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diff --git a/17574.txt b/17574.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..38d7900 --- /dev/null +++ b/17574.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3668 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale, by Thomas +Woolner, Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale + + +Author: Thomas Woolner + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: January 22, 2006 [eBook #17574] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. NELLY DALE*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition, David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. +NELLY DALE. + + +BY +THOMAS WOOLNER, R.A. + +CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED: +_LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_. +1887. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + "A ray has pierced me from the highest heaven-- + I have believed in worth; and do believe." + +So runs Mr. Woolner's song, as it proceeds to show the issue of a noble +earthly love, one with the heavenly. Its issue is the life of high +endeavour, wherein + + "They who would be something more + Than they who feast, and laugh and die, will hear + The voice of Duty, as the note of war, + Nerving their spirits to great enterprise, + And knitting every sinew for the charge." + +This Library is based on a belief in worth, and on a knowledge of the +wide desire among men now to read books that are books, which "do," as +Milton says, "contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that +soul whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the +purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them." +When, therefore, as now happens for the second time, a man of genius who +has written with a hope to lift the hearts and minds of men by adding one +more true book to the treasures of the land, honours us by such +recognition of our aim, and fellow-feeling with it, that he gives up a +part of his exclusive right to his own work, and offers to make it freely +current with the other volumes of our series,--we take the gift, if we +may dare to say so, in the spirit of the giver, and are the happier for +such evidence that we are not working in vain. + +Such evidence comes in other forms: as in letters from remote readers in +lonely settlements, from the far West, from sheep-farms in Australia, +from farthest India, from places to which these little volumes make their +way as pioneers; being almost the first real books that have there been +seen. To send a true voice over, for delight and support of earnest +workers who open their hearts wide to a good book in a way that we can +hardly understand,--we who live wastefully in the midst of plenty, and +are apt sometimes to leave to feed on the fair mountain and batten on the +moor,--is worth the while of any man of genius who puts his soul into his +work, as Mr. Woolner does. + +Books in the "National Library" that come like those of Mr. Patmore and +Mr. Woolner are here as friends and companions. If they were not +esteemed highly they would not be here. Beyond that implied opinion +there is nothing to be said. He would be an ill-bred host who criticised +his guest, or spoke loud praise of him before his face. Nor does a well- +known man of our own day need personal introduction. It is only said, in +consideration that this book will be read by many who cannot know what is +known to those who have access to the works of artists, that Mr. Thomas +Woolner is a Royal Academician, and one of the foremost sculptors of our +day. For a couple of years, from 1877 to 1879, he was Professor of +Sculpture at the Royal Academy. A colossal statue by him in bronze of +Captain Cook was designed for a site overlooking Sydney Harbour. A +poet's mind has given life to his work on the marble, and when he was an +associate with Mr. Millais, Mr. Holman Hunt, and others, who, in 1850, +were endeavouring to bring truth and beauty of expression into art, by +the bold reaction against tame and insincere conventions for which Mr. +Ruskin pleaded and which the time required, Mr. Woolner joined in the +production by them of a magazine called "The Germ," to which some of the +verses in this volume were contributed. + +There is no more to say; but through another page let Wordsworth speak +the praise of Books: + + Yet is it just + That here, in memory of all books which lay + Their sure foundations in the heart of man, + Whether by native prose, or numerous verse. + That in the name of all inspired souls-- + From Homer the great thunderer, from the voice + That roars along the bed of Jewish song, + And that more varied and elaborate, + Those trumpet tones of harmony that shake + Our shores in England--from those loftiest notes, + Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made + For cottagers and spinners at the wheel + And sunburnt travellers resting their tired limbs + Stretched under wayside hedgerows, ballad tunes + Food for the hungry ears of little ones + And of old men who have survived their joys-- + 'Tis just that in behalf of these, the works, + And of the men that framed them, whether known + Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves, + That I should here assert their rights, attest + Their honours, and should, once for all, pronounce + Their benediction; speak of them as Powers + For ever to be hallowed; only less, + For what we are and what we may become, + Than Nature's self, which is the breath of God, + Or His pure Word by miracle revealed. + +_Prelude, Book V_. +H. M. + + + + +MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. INTRODUCTION. + + +In some there lies a sorrow too profound +To find a voice or to reveal itself +Throughout the strain of daily toil, or thought, +Or during converse born of souls allied, +As aught men understand. And though mayhap +Their cheeks will thin or droop; and wane their eyes' +Frank lustre; hair may lose its hue, or fall; +And health may slacken low in force; and they +Are older than the warrant of their years; +Yet they to others seem to gild their lives +With cheerfulness, and every duty tend, +As if their aspects told the truth within. + But they are not as others: not for them +The bounding pulse, and ardour of desire, +The rapture and the wonder in things new; +The hope that palpitating enters where +Perfection smiles on universal life; +Nor do they with elastic enterprise +Forecast delight in compassing results; +Nor, having won their ends, fall godlike back +And taste the calm completion of content. +But in a sober chilled grey atmosphere +Work out their lives; more various though they are +Than creatures in the unknown ocean depths, +Yet each in whom this vital grief has root +Is dull to what makes everything of worth. +And though, may be, a shallow bodily joy +Oft tingles through them at the breathing spring, +Or first-heard exultation of the lark; +Still that deep weight draws ever steadily +Their thoughts and passions back to secret woe. +Though, if endowed with light, heroic deeds +May be achieved; and if benignly bent +They may be treasured blessings through their lives; +Yet power and goodness are to them as dreams, +And they heed vaguely, if their waking sight +Be met with slanting storm against the pane, +Or sunshine glittering on the leaves that play +In purest blue of breezy summer morns. + + Whence springs this well of mournfulness profound, +Unfathomable to plummet cast by man? +Alas; for who can tell! Whence comes the wind +Heaving the ocean into maddened arms +That clutch and dash huge vessels on the rocks, +And scatter them, as if compacted slight +As little eggs boys star against a tree +In wanton mischief? Whence, detestable, +To man, who suffers from the monster-jaws, +The power that in the logging crocodiles' +Outrageous bulk puts evil fire of life? +That spouts from mountain-pyramids a flood +Of lava, overwhelming works and men +In burning, fetid ruin?