nor caring to raise your wet tresses \ And look how the cold world appears, — O perhaps the mere silences round you — All things in that place grief hath found you, Yea, e'en to the clouds o'er you drifting. May soothe you somewhat through your tears. You may feel, when a falling leaf brushes Your face, as though some one had kissed you ; Or think at least some one who missed you Hath sent you a thought, — if that cheers ; THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. 1 69 Or a bird's little song, faint and broken, May pass for a tender word spoken : — Enough, while around you there rushes That life-drowning torrent of tears. And the tears shall flow faster and faster, Brim over, and baffle resistance. And roll down bleared roads to each distance Of past desolation and years ; Till they cover the place of each sorrow, And leave you no Past and no morrow : For what man is able to master And stem the great Fountain of Tears ? But the floods of the tears meet and gather ; The sound of them all grows like thunder : — O into what bosom, I wonder, Is poured the whole sorrow of years ? For Eternity only seems keeping Account of the great human weeping : May God then, the Maker and Father — May He find a place for the tears ! II LOVE AFTER DEATH. nPHERE is an earthly glimmer in the Tomb : And, healed in their own tears and with long sleep, My eyes unclose and feel no need to weep ; But, in the corner of the narrow room. Behold Love's spirit standeth, with the bloom That things made deathless by Death's self may keep. O what a change ! for now his looks are deep, And a long patient smile he can assume : While Memory, in some soft low monotone, Is pouring like an oil into mine ear The tale of a most short and hollow bliss, That I once throbbed indeed to call my own, Holding it hardly between joy and fear, — And how that broke, and how it came to this. SOWN SEED. T WANDERED dreaming through a mead ; And it was sowing-season there ; As one who sows and takes no heed I cast my dreams upon the air : And each dream was a golden seed That in my life some flower should bear. — O sowing-season bright and gay, To have you back I am most fain ! sowing season find some way To bring me here each golden grain 1 cast upon the air that day, That I may sow them all again. 11 2 172 SOWN SEED. For some, that fairest should have been, About the world they have been tost And borne no flowers that I have seen ; And some have taken wing and crost The sea, or through the blue serene Gone up to heaven and been lost. O, sowing season, come once more, ■Bring back each golden seed to me ! For one, indeed, grew up and bore • No flower of gladness, good to see — A thing to look upon right sore — A grief that in my life should be. One other truly did beget Some blossom of the June that fell In May ; and one, a violet Whose death upon my heart doth dwell ; The last seed hath not blossomed yet : Come back and bring this one as well. SOWN SEED. 173 — What ! the whole sudden summer ? Yea ; The last one hath come up a rose ! O sowing season, you may stay ; It is in my Love's heart it grows ; And she hath shown it me to-day : I keep this one and give up those. A DISCORD. T T came to pass upon a summer's day, When from the flowers indeed my soul had caught Freshbloom, and turned their richness into thought, Tliat — having made my footsteps free to stray — They brought me wandering by some sudden way Back to the bloomless city, and athwart The doleful streets and many a closed-up court That prisoned here and there a spent noon-ray. O how most bitterly upon me broke The sight of all the summerless lost folk !— For verily their music and their gladness Could only seem to me like so much sadness, Beside the inward rhapsody of art And flowers and Chopin-Qc\\OQs at my heart. GALANTERIE. /^ ANGEL, that in some unmeasured region Keepest the store of beauteous things unsaid ! Once more do thou take even from their legion Verse of the sweetest, verse no man hath read ; And go with that — saying thou art from me — Unto my Love wherever she may be ; And speak therewith all tender things and fair Touching the beauty of her eyes and hair, Her hands, her feet — all of Her thou may'st see, E'en to the jewels she shall chance to wear. 176 GALANTERIE. As to her eyes, I think thou shalt have reason Setting the azure of them far above God's bkie of heaven ; yea, who shall know thy treason But I who teach it thee and She my love ? And therefore, fear thou nowise to express, Touching her hair, how much its every tress Doth shine above all gold that the sun yields And the fair colour of the harvest fields : But scarce shalt thou be slow to praise, I guess, Soon as thou know'st what spell her beauty wields. And, if so be she cease that she is doing, And give thee welcome for thy verses' sake. Do thou with some most tender sort of wooing Engage her hand, and cause it to forsake Its silken task or pastime on the lute ; For of its beauty thou shouldst not be mute, But celebrate it soon in such a strain Thenceforward it shall be no longer fain To do its lightest toil : so for thy suit My Lady's whole attendance thou shalt gain. GALANTERIE. 