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 Two Fancies 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
/^BERKELEY^ 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 V CALIFORNIA J 
 
TWO FANCIES 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
TWO FANCIES 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 By WILLIAM GRAHAM 
 
 AirTHOR OF 
 'nEATH southern skies, a tale of BIARRITZ AND THE FVRENKKS 
 
 LONDON 
 
 KK(.AN I'AUL, TRENCH & CO.. i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 1883 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 {The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.) 
 
L/20/ ^ 
 
 DEDICATED BY A BYRONIAN, 
 WITH PERMISSION, TO THE CHIEF OF BYRONIANS, 
 
 MR. ALFRED AUSTIN, 
 
 IN TOKEN OF ADMIRATION OF HIS NOBLE DEFENCE 
 
 OF 
 
 BYRON'S MEMORY AGAINST THE HARPIES 
 
 WHO ASSAIL IT. 
 
 499 
 
AVIS AU LECTEUR. 
 
 It is with no wish to forestall just criticism, but 
 in simple justice to myself, that I remark that, 
 although the author of these poems has just 
 attained to the ripe age of five and twenty, many 
 of them have been written in earliest youth. 
 
 In justice to Monte Carlo, who has already 
 enough sins on her pretty shoulders, I may mention 
 that the unfortunate incident described did not 
 take place there, but that the rash youth ruined 
 himself at cards, not dice. For obvious reasons 
 I have been obliged to change the scene. 
 
 }Tarch i6, 1883. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FACE 
 
 Two Fancies ... ... ... ... .. i 
 
 By the Sea ... ... ... 40 
 
 To A Beautiful Glen ... ... 42 
 
 Written at Arcachon ... ... ... ... 46 
 
 l;iAKRITZ ... ... ... ... ... ... 48 
 
 !',\i: ... ... ... ... ... ... 51 
 
 Akgel£s ... ... ... ... ... ... 53 
 
 Kheu Fugaces ! ... ... ... . 58 
 
 The Winds' Solace... ... ... 60 
 
 The Heart's Joys ... 6$ 
 
 To Mrs. ... 67 
 
 r<) a Lost Love ... ... . 70 
 
 To Miss Latra Craicik Hai.kktt . 75 
 Sonnets : 
 
 Ciocthc 70 
 
 Shelley So 
 
 Byron S 1 
 
 Keats 8a 
 
 Shakespeare S} 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The End of Song ... ... ... ... 84 
 
 The Falling Leaves ... ... ... ... 86 
 
 A Message ... ... ... ... ... 90 
 
 To Lady C— F— ... ... ... ... ... 94 
 
 To Mrs. Stewart ... ... ... ... 99 
 
 Monte Carlo ... ... ... ... ... 102 
 
 Painful Results of Gambling ... ... 105 
 
 Pauvre Petit ... ... ... ... ... 116 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 FIRST FANCY. 
 
 A YOUTH had sought for knowledge deep and vast, 
 
 All learning of all ages and all tongues, 
 
 Had traversed foreign lands and in far climes 
 
 "Had made him not a stranger;" he had searched 
 
 The depths of others* hearts and, what is more, 
 
 Had learned to know his own ; he had drunk deep 
 
 Of life, of love, and tasted now of fame, 
 
 And found the goal was nothing ; he had plunged 
 
 Deep in the mystic wells of ancient lore, 
 
 Drunk of the purer streams of modem thought, 
 
 And found the goal was nothing. 
 
 Then to the springs of action had he turned* 
 
 Had scanned the mighty lives of those who moved 
 
 The world upon its axis, and who changed 
 
 B 
 
TJVO FANCIES. 
 
 The course of all creation as we say. 
 
 Poor blinded fools ! Does not the sun still shine 
 
 And laugh at us as ere great Julius' birth ? 
 
 He mused on all the human mind had wrought 
 
 In thought or action, all that mightiest souls — 
 
 Napoleon, Plato, Caesar, and the rest. 
 
 Had ever dreamed or done, and yet he found — 
 
 Still that the end was nothing. 
 
 Yet in him was the poet's fervent soul. 
 
 That inborn joy which colours all the world 
 
 With hues of its own gladness, which can give 
 
 To hell itself a healing light from Heaven ; 
 
 That inborn woe and torment which can shed 
 
 O'er fair creation its own gloomy hue, 
 
 And make this world a prison worse than hell. 
 
 Yet he was calm and happy, for he deemed 
 
 Despondency was weakness ; and if thoughts 
 
 Of deepest gloom at times flashed o'er his soul, 
 
 He quelled them with sweet thoughts of the great whole, 
 
 And mused beside torn ocean's foaming surge, 
 
 And summer seas glassed in the radiant sun. 
 
 Or hoary castles of the olden time, 
 
 And mused on children's fathomless blue eyes, 
 
 And then once more was happy. 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 Yet, ere this calm he reached, long years had passed 
 
 In doubt, and woe, and deadly strife of soul, 
 
 And sleepless nights succeeding weary days, 
 
 Weary with unslaked longing and from war 
 
 With body wasting, soul consuming thought. 
 
 But now his foe was conquered, and the crown 
 
 Of godlike calm now wreathed the victor's brow ; 
 
 And now his life was twofold — part with men, 
 
 Part with his own deep thoughts which were not theirs, 
 
 Safe in a pride of soul which was not theirs. 
 
 And calm reserve, tho* all distinct from gloom. 
 
 Sea, stars, and winds had unto him become 
 
 As things familiar, and to him they told 
 
 With mystic voice the secrets of all time. 
 
 Even as to a brother, but with men 
 
 Had he few things in common, that to him 
 
 Was but a book to read and cast away, 
 
 A toy to play with in an idle hour. 
 
 Tho' not unkind in nature, yet from men 
 
 He lived a life serene and calm apart 
 
 But yet tho' thus alone, he was beloved 
 
 By some, for in him nought there was of mean, 
 
 Nought low or little, but this also sprang 
 
 From lack of all connection with mankind, 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 Above men's envies, hates, and paltry fears, 
 
 He was alike above their hopes and faiths. 
 
 In stature he was tall and slight of build, 
 
 With changeful, mobile face and deep, sad eyes, 
 
 Which lit at will to laughter, love, or scorn. 
 
 The wind was murmuring with foreboding sound. 
 
 Betokening tempest, while the youth rode on 
 
 Along the shore of his beloved sea, 
 
 One sweet autumnal day, his soul was plunged 
 
 In poet's dreams, in thought intense and deep. 
 
 In golden dreams of youth which yet was his. 
 
 For tho' he soon had learned that friends were friends, 
 
 But till their help was needed, and that love 
 
 Sung by so many bards was oft but lust. 
 
 And women cared for nought but gold and power. 
 
 And the world's smiles and tears were nought but lies, 
 
 Its worship but idolatry of power ; 
 
 It moved him not, the world to him was nought, 
 
 For all he cared for was to know and rule, 
 
 And laugh the careless laughter of the gods. 
 
 The sky grew black and overcast with clouds, 
 
 A crash of thunder and a dazzling flash, 
 
 And then a mighty tempest, wind and wave 
 
 Warring together, while the thunder's roll 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 Beat its dread music to their mighty war. 
 His heart beat with a fierce tumultuous joy 
 That human passion never could awake, 
 While in his eyes the tempest's self was seen, 
 A longing of the soul for liberty 
 To mingle with the lightning, waves, and storm. 
 A gentle voice rang softly on his ear, 
 A lovely form stood by him, and with voice 
 Of sweetest melody she spoke these words — 
 "Oh, come and shelter from this fearful storm; 
 Our house is there, oh, pfay ride on with speed ! " 
 She pointed to a small secluded house 
 At some fields' distance from the river's mouth. 
 Her eyes shone with a light that was not fear, 
 But, like his own, reflected back a joy ; 
 She seemed like some young spirit of the storm. 
 How beautiful she was I Her golden locks 
 Floating like the sunlight on the darkened air. 
 How beautiful she was 1 Her perfect lijjs 
 Disclosing pearls that seemed to shame the foam. 
 How beautiful she was ! Her fair young face 
 Combining girlish grace with maiden pride. 
 Ah, Heaven ! Could such beauty ever die ? 
 Thus startled by the sweet young voice, which yet 
 
TIVO FANCIES. 
 
 Bore in it that all nameless ring of birth, 
 
 He turned, and, with a pleasant smile, replied — 
 
 " What ! are you, then, the spirit of the dream 
 
 From which you just have waked me ? I have dreamed 
 
 Of seas, and winds, and lightning, and a nymph, 
 
 Rising like Yenus from the salt sea foam. 
 
 Who quelled all at her bidding. Here she comes ! " 
 
 And with a merry laugh she made reply — 
 
 " Well, for a spirit of the salt sea wave, 
 
 I feel uncomfortably cold and wet ; 
 
 And, as I don't much like the lightning, wish 
 
 I had the power to still the elements ; 
 
 And you seem quite entirely to forget 
 
 That trees attract it, lost in poet's dreams.' 
 
 No sooner had she spoken than a crash 
 
 Of thunder pealed o'er rock and sky, and sea, 
 
 A flash of lightning felling down an oak 
 
 Which almost touched them, made him draw aside 
 
 His young companion, but no fear was there. 
 
 She only gave a sweet, pleased, childish smile, 
 
 And murmured softly, " Oh, how beautiful ! " 
 
 They hurried to the house, an old, old house 
 
 Surrounded by tall, melancholy elms 
 
 And old world garden sloping towards the sea. 
 
TWO FANCIES, 
 
 A sweet, weird, tender spot for poet^s dreams. 
 
 They entered 'neath an ivy covered roof, 
 
 And thro' a wide age-hallowed hall they passed 
 
 Into a low-roofed, oak-panelled room. 
 
 Ancient and English, bearing the imprint 
 
 Of long-forgotten centuries of time. 
 
 Two men were there. On one the hand of age 
 
 Had fallen lightly, for his form was straight 
 
 And broad and manly, as if yet the fire 
 
 Of youth still thrilled his frame ; his soft eyes bore 
 
 That vague strange sadness which we ofttimes sec 
 
 In sailors' eyes, which seems as if it sprang 
 
 From constant gazing on the wondrous deep, 
 
 Wondrous, but awful in its majesty, 
 
 And banishment from what they hold most dear, 
 
 The other was of slighter, feebler build ; 
 
 The face was somewhat worn, it was a (ace 
 
 Most like to that of Shelley ; the wild eyes 
 
 With their unearthly longing seemed to speak 
 
 Most eloquently of a young life spent 
 
 In patient toil to reach some noble dream, 
 
 Some dream of beauty far too (air for earth. 
 
 Such as might touch a poet's soul in sleep 
 
 And whisper of bright worlds beyond the grave. 
 
TPVO FANCIES. 
 
 Ah, yes ! the angels still can visit earth, 
 
 But when we try to stay those gracious guests 
 
 And ask them of their secrets, the dull weight 
 
 Of earth recoils upon us, and we sink 
 
 Back to its deadening, paralyzing clasp. 
 
 To be again but animated clay. 
 
 And, like the swine, to eat and sleep and swill. 
 
 They entered, and a tender smile of love 
 
 Spread light and beauty o'er the old man's face. 
 
 Then o'er it passed a shade of fond alarm. 
 
 For the wet tresses of his child bore proof 
 
 That she had been forth in the raging storm. 
 
 A sweet, clear, girlish laugh soon put an end 
 
 To the stern father's dreaded reprimand ; 
 
 The guest was greeted with a kindly grace, 
 
 And listened with a grave, attentive air 
 
 To wondrous tales of warfare on the deep. 
 
 From one who fought against his country's foes 
 
 In youth, and loved to pass the eve of life 
 
 Beside that sea which he had loved so well. 
 
 And pleasant was the bright, discursive talk 
 
 With which the brother strove to please his guest, 
 
 For he had travelled much in foreign lands. 
 
 And trained his mind thro' years of careful thought. 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 And pleasant were the girl's dark dreamy eyes, 
 
 Which watched him with a gaze that seemed to search 
 
 The very soul of man, and bear within 
 
 Their dark blue dreamy depths those hidden things 
 
 Which lie concealed in sky and sun and sea. 
 
 And hide themselves, some few as hidden gems 
 
 Of priceless worth, in the great heart of man. 
 
 He left them, with a promise to return, 
 
 And thro' the moonlight night rode on towards home. 
 
 The storm was lulled, the stars with vague cold light, 
 
 Indifferent as Epicurus* gods. 
 
 Shed on the poet's heart their mystic calm 
 
 And deep, divine tranquillity, which he 
 
 Had reached as near as mortal man can touch. 
 
 We never quite can reach it, for the calm 
 
 Of selfishness or ignorance is not 
 
 The bright serenity of those far orbs. 
 
 They breathe an active and unconscious calm, 
 
 Serene because all-knowing do the work 
 
 The Eternal Spirit sets them night by night. 
 
 They weep not, haste not, sleep not, nor like men 
 
 Or mourn o'er other's sorrows or sink deep 
 
 In the vile slough of selfishness and pride. 
 
 The moon's pale, tender light shone o'er the wave, 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 Which lay as a child after fearful dreams, 
 
 Lulled to sweet sleep beneath a mother's smile, 
 
 And stars and moon and wave all breathed the same 
 
 Deep mystery of harmony and love. 
 