--The power that stings +A city with a pestilence: or turns +The pretty babe, who in his mother's lap +Babbles her back the lavished kiss and laugh, +Through lusts and vassalage to obdurate sin, +Into a knife-armed midnight murderer? + + Our lives are mysteries, and rarely scanned +As we read stories writ by mortal pen. +We can perchance but catch a straying weft +And trace the hinted texture here or there, +Of that stupendous loom weaving our fates. +Two parents, late in life, are haply blessed +With one bright child, a wonder in his years, +For loveliness and genius versatile: +Some common ill destroys him; parents, both, +Until their death, are left but living tombs +That hold the one dead image of their joy. +A man, the flower of honour, who has found +His well-beloved young daughter fled from home, +Fallen from her maidenhood, a nameless thing +Tainting his blood. A youth who throws the strength +Of his whole being into love for one +Answering him honeyed smiles, and leaves his land +For some far country, seeking wealth he hopes +Will grace her daintily with choice delights, +And on returning sees the honeyed smiles +Are sweetening other lips. A husband who +Has found that household curse, a faithless wife. +A thinker whose far-piercing care perceives +His nation goes the road that ends in shame. +A gracious woman whose reserve denies +The power to utter what consumes her heart. +Such instances (and some a loss to know, +Which steadfast reticence will shield from those, +Debased or garrulous, whose hearts corrupt, +But learn the gloomy secrets of their kind +To poison-tip their wit, or grope and grin +With pharisaic laughter at disgrace)-- +Such instances as these demand no guide +To thrid the dismal issues from their source! +But others are there, lying fast concealed, +Dark, hopeless, and unutterably sad, +Which have not been, and never may be known. + + Then we may well call happy one whose grief, +Mixed up with sacred memories of the past, +Can tell to others how the tempest rose, +That struck and left him lonely in the world; +And who, narrating, feels his sorrow soothed, +By that respect which love and sorrow claim. + + It much behoves us all, but chiefly those +Whom fate has favoured with an easy trust, +To keep a bridle upon restless speech +And thought: and not in flagrant haste prejudge +The first presentment as the rounded truth. +For true it is, that rapid thoughts, and freak +Of skimming word, and glance, more frequently +Than either malice, settled hate, or scorn, +Support confusion, and pervert the right; +Set up the weakling in the strong man's place; +And yoke the great one's strength to idleness; +Pour gold into the squanderer's purse, and suck +The wealth, which is a power, from their control +Who would have turned it unto noble use. +And oftentimes a man will strike his friend, +By random verbiage, with sharper pain +Than could a foe, yet scarcely mean him wrong; +For none can strip this complex masquerade +And know who languishes with secret wounds. +They whom the brunt of war has maimed in limb, +Who lean on crutches to sustain their weight, +Are manifest to all; and reverence +For their misfortunes kindly gains them place: +But wounds, sometimes more deep and dangerous, +We may in careless jostle through the crowd, +Gall and oppress, because to us unknown. +Then, howsoever by our needs impelled, +Let us resolve to move in gentleness; +Judge mildly when we doubt; and pause awhile +Before injustice palpably proclaimed +Ere we let fall the judgment stroke: against +Their ignominious craft, who ever wait +To filch another's right, we will maintain +Majestic peace in silence; knowing well +Their craft takes something richer from themselves. +It is but seemly to respect the great; +But never let us fail toward lowly ones; +Respecting more, in that they lack the force +To claim it of the world. For souls there are +Of poor capacities, whose purpose holds, +Throughout their unregarded lives, a worth, +And earnest law of fixed integrity, +That were an honour even unto those +Whose genius marks the boundaries of our race. + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + +LOVE. + + +Love comes divinely, gladdening mortal life, +As sunrise dawns upon the gaze of one +Bewildered in some outland waste, and lost: +Who, lonely faint and shuddering, through the night +Heard savage creatures nigh; and far-off moan +Of tempests on the wind. + + Auroral joy +Flushes the brow of childhood, warms his cheek +To rosier redness at the name of Love; +And earlier thoughts awake in darkness strive; +As unfledged nestlings move their sightless heads +At sound, toward a fair world to them unknown. +Young Hope scales azure mountain heights to gaze, +In Love's first golden and delicious dream. +He sees the earth a maze of tempting paths, +For blissful sauntering mid the crowded flowers +And music of the rills. No ambushed wrongs, +Or thwarting storms there baffle and surprise; +But lingering, man treads long an odorous way; +And at the close, with Love clasped hand in hand, +Sets in proud glory: thence to rise anon +With Love beyond the stars and rest in heaven. + + Man, nerved by Love, can steadily endure +Clash of opposing interests; perplexed web +Of crosses that distracting clog advance: +In thickest storm of contest waxes stronger +At momentary thought of home, of her, +His gracious wife, and bright-faced joys. + + To him +The wrinkled patriarch, who sits and suns +His shrunken form beneath the boughs he climbed +A lissom boy, whence comes that brooding smile, +Whose secret lifts his cheeks, and overflows +His sight with tender dew? What through his frame +Melts languor sweeter than approaching sleep +To one made weary by a hard day's toil? +It is the memory of primal love, +Whose visionary splendour steeped his life +In hues of heaven; and which grown open day, +Revealing perilous falls, his steps confined +Within the pathways to the noblest end. +Now following