177 Then, howsoe'er thou dost behold that wonder, The rare imperial foot of Her my queen ; — Yea, if thou may'st but glimpse it nestled under The broidered border of her robe, or e'en If haply, some unguarded hour of rest. Thou hast such bliss as I have never possest, To see that spotless Lady all reclined And through dim tumbled veils with thine eye find Her spirit-slender foot, — then do thy best. And be thou neither faint of heart nor blind ! But so with every spell of piteous pleading, And the full magic that was wont of old To fill my verse and chann all men to heeding, Frame thou thy praise of that thou dost behold — That her most matchless foot shall even start Out of its languishment and take my part, To bring my Love not otherwhere than here. To me, and to the place where she is dear : Go now and do this, if thou still hast art ; And I shall wait the while in love and fear. THE GLORIOUS LADY. " La gloiiosa donna della mia mente. " Dante. I. T SEE You in the time that's fled, Long dead ; I see yon in the years to be After me ; And for all solace I am given, Night or day, To dream or think of you in heaven Far away. THE GLORIOUS LADY. I79 I have the colour of your hair Everywhere ; I have your beauty all by heart, Cannot part From aught of you — I love you so — Though I try, I know I shall not find you though Till I die. When I have darkened all the day. Put away The world and the world's sights and sweets — Mere deceits, The Winding blaze of the false lights That arise Between my spirit and the heights And the skies — When I have turned from the pale face, Sickly grace. Faint hair and hue of heart, thin smiles That cover wiles l8o ^ THE GLORIOUS LADY. Of looks that fail and lips that chill, — All the drear And pallid cheats of love that kill The heart here — Then do I dream — oh far away — Another day ; Another light where truer hues, Reds and blues, Live as in living eyes and cheeks ; Where love lives, And all my spirit loves and seeks Love gives. Nay, your true heart is not this pale Thing to fail Short of such promised love as dies In such eyes : I build up all the world anew, — Nay, above, I make another world — where You Build up Love : THE GLORIOUS LADY. l8l Behold your eyes are in the stead Of these dead, — Pure seas of looks, Avith many a shore Of worlds more ; Behold, instead of these poor moulds. These mere casts In some first clay — no stuff that holds Love that lasts — Why ! life — that love ; and then its fresh Robe of flesh. With— O what chords of sense that thrill With love's will, Unchecked by death or weariness, Those dull foes Of every feeling, more or less. The world knows ! In place of all the glassy cheats — Your true sweets, — Of all the lives with which Death plays, All the days 1 82 THE GLORIOUS LADY. ' Left dim and void when Hope's own sun Dare not shine — In place of all and every one, You divine ! I know the splendour that you were — — You shall be ; I see that nothing is so fair As you there ; I know that you — the thing I crave — Men shall see Again, when I am in the grave, — After me. O, whose shall be the barren years ? Whose the tears ? God, who of all this world of ours Gathers flowers — Taketh and maketh heaven, and faileth Not at all, Maketh a heaven that prevaileth Out of all— , THE GLORIOUS LADY. 183 Shall God have care for this and this —Flowers that miss The love that gathers and that saves ? For these graves, Shall love to be, or love that's past, Safe above, Be less than perfected at last, Less than Love ? O, who shall have the barren years ? Who the tears ? You, World that gave me a false kiss, Shall have this : But I — I know that Love hath been, And shall be Again, when I am no more seen, — After me. II. T SEE You with the face they paint For some saint Bom and saved in some subhme Olden time, Crowned with the gorgeous golden-waved Aureole ; Just such a saint as should have saved My own soul. Yes ; for you have the human grace In your face Painted upon the panel there, And what hair ! THE GLORIOUS LADY. 185 * Fra' — who was he ? I forget — Who could paint Such a woman wholly, and yet Such a saint ? From the dim cathedral height Falls the light ; I could think it for a Avhile Christ's smUe From the great \vindow-scene above Strangely shed Toward you, resting like Christ's love On your head. O the splendid purple niche Deep and rich, Stained of the colour of your soul Strong and whole, Full of the prevalence of prayers And piteous plaint You made for men and sins all theirs — You a saint ! 