 He gazed upon the wondrous sight with heart 
 
 Which throbbed alternately with joy and pain, 
 
 For then there woke that passionate desire 
 
 Which thrills the heart of poets till their death, 
 
 To be as one with Nature and no more 
 
 In banishment from her dread mysteries, 
 
 To commune with the wave as stars and moon 
 
 And learn the secret of the night-wind's moan. 
 
 We pity Tantalus ; but are we not 
 
 Ever as Tantalus ? The tempting fruits — 
 
 Knowledge and immortality, are they 
 
 Not ever stretched before us, while we long 
 
 To grasp them but the more that they lie hid 
 
 Beneath an all impenetrable veil 
 
 Of the most dazzling beauty? Do we not 
 
 For ever roll the weight of human thought 
 
 In hope to reach the goal eternity ? 
 
 And is it not for ever tumbled back 
 
 Beneath the cursed weight of mortal clay ? 
 
 Clare took his way along the sounding shore 
 
TM^O FANCIES, II 
 
 Beside the sea which glistened in the night, 
 
 As if inspired with all divinest thoughts ; 
 
 And who shall say it is not ? What are all 
 
 Our pretty, changing, paltry loves of time 
 
 To that eternal love which all the years 
 
 Have never changed nor weakened, and which draws 
 
 The tender rays of moonlight to the sea ? 
 
 And as he reached his home the night-wind's sough 
 
 Came whispering thro' the fir trees which girt round 
 
 The winding way which led there. All was still. 
 
 As if absorbed in some intensest thought, 
 
 Too deep not to be sweet ; and every leafi 
 
 And every breath of wind and every star 
 
 Breathed forth the most divine activity, 
 
 The activity of nature when in rest, 
 
 Profound repose, and yet unceasing life. 
 
 Great nature's mystic secret, ceaseless toil 
 
 Wrought out with ceaseless sweet tranquillity. 
 
 The air, the moon, the stars, the golden com 
 
 Poured forth one rapturous hymn of silent joy. 
 
 The nightingale, earth's poet, spoke to Heaven 
 
 And thanked that Spirit who had given all 
 
 " Your work is wonderful, and you arc great** 
 Clare spoke these words of praise when he had ^ 
 
TIVO FANCIES. 
 
 The artist's picture, "Bonaparte crowned." 
 It was indeed a great work, fit to rank 
 With those of mightiest artists : there there stands 
 The emperor, at that moment of his life, 
 That all-surpassing moment, when he took 
 The crown of France from out the pontiff's hand 
 And placed it on his temples — there he stands. 
 The face is very calm, but in the eyes 
 There shines a steely light ; the cold firm lips 
 Seem to press back the mind's vast fiery thoughts, 
 Which held in bondage 'neath an iron will 
 Flash lightning light thro' those stern piercing orbs. 
 The old world lies beneath him, and his heel 
 Is pressed upon its corpse \ his throne is built 
 Upon the wreck of ancient time-worn creeds; 
 But thirty years of age ! and such a power 
 As mortal man ne'er reached to, now is his. 
 France, new-awakened from her dreams of death. 
 And mindful of her glorious bygone years — 
 France, ever-youthful, ever-hopeful France, 
 Strains like a swift young greyhound at the leash 
 To dash upon her foes, and she is his. 
 And passionate desire now thrills his heart 
 To plunge into the strife and reach to heights 
 
TWO FANCIES. 13 
 
 Untrodden yet by mortal man, and be 
 
 Even as the Almighty upon earth, 
 
 Surpassing far all power yet reached by men* 
 
 In that, more like the mind of Philip's son 
 
 Than to the calmer Roman, who ne'er dreamed 
 
 What cold nature reflection did not seal. 
 
 The thoughts fast crowding on the giddy brain, 
 
 The joy of youthful power, the boundless lust 
 
 Of yet unknown dominion stir the heart 
 
 With quick, keen, painful throbs ; the burning blood 
 
 Deserts the cheeks ; the face is very pale, 
 
 But beautiful in its imperial pride, 
 
 Changeless as death and resolute as fate. 
 
 " I thank you for this picture. You express, 
 
 With something near perfection, that which seems 
 
 To me the greatest triumph life can give, 
 
 That moment to. which we can cry with Fausl, 
 
 ' Verweile doch, du bist so schon * supreme 
 
 Dominion grasped while yet in youth's fair prime. 
 
 But very few can bear it, and that man 
 
 No better than the rest Poor Csesar could : 
 
 Yes, he was all but perfect, but he made 
 
 One great mistake, he dared to have a friend, 
 
 Such rashness met its natural reward. 
 
14 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 That friend was Brutus, you may rest assured, 
 No man of sense should ever have a friend. 
 You show us men but little merCy there, 
 Depicting what some name our greatest man 
 Thus revelling in the drunkenness of power ; 
 Your work is terrible, but it is true." 
 *' And yet Napoleon always was to me, 
 From childhood's days, a hero of romance. 
 What is there in him that one cannot hate ? 
 We know that he was selfish, cold, and vain, 
 That all the blood of slaughtered hecatombs 
 Could shake by not one jot his awful calm, 
 And yet we cannot hate him, tho' we know 
 The tears of women and the blood of men 
 Found him for ever cold and hard as fate ; 
 Yet still we cannot hate him do his faults, 
 But bring him nearer to us while they prove 
 That, tho' the politician was all stone. 
 There lingered something kindly in the man, 
 And thus we pity him, but cannot hate.* 
 May I now show my last work ? I have tried 
 In it and this Napoleon to depict 
 Two turning points or crises in the lives 
 Of two most wondrous men. He drew the cloth 
 
TWO FANCIES. 15 
 
 From off his last creation, and they saw 
 
 Byron, when he o'erheard those fateful words, 
 
 *' Do you think I could love that pale, lame boy?" 
 
 The boy stands in a chamber of that hall — 
 
 That ancient hall whose memory will die 
 
 With our land's language only ; on his face 
 
 A kind of dreamy, speechless horror sits — 
 
 His perfect lips seem pressed as to restrain 
 
 The quiver of unutterable pain 
 
 Which thrills the boy's proud being ; yet they speak 
 
 Far more than this. A cold disdainful scorn. 
 
 The deathless scorn of genius, can be read 
 
 In their contemptuous curve. The fiery glance 
 
 Of Byron's wondrous eyes rests on the form 
 
 Of the immortal Musters rendered so 
 
 By that " lame boy." His memory else would rot 
 
 As surely as his bones, but there he sits. 
 
 That man so well beloved for his power 
 
 To leap a five-barred gate ; his honest fiioe, 
 
 His honest, stupid English face is lit 
 
 With what such men are pleased to say is love^ 
 
 The poet's glance breathes nought of jealousy, 
 
 Only a painful wonder that such men 
 
 Can be like this beloved, and this is joiAed 
 
i6 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 To Utter, calm, and measureless contempt. 
 
 And on observing closer can be seen, 
 
 As in a dim far vista there lie glassed 
 
 In those blue azure eyes, great thoughts and deeds 
 
 Resounding thro' all ages, thought and done 
 
 By that pale, scornful boy, whose features speak 
 
 Of fiery genius waking into life 
 
 And cradled into poesy by wrong. 
 
 " I envy you your power, and from the world 
 
 You need to ask for nothing, your own thoughts 
 
 Are more than all sufficient to console 
 
 For any lack you e'er may feel in life." 
 
 " Yes, but life's pangs are bitter ; after all 
 
 We are but men, and art cannot suffice 
 
 Ever to take the place of human ties. 
 
 Byron was not the only man whose love 
 
 Preferred a Mr. Musters, Shakespeare's Dream, 
 
 Titania and Bottom still holds true. 
 
 And women still adore the ass's head." 
 
 " By which same bitter tone I must infer, 
 
 The ass's head has been in your way too. 
 
 Well, let them still adore them if they- will ; 
 
 Like clings to like, and I have nought to say 
 
 Against poor honest Musters and his class, 
 
TWO FANCIES. 17 
 
 Except theyVe rather stupid. Those who love 
 The lower, baser mind can never merit 
 The higher one's regard ; and poets make 
 And artists make a very great mistake 
 In thus immortalizing. We must thank 
 Miss Cha worth, for without her we would ne*er 
 Have heard of Harold nor have dimmed our eyes 
 With mourning o'er the sorrows of the dream, 
 Which fortunately was a dream. Had she 
 Accepted Byron's love, he would have sunk 
 Into an ordinary country squire. 
 But, then, had I been in the poet's place 
 I would have let the fair one's memory rot, 
 Beside her Musters whom she loved so well" 
 " Will you do me a favour ? Will you be 
 A model for my Sulla, when he threw 
 Aside his power thro" deep contempt of man? 
 'Twill be a fit companion for these two." 
 " Oh yes ; but why take me ? I do not think 
 I am at all like Sulla, and, alas ! 
 Have never had the opportunity 
 Of gaining power." "You will ; and in your mind 
 There is much like to Sulla. Then have I 
 Your promise, and for when ? " " To-morrow." •• Good.** 
 
 c 
 
TJVO FANCIES. 
 
 Acquaintance thus begun, now ripened fast 
 
 To friendship, for young Raymond long had felt 
 
 The want of one to be a kind of friend. 
 
 His youth had met with grief, and now his faith 
 
 Was part lost in the world and worldly ties ; 
 
 But yet his heart was open, warm, and true, 
 
 While consciousness of genius much consoled 
 
 For feelings blighted in life's tender spring ; 
 
 And Clare's gay, sceptical, yet genial talk. 
 
 Which mocked at all .things, yet withal was full 
 
 Of kindliness and a bright, hopeful faith. 
 
 And scornful hate of meanness or of cant, 
 
 Was very pleasant to him. For the girl, 
 
 She felt a kind of pity, which they say 
 
 Is kin to love ; and tho' there was no cause, 
 
 For never could there be a happier mind, 
 
 She pitied Clare, and thought his want of faith 
 
 Must make him wretched. Never did she make 
 
 A greater error, for Clare lacked not faith, 
 
 Except in man, for nature and that spirit, 
 
 All-loving, all-sustaining which inspires 
 
 The humblest worm as much as Shakespeare's self. 
 
 He felt a deep, profound, and boundless awe. 
 
 And love and faith and reverence : he could He 
 
TWO FANCIES. 19 
 
 For hours on some secluded sea-girt rock, 
 
 And breathing in the fragrance of the sea. 
 
 Drink deep of nature with an unslaked thirst. 
 
 Falling to sleep, lulled by the wild waves* roar. 
 
 He was God drunk, saw God in everything ; 
 
 And this it was which made him so despise 
 
 The petty, small hypocrisies of man, 
 
 Tho' even here he could not all despair : 
 
 His watchword was for ever " Wait and hope,** 
 
 For everything is tending to the good 
 
 To him, this new acquaintanceship was sweet 
 
 From its associations. The grey sands 
 
 He passed on his way thither, and which stretched 
 
 Far, far away in endless distances 
 
 Out to the boundless sea, so desolate 
 
 Yet so sublime in the pale moonlight's rays 
 
 As homewards he returned ; the salt sea l>reeie9 
 
 The dreamy painter, and the lovely girl. 
 
 Were all to him as {larts of some sweet dreamy 
 
 But real love he knew not. Said one day 
 
 The painter, " Tis a mystery to mc, 
 
 How you can * laugh consuroedly.' You have 
 
 No faith in men of whom you're one, and yel 
 
 You laugh for ever. Yes, my Sulla is 
 
TPVO FANCIES. 
 
 The only being to compare you to — 
 
 Poet and statesman, with a heart all stone 
 
 To every sorrow of the human breast, 
 
 And boundless faith in his own guiding star ; 
 
 Gay with a genial, reckless gaiety, 
 
 A gaiety by far more terrible 
 
 Than Buonaparte's coldness, for 'twas mixed 
 
 With yet more measureless contempt for man. 
 
 But there is far more sweetness in your face 
 
 Than I can give my Sulla. You are not 
 
 All cold, and can feel keenly for such woes 
 
 As those you can appreciate. You will live, 
 
 I think, to be a blessing to the world.'* 
 
 *' My Friend, believe me, you but waste your time. 
 
 My mind is not worth this unravelling ; 
 
 Nor is, indeed, the mind of any man. 
 
 Away with metaphysics, let us have 
 
 But * action, action, action,' and not words. 
 
 If I can pity some woes, 'tis that I 
 
 Can see and understand them as you say ; 
 
 I laugh at men ? Well, that is simple too ; 
 
 The rascals are not worthy of a tear." 
 
 " But your laugh has no bitterness, and men 
 
 Can sting. Then have you never known a woe ? " 
 
TIVO FANCIES. 31 
 
 " Oh, all these boasted sorrows of the heart 
 
 Make capital material for bards. 
 
 A toothache's not poetical, love is ; 
 
 But toothache's far more painful I have known 
 
 Both sorrows frequently, and much prefer 
 
 The latter. Hectic fever springs from love, 
 
 Typhoid from drains, and is by far the worse. 
 
 You ask if I have never known a woe ? 
 
 Oh yes ; before my mind was firmly fixed. 
 
 Before I learned to know myself, my mind 
 
 Was greatly racked by doubt and painful doubt. 
 