this dimmed glory, tired, his soul +Haunts ever the mysterious gates of Death; +And waits in patient reverence till his doom +Unfolding them fulfils immortal Love. + + As from some height, on a wild day of cloud, +A wanderer, chilled and worn, perchance beholds +Move toward him through the landscape soaked in gloom +A golden beam of light; creating lakes, +And verdant pasture, farms, and villages; +And touching spires atop to flickering flame; +Disclosing herds of sober feeding kine; +And brightening on its way the woods to song; +As he, that wanderer, brightens when the shaft +Suddenly falls on him. A moment warmed, +He scarcely feels its loveliness before +The light departing leaves his saddened soul +More cold than ere it came. + Thus love once shone +And blessed my life: so vanished into gloom. + + +I. MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. + + +I love My Lady; she is very fair; +Her brow is wan, and bound by simple hair: + Her spirit sits aloof, and high, + But glances from her tender eye + In sweetness droopingly. + +As a young forest while the wind drives through, +My life is stirred when she breaks on my view; + Her beauty grants my will no choice + But silent awe, till she rejoice + My longing with her voice. + +Her warbling voice, though ever low and mild, +Oft makes me feel as strong wine would a child: + And though her hand be airy light + Of touch, it moves me with its might, + As would a sudden fright. + +A hawk high poised in air, whose nerved wing-tips +Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips, + In vigilance, hangs less intense + Than I, when her voice holds my sense + Contented in suspense. + +Her mention of a thing, august or poor, +Makes it far nobler than it was before: + As where the sun strikes life will gush, + And what is pale receive a flush, + Rich hues, a richer blush. + +My Lady's name, when I hear strangers use, +Not meaning her, sounds to me lax misuse; + I love none but My Lady's name; + Maud, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the same, + Are harsh, or blank and tame. + +My Lady walks as I have seen a swan +Swim where a glory on the water shone: + There ends of willow branches ride, + Quivering in the flowing tide, + By the deep river's side. + +Fresh beauties, howsoe'er she moves, are stirred: +As the sunned bosom of a humming bird + At each pant lifts some fiery hue, + Fierce gold, bewildering green or blue; + The same, yet ever new. + +What time she walks beneath the flowering May, +Quite sure am I the scented blossoms say, + "O Lady with the sunlit hair! + Stay and drink our odorous air, + The incense that we bear: + +"Thy beauty, Lady, we would ever shade; +For near to thee, our sweetness might not fade." + And could the trees be broken-hearted, + The green sap surely must have smarted, + When my Lady parted. + +How beautiful she is! A glorious gem +She shines above the summer diadem + Of flowers! And when her light is seen + Among them, all in reverence lean + To her, their tending Queen. + +A man so poor that want assaults his health, +Blessed with relief one morn in boundless wealth, + Breathes no such joy as mine, when she + Stands statelier, expecting me, + Than tall white lilies be: + +And the white flutter of her robe to trace, +Where clematis and jasmine interlace, + Expands my gaze triumphantly: + Even such his gaze, who sees on high + His flag, for victory. + +We wander forth unconsciously, because +The azure beauty of the evening draws; + When sober hues pervade the ground, + And universal life is drowned + Into hushed depths of sound. + +We thread a copse where frequent bramble spray +With loose obtrusion from the side roots stray, + And force sweet pauses on our walk; + I lift one with my foot, and talk + About its leaves and stalk. + +Or maybe that some thorn or prickly stem +Will take a prisoner her long garments' hem; + To disentangle it I kneel, + Oft wounding more than I can heal; + It makes her laugh, my zeal. + +Or on before a thin-legged robin hops, +And leaping on a twig, he pertly stops, + Speaking a few clear notes, till nigh + We draw, when briskly he will fly + Into a bush close by. + +A flock of goldfinches arrest their flight, +And wheeling round a birchen tree alight + Deep in its glittering leaves; and stay + Till scared at our approach, when they + Strike with vexed trills away. + +I recollect My Lady in the wood, +Keeping her breath, while peering as she stood + There, balanced lightly on tiptoe, + To mark a nest built snug below, + Leaves shadowing her brow. + +I recollect her puzzled, asking me, +What that strange tapping in the wood might be? + I told of gourmand thrushes, which, + To feast on morsels oosy rich, + Cracked poor snails' curling niche. + +And then, as knight led captive, in romance, +Through postern and dark passage, past grim glance + Of arms; where from throned state the dame + He loved, in sumptuous blushes came + To him held dumb for shame: + +Even so my spirit passed, and won, through fears +That trembled nigh despair; through foolish tears, + And hope fallen weak in breathless flight, + Where beamed in pure entrancing light + Love's beauty on my sight. + +For when we reached a hollow, where the stone +And scattered fragments of the shells lay strown, + By margin of a weedy rill; + "This air," she said, "feels damp and chill, + We'll go home if you will." + +"Make not my pathway dull so soon," I cried; +"See how yon clouds of rosy eventide + Roll out their splendour: while the breeze + Shifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these + Lithe saplings move at ease!" + +Grateful, in her deep silence, one loud thrush +Startled the air with song; then every bush + Of covert songsters all awoke, + And all, as to their leader's stroke, + Into full chorus broke. + +A lonely wind sighed up the pines, and sung +Of woes long past, forgot. My spirit hung + O'er awful gulfs: and loathly dread + So bitter was I wished me dead, + And from a great void said; + +"Wait till its glory fade; the sun but burned +To light your loveliness!" The Lady turned + To me, flushed by its lingering rays, + Mute as a star. My frantic praise + Fixed wide her brightened gaze: + +When, rapt in resolution, I told all +The mighty love I bore her; how would pall + My very breath of life, if she + For ever breathed not hers with me:-- + Could I a spirit be, + +How, vainly hoping to enrich her grace, +What gems and wonders would I snatch from space; + Would back through the vague distance beat, + Glowing with joy her smile to meet, + And heap them round her feet! + +Her waist shook to my arm. She bowed her head +To mine in silence, and my fears had fled: + (Just then we heard a tolling bell.) + Ah no; it is not right to tell; + But I remember well + +How dear the pressure of her warm young breast +Against my own, her home; how proud and blessed + I stood and felt her trickling tears, + While proudly murmuring in her ears + The hope of distant