12 1 86 THE GLORIOUS LADY. The niche a little narrow : well, As the cell Your world, your body— all things seen — Must have been About the soul that day by day Groped and felt To God's own house and found the way As you knelt : In an attitude of prayer O how fan- ! All the body crouched, constrained As if pained With the spirit's inward groan To entreat For a sin you could not own, O how sweet ! Hands God making must have praised ; Clasped and raised Holy mediaeval way Used to pray ; THE GLORIOUS LADY. 187 Sky all wrapped about your head Blue and sweet, Earth all golden from the tread Of your feet. God, who of all this world of ours Gathers flowers, Gathered you in the old sublime Flower time : If God had left some flowers like you — Who can tell ? — He might have had yet one or tvvo Flowers that fell. O then there were great sins of course ; Men were worse Some ways no doubt ; at any rate Men were great : We cannot bear their mail, much less Lose or win Their heavens, through their great holiness Or great sin. 12 — 2 1 88 THE GLORIOUS LADY. There were high things for men to see, Do, or be ; Fair struggles after every throne : And to atone Fair crowns and kingdoms for the best ; All men strove, And, loss or gain, for each man's rest There was love. And men and women bore their part Heart to heart. For oh ! the women and the men Loved then ; And love from love you could not break, Half to save ; If one sinned, for the other's sake God forgave. Would thou wert yet, thou great and old Time of gold ! Wert thou with me, or could I flee Back to thee, THE GLORIOUS LADY. 189 God might have had one other flower Nigh to fall, And I knoAMi love at least one hour — Once for all. O who shall have the barren years ? "Wlio the tears ? One \vith false bosom and cold kiss May have this : But somewhere, unless love forget His old way. There shall be something better yet — Ay, some day. LOST BLISSES. 'T^HINK, O Heart, what sweet — had you waited A moment, on such a day — Had yet been to do or to say That shall never be said now or done ! Think what beautiful worlds uncreated The clouds then bore back to the sun ; What blisses were all frustrated ; What loves, that were almost begun ! Think, O Life, — had your stream but drifted To this or that holier Past, Or Future that must come at last — Think, O sorrowful Life, and repent — LOST BUSSES. rgi How the sorrowful days had been gifted With solace and ravishment, And year after year slowly lifted To heavens of golden content ! THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. /^N the great day of my life — On the memorable day — Just as the long inward strife Of tlie echoes died away, Just as on my couch I lay Thinking thought away ; Came a Man into my room, Bringing with him gloom. THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. 193 Midnight stood upon the clock, And the street sound ceased to rise ; Suddenly, and with no knock. Came that Man before my eyes : Yet he seemed not anywise My heart to surprise, And he sat down to abide At my fireside. But he stirred within my heart Memories of the ancient days ; And strange visions seemed to start Vividly before my gaze. Yea, from the most distant haze Of forgotten ways : And he looked on me the while With a most strange smile. But my heart seemed well to know That his face the semblance had Of my own face long ago Ere the years had made it sad. 194 THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. ^\^len my youthful looks were clad In a smile half glad ; To my heart he seemed in truth All my vanished youth. Then he named me by a name Long since unfamiliar grown, But remembered for the same That my childhood's ears had kno\vn ; And his voice was like my own In a sadder tone Coming from the happy years Choked, alas, with tears. And, as though he nothing knew Of that day's fair triumphing, Or the Present were not true, Or not worth remembering, All the Past he seemed to bring As a piteous thing Back upon my heart again, Yea, with a great pain : THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. 1<55 " Do you still remember the winding street In the grey old village ?" He seemed to say ; "And the long school days that the sun made sweet And the thought of the flowers from far away ? And the faces of friends whom you used to meet In that village day by day, — Ay, the face of this one or of that ?" he said, And the names he named were names of the dead Who all in the churchyard lay. " Do you stiil remember your brother's face, And his soft light hair, and his eyes' deep blue, And the child's pet name that in every place Was once so familiar to him and to you ? And the innocent sports and the butterfly chase That lasted the bright day through ?" — O this time, I thought of the churchyard and sighed. For I thought of the dead lying side by side, And my brother who lay there too. 196 THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. " And do you remember the far green hills ; Or the long straight path by the side of the stream ; Or the road that led to the farm and the mills, And the fields where you oft used to wander or dream Or follow each change of your childish wills Like the dance of some gay sunbeam ?" — Then, alas, from right weeping I could not refrain, For indeed all those things I remembered again, — As of yesterday they did seem. And I thought of a day in a far lost Spring, When the sun with a kiss set the wild flowers free ; When my heart felt the kiss and the shadowy wing Of some beautiful spirit of things to be, Who breathed in the song that the wild birds sing Some deep tender meaning for me, — Who undid a strange spell in the world as it were, Who set wide sweet whispers abroad in the air, — Made a presence I could not see. THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. 