 But then those sufferings never sprang from man.** 
 
 " Your mind is yet not happy," said a voice. 
 
 And Gertrude stood before them. Her young (ace 
 
 Was shy, yet earnest, and her lovely eyci 
 
 (ilistened with sympathy and interest 
 
 " Pray, why ? " Cku*e asked her with his pleasant tmilc 
 
 And tone half gratified and half amused 
 
 *' You often look unhappy. No one can 
 
 Be happy not in sympathy with man." 
 
 " I am not out of sympathy with man, 
 
 I sympathize, but laugh "—thus he began. 
 
 And then allowed the girl to gain her point 
 
 One glorious autumn morning, Clare arrived 
 
TWO FANCIES. 
 
 At Melville's house. Before the door there stood 
 The sister, and from her fair lips he learned 
 The brother had been suddenly obliged 
 To leave his work that day. " Then have I had 
 All my long ride for nothing ? Let us take 
 The boat, and spend our day upon the sea." 
 The girl, indeed, was lovely ; and that day 
 Seemed lovelier yet than he had ever known. 
 Her cheeks kissed by the balmy summer breeze 
 And flushing with a tender roselike tint. 
 Part pleasure, and part shyness, and part love — 
 Love just awakening in a maiden's heart ; 
 Her budding bosoms heaved as if sweet thoughts, 
 Sweet, yet tumultuous, troubled the clear depths 
 Of her pure virgin being, and her eyes 
 Reflected back the heaven's azure blue, 
 Which was not purer than their dreamy depths. 
 And forth they went upon the dancing wave. 
 On which the sun poured down its rosy light. 
 And sailing far to sea, they disappeared 
 Beyond that line where sky and ocean meet. 
 For some time sailed they silently, then notes, 
 The ripple of youth's musical sweet tones. 
 Mingled in harmony with that mystic song 
 
TWO FANCIES, 
 
 Chanted in unison by sea and wave. 
 How happy were they both ! How happy thus 
 In all the joy and pride of youth and love ! 
 Yet o'er them was a kind of sweet constraint, 
 And once again their talk lulled, while the sun 
 Shone out with yet more brilliance on the wave. 
 They now were far at sea ; the shore had sunk 
 Into a shadow, and to them it seemed 
 They had become one with the elements 
 Around them, sky and sun, and wind and sea. 
 And then came whispered dangerous words of love. 
 Part false, as men's words oft are, but part true. 
 We are but mortal, and so when we vow 
 Eternal love we but forget, no more 
 Can we extend our mortal passions' length, 
 Than our poor lives beyond the appointed hour. 
 But she poor child knew not of this, and dreamed 
 Of love unchangeable ; that words were things. 
 And so the old, old farce was acted out — 
 Vows made but to be broken, all the old, 
 Old sweet and silly farce once more performed 
 To laughing witnesses, the sea and sun. 
 And when the sun set o*er the glistening wave. 
 It shone on one who now no more could gite 
 
24 TIVO FANCIES. 
 
 With free unshackled fancy on its beam, 
 For vague, sweet dreams had vanished to return 
 No more. The rubicon of life was passed, 
 And false swift love now coloured all her thoughts 
 And thrilled her with the memory of a kiss. 
 The Sulla now was finished ; and they stood 
 Within the village churchyard which o'erhung 
 The sea, whose endless, weary sough and moan 
 Sounded thro' dim mediaeval aisles, and mixed 
 The eternal song of nature with the notes 
 Of organ and the simple village hymns. 
 They stood beside a hoary, mossgrown grave, 
 Secluded in a sweet and sun-fed nook, 
 Apart from all the other village graves, 
 Recording old world calm and peaceful lives. 
 ^' Ah, how these old, old churches bring us back 
 With sweet weird influence to those bygone days 
 When faith still reigned, and science had not bared 
 With cold remorseless steel all fallacies. 
 Grown green with lapse of years, in that far time. 
 Calm, peaceful lives fulfilled their useful course 
 In narrow circles ; then was half the world 
 In brilliant mists of fancy shrouded — mists 
 Which still obscure the individual mind 
 
TWO FANCIES, 25 
 
 In childhood's golden hours and linger yet 
 
 Tho' part dispersed in days of early youth." 
 
 Thus did Clare speak ; and thus was the reply : 
 
 " I love this old spot ; it has been my dream 
 
 To sleep here 'neath the daisies when I die ; 
 
 And if death be a waiting place, and dreams, 
 
 Vague dreams of past and future, sometimes touch 
 
 The sleeping soul, I sometimes think that I 
 
 Will dimly hear the sough of my dear waves, 
 
 That mystic, restless song which ever sounds 
 
 Thro' all the ages ; that eternal moan ; 
 
 That vague, deep yearning still unsatisfied, 
 
 Whether the glistening wavelets kiss the shore 
 
 In summer, whispering in voice of love 
 
 Creation's deepest secrets, or when lashed 
 
 By driving storms, the mountains billows hurl 
 
 The salt and blinding spray upon the shore." 
 
 " But, ah ! why speak of death, when sweet with you 
 
 Life has but now begun ? Such thoughts as these 
 
 Must not cloud o'er your fancy." And the girl 
 
 Sighed softly, while her sweet young face seemed i)ale 
 
 In the autumn sunset, but made no reply. 
 
 The sky had changed, the sea roared angrily, 
 
 The lightning flashed, and big warm rain-drops mixed 
 
26 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 With ocean's surge. A youth and maiden stood 
 
 In one of those quaint, dreamy EngHsh lanes, 
 
 Moss-grown and over- arched with hoary trees ; 
 
 Beside there was a steed caparisoned. 
 
 And such the words that age- worn spot o'erheard — 
 
 Could some spots but find, tongues, what secrets kept 
 
 Close as the grave would then shine forth ; what crimes, 
 
 What partings, what resolves, what trysts of love. 
 
 Tender and passionate, what dreams, what hopes ! 
 
 What thoughts and actions have been thought and done 
 
 Even in the shade of far old English lanes ! 
 
 " My darling, I am going far away, 
 
 But never to forget you. You will be 
 
 To me a fair dream, hardly of this earth^ 
 
 A white young spirit of the air and sea. 
 
 ^ Good-bye.' " And a young broken voice replied. 
 
 While a fair face lay pillowed on his breast. 
 
 The words " Good-bye for ever." And a crash, 
 
 A deafening crash of thunder rent the air, 
 
 The sea rolled high, the levin lightning flashed. 
 
 And with one last embrace they parted — then. 
 
 He rode forth in the blackness of the night. 
 
TWO' FANCIES. 27 
 
 Second Fancy. 
 
 A DREAM of fair Rhine cities, and a dream 
 
 Of vine-clad hills and ivy-mantled towers 
 
 Of a fair city and a statue. There, 
 
 There stands a youth, his face is rapt and pale ; 
 
 He gazes for the first time on a work, 
 
 Among the first in modern art It is 
 
 Dannaecker's Ariadne,- as she sits 
 
 On the fierce beast, with calm and sovereign glance, 
 
 Half saddened by the thought of faithless love, 
 
 But sadness all divine. Her gaze is turned 
 
 To the wild breakers, which have borne away 
 
 Her faithless lover. An immortal's bride 
 
 Is Ariadne now, no longer touched 
 
 By mortal follies ; and she seems to muse 
 
 On men, and love, and all the riddle of things 
 
 With thoughts not all regret, but half contempt 
 
 Contempt for man's poor fickleness, contempt 
 
 For woman's fond credulity, contempt, 
 
 Not bitter, but a half-indulgent scorn, 
 
 In gazing on those wondrous chiselled limbs, 
 
 With all their supple and voluptuous curves, 
 
28 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 Upon those perfect lips, that queenly head, 
 
 Even more than queenly in its haughty pose, 
 
 There wakes that longing for the infinite, 
 
 That wish to accomplish the impossible. 
 
 To do, to suffer all things and maintain 
 
 Thro' all the same serenity as she. 
 
 To merit even that immortal love. 
 
 He gazed upon those marble, sightless eyes. 
 
 And prayed and prayed for love, the cold Greek lips 
 
 Returned no answer, but they seemed to smile 
 
 As if in pity on him, and to say, 
 
 " I too once learned what human love was worth. 
 
 It led me to despair ; but now no more 
 
 Your petty frets and passions torture me, 
 
 I only muse in pity on your lot, 
 
 Poor human playthings of overruling fate. 
 
 Away ! I cannot love thee ! Go, return 
 
 To the fond bosom of thy mortal love, 
 
 False as my fair, false Theseus ! " and she smiled. 
 
 Day after day the youth returned again ; 
 
 The statue had become as 'twere a part^ 
 
 Of his most secret being, and each day 
 
 The same mad prayer for love, for now to him 
 
 It was no more a statue, but a white 
 
TWO FANCIES. 29 
 
 And cold and pure immortal that he saw. 
 
 And did he err ? Perchance these lovely dreams 
 
 Are in the end more real than are we ; 
 
 And Helen, Ariadne, Venus, live 
 
 Even now, as much as in that fair, dim haze 
 
 Of ancient Grecian story. What were life ? 
 
 A desert, cold and comfortless and black, 
 
 Without these golden dreams, these shapes of love, 
 
 And joy and youth and grace. A ruling thought 
 
 Thrilling thro* countless ages is as much 
 
 Real as any flesh-clothed thought of God. 
 
 Pure spirit cannot die, but must return 
 
 Back to the burning fountain whence it came, 
 
 And those fair women of the days of old, 
 
 Who charm us now, as then, with all that sweet 
 
 Mysterious influence of great loveliness 
 
 And weird eventful history, have lived, 
 
 And live, and live for ever. We will meet 
 
 Again in some bright world beyond the grave. 
 
 Again the youth came, and again the prayer 
 
 Unanswered Then the marble spoke with words 
 
 As thus, tlK)* with a gentle scornful smile. 
 
 " Yes, once I loved and trusted ; my reward 
 
 Was such as women ever reap from those 
 
30 TIVO FANCIES. 
 
 Whom best they love — first false, sweet, passionate words, 
 
 But only words ; then passion wanes, and then 
 
 Comes coldness, weariness, desertion, death. 
 
 Or, worse than mortal death, 'tis death of all 
 
 Noblest in man or woman, death of all 
 
 Faith, love, or hope — a cruel, blasting blight 
 
 Of all the affections, turning flesh to stone 
 
 As this, my image now, and thus I died. 
 
 When Theseus 'left me lone ere yet I learned 
 
 To scorn both him and thee, and all mankind." 
 
 And majesty shone forth in her regard 
 
 Cold, calm, and cruel. " Mortal, who art thou 
 
 Daring to seek love from a goddess ? Go, 
 
 Presumptuous one, back to thy fellow worms ! " 
 
 Then anger flushed his cheek, and all love left 
 
 His soul, as thus he made a stern reply. 
 
 Reply thrice haughtier, sterner than her own : 
 
 " I am thy equal, and tho' mortal now 
 
 As once thou wast, I bow to neither thee. 
 
 Nor aught in earth, or heaven, or hell ; a soul 
 
 Firm, self-sustaining, fearing not the crash 
 
 Of nations or of worlds, and calm beneath • 
 
 All woes of earth or shocks of careless fate. 
 
 Such soul is godlike, and for him doth death 
 
TWO FANCIES, 31 
 
 Exist no more, for him there is but one 
 Great ail-pervading Spirit, nor need he 
 Cringe at the arrogance of such as thee." 
 Then womanlike and doglike both but flee 
 From such as seek them, while they kiss the hand 
 Of him who strikes them ; the cold, firm Greek lips 
 Relaxed again into a sorceress smile, 
 And with a rippling, musical, sweet voice 
 Like sounds of heavenliest music, or the wind 
 Sighing thro' pines at eve ; a voice which seemed 
 Not of this earth, and yet which seemed to speak 
 Of all we most can yearn for as the waves 
 On dreamy summer days, sad, yet most sweet ; 
 Or, as the eyes of children when their souls 
 Are touched by memories of some past life 
 Purer than this, but whose remembrance fades 
 In manhood's press and noontide — thus she spake : 
 " Ah, leave me not in anger, for I am 
 A woman, tho* a goddess, and I love 
 Such as can dare disdain me ; I will tell 
 My history since thou wishest, but a tale 
 Repeated since so ofttimes on the earth. 
 My sire was King in Crete, and year by year 
 Twice seven captive youths and maidens gave 
 
32 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 To the fierce Minotaur. It fell one year, 
 
 There came amongst the band a youth, whose face 
 
 Was as the Sungod's ; and his noble form 
 
 As that of Herakles his trusted friend, 
 
 But bore a nameless tender grace which lacked 
 
 The mighty Demigod. His being seemed 
 
 Formed both for love and war, as if the child 
 
 Alike of Mars and Venus. When I looked 
 
 Upon the glorious youth, whose wondrous eyes 
 
 Flashed and yet softened as they met my gaze, 
 
 My heart was moved in pity for his lot — 
 
 Ah, more than pity, then 'twas first I knew 
 
 The dawnings of young love. The god of fire, 
 
 Hephaestus, had bestowed on me a clue 
 
 From out the winding labyrinth where dwelt 
 
 The monster, and a sword ; and taking straight 
 
 The youth apart I said, with downcast eyes, 
 
 ' Hephaestus bade me, when a captive came 
 
 I judged could struggle with the Minotaur, 
 
 To give him these ' ; and showing them I said 
 
 ' Go, and may fortune guide thee.' Then the tears 
 
 Welled in my eyes on thinking of the fate 
 
 Which might be his, and thus my words were choked. 
 