years. + +The rest I keep: a holy charm, a source +Of secret strength and comfort on my course. + Her glory left my pathway bright; + And stars on stars throughout the night + Came blooming into light. + + +II. DAWN. + + +O lily with the heavenly sun + Shining upon thy breast! +My scattered passions toward thee run, + And poise to awful rest. + +The darkness of our universe + Smothered my soul in night; +Thy glory shone; whereat the curse + Passed molten into light. + +Raised over envy; freed from pain; + Beyond the storms of chance: +Blessed king of my own world I reign, + Controlling circumstance. + + +III. NOON. + + +Warble, warble, warble, O thou joyful bird! +Warble, lost in leaves that shade my happy head; +Warble loud delights, laud thy warm-breasted mate, +And warbling shout the riot of thy heart, +Thine utmost rapture cannot equal mine. + + Flutter, flutter, and flash; crimson-winged flower, +Parted from thy stem grown in land of dreams! +Hover and tremble, flitting till thou findest, +Butterfly, thy treasure! Yet thou never canst +Find treasure rich as my contented rest. + + Hum on contentedly, thou wandering bee! +Or pausing in chosen flowers drain their sweets; +From honeyed petal thou canst never sip +The sweetest sweet of sweets, as I from Love,-- +From Love's warm mouth draw sweetest sweet of sweets. + + Round, western wind, in grateful eddies sway, +Whisper deliciously the trembling flowers: +O could I fill thy vacancy as I +Am filled with happiness, thou'dst breathe such sounds +Their blooms should wane and waver sick for love; +Thou'dst utter rarer secrets than are blown +With yonder bean-fields' paradisal scents;-- +These bean-field odours, lightly sweet and faint, +That tell of pastures sloping down to streams +Murmuring for ever on through sunny lands; +Where mountains gleam and bank to silvery heights +That scarce the greatest angel's wing can reach; +Where wondrous creatures float beneath the shade +Of growths sublime, unknown to mortal race; +Where hazes opaline lie tranced in dreams, +Where melodies are heard and die at will, +And little spirits make hot love to flowers. + + Though broadly flaming, plain of yellow blossom, +A dazzling blaze of splendour in the noon! +And brightening open heaven, ye shining clouds, +With lustrous light that casts the azure dim! +Your radiance all united to the sun's +Were darkness to that glory born in me. + + For Love's own voice has owned her love is mine; +And Love's own palm has pressed my palm to hers; +Love's own deep eyes have looked the love she spoke: +And Love's young heart to mine was fondly beating +As from her lips I sucked the sweet of life. + + +IV. NIGHT. + + +What trite old folly unharmonious sages +In dull books write or prattle day by day, +Of sin original and growing crime! +And commentating the advance of time, +Say wrong has fostered wrong for countless ages, +The strong ones marking down the weak for prey. + +They bruit of wars--that thunder heard in dreams; +Huge insurrections, and dynastic changes +Resolved in blood. I marvel they of thought +By apprehensions are so often wrought +To state as fact what unto all men seems, +Who watch cloud-struggles blown through stormy ranges! + +Why fill they not with love the printed page, +Illuminating, as yon moon the night, +Serenely shining on a world of beauty, +Where love moves ever hand in hand with duty; +And life, a long aspiring pilgrimage, +Makes labour but a pastime of delight! + +It was delightfulness to him I found +Whistling this afternoon behind his team, +That stepped an easy comfortable pace; +While off the mould-iron curved in rolling grace +Dark earth, wave lapping wave, without a sound; +And all passed by me blissful, like a dream. + +And those I noticed hoeing on the hill +Talking familiarly of homely things, +A daughter's marriage-day, a son's first child; +How the good Squire at length was reconciled, +Had overlooked the pheasant shot by Will:-- +Chirruping on as any cricket sings. + +And that complete Arcadian pastoral, +The piping boy who watched his feeding sheep; +And, as a little bird o'erflows with joy, +Piped on for hours my happy shepherd boy! +While, coiled below, his faithful animal +Basked in the sunshine, blinking, half asleep. + +This silent night-wind bloweth heavenly pure; +Like dimpled warmth of an infantine face. +Lo, glimmering starlike in yon balmy vale +The village lights; each tells a little tale +Of humble comfort, where its inmates, sure +In hope, feel grateful in their lowly place. + +And here My Lady's lighted oriel shines +A giant glowworm in the odorous gloom. +Ah, stands she smiling there in loose white gown, +Hearing the music of her future drown +The stillness and hushed whispering of the vines, +Whose lattice-clasping leaves o'ershade her room! + +Or kneels she worshipful beside her bed +In large-eyed hope and bended lowliness, +To crave that He, the Giver, may impart +Enough of strength to bind her trembling heart +Steadfast and true; and that her will be led +To own His chastening cares pain but to bless? + +Or sits she at her mirror, face to face +With her own loveliness? (O blessed land +That owns such twin perfections both together; +If guessed aright!) Ah, me; I wonder whether +She now her braided opulent hair unlace +And drop it billowing from her moonwhite hand! + +Then what a fount of wealth to lover's sight! +Her loosened hair, I heard her mother say, +When she is seated, tumbles to the floor +And trails the length of her own foot and more: +And dare I, lapt in bliss, dream my delight +Ere long shall watch its rippling softness play? + +Dare I, O vanity! but do I dare +Think she now looks upon the sorry rhyme +I wrote long ere that well-loved setting sun, +What time love conquering dread My Lady won, +While I unblessed, adored in mute despair:-- +Even now I gave it her at parting time. + +"O let me, Dearest, fall and once impart +My grieving love to ease this stricken heart; + But once, O Love, to fall and rest + This wearied head of mine, + But once to weep in thine + Unutterably tender breast; +And on my drooping lids feel thy young breath; +To feel it playing sweeter were than death. + +"Than death were sweet to one bent down and old, +And worn with persecutions manifold; + Whose stoutness long endured alone + The charge of bitter foes, + Till, furious, he rose, + When smitten, all were overthrown. +Who then of those, his dearest, none could find, +They having fled as leaves before the wind. + +"As he would pass, when to his failing sight +Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright; + And piercing through his drowsed ears + Enters their tuneful cry + Of summons, audibly, + Thither where flow no mourners' tears: +So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed, +Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest." + +Her window now is darkness, save the sheen +Glazed on it by the moon. Within she lies +Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest, +And