197 O that whisper my heart seemed to understand ! O that spell it took hold on right willing feet ! To that beautiful spirit I gave my hand, And he led me that day up the village street, And out through the fields and the fragrant land, And on through the pathways sweet; Yea, still on, with a semblance of some new bliss, Through the world he has led me from that day to this With a tender and fair deceit. " O for what have you wandered so far — so long ?" Said the voice that was e'en as my voice of old : " O for what have you done to the Past such AVTong ? Was there no fair dream on your own threshold ? In your childhood's home was there no fresh song ? — Was your heart then all so cold ? Why, at length, are you weary and lone and sad, But for casting away all the good that you had With the peace that was yours of old ? 198 THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. " Have you wholly forgotten the words you said, When you stood by a certain mound of- earth, When you vowed with your heart that that place you made The last burial place for your love and your mirth, For the pure past blisses you therein laid Were surely your whole life's worth ? — Oj the angels who deck the lone graves with their tears Have cared for this, morning and evening, for years. But of yours there has been long dearth : " In the pure pale sheen of a hallowed night, When the graves are looking their holiest. You may see it more glistering and more bright And holier-looking than all the rest ; You may see that the dews and the stars' strange light Are loving that grave the best ; But, perhaps, if you went in the clear noon-day, After so many years you might scarce find the way Ere you tired indeed of the quest : THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. 1 99 " For the path that leads to it is almost lost ; And quite tall grass-flowers of sickly blue Have gromi up there and gathered for years, and tost Bitter germs all around them to grow up too ; For indeed all these years not a man has crost That pathway — not even You !" — But alas ! for these words to my heart he sent, For I knew it was Margue'rite's grave that he meant. And I felt that the words were true. Then the dim sweet faces of them of yore Seemed to start from the mist where the memory lies; And each one was as sweet and as dear as before ; But a piteous look was in all their eyes — Yea, the long smile of sadness ; and each one bore A reproach in some tender wse : Till my bosom was troubled and sorely thrilled With the thought of them all, and my ears were filled With a sound of the mingling of sighs. 200 THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. And my heart, where the memories of them were cast And as buried and choked in the dust of the years, Became peopled, it seemed, with the shapes of the Past; And the voice of my brother grew fresh in my ears : So my dried up eyes were softened at last To weeping some few sweet tears ; But the Man who was sitting at my fireside — He covered his face witli his hands and cried As I did in those earlier years. Then I faltered, — " O Spectre of my lost Youth ! All too well at thy pleading the sad thoughts wake, With the bitter regret of the Past, and in truth The whole love of the fair things that all men forsake ; And for this thy reproach I am filled \vith ruth — My heart seemeth nigh to break : Ah ! right gladly would I now return with thee To those loves and those lovers, if that might be, And be happy for their sweet sake. THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. 201 " And, O Spectre that wearest my look — ^my face, And art ever with them as the thought they keep To remind them of me in the changeless place In the changeless Past where the memories sleep, — Do thou tell them I am not all barren of grace, Nor have buried their love so deep, But that now after so long toward them I yearn. And that often the thought of them all may return. And that often it makes me weep." Then, alas ! I was troubled and filled with shame, As I looked on His face and beheld him fair ; For his locks were as gold, and his eyes as a flame ; And I knew that one winter had blanched my hair, And that surely my looks were no longer the same ' As in earlier days they were : For I feared he should mock me and tell them [of this, And that even my tears were but scant beside his. O, this thought was a hard one to bear ! 13 202 THE SPECTRE OF THE PAST. But at length I fell dreaming beneath the might Of each spell of the Past whence I cared not to start ; And I saw Him some time by the flickering light, As the one in my dream who was playing my part ; Till his semblance grew dim and was gone from my sight As a dream of the Past will depart. Then the Spirit whose beauty has led me till now, Came and breathed a sweet breath on my feverish brow, And the strain of this verse in my heart. A FADING FACE. /^UT of a dim and slowly fading place In the deep dwelling mem'ries, — as it seems, Mingled of purple mem'ries and of dreams — The perfect marble features of Your face Shine and are seen : each brow is like the space Pearly in heaven after the sun-beams ; And all the curving of the mouth still gleams Where many a gracious smile hath left a grace ; But the eyes are within, or all too far, Or changed now to some element of heaven Purer and subtler than the blue they were ; They meet me not. I know not where you are ; With God most — wholly in the grave, — or even In the remembrance of you that is here. 13—2 THE HEART'S QUESTIONS. ChopirCs Nocturne, Op. 15, no. 3. \ 1 THEN the heaven is blue, Or the stars look down, Or the golden crown Glows upon the hills, — When the sky of tears Lets the sunlight through, And the heart a moment thrills. Yea, and utters too, — Who discerns ? who hears ? Who but I — and perhaps You ? THE HEARTS QUESTIONS. 