 But, oh ! to see his brave young face lit up 
 
TWO FANCIES. 33 
 
 With sudden joy ; to hear his brave young voice : 
 
 ^ I go to slay the Minotaur, that curse 
 
 Of all our land, for with this Heaven-sent sword 
 
 I doubt not of swift victory.' Then, taking 
 
 My hand in his, he prest one burning kiss 
 
 Upon it. Then he joined the hapless band. 
 
 I waited at the entrance of the cave, 
 
 Unknown to all ; and oh ! to hear the shrieks 
 
 From far within, when the ferocious jaws 
 
 Gaped for fresh victims. Then 1 heard a sound 
 
 As of fierce fight, ah, what would be the end ! 
 
 At last a groan, a hideous groan, which filled 
 
 The cavern with its echoes, and then all 
 
 Was still. Half faint with mingled hope and fear 
 
 I gazed into the deep, dark winding ways 
 
 And cavernous recesses, and I watched 
 
 And watched and listened while my heart beat fast 
 
 With passionate longing ; then at last a shout, 
 
 A mighty shout of joy rang thro* the air, 
 
 And there my hero, my young Theseus, stood, 
 
 While the poor band of rescued captives dung 
 
 Around us blessing both, and as I gazed 
 
 Into his eyes, lit up with joy and love 
 
 And victory, my soul went out to his. 
 
 D 
 
34 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 ^ Ah, love, flee with me ! ' said he, as he clasped 
 
 His strong victorious arm around me. ^ Come ! 
 
 My love, deliverer, queen ! Come, come, with me 
 
 To some fair island cradled 'mongst the waves. 
 
 And kissed by summer breezes, there alone 
 
 To dream the golden hours of life away. 
 
 My life is nought without thee, oh, my sweet ! 
 
 Ah, come, my queen, my fair deliverer, come ! ' 
 
 The low, sweet voice ceased like some murmuring 
 
 stream. 
 When sleep glides o'er us and his godlike lips 
 Met mine, I answered with a sigh, a sob. 
 Half joy half sorrow, ' I will go with thee ; 
 My love will be for ever.' And he smiled 
 And kissed my golden ringlets. Then we sailed 
 Across the wide blue sea, until we reached 
 Fair Naxos, shining in the purple waves 
 Like some fond poet's dream of paradise. 
 Ah, for the fair, fair days in Naxos ! Ah, 
 That golden age of the world ! that golden age 
 Of joy, and youth, and innocence, and faith, 
 When life was passed as in a happy dream, 
 Unmarred by care or trouble, ere my love 
 Had manlike grown to weary and to pine 
 
TIVO FANCIES. 35 
 
 For action and for strife, or for some change, 
 
 No matter what, ere yet I knew that men 
 
 Were false or fickle. But there came a time, 
 
 When with a vague and fearful dread I saw 
 
 In Theseus' eyes a weary, troubled look. 
 
 As that men ofttimes see in the dull eyes 
 
 Of a caged bird. ' Ah, love,' he said, * 'tis but 
 
 A coward's part to live thus idly. Wrongs 
 
 Wait ever for redress ; and I, who dreamed 
 
 To rival mighty Herakles, thus lead 
 
 A life of sloth and ease.' And he went forth 
 
 Again to battle, and each time he went, 
 
 His absence ever longer ; and I grieved 
 
 And pined, but made no murmur, tho' I feared 
 
 Some other love possessed him, for of all 
 
 He was beloved, .and wheresoe'er he went 
 
 Those maidens who gazed on his lovely eyes 
 
 Could ne'er forget them. And at length he sailed 
 
 Away, tho' promising a quick return, 
 
 And left me lone in Naxos. Many months 
 
 I watched, and watched, and longed for the white sails 
 
 Of my fair, false love's bark, but he returned 
 
 No more, no more ! and I went mad with grief. 
 
 When well once more, and walking Jone and sad 
 
36 TIVO FANCIES. 
 
 In Naxos — paradise no more to me — 
 
 I met the young god Bacchus, to whom stood 
 
 An altar, and the god admiring much 
 
 My beauty, offered me a throne in heaven. 
 
 Tho' love was dead within me, yet ambition, 
 
 Strongest of all the passions, still lived on, 
 
 And longing now to show my faithless love 
 
 How far above him was his once despised. 
 
 Deserted Ariadne, I became 
 
 The bride of Bacchus. — Now it seems to me 
 
 As if perchance my life were but a dream, 
 
 An allegory. Ofttimes on your earth, 
 
 In woman, when her first fresh love prove false, 
 
 The soft heart hardens, and desire for power, 
 
 Or wealth, or but of love — not as first 
 
 Love of the lover — wakes, and stern revenge, 
 
 For love and hate are often near akin. 
 
 And knowing thus my history, speak'st thou 
 
 To me of love ? Ah, go ! I know thy heart. 
 
 False as my fair, false Theseus ! " And she smiled. 
 
 And thus he spoke : " My life long I have dreamed. 
 
 And longed for things which move not other men, 
 
 For they are of another order. I, 
 
 While yet a boy, did ever shun mankind, 
 
TPVO FANCIES. yj 
 
 And loved to linger by the sounding sea 
 
 And list to its weird music, and to climb 
 
 The rugged mountains, on their cold, bleak tops 
 
 To muse alone with nature ; and at times 
 
 There, or at eve in hoary forest glades, 
 
 Or in hot noontide stillness, lovely forms, 
 
 With the immortal bloom of deathless youth 
 
 Which is not of this world, would flit before me, 
 
 And beckon me to follow, then I cursed 
 
 The clay cold bonds which severed me from them : 
 
 I felt them nearer to me than mankind. 
 
 The women of the earth are nought to me ! 
 
 My longings stretch beyond the gloomy grave 
 
 To fair, far, starry worlds, and now I find 
 
 The fair ideal I have sought thro' life, 
 
 Wearily, wearily o'er the grovelling earth. 
 
 Oh, give me love, fair goddess, give or slay me ! ** 
 
 And first a gentle smile passed o*er her lips — 
 
 A tender smile ; and then the words, " Hope on. 
 
 Nought is impossible to such as thee. 
 
 In some far other life beyond the tomb, 
 
 We yet shall meet and love ; hope on, hope on. 
 
 For all in heaven as on earth, must yield 
 
 To him whose aim is keen and firm and bold. 
 
38 TWO FANCIES. 
 
 She ceased. He knelt and kissed the senseless stone. 
 
 And waking from his dream he no more saw 
 
 A goddess, nought but perfect breathing art, 
 
 For the fair spirit which made quick with life 
 
 The wondrous statue had returned once more 
 
 To where he could not follow — but from him 
 
 His earthly love had gone for evermore. 
 
 A youth with stern, set face wrote thus that night : 
 
 " If I have said I love you, pray forgive ; 
 
 For I have not been faithless, but I find 
 
 No woman on the earth can ever touch 
 
 One true chord of my heart. I am not made 
 
 As other men, and seek a fair, fond dream 
 
 Which is not of this earth, but which I now 
 
 Have found expressed in marble. You will soon, 
 
 I cannot doubt, forget me, but I must 
 
 Declare my mind, as thus : To me you were 
 
 A pure young spirit of the sea, and yet, 
 
 I loved you not, I love you not ; to me 
 
 There is but one beloved face on earth, 
 
 And that face is of stone." 
 
 The months rolled on, the poet stood again 
 
 In the old churchyard, and the sea waves made 
 
 Their music as of yore ; and as he viewed 
 
TPVO FANCIES. 39 
 
 The quaint, old moss-grown graves the thought awoke 
 Of that sweet, half-forgotten dream of love, 
 And of the spot where his past love had longed 
 To lie beneath the daisies when asleep. 
 He turned his footsteps thither, and he saw 
 A simple tombstone with his lost love's name. 
 The hot tears filled his eyes, but ah, too late ! 
 Tis but a simple tale, an oft told tale, 
 And this time all too true — a girl had died ; 
 A poet loved and wearied. That was all. 
 
( 40 ) 
 
 BY THE SEA, 
 
 I STAND 'mongst ripening corn beside the shore, 
 I watch the golden autumn sunlight flash, 
 Flash over mountain, stream, and sea, 
 And long lost thoughts come back to me — 
 Sweet dreams I deemed till now would ne'er come more, 
 'Whelmed 'neath time's sea, like wrecks those wild waves 
 lash. 
 
 II. 
 As when the world still wore a roseate hue. 
 When yet a name and name alone was death. 
 Yon cornfields waving in the breeze. 
 Rustling o'er sea and land and trees, 
 Would almost make me dream friends might prove true, 
 Or wilder — that a woman could keep faith. 
 
BY THE SEA, 41 
 
 III. 
 
 I am made one with nature. I forget 
 The lusts, the agoriies, the toils, the strife 
 Of creatures of whom I am one 
 Reluctantly, for best alone 
 I live, but in this world must pay the debt 
 Of some past sin in some far other life. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A deep, sweet calm reigns o*er my heart, mankind 
 Seem far from me with all their little woes ; 
 The eternal ocean's hundred voices say, 
 " Hope on, fight on, and there will come a day, 
 When thy weak, mortal eyes shall not be blind 
 To nature's mystic secret — calm repose." 
 
( 42 ) 
 
 TO DIBBENSDALE. 
 
 Sweet spot, where once my childish footsteps strayed, 
 
 In youthful rambles thro' thy blooming glade ; 
 
 Dreaming fond dreams of wondrous things to be, 
 
 Tho' shrouded then beneath a golden haze 
 
 Of vague, sweet childish fancy. Now I see 
 
 Thy glade once more, and with a half amaze 
 
 Find thou in nought art changed, while lengthening 
 
 years 
 Have rooted firm my soul and dried all idle tears. 
 
 II. 
 
 For since I last beheld thee I have earned 
 Knowledge thro' deep experience, and have learned 
 How all things change and perish, and that love 
 Is not as poets phrase it, all of heaven, 
 
TO DIBBENSDALE. 43 
 
 Breathing eternal fragrance from above, 
 But ever mingled half with earthly leaven, 
 Nor are its wounds eternal but to bards, 
 Poor frail, wild dreamers, whom no worldly prudence 
 guards. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yes. I have studied all the passions* sway, 
 And many a beauteous dream has passed away 
 Since last with half-shut soul in thee I pondered ; 
 Yet none do I regret, for nought but truth 
 Can e'er be lovely, and when last I wandered 
 'Mongst those old hoary oaks in earliest youth, 
 A sweet false glamour dazzled me. *Twas fair; 
 But now tho' keen, I breathe a higher, purer air. 
 
 IV. 
 
 £v'n so it is with old and long dead days 
 
 Of chivalry, and consecrate by lays 
 
 Of bards innumerable ; ages hoar 
 
 Have shed o'er them a halo which shall pass 
 
 As years roll on ; and much of ancient lore, 
 
 Reflecting bygone days as in a glass, 
 
44 TO DIBBENSDALE. 
 
 Seems selfish, weak, and paltry, for thro' strife 
 And pain we now have gained a higher, fuller life. 
 
 V. 
 
 And even those heavenly fair Hellenic dreams 
 Have passed away, and now that fair life seems 
 But circumscribed, nor sympathy nor pity 
 Ruled then supreme as now ; for hard and cold 
 And gemlike was the wisdom of that city 
 Which ruled the minds of men in days of old,. 
 And took no heed of any human sigh. 
 But centred all its thoughts in one eternal I. 
 
 I love thee still sweet vale, altho' thou speak 
 To me of peaceful dreams which it were weak 
 To think or dream of, for the restless ocean, 
 Whether in sunlight smiling, or in storm 
 Driving fierce surges with unending motion 
 And sucking to dark depths full many a form 
 Of loveliness and grace, has more to tell 
 To me than thou, and yet I love thee passing well. 
 
TO DIBBENSDALE, 45 
 
 VII. 
 
 As in sweet childish days, now on the verge 
 Of deeds which may be famous, to which urge 
 My mind that hidden, restless, mystic fire 
 Which kindled once can be extinguished never, 
 Till him it feeds on shall at last expire, 
 I gaze upon thee and will love thee ever. 
 Thou speak'st of bygone dreams of love and grace, 
 And ah ! thou speak'st of one dear unforgotten face. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I love thee still ; and that weird wondrous song 
 
 Thy murmuring glades still whisper, as among 
 
 Their winding shades I shelter from the gale 
 
 Of life and dream in quiet, for it tells 
 
 Of ages past a weird and mystic tale, 
 
 Deep as the ocean's secrets, and there wells 
 
 A flood of calm sweet thoughts. I hear in thee, 
 
 Faint whispers of those things which ore not but may be. 
 
( 46 ) 
 
 WRITTEN AT A RCA CH ON. 
 
 The wind is gently sighing 
 Thro' hoary forest trees, . 
 A southern sea is lying, 
 Scarce ruffled by the breeze. 
 
 II. 
 