folds contentment babelike to her breast, +Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene, +Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies. + + +V. WILD ROSE. + + +To call My Lady where she stood +"A Wild-rose blossom of the wood," +Makes but a poor similitude. + +For who by such a sleight would reach +An aim, consumes the worth in speech, +And sets a crimson rose to bleach. + +My Love, whose store of household sense +Gives duty golden recompense, +And arms her goodness with defence: + +The sweet reliance of whose gaze +Originates in gracious ways, +And wins the trust that trust repays: + +Whose stately figure's varying grace +Is never seen unless her face +Turn beaming toward another place; + +For such a halo round it glows +Surprised attention only knows +A lively wonder in repose. + +Can flowers that breathe one little day +In odorous sweetness life away, +And wavering to the earth decay, + +Have any claim to rank with her, +Warmed in whose soul impulses stir, +Then bloom to goodness, and aver + +Her worth through spheral joys shall move +When suns and systems cease above, +And nothing lives but perfect Love? + + +VI. MY LADY'S GLORY. + + +Strong in the regal strength of love, + Enthroned by native worth + Her sway is held on earth: +Whose soul looks downward from above + Exalted stars, whose power + Brightens the brightest flower. + +Her beauty walks in happier grace + Than lightly moving fawns + O'er old elm-shadowed lawns. +A tenderness shows through her face, + And like the morning's glow, + Hints a full day below. + +When site looks wide around the skies + On the sun's dazzling track, + And when shines softly back +Its glory to her open eyes, + She fills our hearts and sight + With wonder and delight. + +And when tired thought my sense benumbs, + Or when past shadows roll + Their memories on my soul, +Oft breaking through the darkness comes + A solace and surprise, + Her wonder-lighted eyes. + +How grand and beautiful the love + She silently conceals, + Nor save in act reveals! +She broods o'er kindness; as a dove + Sits musing in the nest + Of the life beneath her breast. + +The ready freshness that was known + In man's authentic prime, + The earliest breath of time, +Throughout her household ways is shown; + Mild greatness subtly wrought + With quaint and childlike thought. + +She sits to music: fingers fall, + Air shakes; her lifted voice + Makes flattered hope rejoice, +And shivering through Time's phantom pall, + Its wavering rents display + Dim splendour, far away; + +Where her perfection, glory-crowned, + Shall rest in love for ever; + When mortal systems sever, +And the orbed universe is drowned, + Leaving the empty skies + The blank of death-closed eyes. + +Deep in this truth I root my trust; + And know the dear One's praise, + Her mutely gracious ways, +When all her loveliness is dust + And mosses rase her name, + Will bless our world the same. + +As scent of flowers her worth was born + Her joyous goodness spread + Like music over head, +Smiles now as smiles a plain of corn + When in the winds of June, + Lit by a shining noon. + +A gap of sunlight in the storm; + A blossom ere the spring; + Immortal whispering; +A spirit manifest through form + Which we can touch and kiss,-- + To life such beauty is. + +Ah! who can doubt, though he may doubt + Our solid earth will run + A future round the sun, +That gentle impulse given out + Can never fail or die, + But throbs eternally! + + +VII. HER SHADOW. + + +At matin time where creepers interlace +We sauntered slowly, for we loved the place, +And talked of passing things; I, pleased to trace +Through leafy mimicry the true leaves made, +The stateliness and beauty of her shade; + +A wavering of strange purples dimly seen, +It gloomed the daisy's light, the kingcup's sheen, +And drank up sunshine from the vital green. +That silent shadow moving on the grass +Struck me with terror it should ever pass + +And be blank nothing in the coming years +Where, in the dreadful shadow of my fears, +Her shrouded form I saw through blurring tears, +My Darling's shrouded form in beauty's bloom +Born with funereal sadness to her tomb. + +"What idle dreaming," I abruptly cried: +My Lady turned, half startled, at my side, +And looked inquiry: I, through shame or pride, +Bantered the words as mockery of sense, +Mere aimless freak of fostered indolence. + +She did not urge me; gentle, wise, and kind! +But clasped my hand and talked: her beaming mind +Arrayed in brightness all it touched. Behind, +Her shadow fell forgot, as she and I +Went homeward musing, smiling at the sky. + +Thro' pastures and thro' fields where corn grew strong; +By cottage nests that could not harbour wrong; +Across the bridge where laughed the stream; along +The road to where her gabled mansion stood, +Old, tall, and spacious, in a massy wood. + +We loitered toward the porch; but paused meanwhile +Where Psyche holds a dial to beguile +The hours of sunshine by her golden smile; +And holds it like a goblet brimmed with wine, +Nigh clad in trails of tangled eglantine. + +In the deep peacefulness which shone around +My soul was soothed: no darksome vision frowned +Before my sight while cast upon the ground +Where Psyche's and My Lady's shadows lay, +Twin graces on the flower-edged gravel way. + +I then but yearned for Titian's glorious power, +That I by toiling one devoted hour, +Might check the march of Time, and leave a dower +Of rich delight that beauty I could see, +For broadening generations yet to be. + + +VIII. HER GARDEN. + + +The wind that's good for neither man nor beast +Weeks long incessant from the blighting East +Drove gloom and havoc through the land and ceased. +When swaying mildly over wide Atlantic seas, +Bland and dewy soft streamed the Western breeze. + +In walking forth, I felt with vague alarm, +Closer than wont her pressure on my arm, +As through morn's fragrant air we sought what harm +That Eastern wind's despite had done the garden growth; +Where much lay dead or languished low for drouth. + +Her own parterre was bounded by a red +Old buttressed wall of brick, moss-broidered; +Where grew mid pink and azure plots a bed +Of shining lilies intermixed in wondrous light; +She called them "Radiant spirits robed in white." + +Here the mad gale had rioted and thrown +Far drifts of snowy petals, fiercely blown +The stalks in twisted heaps: one flower alone +Yet hung and lit the waste, the latest blossom born +Among its fallen kinsmen left forlorn. + +"Thy pallid droop," cried I, "but more than all, +Thy lonely sweetness takes my soul in thrall, +O Seraph Lily Blanch! so stately tall: +By violets adored, regarded by the rose, +Well loved by every gentle flower that blows!" + +My Lady dovelike to the lily went, +Took in curved palms a cup, and forward leant, +Deep draining to the gold its dreamy scent. +I see her now, pale beauty, as she bending stands, +The wind-worn blossom resting in her hands! + +Then slowly