205 When some thin thought-wave From the shadow shore Brings the Voice once more From beyond the grave ; When some pain is prest Deep into the breast, And the inward thoughts are swords Killing one with sadness ; Most when love is strong, And the anguish long Rolls up in a haste of words Ending all in madness — Who is he that soothes or cheers ? Who believes ? who hears ? Ay, when the Heart grieves, Pants, prays — who believes ? ? 2o6 THE HEART'S QUESTIONS. Ay, when the Heart cries, "Wlien it breaks, when it dies, — (Ah, why was the Heart born ! — ) Who shall save ? who shall mourn ? BARCAROLLE. 'T^HE stars are dimly seen among the shadows of the bay, And Hghts that win are seen in strife with Hghts that die away : The wave is very still — the rudder loosens in our hand, The zephyr will not fill our sail and waft us to the land ; O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go. And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow. 208 BARCAROLLE. No sound but sound of rest is on the bosom of the deep, Soft as the breathing of a breast serenely hushed with sleep : Lay by the oar ; there is a voice at heart to sing or sigh— O what shall be the choice of barcarolle or lullaby ? Say shall we sing of day or night, fair land or mighty ocean, Of any rapturous delight or any dear emotion, Of any joy that is on Earth, or hope that is above — The holy country of our birth, or any song of love ? Our heart in all our life is like the hand of one who steers A bark upon an ocean rife with dangers and with fears ; The joys, the hopes, like waves or wings, bear up this life of ours — Short as a song of all these things that make up all its hours. BARCAROLLE. 20c Spread sail ! for it is Hope to-day that like a wind new-risen Doth waft us on a golden wing towards a new horizon, That is the sun before our sight, the beacon for us burning, That is the star in all our night of watching and of yearning. Love is this thing that we pursue to-day, to-night, for ever, We care not whither, know not who shall be at length the giver : For Love, — our life and all our years are cast upon the waves ; Our heart is as the hand that steers ; — but who is He that saves ? We ply with oars, we strive with every sail upon our mast — We never tire, never fail — and Love is seen at last: 210 BARCAROLLE. A low and purple mirage like a coast where day is breaking — Sink sail ! — for such a dream as Love is lost before the waking. THE MINER. BALLAD. "LT O, I sing and I sing ! Digging jewels for the King ;- Till I tire of the measure I sing and I sing : Here's a diamond true bright ; Here's a ruby worth a treasure : So I labour, and my sight Surely fails, and I get gray Digging jewels for the King : I have toiled so many a day, I have found so many a treasure, 2 1 2 THE MINER. Yet, — ah's me ! — I dare to say That I could not earn my way To the palace of the King. I was a miner — doomed With a fate branded at birth To serve the King entombed In this dungeon of the Earth : They gave me a thing called Hope, A word written in gold On a talent — precious I'm told ; But, if I am to grope All my life long in a mine, What were the use at best Of a bauble just to shine And dangle at my breast ? So I sing, so I sing Here's a jewel for the King ! — Let me clear it of the rust ; Wrap the gold thing in gold dust THE MINER. 213 'Tis a perfect bauble — see, A truly precious thing, Far fitter for a king Than a prisoner like me. A WASTED LAND. A LAS, for a sound is heard Of a bitterly broken song ; Grievous is every word ; And the burden is weary and long Like the waves between ebb and flow ; And it comes when the winds are low, Or whenever the night is nigh, And the world hath space for a sigh. A WASTED LAND. 215 It was in the time of fruit ; When the peach began to pout, And the purple grape to shine, And the leaves were a threadbare suit For the blushing blood of the vine, And the spoilers were about And the viper glode at the root : — She came, and with her hand, With her mouth, yea, and her eyes She hath ravaged all the land ; Its beauty shall no more rise : She hath dravni the wine to her lip. For a mere wanton sip : Lo, where the vine-branch lies ; Lo, where the drained grapes drip. Her feet left many a stain ; And her lips left many a sting ; She will never come again. And the fruit of everything Is a canker or a pain : 2i6 A WASTED LAND. And a memory doth crouch Like an asp, — yea, in each part AVhere she hath left her touch, — . Lying in wait for the heart. CHARMED MOMENTS. Chopin's Nocturne, Op. 37, 710. i. nPHE sky is a brilliant enamel ; The sea is a beautiful gem ; The hours are beautiful flowers That pass, and we keep none of them ; They bear not the thing we would cherish, Those beautiful fruitless flowers ; Each comes up to blossom and perish ; We wait, and another is ours : We wait till the heavens above us, The flowering earth, or the seas Shall bring us the soul meant to love us, And hours much sweeter than these. 