 But tho' on all before me 
 lies calmness sad and deep, 
 A vague regret comes o'er me, 
 Old sorrows wake from sleep. 
 
 III. 
 
 Deep calm is on the ocean, 
 As in the heavens above. 
 The waves with gentle motion 
 Seem to kiss the shore with love. 
 
WRITTEN AT ARC AC HON. 47 
 
 ly. 
 
 I watch the moonlight streaming 
 On a scene surpassing fair, 
 In youth when fondly dreaming 
 Of aught but pain and care. 
 
 Then why that half-sad longing, 
 Those hopes and doubts and fears, 
 That o'er my mind come thronging 
 Till my eyes are dimmed with tears ? 
 
( 48 ) 
 
 BIARRITZ. 
 
 Fair city gazing o'er the vast 
 Unending stretches of the sea, 
 Thou wak'st fond memories of the past, 
 And recollections come to me. 
 Of dreamy days which I have spent 
 'Twixt sleep and waking on thy shore, 
 My idle thoughts and fancies blent 
 With music of thy wild waves' roar. 
 
 Perchance there wakes a soft regret, 
 On thinking of the faces fair 
 And fresh young voices, hearts as yet' 
 Unsmirched of my companions there. 
 
BIARRITZ, 
 
 Thro' days of happiness I've dreamed 
 Beside that ever-sounding wave, 
 When o'er calm seas the dear sun beamed, 
 Or 'gainst huge rocks the breakers rave. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, dear to me, in storm or calm ! 
 Great ocean, am I not thy child ? 
 O'er all my woes thou pourest balm ; 
 I glory in the struggle wild 
 Thou wagest 'gainst the raging storm ; 
 I love to watch thee softly smiling, 
 Give birth to many a lovely form. 
 As deadly fair and as beguiling 
 
 IV. 
 
 As ever Venus when she rose 
 
 From out the salt wave pure and white, 
 
 Tho' beings of the mind are those 
 
 Too purely, beautifully bright 
 
 E'er to be mortal, tho* they blend 
 
 With frail mortality, they bear a hue 
 
 Not of this earth, but wait the end. 
 
 Perchance thy dreams may then prove true, 
 
 B 
 
50 BIARRITZ. 
 
 Fond dreamer, and the waking vision 
 Perchance deceives us while we see, 
 In these sea-dreams a faint prevision 
 Unfolded in eternity. 
 And could we now but learn the burden 
 Of those deep secrets, the wind's breath 
 For ever chants with thee, the guerdon 
 Were ours of thought, of life, of death ! 
 
( 51 ) 
 
 PAU. 
 
 Gem of the south ! Thou white town shining 
 Like some fair paradise upon thy hill ; 
 On thee I scarce can think without repining 
 For fair, bright days, when free from earthly ill, 
 My heart was fresh with hopes which years advancing 
 kill. 
 
 II. 
 
 When yet I knew not disappointment's breath. 
 Nor yet had I been taught that friends are friends 
 But till their help is needed, and that death 
 Is man's best friend, and while his way he wends 
 To that last bourn, that sleep alone from woe defends. 
 
 in. 
 Ah ! when I think upon those mountains, 
 
 So grandly looming in the haze 
 
52 PAU. 
 
 Of purple distance, then the fountains 
 
 Of memory are loosed, and days 
 
 Of joy and youth return; once more on them I gaze. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Again I wander in some moss-grown lane, 
 
 Or in your quaint old streets and castle muse. 
 
 On those fair bygone days, ere yet the bane 
 
 Of too much knowledge cursed us, o'er which hues 
 
 Of Time's first dawn a mild and heavenly light diffuse, 
 
 V. 
 
 Till the old dead time seemed to live once more 
 
 Thro' deep and earnest thought ; and mail clad knight 
 
 Girt on again the harness which he wore 
 
 Of old, when riding onward to the fight, 
 
 And death sprang into life from dark oblivion's night. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, snow-clad peaks ! Oh, age-worn castle old ! 
 Oh, green woods, where with maidens fresh and fair 
 I dreamed thro' golden hours ! Shall I behold 
 Again your loveliness, and free from care 
 Escape from these cold climes and breathe that fragrant 
 air? 
 
( 53 ) 
 
 ARGELks. 
 
 There stands a hoary castle, 
 
 On a rock in a mountain vale, 
 
 And of stern old days now gone for aye 
 
 It tells an old-world tale. 
 
 II. 
 
 But the mountain valley passed, 
 And castle there meets the eyes, 
 A sight which brings the yearning tears 
 A dream of paradise. 
 
 III. 
 
 For the age-worn tower keeps guard and watch 
 O'er a flowery vale of bliss. 
 Of smiling meadows and brooks and trees, 
 Blessed by the dear sun's kiss. 
 
54 ARGELES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And a Pyrenean village ; 
 
 What memories half of pain ! 
 
 What thoughts of the sweet days dead and gone 
 
 That dream brings back again ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, blissful litde Eden ! 
 
 Half hid 'neath many a grove 
 
 Of pines which gird thy mountain's sides, 
 
 Protecting thee in love. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I think of a southern spring time, 
 When with fresh young hearts 'twas spring — 
 Young hearts that perchance since that tender dawn 
 Have bled with many a sting. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Have tasted of disenchantment, ^ -• 
 Or perchance from the right have erred, 
 Or have drunk of the bitter tho' healing draught 
 Of youthful hope deferred. 
 
ARGELks, 55 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I think of a fond youth dreaming 
 Fair dreams decked in poesy's hue, 
 And tender love words whispering, 
 A love he deemed was true. 
 
 IX, 
 
 But now he has learned that passion 
 Is changeful as sea or moon. 
 That hot vows breathed in life's first dawn 
 Are forgot ere manhood's noon. 
 
 Ah ! now he has learned that nothing 
 Which is ever done under the sun, 
 Can matter much, for soon or late 
 Our earthly race is run. 
 
 That regrets are unavailing. 
 That the past can ne'er return ; 
 A lesson, strangely simple. 
 And yet so hard to learn. 
 
56 ARGELES. 
 
 XII. 
 
 For here we are but as children, 
 
 And sport in our idle play, 
 
 With dangerous tools that perchance may cut 
 
 Our silly hands some day. 
 
 But, yet ! how sweet to wander 
 With blithe heart over flowery mead 
 Or snow-clad peak, where'er the wish 
 Of youthful fancy lead ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 To watch the sunlight setting 
 On pure eternal snows, 
 While a holy peace reigns over all, 
 As the sweet day nears its close ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Or to see the moonlight gilding ^ 
 
 The peaks, while the southern wind 
 
 Blows soft on the cheek and with gentle breath 
 
 Breathes deep calm on the mind. 
 
ARGELES. 57 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When the struggling sob is scarce repressed, 
 As^the passionate wish is felt, 
 To be free from the bonds of grovelling earth 
 And in nature's self to melt 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And *mid the gentle languor 
 And hush of the southern eve. 
 To watch a gentle cheek grow warm 
 A gentle bosom heave. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Adieu, fond recollection ! 
 That ever my soul must keep, 
 Until the eyes at length are closed 
 In the last unending sleep. 
 
( 58 ) 
 
 *' Eheu fugaces ! posthume, posthume labuntur anni ! " 
 
 Horace. 
 
 Beneath this oak tree, old and hoar, 
 I muse on happy days of yore, 
 And golden dreams to come no more — 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
 For 'neath its overarching shade, 
 I whispered first to gentle maid 
 Of love and passion ne'er to fade— 
 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
 Alas ! those joys have passed away 
 With life's bright spring time, bhthe and gay ; 
 Ah, love and youth have gone for aye — 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
 I sit now silent, sad, alone ; 
 The breezes' weird and mystic groan 
 Tell but of loves long dead and gone — 
 Eheu fugaces i 
 
EHEU FUGACESl 59 
 
 And o'er me comes a weary pain, 
 Whilst brooding o'er the past again, 
 Ah, fool ! thy yearning is in vain — 
 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
 The young, the beautiful, the brave, 
 Swept o'er by Time's remorseless wave, 
 Canst thou recall them from their grave ?-^ 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
 For ever onward flow Time's stream, 
 And yet it seems so hard to deem 
 That love and youth are but a dream — 
 Eheu fugaces ! 
 
( 6o ) 
 
 THE WINDS' SOLACE, 
 
 A YOUTH looked out one calm autumnal night, 
 
 Gazing upon the coldly shining stars, 
 Which met his eyes with vague mysterious light, 
 
 As when they shone on nations and on wars 
 Of old, when heroes fought and poets sung 
 With faith, when yet this weary world was young. 
 
 His mind was racked with doubt, his breast with pain. 
 Gone, gone ! were all the generous golden dreams 
 
 Of youth and early manhood, for the bane 
 Of disappointment had dispelled their beams, 
 
 And made his heart sick ; 'neath its blighting breath, 
 
 He almost longed for cool, still, dreamless death. 
 
 The world had known him not, but yet till now 
 This had not moved him, for the immortal power 
 
 Within gave hope divine : serene his brow 
 Was ever, and the sight of sea or flower 
 
THE WINDS' SOLACE. 6i 
 
 Woke a most heavenly rapture in his heart — 
 He lived with men, yet lived a life apart 
 
 A spirit life apart, for well he knew. 
 
 His joys and sorrows were alike unknown, 
 
 Unpitied, saving by the immortal few. 
 
 He locked them in his breast and lived alone, 
 
 While from the vain sad toil of men he fled, 
 
 To seek for refuge with the mighty dead. 
 
 Yet in life's spring-time had he dreamed of fame ; 
 
 Not of such fame as vulgar souls desire, 
 To rule a nation or to found a name, 
 
 His soul was filled with Genius' sacred fire, 
 He longed to wage a fierce titanic strife 
 With sin, and lead mankind from death to life. 
 
 But hate and calumny, mistrust and sneer, 
 Had been till now his labour's only crown, 
 
 And now he doubted with a sickening fear, 
 Which knit his eyebrows in a sullen fronTi ; 
 
 No longer could he nerve his strength to bear : 
 
 To doubt itself is Genius' last despair. 
 
 The weird sweet melody of soft night winds. 
 Murmuring through ages amongst forest trees 
 
62 THE WINDS' SOLACE. 
 
 Eternal harmony, loosed the chain which binds 
 
 Mankind to its own petty thoughts ; the breeze 
 Which fanned his cheek and cooled the brain o'er- 
 
 wrought, 
 Gave dream and restfulness to o'erworn thought. 
 
 But yet that mystic sound was wond'rous sad ; 
 
 Now rising high as if with tender longing, 
 It wailed o'er hopes and young lives fond and glad, 
 
 Now sinking as if soft regrets came thronging 
 For peoples, thoughts, and ages, bright and fair. 
 Passed long ago to shadowy realms of air. 
 
 The dream passed from his mind, the blissful sense 
 
 Of liberty from carking doubt and care 
 Passed. There usurped his soul a wish intense 
 
 To learn the winds' deep secrets, and a prayer 
 Burst from his lips, a passionate longing cry 
 Sprang forth into the deep blue vault on high. 
 
 *' Oh, winds ! tell me your secrets, spurn me not ! 
 
 Oh, hear the prayer of a heart almost riven ! 
 Tell me if all in vain has been my lot, 
 
 In vain my hopes, in vain have I then striven ? 
 Ah, tell me something, but a word of rest. 
 To still the waves of anguish in my breast." 
 
THE WINDS' SOLACE, 
 
 But yet there came no answer, and he cried, 
 
 " Ah, speak to me ! Ye know from childhood*s da)-s 
 
 To you far more than man am I allied. 
 
 Ah, speak to me I In that dim golden haze, 
 
 I shunned mankind with all their sin and wrong, 
 
 To listen to the waves and ocean's song. 
 
 " Oh, speak to me ! I ask again, and one 
 Who never bowed his head to man now cries 
 
 To his great mother Nature as a son. 
 
 Shall he receive no answer ? Shall his sighs 
 
 Be spent in vain, and may he never seek 
 
 His prayer's fulfilment ? I command you, speak ! " 
 
 Then answered him the winds — " We speak of things 
 Calm, sad, and wondrous, thou canst never know 
 
 Our secrets ; not with thought's most rapid wings 
 Canst thou reach our lay's burden. Hush thy woe ! 
 
 P'or all decays at Nature's wise decree, 
 
 And thou art but a drop in time's vast sea." 
 
 '* Yet art thou not as others, for thou hast 
 Genius, and thus art godlike ; we have seen 
 
 Worlds melt like wax away, for naught may last 
 Look upl Thou seest the white stars* gUstening 
 
 sheen : 
 
64 THE WINDS' SOLACE. 
 
 In Time's eternal course 'tis but a day, 
 
 Ere those far worlds shall pass like dreams away 
 
 " And countless generations of this earth, 
 Now live as dim sad memories in our song ; 
 
 Yet all the years since life first sprang to birth, 
 Prove all must bend before a purpose strong ; 
 
 That he who fain would reach a guerdon fair. 
 
 Must learn to hope and wait, and greatly dare.' 
 
 The voices ceased their counsel, and there shone 
 On this man's face, a joy, serene and bright ; 
 
 Despair, black doubt, and weariness, all were gone, 
 And courage came again to face the fight. 
 
 To dare, to hope, to wait and waver never. 
 