rising, she in gazing trance +Affrayed, long pored on vacancy. A glance +Of chilly splendour tinged her countenance +And told the saddened truth, that stress of blighting weather, +Had made her lilies and My Lady droop together. + + +IX. TOLLING BELL. + + +"Weak, but her spirits good," the letter said: +A bell was tolling, while these words I read, +A dull sepulchral summons for the dead. + Fear grew in every pace I strode + Hurrying on that endless road. + +And when I reached the house a terror came +That wrought in me a hidden sense of blame, +And entering I scarce dared to speak her name, + Who lay, sweet singer, warbling low + Rhymes I made her long ago. + + "The sun exhales the morning dew, + The dew returns again + At eve refreshing rain: + The forest flowers bloom bravely new, + They drooping fade and die, + The seeds that in them lie + Will blossom as the others blew." + + "And ever rove among the flowers + Bright children who ere long + Are men and women strong: + When on they pass through sun and showers, + And glancing sideways watch + Their children run to catch + A rainbow with the laughing Hours." + +I watched in awkward wonder for a time +As there she listless lay and sang my rhyme, +Wrapped up in fabrics of an Indian clime + She seemed a Bird of Paradise + Languid from the traversed skies. + +A dawn-bright snowy peak her smile . . . Strange I +Should dawdle near her grace admiringly, +When love alarmed and challenged sympathy, + Announced in chills of creeping fear + Danger surely threatening near. + +I shrank from searching the abyss I felt +Yawned by; whose verge voluptuous blossoms belt +With dazzling hues:--she speaks! I fall and melt, + One sacred moment drawn to rest, + Deeply weeping in her breast: + +Within the throbbing treasure wept? But brief +Those loosening tears of blessed deep relief, +That won triumphant ransom from my grief, + While loving words and comfort she + Breathed in angel tones to me. + +Our visions met, when pityingly she flung +Her passionate arms about me, kissing clung, +Close kisses, stifling kisses; till each wrung, + With welded mouths, the other's bliss + Out in one long sighing kiss. + +Love-flower that burst in kisses and sweet tears, +Scattering its roseate dreamflakes, disappears +Into cold truth: for, loud with brazen jeers, + That bell's toll, clanging in my brain, + Beat me, loth, to earth again: + +Where, looking on my Love's endangered state, +Wrought by keen anguish mad, I struck at fate, +Prostrating mockingly in sport or hate + The aspirations, darkling, we + Cherish and resolve to be. + +She spoke, but sharply checked; then as her zone +A lady's hands would clasp, My Lady's own +Pressed at her yielding side; her solemn tone + And forward eager face implored + Me to kneel where she adored. + +Despite her pain, with tender woman's phrase +She solaced me, whose part it was to raise +Anew the gladness to her weakened gaze, + And wisely in man's firmness be + To my drooping vine a tree. + +But no; sunk, dwindled, dwarfed, and mean, beside +Her couch I sitting saw her eyes grow wide +With awe, and heard her voice move as the tide + Of steady music rich and calm + In some high cathedral psalm. + +Then, as that high cathedral psalm o'erflows +The dusky, vaulted aisles, and slowly grows +A burst of harmony the hearer knows, + Her voice assailed by rage, and I + Took its purport wonderingly. + +"Ah, pause for dread, before you charge in haste +The ways of fate; for how can those be traced +That in the life Omnipotent lie based? + Or earth-grown atom's bounded soul + Grasp the universal whole? + +"The more he chafes, the worse his fetter galls +The luckless captive closed in dungeon walls, +And fighting chains and stones, he fighting falls. + Nor will that wasteful immolation + Touch his lofty victor's station. + +"Woe be to him perverse, who, weak and blind, +In pride refusing to behold, shall find +The ponderous roll of circumstance will grind + His steps; and if he turn not, must + Bruise and crush him into dust. + +"We are the Lord's, not ours, His angels sing; +So you, mine own, bow meekly to your King, +And striving hard and long His grace will bring: + His voice shall through the battle cry, + When the strife is raging high." + +She fluttering paused: awhile her surging zeal +All utterance overwhelmed to mute appeal: +I felt as men who fallen in battle feel, + When far their chief's sword, like a gem, + Points to glory not for them. + +"When naked heaven is azure to your eyes, +And light shines everywhere, you can be wise; +But, when its storms in common course arise, + To you the wind but sobs and grieves + Wailing with the streaming leaves. + +"Rust eats the steel, and moths corrupt the cloth, +And peevish doubts destroy the soul that's loth +To strive for duty, merged in shameful sloth, + And lolls a weary wretch forlorn, + While men reap the mellow corn. + +"It is not man's to dream in sweet repose; +He toils and murmurs, as he wondering goes, +Poor changeful glitter on the stream that flows + In lapses huge and solemn roar, + Ever on without a shore. + +"The plantlet grown in darkness puts forth spray; +Through loaded gloom yearns feebly toward some ray +Of bounty golden from the outer day + That shines eternally sublime + On the dancing motes of time." + +The music stopped, and passed into a smile +Of tenderness, which she impressed to guile +Her pain from me: I gazed as one awhile + Escaped, who sees twin rainbows shine + O'er his wrecked ship gulfed in brine. + +My lost soul sank adown in soundless seas +To ruined heaps besprent with ancient lees +Of wealth: by soft stupendous ocean-trees; + By anchors forged in early time, + Changed to trails of rusted slime: + +To where, what seemed a tomb, in this deep hell +Of night, bore a dim name I dread to tell: +And there I heard sound some gigantic bell, + Whose thunder laughing through my brain + Mocked me back to flesh again. + +Here all was emptier than the empty shade +Of mist before a midnight moon decayed: +Here life was strange as death, and more dismayed + My spirit, now scarce conscious she + Urged entreaty yet to me. + +"'Tis life in life to know the King is just, +And will not animate his helpless dust +With fire unquenchable whose ardour must + Achieve majestic deeds that raise + Universal shouts of praise: + +"Shouts of acclaim that gather into story, +Chanted by one on some high promontory +Who glowing in the dawn's advancing glory, + Far down upon the listening crowd + Shines through swathes of lingering cloud: + +"And fires, by what he sings, to noble feud +With grosser instincts, the charged multitude, +That grow in temper and similitude + To those great souls whose victories + Triumph still in melodies: + +"This fire will not be granted to distress, +To fail in cold dead ash and bitterness: +He will not grant true love that yearns to bless + The world, that it may only sigh + Back into itself and die." + +The words here faltering sank