14 3l8 CHARMED MOMENTS. How thrill we, when heavenly hushes Come over the sea and the land ! — Soft kissings of waves among rushes, Footfalls of a bird on the sand, Or least little stirs in the bushes Take hold on the heart like a hand Arresting — we know not for what — But little we care to withstand : How thrill we ! — We think that some Spirit Is speaking each moment like that \ — O faint not, strained ear, till you hear it, — Heart, break not till you understand ! A LIFE-TOMB. /^ THE house is haunted and rife With Her touch behind panel and door And her footfalls under the floor ; O the house is filled with gloom : — Is She here dead in my life ? Am I here alive in her tomb ? — Ah fain am I still to track And to walk along the ways Sown with flowers by her feet ; And to gather, following back, All the purple nights and days She slew passing ; or, half sweet, 14 — 2 2 20 A LIFE-TOMB. To sit with dull eyes cast On slowly dying embers Of things the heart remembers Right fair in the heart's past, — Till tones, that seem to start From the shadows in the room, Move round about the heart, And a love-glow fills the gloom ; And her soul seems to look out As from dim and distant eyes. And a shade of lips to pout With some remnant of her sighs. And often too, in the night, The flame in famished eyes Re-kindles an old delight At some dream-sight of her ; The heart with tremulous stir Lives a moment and then dies. THE SLAVE OF APOLLO, " IT OW shall I rid myself from thee, Apollo ? Give me leave to be No more than flower, or wind, or thought, — Only a fragrant memory, nought, Or anything that's free : " Give me — O pitying — some power To cease ; make me a gentle shower ; A hidden fount that murmureth In some sweet glimmer all apart From sounds of living : give me death ! Or loose me for your love of me ; My bosom faileth and my heart No more a prisoner will be —Will be free ! 222 THE SLA VE OF APOLLO. Shall I not cry to ye aloud O clouds ! My spirit was a cloud Like one of you, — was free, I say, To loiter o'er the tremulous lakes Loving, to cling upon the wane Of every fair thing that forsakes The light and luxury of day ; To bear me over hill and plain Upon the winds' unfooted way : Ah, I was fearless then and pure ; And my sight touched all things obscure Beneath dim masks of change or sleep : And read the tender meanings writ For full new heavens down in deep Horizons, over which stood knit The storms' dark brows ; I saw what cleaves In the far comers of sun-smiles, And I could send my breath for miles Among the flowers and the leaves. THE SLA VE OF APOLLO. 223 O bosom of my mother Heaven, Was not I pm-er than the dew ? Was not my spirit of the leaven Of your ovm high eternal blue Unspotted by one part of earth ? O, wherefore this dull flesh that wraps My sense in shame, — O, why this birth Among hard human sights and mirth ! Hear now, and draw me back to you. Call to me through the silent gaps In some great tempest cloud above, Steal me when, gasping in the laps Of these that sicken me of love, I lie and think of my lost bliss : O can you not in one long kiss Absorb my spirit back to you ? But thou, Apollo, who prevailest ! Hast thou made me thine envy? choosing, Out of all creatures, me the frailest ; Me the most piteous, for the loosing 2 24 THE SLAVE OF APOLLO. Of thy swift amorous looks like hounds That hunt my soul — heavy and rife With bodiless delights and sounds. And knowledge of a goodlier life ? — O, not until some fate shall darken This soul with death, shall any scorn Or hate of heaven make me mute : Rather, through hot days, \\ill I hearken For quick breaths panting in pursuit, And the swift feet of some sweet fawn Crashing among the fallen fruit : And him — making my whole blood blush- I will all languishing beseech, — Crush me, O God, as thou wouldst crush Some fire-fed fruit, some fallen peach, Some swollen skin of purple wine ; Care not to spare me, — nor refuse me ; Take me, to use me or abuse me, And slay me taking me for thine ! — THE SLAVE OF APOLLO. 225 So — till he seize me wdth a shout, Tear me, and sear me with his breath ; Yea, till he tread my heart quite out. And give me Death ! And if not Death !