 Until death close his mortal eyes for ever. 
 
( 65 ) 
 
 THE HEARTS JOYS. 
 
 Love, pleasure, ambition, and all that we cherish, 
 When passion is strongest in life's little day, 
 Like roses of summer, ah ! so must they perish ; 
 They bloom for a season, then haste to decay. 
 
 We fade as a dream ! What to those who come after 
 The joy thrilling spirit and body-like pain. 
 At the first kiss of love or a maiden's soft laughter ? 
 Our rapture, our sorrow to them arc in vain. 
 
 When gazing on towers all ruined and baiti ir.l 
 By time or man's hand, do we think of the wu*., 
 Of the passionate love, or the wild hate which shattered 
 Ihe hearts of their dwellers in days long ago ? 
 
 r 
 
66 THE HEARTS JOYS. 
 
 Life's pleasures are sweet, tho' quickly they vanish ; 
 For woes of the past time we have not a sigh, 
 But quickly our minds from the sad thought we banish, 
 That the heart's joys tho' precious, are born but to die. 
 
( 67 ) 
 
 TO MRS. 
 
 My sweetest dearest friend, couldst thou 
 Thro* kinder fates have e'er been mine, 
 Not then the cruel tears, as now, 
 Had dimmed those heavenly eyes of thine, 
 Oft saddened by the sight of one 
 Whom stupid yice has made his own, 
 
 II. 
 
 " The pity of it ! " Thou might'st wdl 
 Have calmed the soul when worn with care, 
 Of some great statesman to excel 
 In thought or action, and to dare 
 All things for thee : thy smile, thy kiss 
 Had been his highest earthly blisa 
 
68 TO MRS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou might'st have breathed in life and fire 
 
 To some bold heavenward tending song, 
 
 And urged on wings of swift desire 
 
 Those high tumultuous thoughts which throng 
 
 So hotly in the poet's brain, 
 
 And fill his eyes with doubt and pain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But doubt and pain alike had fled, 
 As night before the day must fly ; 
 Sad memories of hopes long dead 
 Had quickly sped when thou wert by, 
 To those strange lands we reach at last, 
 When Time's far-stretching sands are past. 
 
 V. 
 
 The triumph of a fight well won, 
 
 The rapture of a noble thought, 
 
 The joy of worthy life when done, - 
 
 The triumph of a work well wrought, 
 
 On these had shone a glory mild 
 
 Of heavenly light, when thou hadst smiled. 
 
TO MRS, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hard fate ! That dreamlike fonn is given 
 To one whose love is but disgrace ; 
 Well may dark clouds obscure the heaven 
 Which shines in that most lovely face, 
 That happiness may yet await — 
 Ah, leave him ere it be too late ! 
 
( 70 ) 
 
 TO A LOST LOVE. 
 
 Hamlet. ** You should not have believed me ; I loved you not ! " 
 I. 
 
 I THINK of that most lovely face, 
 
 That girlish form of supple grace, 
 
 The heaven that shone in those blue eyes 
 
 (I'd looked in less had I been wise). 
 
 That smile which maddened like strong wine ; 
 
 And thank the gods thou art not mine. 
 
 II. 
 
 I thought I loved you, it is true. 
 And almost think I said so, too— - 
 In fact, I'm sure. We vowed, if parted, 
 We ne'er could live on, broken-hearted. 
 Our constitutions must be strong, 
 For still we seem to jog along. 
 
TO A LOST LOVE. 71 
 
 III. 
 
 I've just been looking at a letter 
 Of yours ; the spelling might be better — 
 But who can carp when life is young 
 At spelling of the vulgar tongue ? 
 Yet trifles such as these have marred 
 A life ; on me that spelling jarred. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It jarred upon me even then — 
 In that midsummer madness when 
 I fondly dreamed that each perfection 
 In thee was joined ; yes, recollection 
 Of past days in my soul fast welling 
 Tells of the shock of that bad spelling. 
 
 V. 
 
 Like a dropped //, no not so bad, 
 
 For though I am no longer mad, 
 
 But in the realm so cool and shady 
 
 Of reason dwell. You wen a lady, 
 
 I well remember, doubt who may it, 
 
 ril knock down him who dares gainsay it 
 
TO A LOST LOVE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 That is, if he be less than I ; 
 
 If not, why, then, I'll only try. 
 
 My loves have all been ladies, Grettchen, 
 
 So pleased with her fine golden Kettchen, 
 
 I never liked. She's nice in song, 
 
 In real life she's coarse and strong. 
 
 VII. 
 
 She thinks the pleasure much enhancing. 
 
 To pinion to her side in dancing 
 
 One hand, thus causing much vexation 
 
 To partners, while the conversation 
 
 Of such sweet Grettchens lacks the ease 
 
 Of those whose hands are free from grease. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, dreamy eyes ! oh, golden hair ! 
 Ah, gently heaving bosom where 
 My head so oft lay pillowed, how 
 I loved you for a time ! but now, 
 I know that mind alone can please. 
 And thou had nought to give but these. 
 
TO A LOST LOVE. 73 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then why accuse me of deceit ? 
 Ah, no ! I know full well how fleet 
 And changeful is mere youthful passion; 
 And you ne'er thought of aught but fashion — 
 Indeed, I wonder how we ever 
 Could get along so well together ! 
 
 No, no ! Far better thus to part, 
 
 Than spoil the temper, wear the heart 
 
 With constant discord, fret, and worry, 
 
 Which our poor mortal spirits flurry 
 
 So sadly as our way we wend 
 
 To who knows where ? but to the end. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Perchance I'd met my fair ideal 
 In real life (if aught is real), 
 Whom I, that faithless am miscalled, 
 Search wearily, oft worn and galled 
 By disenchantment, tho' still buoyed 
 By hope ; this misery we avoid 
 
74 ■ TO A LOST LOVE. 
 
 XIL 
 
 YouVe wed to one of good position 
 
 And wealth ; you're like in disposition. 
 
 May every new returning spring 
 
 To both its choicest blessings bring ! 
 
 He loves you more than ever I 
 
 Had done. Be good. Be wise. Good-bye ! 
 
( 75 ) 
 
 TO MISS LAURA CRAIGIE HALKETT, 
 
 " Fair Helen ! " With the dangerous subtle smile, 
 And deep, deep eyes and locks of purest gold. 
 And lips as sweet as hers who could beguile 
 With nameless charm those warrior chiefs of old. 
 Oh, fair, fair form ! Art thou of earthly mould, • 
 Or of such dreams as those which people Heaven 
 And smile on us in slumber ? for we hold 
 The breath when gazing ; unto thee is given 
 That loveliness for which the soul in vain hath striven, 
 
 II. 
 
 We gaze till each sense aches with beauty, then 
 Our dazzled eyes, fast beating pulse and heart. 
 Oppressed with too much splendour, tell how men 
 From all that life holds dearest bore to part 
 
76 TO MISS LAURA CRAIG IE HALKETT. 
 
 For one fair face ; for now we view what art 
 
 Hath vainly struggled to depict and know, 
 
 As dazzled from the vision we depart, 
 
 What fatal beauty laid proud Ilium low, 
 
 Led nations on to death ; bade blood like water flow. 
 
 in. 
 
 And in those eyes the same half- weary sadness, 
 And on those lips the same strange magic charm ; 
 Sweet eyes with pain half melting into gladness — 
 Ah, sweet, sad smile ! What can there lurk of harm 
 In that fair dream ? Couldst thou, as Helen, arm 
 Brave men to shed their blood for thee in vain ? 
 And could that beauty which might well disarm 
 The sternness of the sternest joy in pain, 
 And be at once of earth the glory and the bane ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, fatal, fated beauty ! It is fate. 
 
 Relentless fate hath given thee this power 
 
 O'er men and souls. Ah, should'st thou learn to hate 
 
 Like she, thy loveliness, that splendid dower 
 
TO MISS LAURA CRAIGIE HALKETT, 77 
 
 Of beauty lit by genius ! may there lower 
 
 No clouds on thee as her ; not hers the blame 
 
 That groaning nations offered up their flower 
 
 Of youth and manhood, while swift ruin came 
 
 To all she dazzled. Why will moths fly near the flame ? 
 
 V. 
 
 That fire both scorches and has scorched they know, 
 And feel too well, and yet the fools must fly 
 Back to be scorched again, till death their woe 
 At last may end, and then, when low they lie, 
 To writhe neath their own folly till they die, 
 Ah, then like men no doubt they curse the bright 
 Deceitful flame which tempted them ! But why 
 Return with wings once singed ? The cool, dark night 
 Was theirs, and this once learned say, Wherefore tempt 
 the light? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Cease, cease I That face with all its glorious pride, 
 Of genius, birth, and beauty, scarce may need 
 " The stuff that dreams are made of," but deride 
 All woes of earth. Ah, sweet ! the heart may bleed 
 
78 TO MISS LAURA CRAIG IE IIALKETT. 
 
 Oft, oft, for thee ! Reck not of that — thy meed 
 Is such as waits on genius ; and the star 
 Which rose upon thy birth still on must lead. 
 Nought, nought must its resistless progress bar 
 To where the deathless dead of bygone ages are 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 Cold, clear, majestic spirit, who couldst play 
 With human thoughts and passions as the wind 
 Of autumn with the withered leaves — whose mind 
 Shines forth like some clear, frosty wintry day, 
 And lights the understanding, while it chills 
 The heart's warm human blood with its cold ray 
 Of wintry sunshine. Thou from earthly ills, 
 From misery and want, couldst turn away 
 To make of art a goddess, and hast taught 
 Full many a useful lesson ; not in vain 
 Great spirit then hast thou thy labour wrought ; 
 Yet 'tis but thro' a sympathy with pain 
 And self-forgctfulness that man may rise 
 To genius' highest flight when cold self dies. 
 
( 8o ) 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 Ah ! whither art thou fled, most lovely spirit, 
 Snatched from us in the blackness and the storm ? 
 What fairyland of bliss can now inherit 
 That perfect soul, so lofty yet so warm 
 With love of man ? Alas ! that spirit form 
 Not long could shine upon us, far too fair 
 And pure and sinless ever to perform 
 The dull, cold plodding life of toil and care 
 And custom which we mortals lead, to wear 
 The chains of vile hypocrisy. Ah ! where 
 Is that most gentle, lovely spirit fled ? 
 To join past dreams of joy, past spring time's flowers ; 
 The sea and fire. Ah, no ! he is not dead. 
 But lives where calm delight speeds on the blooming 
 hours. 
 
( 8i ) 
 
 BYRON, 
 
 Greatest of England's bards save one alone I 
 
 Too soon did end that fiery life, too soon ! 
 
 Ere life's hot folHes vanished in the noon 
 
 Of calmer judgment, thy fierce race was run. 
 
 Bold eagle, straining ever to the sun ! 
 
 How quickly granted was thjjt fatal boon 
 
 Thou craved'st ever, in that last death-swoon 
 
 By Missolonghi ere the fight was won. 
 
 To make thy great name deathless in a field 
 
 Untried as yet ! Great man, when thou didst yield 
 
 That soul of fire the light went forth, for we 
 
 Have need of our Apollo who could wield 
 
 The sword of freedom. Child of sun and sea ! 
 
 My sun-god ! dost thou ofttimes think of me ? 
 
( 82 ) 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 Fair younger brother of that bard who strove 
 To form ideal realms of pure delight, 
 And earnestly equipped him for the fight 
 He fiercely waged 'gainst all that tyrants wove 
 Of dread and hate and faith ; who only love 
 Could worship — love and liberty and light. 
 Thou not as he didst combat for the right ; 
 More fragile wert thou, yet from far above, 
 From some high heaven of poesy, thou pourest 
 Songs of entrancing sweetness, for thou worest 
 E'en more than he that robe too oft of bale. 
 Thou seem'st as if a part of sea and forest, 
 And lake and stream \ thy own sweet nightingale 
 Trills forth no heavenlier notes in woodland vale. 
 
( 83 ) 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Thou god of song ! were all the songs ere sung 
 
 In one hymn joined, yet would they not compare 
 
 To nature's melody, nor yet may dare 
 
 Aught other bard to equal strains which rung 
 
 Thro' joyous England ere the black cloud hung 
 
 Of sour religion, darkening all the air 
 
 Of our sweet land, erewhile so blithe and fair. 
 
 Thou stand'st alone among a glorious throng 
 
 Of songful brethren, as some pyramid 
 
 In Egypt's sands. All deep things which lie hid 
 
 From mortal man, to thee are clear as day ; 
 
 All thoughts and hopes of man to thee all wise, 
 
 Too multiform for merely human eyes, 
 
 Are thine, O god of never-fading bay ! 
 
( 84 ) 
 
 THE END OF SONG. 
 
 What is the end of song ? Is it to sweep 
 A careless lyre ? To turn the careless eyes 
 From pain and grief and poverty, which keep 
 Back many a soaring spirit from the skies ? 
 To steel the heart to all its depths should move, 
 And chant the praises of lascivious love ? 
 
 II. 
 
 What is the end of song ? Is it to make 
 
 A cold, w^hite, cruel goddess out of^rt? 
 
 To see and know but this and to forsake 
 
 The struggling race of which each forms a part ? 
 