to undertone: +Her soul was murmuring to itself alone +On some wide desolation, dark, unknown; + Whose limits, stretched from mortal sight + Touch the happy hills of light. + +"I, toiling at the task assigned to me, +Am summoned from my labour suddenly: +The King recalls his handmaiden; and she + Submissively herself anoints, + Going whither He appoints. + +"The sheaves are garnered now, her work is done, +The day is waning, and she must be gone, +To bend herself before the Holy One, + And strictly her appointed meed + There accept in very deed." + +Dead silence, more than if a thunder-stroke +Had crashed the summer air, my sense awoke +To sudden apprehension: hard the yoke + Of misery was mine to bear; + Wrath-befooled, in my despair + +I went, and, leaning from the lattice, mused +On my immeasurable woe; accused +Heaven's King, that, like an earthly king, abused + His power omnipotent, and hurled + Curses broadcast on the world. + +Then glancing toward her danger thought, "A cell +Of noxious vapours this dull life; as well +She should escape: so pure! she scarce could dwell + With sinful creatures who alway + Stumbling take the stain of clay + +"But I unworthy! How in conscience I-- +How could I hazard guidance in her high +Cold path of duty leading to the sky! + As well hold torch to light a star + Shining, mystic, nebular. + +"She yearns to bless the world: just love for all +Best shows in love for one; love cannot fall +Like sunshine over half this wondrous ball, + But her impulses yearn to bless + All the world. Strange tenderness!" + +This shameful mockery of myself alone +Was interrupted by a sobbing moan +That brought me to her coach, where low mine own + Sweet Love lay swooning ashy white, + Eyelids closing from the light. + +Ah, coarse, hard, bitter, brutal self! A beast +In passion, nay far worse than such, to feast +On baseless anger against her whose least + Stray word was kind; her daily food + Interest in another's good. + +My passion then, like an unruly horse +Checked by a master's hand, fell slack; its force +Unnerved, and stifling me with hot remorse; + Frightened, despairing, "Love," I cried, + Wildly busy at her side; + +And kissed and chafed her brow; I chafed her hand; +Audacious grown with fear, released the band +That clasped her tender waist, and keenly scanned + Each feature, till her opening eyes + Met my own in bright surprise + +"Ah you! I had from you passed and the world +Through endless nothing rudely was I hurled +While you there hung above, your proud lip curled, + Regarding me with piercing hate + Crying I deserved my fate." + +We met each other, as when waters meet +In long continued shock, and muttering, sweet +Confusion mixed in unity complete + That changing time may not dissever; + One in love and one for ever. + +Purged by remorse, love knit my strength; and now +Came gracious power to still upon her brow +Those troubled waves of some dark underflow; + Her soul victorious over pain + Spoke in golden smiles again. + +We sat and read how Prospero closed his strife +With evil, wrought his charm, and crowned his life +In making two fair beings man and wife: + Of brave Count Gismond's happy lot; + And the Lady of Shalott. + +We ceased; for eve had come by dusky stealth. +I saw, while lifting her, like crimson health +Burn in her cheeks, holding the weighted wealth + Of all the worlds in heaven to me; + Held her long, long, lingeringly: + +And laying down more than my life, her weight; +Scarce kissed her pallid hands, then moved with great +Reluctance, bodeful, from her placid state; + But, ere my slow feet reached the door, + Turned and caught one last look more, + +And awe-struck stood to see portentous loom +From her large eyes full gazing through the gloom +Love darkly wedded to eternal doom, + As she were gazing from the dead: + Falling at her feet I said, + +"Bless me, dear Love, bless me before I go; +With love divine a beam of comfort throw, +For guidance and support, that I through woe + Be raised and purified in grace + Worthy to behold your face." + +She bowed her head in stately tenderness +Low whispering as her hands my brow did press, +"I pray that He will your lone spirit bless, + And if to leave you be my fate, + Pray you for me while I wait." + +A useless pang in her no more to wake, +I forced myself away, nor dared to take +Another look for her beloved sake; + My face had told of the distressed + Swollen heart labouring in my breast. + +When in the outer air, I felt as one +Fresh startled from a dream, wherein the sun +Had dying left the earth a dingy, dun + Annihilation. The nightjar + Only thrilled the air afar: + +No other sound was there: a muffled breeze +Crept in the shrubs, and shuddered up the trees, +Then sought the ghost-white vapour of the leas, + Where one long sheet of dismal cloud + Swathed the distance in a shroud. + +A solitary eye of cold stern light +Stared threateningly beyond the Western height, +Wrapped in the closing shadows of the night; + And all the peaceful earth had slept + But that eye stern vigil kept. + +I wandered wearily I knew not where; +Up windy downs far-stretching, bleak and bare; +Through swamps that soddened under stagnant air; + In blackest woods and brambled mesh, + Thorny bushes tore my flesh: + +Amid the ripening corn I heard it sigh, +Hollow and sad, as night crawled sluggishly: +Hollow and sadly sighed the corn while I + Moved darkly in the midst, a blight + Darkening more the hateful night. + +My soul its hoarded secrets emptied on +The vaulted gloom of night: old fancies shone, +And consecrated ancient hopes long gone; + Old hopes that long had ceased to burn, + Gone, and never to return. + +No starlight pierced the dense vault over head, +And all I loved was passing or had fled: +So on I wandered where the pathway led; + And wandered till my own abode + Spectral pale rose from the road. + +What time I gained my home I saw the morn +Made dimly on the sullen East. Wayworn +I went into the echoing house forlorn, + Heartsick and weary sought my room, + Better had it been my tomb. + +I lay, and ever as my lids would close +In dull forgetfulness to slumberous doze, +Lone sounds of phantom tolling scared repose; + Till wearied nature, sore oppressed, + Slowly sank and dropped to rest. + + +X. WILL-O'-THE-WISP. + + + "Gone the sickness, fled the pain, + Health comes bounding back again, +And all my pulses tingle for delight. + Together what a pleasant thing + To ramble while the blackbirds sing, +And pasture lands are sparkling dewy bright! + + "Soon will come the clear spring weather, + Hand in hand we'll roam together, +And hand in hand will talk of springs to come; + As on the morning when you played + The necromancer with my shade, +In senseless shadow gazing darkly dumb. + + "Cast away that cloudy care, + Or, I vow, in my parterre +You shall not enter when the lilies blow, + And I go there to stand and sing + Songs to the heaven-white wondrous ring; +Sir Would-be-Wizard