- O all the night I shall be free To steep me and to stifle me In dew, and cool dew-dropping hair, In every shadowy haunt and lair Where most forgetfulness may be ; And, all on flame, my soul shall flare Into the chillest of the dark. And there be quenched, spark by spark. To the last faintest spark of me. I will be wasted as a spoil On all things of the woods and winds ; Earned ^vith no eagerness or toil I will be for the first who finds — !26 THE SLAVE OF APOLLO. A revel for mad zephyr lips, A soft eternity of sips : I will no sweet of mine detain ; But wholly be to them a prey, Used lavishly or cast away For the whole rout of them to drain. Or I will give myself to make Sport for the green gods of the lake ; — All fierce are they with foamy breath. And rainbow eyes, and watery souls, Quaint things, half deity, half snake ; — O, I shall lay me in the shoals Of waves : or any way get Death ! — So I shall rid myself from thee, Apollo ! — So at length be free ! THE POET'S GRAVE. T N a lonely spot that was filled with leaves, And the wild waste plants without scent or name, Where never a mourner came, — That was far from the ground where the false world grieves, 228 THE POETS GRAVE. And far from the shade of the church's eaves— They buried the Poet with thoughts of shame, And not as one who believes. Then the tall grass flower with lolling head, Who is king of all flowers that twine or creep On graves where few come to weep, To the briar, and bindweed, and vetch, he said, " Lo, here is a grave of the lonely dead ; Let us go up and haste while his soul may sleep. To make the fresh earth our bed." Then the rootless briar and bindweed mean. And the grovelling vetch, with the ])ale trefoil That cumbers the fruitless soil, Yea, the whole strange rout of the earth's unclean Went up to the grave that was fresh and green • And together they wrought there so dense a coil The grave was no longer seen. THE POETS GRAVE. 229 But the tall mad flower whose head is crowned With the long lax petals that fall and flap Like the ears of a fool's bell-cap, He stood higher than all on the fameless mound ; And nodded his head to each passing sound, Darting this way and that, as in sport to trap Each laugh of the winds around. JOHN CAMDEN HCTTE.N', 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON. RECENT POETRY. A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN. MR. SWINBURNE'S NEW POEM. Foolscap 8vo., toned paper, cloth, Price ^s. 6d., A SONG OF ITAL Y. %* The A tkeniEum remarks of this poem : " Seldom has such a chant been heard so full of glow, strength, and colour." MR. SWINBURNE'S POEMS AND BALLADS, Third Edition, Price 9s. MR. SWINBURNE'S NOTES ON HIS POEMS, AND ON THE REVIEWS WHICH HAVE APPEARED UPON THEM, Is now ready, Price is. New Edition, foolcap 8vo., Price 6s., MR. SWINBURNE'S AT AL ANT A IN CALYDON MR. SWINBURNE'S CHASTELARD: A TRAGEDY. New Edition, Price 7s. 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Nearly ready, foolscap 8vo., a new volume of Poems, entitled AMBROSIA AMORIS. BY EDWARD BRENNAN, Author of " BIANCA." This day, cloth neat, 5s. FOEMS FROM THE GREEK MYTHOLOG Y, AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. BY EDMUND OLLIER. " What he has written is enough, and more than enough, to give him a high rank amongst the most successful cultivators of the English Muse." Glaie. Now ready, a very choice little volume. Price 4s. ANACREON IN ENGLISH: Attempted in the Metres of the Original. BY THOMAS J. ARNOLD. Crown 8vo., cloth e.xtra, Price 7s. 6d., a volume of CHINESE BALLADS AND POEMS, IN ENGLISH VERSE, ENTITLED UNDER THE PEAK ; OR, JOTTINGS IN VERSE DURING A LENGTHENED RESIDENCE IN HONG KONG. BY W. T. MERCER, M.A. Containing, with many other Poems, the following : — A String of Hong Kong Sonnets. Ode to the Sons of Han. Chinese Vers de Soci^te. Keyang's Farewell. The Man of Loo. The Hanyang Thistle. Chaou Yung's Quatrain. Trifles from the Tartar. Taifoong. The Sun of Hong Kong. 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His verse is finished, rapid, with a Byrnnian accent, now recalling Pope, now Churchill, rich in anti- theses, and drenched with classical ambrosia." — Extract from a review, 25 pages in length, in the Reznie lies Detix Mondes. "Mr. Austin has the heart of a true poet, the brain of a shrewd thinker, and the pen of an accomplished writer." — Dublin U niversity Magazine. "The best verses of their kind since 'English Bards and Scotch Re- viewers.'"— TVzf Queetis Messengey. " One of the most powerful satires of modern times." — Daily News. " Mr. Austin's splendid talents as a satirist are beyond all question." — TAe Era. " Worthy of Byron." — Literary Gazette. " We venture to welcome the birth of another poet among us in Mr. Austin, and we bid him hearty speed." — London Reineiu. " If cleverness, united with truth, could reform the vices of London Society, Mr. Austin might rank as an apostle." — Press. " Keen, glittering, pungent, and clever." —IVeekly Dispatcli. " Mr. Austin has the soul of a poet and the heart of an honest man." — T'offta/iauii. "All the follies of the town arc passed in review by this stern but amusing censor." — Critic. " while Mr. Austin chose to lay on, few would cry ' Hold, enough !'" — TAe Globe. " Has not been surpassed since Byron's days." — Illustrated Times. " No one, who is willing to open his eyes, or give effect to his moral convictions, will say that the censure of this satire is too severe."