 To muse alone with nature and to ban 
 
 All thoughts of love or sympathy wdth man ? 
 
THE END OF SONG. 85 
 
 III. 
 
 Were either these her aim 'twould be indeed 
 A grovelHng art. To thrill an idle lyre 
 With praises of an idle, old-world creed, — 
 Could lays like this be quick with sacred fire ? 
 No ! better tho' all lyres remained unstrung; 
 No ! better that all songs remained unsung. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To comfort the worn heart with blessed dew ; 
 
 To hold the mirror up to nature's self ; 
 
 With noble thoughts the mind of man to imbue, 
 
 And lead him to think less of place and pelf; 
 
 To light the world with radiance clear and strong ; — 
 
 This, thi^ alone can be the end of song ! 
 
( 86 ) 
 
 THE FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 'Tis come at last ! Another year is dying, 
 His mystic skein for ever dread Time weaves. 
 In vain men's tears or joy, the vague wind sighing 
 With sweetest sadness, while the hoary leaves 
 I all thick around us, and the bosom heaves 
 With vague regrets proclaim the end is near, 
 As thro' the saddened sky the swallow cleaves 
 His way to happier climes. Strew, strew the bier, 
 Ye beauteous faded leaves of the departing year. 
 
 II. 
 
 Fall sweet oblivion upon many a thought, 
 
 And fair, fond fancy we perchance have dreamed ; 
 
 On many an unseen battle we have fought 
 
 With our own souls in darkness, thro' which gleamed 
 
 At times a ray of joy and light which seemed 
 
THE FALLING LEA VES, 87 
 
 As sent indeed from Heaven, and let fall 
 
 Thy mantle o'er some transient joys which beamed 
 
 Deceitfully, whose inmost heart was gall. 
 
 Come, gracious death ; efface the memory of all ! 
 
 For what is past is thine, that which shall come 
 
 Is life's, and we are life's ; and while the breeze 
 
 Of summer charms our senses, still our home 
 
 Is on the blooming earth; nor mayst thou freeze 
 
 The gladsome soul with terrors, but appease 
 
 Thy lust of power with what has passed away, 
 
 Or that which soon must fade, still o'er the seas 
 
 And lands we wander freely, on the way 
 
 Girt round by flowers of life's and youth's bright happy day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Regret, remorse, and sadness all are vain. 
 The past is past, the future is our own, 
 To sadly muse o'er past joys and o'er pain 
 Long dead ; the heart to anguish and to groan 
 O'er wasted chances^-the eternal moan 
 
88 THE FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 Of all creation is a fruitless sigh. 
 The present and the future are alone 
 Worthy of thought \ and that which has gone by 
 Has gone for ever, then let foolish tears be dry. 
 
 V, 
 
 Ah, see ! the glad sun o'er the hills is setting, 
 
 To light up with fresh brilliancy the morn ; 
 
 And Nature, her long winter's sleep forgetting. 
 
 Will wake to budding life in spring unworn 
 
 By those dead months of torpor and new-born 
 
 To life and joy of springtime ; the green leaf 
 
 Will revel in glad sunshine; golden corn 
 
 Shall once more deck the meadows \ pain is brief, 
 
 And death but leads to life, as gladness wells from grief! 
 
 VI. 
 
 The withered leaves fall thick around our feet ; 
 The autumn skies are dim and grey, and hark ! 
 That mystic sough, it seems to say how fleet 
 The winged moments hasten, while the bark 
 Of life rolls on to anchor — where ? and dark, 
 
THE FALLING LEAVES, 89 
 
 And cold is all around us. Oh, cling tight 
 To me, beloved ! As upwards soars the lark 
 From grovelling earth, so thro' this mortal night, 
 Guided by love, we gain perchance eternal light ! 
 
( 90 ) 
 
 A MESSAGE. 
 
 You loved me not. I loved you not, and yet 
 
 We were not far from love — not very far. 
 
 For weeks we lived together ; and at first 
 
 Your proud, pure face half chilled me, for I feared 
 
 To speak to you, lest haply you might deem 
 
 I valued that sweet, fearless innocence 
 
 But as those fools who think in vain conceit 
 
 That women love but brazen insolence ; 
 
 And this I think you understood, for once 
 
 You spoke to me with that sweet dangerous voice. 
 
 A throb of joy passed o'er me; and from then 
 
 We were fast friends, but never spoke of love — 
 
 Nor even did I think of it ; to me 
 
 You were as some fair, proud young queen, to whom 
 
 All reverence was due, who lived serene 
 
 In an olympian atmosphere of art. 
 
 I did your bidding, as I would have died 
 
A MESSAGE. 91 
 
 To render subject's service for one smile 
 
 Of that cold, proud pure face, which never seemed 
 
 As if it knew of pain, until one day 
 
 You told me of your history, knowing well 
 
 I was your staunchest friend ; and then at last, 
 
 The woman's tears gushed forth, those long quelled tears, 
 
 Quelled by the pride of genius and of birth. 
 
 How brave you were ! How kind and true to me. 
 
 In sickness or in health ! What rich return 
 
 I reaped for my poor sympathy ! and yet — 
 
 I loved you but as men may love the stars. 
 
 At length the time came for my last adieu. 
 
 Ah Heaven, how I dreaded it! I felt 
 
 As they of old at that last sad farewell 
 
 Of Mary Stuart ; but we both were proud, 
 
 And spoke but words of common courtesy ; 
 
 Then, looking in that cold, Greek face, I said, 
 
 With voice constrained, " Good-bye," and, with the hand 
 
 Of common friendship, took within my clasp 
 
 That soft, CQol, high-bred hand, and then looked down. 
 
 " Good-bye I " you said ; and then I turned to go. 
 
 " I'm sorry you are leaving me so soon ; 
 
 I'll miss you very much, for you have been 
 
 To me as my lost brother." Then I turned, 
 
92 A MESSAGE. 
 
 And saw the lovely eyes were dimmed with tears. 
 
 I took the little hand in mine once more, 
 
 And kissed it as one might have kissed a queen's ; 
 
 But when I tried to take my last farewell, 
 
 My voice was choked — I could not say '' Good-bye." 
 
 The violets you sent me I have still, 
 
 And will keep ever by me till I die. 
 
 They ofttimes make me think of that sweet time 
 
 When thro' the long sweet summer hours we dreamed 
 
 'Mid deep, deep stillness of some forest glade, 
 
 Or on the sunny slopes of some fair hill. 
 
 And now I want to say a word to you, 
 
 Tho' severed far by leagues of land and sea. 
 
 I wish to say a word to one from whom 
 
 I never met with aught but kindness ; one 
 
 Who never failed to chide me when I erred, 
 
 To cheer and sympathize with all ; to one 
 
 Who never said an unkind word or did 
 
 Aught that might be unworthy, — yet to one 
 
 Who never loved me, whom I never loved. 
 
 If ever, in the course of your proud life. 
 
 You need a friend — and, sweet one, it may be. 
 
 For wealth and dazzling beauty oft are girt 
 
 \\ii\\ thousand dangers which pass others by , 
 
A MESSAGE, 93 
 
 If that false hound who cared but for your gold 
 Again should trouble you— then send one word, 
 Send but one word to me, and this I swear — 
 You find in me a friend thro' storm or calm, 
 Thro' good report or evil ; you will find 
 In Hfe, in death, a changeless friend in me. 
 
( 94 
 
 TO LADY C— F-^. 
 
 Hail to thee, fair maiden ! 
 
 Of the glorious, dark bhie eyes, 
 With the hues of dawn inladen, 
 And the light of sunny skies ; 
 And sweet cheeks flushed like a tender rose ere the 
 light of morning dies ! 
 
 11. 
 
 listening to that rippling laughter, 
 
 Blinded by that sunny hair, 
 Who recks of sorrow after ? 
 Alas ! what can men care 
 For aught but thee, when they grow mad with thy beauty 
 rich and rare ? 
 
TO LADY C — F—. 95 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh scornful, perfect splendour ! 
 
 Oh generous, kindly smile ! 
 What more could Venus render 
 To witch and to beguile ? 
 For every high-bred grace is there, and each unconscious 
 wile. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The freshness of life's first dawning, 
 
 That haughty queenlike grace, 
 Those sweet lips ever scorning 
 Aught low or mean or base. 
 Most perfect splendour of form ! Most glorious beauty 
 of face ! 
 
 The* sprung from a line of princes, 
 
 Not one of that haughty line, 
 Of those proud imperial beauties. 
 By thee is fit to shine ; 
 Or could make men drunk as thou canst do, like a 
 draught of strongest wine. 
 
96 TO LADY C — F- 
 
 Alas ! that beauty never 
 
 Can aught but blight and snare ; 
 Alas ! that men must ever 
 Against thy charms beware ; 
 Yet all on earth must fall to those who both can do and 
 dare ; 
 
 vir. 
 
 Can touch with silken finger, 
 Can grip with grip of steel, 
 To those who sue and linger, 
 To those who sigh and kneel, 
 Thou art as merciless as is the turn of Fortune's wheel. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thou shouldst be sung by poet 
 Of soaring flight and wing ; 
 
 For I, full well I know it, 
 
 Have naught of worth to bring, 
 And lay at thy fair feet, and yet I still must sing. 
 
TO LA^DY C-— /-— . 97 
 
 IX. 
 
 For thou, I know, wilt pardon 
 This my poor halting strain, 
 Nor will thy soft heart harden, 
 For 'tis thy beauty's bane 
 That they who know thee ne'er may know forgetfu]ne«:.«^ 
 again ! 
 
 X. 
 
 And thou, I know, wilt grant 
 
 A parting word to one 
 Of those thou dost enchant, 
 Who can thy presence shun, 
 But when their eyes at length arc blind with gazing ou 
 the sun. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The destinies of nations 
 
 Are swayed by taj^er hands, 
 '1 o woman's power oblations 
 From countless subject lands 
 Are offered up, and kings must bend 'lunth 1 . z- 
 silken band.s. 
 
TO LADY C— F- 
 
 XII. 
 
 Be firm and swift and daring ! 
 
 Aim high ! Be cahn and keen ; 
 For aught but power uncaring, 
 And thou who now hast been 
 In tender youth the queen of hearts, may be in sooth a 
 queen. 
 
( 99 ) 
 
 TO MRS. STEWART, 
 
 Kind heart, sweet voice, and lovely face, 
 Frank eyes and soft caressing ways, — 
 Ah ! how am I to sing thy praise, 
 That gracious charm, that perfect grace ? 
 
 II. 
 
 And yet there's none can better know 
 Than I the goodness of that heart, 
 Altho' perchance a cruel dart 
 Has pierced my own, sent from thy bow ! 
 
 What if I love? 'Tis now too late I 
 You're wed. A goodly fellow too ! 
 Ah, tell me, sweet, what shall I do. 
 Thus tortured by a cruel fate ? 
 
TO MRS. STEWART. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Shall I go hang, go drown, go burn, 
 Go shoot myself ? — for I can not 
 Bear this pain longer ; say to what, 
 To what fell fury shall I turn ! 
 
 A truce to folly ! you are one ; 
 And he should be a happy man, 
 For did he live twice our lives span, 
 So sweet a soul could ne'er be won. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ah ! such a soul we but can meet 
 Once in a lifetime, for in thee 
 We find no thought of self or see 
 Aught else than what is pure and sweet. 
 
 VIT. 
 
 We find thee ever kind and gay, 
 Thinking of others' joys and pains. 
 Of others' hopes and loves and gains — 
 But ah, thou steal'st our hearts away ! 
 
X 
 
 TO MRS. STEWART. 
 
 Quite gently, slowly, softly, yet 
 We lose them to thee none the less, 
 And yet our tyrant still must bless, 
 Who so can smile and soothe and pet. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Who so can smile and soothe our pain, 
 Yet one thing canst thou not do, sweet ; 
 Call back the past hours' winged feet 
 And give me back my heart again ! 
 
( I02 ) 
 
 MONTE CARLO, 
 
 Oh fairest of earth's fair places ! 
 
 Blue sky and sun-kissed sea ! 
 
 Sweet forms and lovely faces, 
 
 And wine and dice and glee ! 
 
 Tho' 'twould seem in thy chaste embraces 
 
 No wickedness could be. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ah, naughty little charmer ! 
 On the brink of the sunny wave. 
 No tempests here can harm her, 
 Her rugged guards would save. 
 She, guarded by their rude armour, 
 Her rosy feet may lave. 
 
MONTE CARLO. 103 
 
 III. 
 
 Deceitful little beauty ! 
 We cannot say thee nay, 
 When come to pay our duty 
 And thou biddest us to stay ; 
 Empty pockets do not suit ye, 
 Then thou sendest us away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Like some proud imperious princess, 
 Of lovers thou hast none, 
 Or so many they are countless, 
 Ah, I think I know some one 
 Whom like thee no man convinces 
 She can ever love but one. 
 
 On me thou didst smile kindly 
 But I took my leave in time, 
 For I did not worship blindly 
 And I better loved to climb 
 Thy steep mountains — or untimely 
 Fate had lopped me ere my prime. 
 
I04 MONTE CARLO. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And I always laid on sixes, 
 'Tis a plan which I maintain 
 I will not say it enriches, 
 But may spare you half the pain 
 Of handing from your breeches 
 More than half your modest gain. 
 