— jVirzt/j- 0/ the World. " M.any of the subjects treated in this stinging satire are not pleasant ones to broach ; but Mr. Austin more than compensates in the vigour with which he exposes and lashes fashionable follies and probes social sores for his brusque and barbed speech." — 'J'iw Lady's Own Paper. "We can only regret that 'The Season' is not likely to penetrate more than a few bachelor smoking-rooms : though, if young ladies are what the author describes them, he has perhaps counted on being read, like the Essays and Reviews, the more naughty he is said to be." — The Press. London : JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 & 75, Piccadilly. RECENT VOY^TKY—coniinued. New Edition, beautifully Illustrated, cloth, ver}' elegant, , royal 8vo, Price 6s. THE VALE OF LANHERNE AND OTHER CORNISH POEMS. . By HENRY SEWELL STOKES, Illustrated with Eight very beautiful Tinted Lithographs of the following most picturesque spots in Cornwall : — THE VALE OF LANHERNE, THE NUNNERY OF LANHERNE, THE CHURCH OF ST MAWGAN, ANCIENT CROSS OF MAWGAN, And Views of the Sea Coast, including FALLORY, TREGURRION BAY, THE NORWEGIAN'S ROCK, THE EYRY, &c. Nearly Ready, RECREATIONS AT MAGDALA. By CAPTAIN CAMERON, late H.B.M. Consul at Massowah. INFELICIA. POEMS BY ADAH ISAACS MENKEN. 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" What can we say of this gifted and wayward woman, the existence of whose better nature will be suggested for the first time to many by the posthumous disclosure of this book? We do not envy the man who, reading it, has only a sneer for its writer; nor the woman who finds it in her heart to turn away with averted face. " — Ne7v York Round Table. "An amazing little book, unhappily posthumous, which a distinguished woman has left as a legacy to mankind and the ■a.^^'i." —Saturday Review. London : JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 & 75, Piccadilly. RECENT VOY.TRY— continued. Just ready, foolscap 8vo, neatly printed, 2S. 6d. FACTS &- FANCIES FROM THE FARM. POEMS BY JAMES DAWSON. "Here we have some very pretty and readable pf>etry — some of it so much above the average as to warrant expectations of something far better, and we shall look forward with interest to the next volume from the same hand." — Globe. Cheap Edition, paper covers, Price is. In crown 8vo., handsomely printed, Price 6s. THE IDOLATRESS; AND OTHER POEMS. BY DR. JAMES WILLS, Author of " Drainatic Scenes," " The Disejnbodicd," and of various Poetical Contributions to " Blackwood's Alag'azine." "One great merit of the 'Idolatress' is to be found in the ability with which the writer has contrasted a spiritual faith and its claims on the con- science, with a material faith that captivates the imagination through the senses." — Athenceian, Jnly iiik, 1868. An elegant little volume, bound in blue and gold carmine edges, Price 4s. 6d. LYRICS AND BUCOLICS. The Eclogues of Virgil, a Selection from the Odes of Horace, and the Legend of the Sibyll. Translated by HERBERT Noyes, Esq. "There is a certain freedom and swing in these translations, which not only more resembles the brisk spirit and ringing tone of the original, but is truly refreshing after the stiff rendering which had been generally made of Horace's choicest composition. 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It is needless to say that the illustrations are all more or less charming." — The Scotsman. " Who does not know ' Puck on Pegasus,' which now comes before us in a sixth edition?" — London Review. "There is no doubt that Mr. Cholmondeley Pennell's merry volume of verse, entitled ' Puck on Pegasus,' which has reached a sixth edition, merits the honour and success of that unquestionable proof of popularity. The book has been reviewed over and over again." — Daily Telegraph. " .... Splendid verse. The sixth edition — on the merits of the book it ought to be the sixtieth — is published in exquisite garb by ISIr. Hotten. Those who do not already know the wonderful swing of Mr. Cholmondeley Pennell's lines should make their acquaintince at once. 'Jolly' is hardly the word for the book, either in the writing or the get up, but we make 'Puck on Pegasus' a present of it for want of a hetter."— Standard. "The words 'sixth edition,' when they appear in the first page of any work, are in themselves a sufficient guarantee of its character, and render criticism superfluous. The puWic have affixed the seal of their approbation on the work, and we have only to say that in doing so they have judged, as they usually do, wisely and well. It is especially fit for readmg in the family circle." — Observer. " The volume is a treasury of wit and humour : wit that always sparkles, and humour without the taint of coarseness or vulgarity." — Newspaper World. London : JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 & 75, Piccadilly. 8 RECENT VOY.T'RN— continued. Author's New and Enlarged Edition. Price is. ; in cloth, is. 6d. HANS BREITMANN'S BALLADS. THE COMPLETE WORK. From the Author's Revised Copyright. I.-HAN.S BREITMANN'S PARTY. • II.— HANS BREITMANN'S CHRISTMAS. ' in.— HANS BREITMANN'S VELOCIPEDE. IV.— HANS BREITMANN'S DER FREYSCHUTZ. V.-HANS BREITMANN'S OTHER BALLADS. 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