 Now adieu, my little fairy ! 
 For I hope not very long. 
 Recollections blithe and airy 
 Of bright eyes and mirth and song, 
 And sweet days devoid of care be 
 Awaked ! nor do thee wrong. 
 
( I05 ) 
 
 PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 We who have always made it our employ 
 
 1 o study all we can beneath the sun, 
 
 Have found that most things have some slight alloy 
 
 Of good and bad together ; we have done 
 
 Most things, have tasted of the maddening joy 
 
 Of woman's love which poets rave of, fun 
 
 No doubt at first; but then you soon get tired, 
 
 And love like other things can oft be hired. 
 
 IT. 
 
 How glorious the mad intoxication 
 Of brimming bumpers, when the foaming wine 
 Bestows on all of this most fair creation 
 A radiance and a harmony divine ! 
 
io6 PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 How glorious that blessed inebriation, 
 When for a moment we forget to pine 
 And look before or after, when all seems 
 As fairylike and lovely as in dreams ! 
 
 Yes ! drinking doubtless is a pleasant vice. 
 
 Especially on waking up next morning. 
 
 Ah ! who but those who've tried can say how nice 
 
 It is to rise with mouth and forehead burning, 
 
 And head compressed as in an iron vice. 
 
 As scornfully aside the kidneys spurning, 
 
 You murmur ruefully as one in pain — 
 
 " I'll ne'er touch aught but Zoedone again ! " 
 
 But then, I say, take every pleasant folly. 
 There's none as good as gaming to my mind. 
 Les dames are treacherous, to drink is silly, 
 But gaming is a vice that I'm inclined 
 To praise up to a point, for will he nill he 
 One oft must lose ; but then there hangs a kind 
 Of fascination round a mighty gambler 
 Not found in your slow-going steady ambler. 
 
PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 107 
 
 V. 
 
 The son of Nicias, Napoleon, Caesar, 
 Were naught but gamblers, tho' their stakes were high. 
 A lovely woman, do you wish to please her ? 
 Well, gamble for her, dry that tearful eye ! 
 L'Audace, I'Audace, TAudace ! you wish to seize her ? 
 Well, that was Danton's famous phrase, and I 
 Who am not Danton know that sigh and fret 
 Will ne'er obtain the heart of a coquette. 
 
 VI. 
 
 All women are coquettes ; they are the devil ! 
 The very devil are they, but TAudace 
 Will gain both dames and nations and lay level 
 Powers and dominions, it will strew the grass 
 O'er prostrate cities, only keep a civil 
 Tongue in your head, maintain a face of brass, 
 And rest assured that men are but as fools 
 And follow him who uses them as tools. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But then the golden rule of life is this — 
 
 In all things moderation ; too much laughing 
 
io8 PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 Or gaming, singing, loving, — yes, the kiss 
 
 Of love too oft is bad, and too much quaffing 
 
 Particularly bad, romantic bliss 
 
 Grows mawkish with the years, for always harping. 
 
 Upon one string grows tiresome, we are fired 
 
 With love of change ; are angels ever tired ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 However, gentlest reader, we digress 
 From Monte Carlo and the gaming table 
 Enough of old thoughts in a newer dress, 
 And let us picture well as we are able. 
 That scene where fickle fortune deigns to bless 
 And curse by turns, that naughty, noisy Babel. 
 Return, fair memory of a joyous time 1 
 Smile graciously on this my modest rhyme ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 We entered. 'Tis a wdde and lofty hall. 
 And there you see all classes and conditions 
 Of men and women, the unending call 
 Of " Faites le jeu messieurs ! " is heard, divisions 
 
PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 109 
 
 Are grouped around with eager faces all — 
 Or most, for some dissemble, lovely visions 
 Of fair frail countrywomen there are met 
 Lingering round trente et quarante and roulette. 
 
 X. 
 
 And most we marked a band of aged crones, 
 Around the tables gambling, grasping, groaning, 
 Like terriers who squabble for dry bones. 
 Their cursed luck and poverty bemoaning, 
 And younger dames assisted by small loans 
 From gallant cavaliers and English roaming" 
 From Albion's strand, to be repaid of course, 
 And croupiers yelling out with voices hoarse. 
 
 XI. 
 
 We likewise marked the kind of calm anxiety 
 
 Pervading all the room, and then my Friend 
 
 Essayed if haply he by a variety 
 
 Of gambler's wiles his mauvaise chance might mend, 
 
 For some men never learn the word satiety ; 
 
 In good or ill may Heaven these defend, 
 
 And all her powers from ever touching card 
 
 Or dice, or sad their fate— thus saith the bard I 
 
10 PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING, 
 
 XII. 
 Ah, well ! he was in sooth a proper man ! 
 As fine a man as one could wish to see, 
 Then why abridge like this his proper span ? 
 But we anticipate. Ah, well then ! he, 
 Altho' perchance beneath the righteous ban 
 Of those religious, he might chance to be. 
 Was wondrous handsome, with the fiery glance 
 And light, lithe footstep born of southern France. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And then he bore that haughty nameless grace 
 Distinguishing the ancient French noblesse. 
 Which joined to perfect form and handsome face. 
 Makes up a tout ensemble I confess 
 I think would any other land outface, 
 And yet perchance may oftener curse than bless 
 Their owner ; and where'er this youth had roved 
 He had been feared by men, by women loved. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I liked him tho', and he liked me I think, 
 I like that sort of fellow. Well, he played 
 
PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 Away until he stood upon the brink 
 Of utter ruin, not the least dismayed. 
 And when at last in ruin he did sink, 
 Not one sign of emotion he displayed, 
 But looked at me with such a pleasant smile, 
 As if he had won thousands all the while. 
 
 XV. 
 
 You know I think he was an utter fool, 
 
 And so I told him frankly ; nor do I 
 
 Wish to excuse him, yet a man so cool 
 
 As he 'fore utter ruin never by 
 
 The eye of mortal man was seen ; his rule 
 
 To keep a bold front for whate'er might lie 
 
 In store for him, he never once forsook, 
 
 Quite calm that face on which girls loved to look. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 We went from out the hot and stifling room 
 Into the soft and balmy southern air, 
 Ah ! how can men rush madly to the doom 
 Of rashness, when around are sights so fair 
 
12 PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 And sweet and pure, where no fell dangers loom ? 
 But then how few there are who know or care 
 For nature's beauties ! Ah, that scenes like these, 
 We have described, alone vile man can please ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 My friend then said, " I've now lost every sou 
 
 That I possess." But I was rather vexed 
 
 And answered brusquely, " Then the more fool you." 
 
 He laughed, and then T said, " What will come next ? 
 
 And what the devil are you going to do ? 
 
 I can't make out." He did not look perplexed, 
 
 Not in the least, but quietly he said — 
 
 '' Oh, I have an idea in my head." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 We parted then, on reaching our hotel. 
 
 And went to bed, for I was rather weary. 
 
 Ah, friend ! not till the judgment's dreadful knell 
 
 Shall wake us both may we two meet ! Yet eerie 
 
 Fancies beset me not that night ; 'twas well 
 
 With him, at least in mind, I thought, tho' queer he, 
 
 Instead of "bon soir" should have said "adieu," 
 
 Did strike me even at the time it's true. 
 
PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And so I said to him, " Good night, old fellow, 
 I'm sorry I was harsh, and beg your pardon. 
 May sweetest dreams attend upon your pillow ! 
 For you I know your plucky heart can harden 
 Against all woes of earth, nor wear the willow 
 For fate or woman, therefore to the guardian 
 And easer of all woes I now commend you. 
 I'm very sorr>'. Better luck attend you ! " 
 
 XX. 
 
 He looked into my eyes, and with a smile, 
 
 Tender and wistful, took me by the shoulder ; 
 
 A smile as gentle and devoid of guile 
 
 As that of a young child, as they grow older 
 
 Men lose that innocence which may beguile 
 
 More than all art, but then our hearts grow colder 
 
 With lengthening years. " Adieu, men cher," he s^iid, 
 
 And then we both went quietly to bed. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The morning rose. By Heaven, a glorious n^* r,^ • 
 That glad sun rising o*er the purple wave, 
 
 I 
 
114 PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 
 
 As at the birth of time, unchanged, unworn 
 By all the aeons ; and the waters lave 
 With lovers' kisses that soft shore, and scorn 
 And hate and pride and fear seem far, 'twould save 
 Such beauty erring souls and turn to Heaven 
 Their thoughts, where haply all may be forgiven. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 As was my custom then I sought our friend, 
 
 And thought we'd have a pleasant morning walk 
 
 Together, for whate'er luck might attend, 
 
 Or good or bad on him he yet would balk 
 
 Dame Fortune's nastiest tricks, and Heaven forfend ! 
 
 Ill luck must turn at length, and so a talk 
 
 And pleasant morning stroll with him I meant 
 
 To have, and to his door my footsteps bent. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Once and again I knocked, but still no answer. 
 '* How soundly the old lazy dog can sleep ! " 
 And then thought I, " I've hit upon a plan, sir, 
 To wake you up," and so I softly creep. 
 
PAINFUL RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 115 
 
 With step as soft and noiseless as a dancer 
 In sword dance, with the base intent to steep 
 Those noble classic features, and with douse 
 Of coldest water him from sleep to rouse. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 But judge then, what was my surprise on entering. 
 
 To find those features terrible and rigid, 
 
 The healthy flush of youth and beaut>^ centering, 
 
 Had gone, the high-bred hands were pale and frigid, 
 
 The pulse had stopped ! Ah, was it death was hindering 
 
 Our friend from rising up ? For there lay hid 
 
 A bottle, labelled poison, on the ground. 
 
 Oh, yes ! the French aristocrat slept sound. 
 
( ii6 ) 
 
 PAUVRE PETIT. 
 
 The cheerful hum of a busy city 
 
 At night time, rang thro' the wintry air ; 
 
 An air not thick and foul and gritty 
 
 As London skies, while through the fair 
 
 Pure atmosphere of Paris came 
 
 A thousand sounds of mirth, for tame 
 
 Are all towns after the wicked witty 
 
 Mistress of minds and dispeller of care. 
 
 II. 
 
 And there lay a little boy in an ingle 
 Of a house in the Rue Castiglione, 
 Cast up as the sea casts up its shingle. 
 Creation's weird unending groan 
 
PAUVRE PETIT. 117 
 
 Spoke forth from that poor weary child, 
 Who lay half-sleeping 'mid all the wild 
 Turmoil and stress of the town, to mingle 
 One silent cry with the wide world's moan. 
 
 III. 
 For he spoke not at all, and yet asleep 
 He was not wholly, and in his eyes 
 There came a look so strange and deep, 
 As half of joy and half surprise. 
 When I spoke to him, and I could see 
 The whole world's mystery there as he, 
 Half waking up from imperfect sleep, 
 Heaved two such weary, weary sighs. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beside him lay a little lute, 
 And the little cheeks were pale and tliin, 
 Oh, whence sprang the earliest deadly root 
 Of this harvest of sorrow begotten by sin ! 
 I stopped to gaze for a moment when 
 There passed with rapid steps two men, 
 Who as both were clad in workmen's suit 
 Had little to spare and little to win. 
 
PAUVRE PETIT. 
 
 But yet they gave of what little they had, 
 And passing along I heard them say, 
 " Pauvre Petit ! " and my heart was glad 
 That there rest in the world such men as they. 
 But the boy scarce moved his head, *^ I'm tired," 
 He only said when I desired 
 To know what ailed him ; but ah ! the sad 
 Deep meaning in his " Je suis fatigue." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then there came a fair young girl who stooped, 
 
 And she looked in the poor little face. 
 
 While all o'er her fair shoulders there drooped 
 
 Golden locks, and with that soft grace 
 
 Of fairest France she asked if I 
 
 Perchance could tell the reason why 
 
 The poor child were alone in this lonesome place, 
 
 And round us others soon were grouped. 
 
 And the fair girl gave of her small store. 
 And I heard her murmur " Pauvre Petit ! " 
 
PAUVRE PETIT. 119 
 
 With an angel's voice ; ah, more ! far more ! 
 
 Was this girl's act of charity 
 
 Than deeds oft blazoned in story and fame. 
 
 If ever we may lay a claim 
 
 To Heaven's mercy, then ye shall see 
 
 That girl's deed shall ne'er forgotten be. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then she passed with a tear and a tender smile, 
 And all around then gave to him, 
 And largely gave for frost and guile 
 Seemed gone from all men's hearts, and dim 
 My eyes grew watching. Then a man 
 Amongst that kindly crowd began 
 To question the child, and in a while 
 Bore the boy away from death's border rim. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh France I fair France I \A\ki sons like these, 
 Sweet France ! who dares to say that thou 
 Art shallow, selfish, that thou freeze 
 Thy heart 'gainst real grief? and how 
 
PAUVRE PETIT. 
 
 Dare we reproach thee ? for I never 
 In our land saw such scene, nor ever 
 In other land than her men please 
 With names like shallow to endow. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 i'RiNTED BV WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMltEt), LDNDOff AND BECCLES. 
 
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Kegan Paul, Trench & Co!s Publications. 39 
 
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Kegan Paul, Trench & CoJs Publications, 41 
 
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