of the crumpled brow!" + + +XI. GIVEN OVER. + + + The men of learning say she must +Soon pass and be as if she had not been. + To gratify the barren lust +Of Death, the roses in her cheeks are seen +To blush so brightly, blooming deeper damascene. + + All hope and doubt, all fears are vain: +The dreams I nursed of honouring her are past, + And will not comfort me again. +I see a lurid sunlight throw its last +Wild gleam athwart the land whose shadows lengthen fast. + + It does not seem so dreadful now +The horror stands out naked, stark, and still: + I am quite calm, and wonder how +My terror played such mad pranks with my will. +The North winds fiercely blow, I do not feel them chill. + + All things must die: somewhere I read +What wise and solemn men pronounce of joy; + No sooner born, they say, than dead: +The strife of being, but a whirling toy +Humming a weary moan spun by capricious boy. + + Has my soul reached a starry height +Majestically calm? No monster, drear + And shapeless, glares me faint at night; +I am not in the sunshine checked for fear +That monstrous shapeless thing is somewhere crouching near? + + No; woe is me! far otherwise: +The naked horror numbs me to the bone; + In stupor calm its cold blank eyes +Set hard at mine. I do not fall or groan, +Our island Gorgon's face had changed me into stone. + + +XII. STORM. + + +Now thickening round the shrunken baseless sky, + Sullen vapours crawl +Climbing to masses, tumbled heavily + Grim in giant sprawl, +That smother up domed heaven's scud-fleckered height +And form like mortal armies ranged for fight. + +This lighted gloom spreads ghastly on the land; + Sheep do crowd; and herds +Collecting, bellow pitifully bland. + Quiet are the birds +In ghostly trees that shiver not a sound: +And leaves decayed drop straight unto the ground. + +Drearily solemn runs a monotone, + Heard through breathless hush, +Swollen torrents hissing far in lavish moan, + Foamed with headlong rush, +Sob on protesting, toward annihilation, +Their solitary dismal lamentation. + +This gloom has sucked all interest from the scene, + Now changed wrathful grey: +Familiar things, that staring plain had been, + Fade in mists away: +At ambush, watching from its stormy lair, +Some danger hovering loads the stagnant air. + +It serves to little purpose I may know + That electric law +Whereby the jagged glare and thunder-blow + Latent impulse draw; +No less my danger. Ha! that lightning flash +Proclaims in fire the coming thunder-crash. + +But what care I though deluges down pour + Beating earth to mire, +Though heaven shattering with the thunder's roar + Scorcheth now in fire, +Though every planet molten from its place +Should trickle lost through everlasting space; + +For this blank prospect, void of all but dread, + Void as any tomb, +My soul has left; and by a lonely bed, + In a girl's sick room, +Hangs there expectant of her parting breath, +The silent voice of doom, the stroke of death. + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + +I. MY LADY IN DEATH. + + +All is but coloured show. I look + Into the green light shed + By leaves above my head, +And feel its inmost worth forsook + My being, when she died. + This heart, now hot and dried, +Halts, as the parched course where a brook + Mid flowers was wont to flow, + Because her life is now +No more than stories in a printed book. + +Grass thickens proudly o'er that breast, + Clay-cold and sadly still, + My happy face felt thrill. +How much her dear, dear mouth expressed! + And now are closed and set + Lips which my own have met! +Her eyelids by the damp earth pressed! + Damp earth weighs on her eyes; + Damp earth shuts out the skies. +My Lady rests her heavy, heavy rest. + +To see her high perfection sweep + The favoured earth, as she + With welcoming palms met me! +How can I but recall and weep? + Her hands' light charm was such, + Care vanished at their touch. +Her feet spared little things that creep; + "For stars are not," she'd say, + "More wonderful than they." +And now she sleeps her heavy, heavy sleep. + +Immortal hope shone on that brow, + Above whose waning forms + Go softly real worms. +Surely it was a cruel blow + Which cut my Darling's life + Sharply, as with a knife; +I hate my own that lets me grow + As grows a bitter root + From which rank poisons shoot +Upon the grave where she is lying low. + +Ah, hapless fate! Could it be just, + That her young life should play + Its easy, natural way; +Then, with an unexpected thrust, + Be hence thus rudely sent; + Even as her feelings blent +With those around, whose love would trust + Her willing power to bless, + For all their happiness? +Alone she moulders into common dust. + +Small birds twitter and peck the weeds + That wave above this bed + Where my dear Love lies dead: +They flutter and burst the globed seeds, + And beat the downy pride + Of dandelions, wide: +From speargrass, bowed with watery beads, + The wet uniting, drips + In sparkles off the tips: +In mallow bloom the wild bee drops and feeds. + +No more she hears, where vines adorn + Her window, on the boughs + Birds chirrup an arouse: +Flies, buzzing, strengthening with the morn, + She will not hear again + At random strike the pane: +No more against the newly shorn + Grass edges will her gown + In playful waves be thrown, +As she walks forth to view what flowers are born. + +Nor ponder more those dark green rings + Stained quaintly on the lea, + To picture elfin glee; +While through the grass a faint air sings, + And swarms of insects revel + Along the sultry level: +No more will watch their brilliant wings, + Now lightly dip, now soar, + Then sink, and rise once more. +My Lady's death makes dear these trivial things. + +One noon, within an oak's broad shade, + Lost in delightful talk, + We rested from our walk. +Beyond the shadow, large and staid, + Cows chewed with drowsy eye + Their cud complacently: +Elegant deer walked o'er the glade, + Or stood with wide bright eyes + Gazing a short surprise; +And up the fern slope nimble conies played. + +As rooks cawed labouring through the heat; + Each wing-flap seemed to make + Their weary bodies ache; +And swallows, though so wildly fleet, + Made breathless pauses there + At something in the air. +All disappeared: our pulses beat + Distincter throbs, and each + Turned and kissed without speech, +She trembling from her mouth down to her feet. + +Then, as I felt her bosom heave, + And listened to the din + Of joyous life within, +Could I but in my heaven believe, + Assured by that repose + Within my heart, and those +Warm arms around my neck! While eve + In shadowy silence came + And quenched the Western flame, +That lingered round her as if loth to leave. + +Then told I in a whispered tone + Of that approaching time, + When merry peal and chime +Of marriage ringing should make known, + In crashes through the air + Exultingly we were +By solemn rite each other's own: + And she, confiding, meek, + Against mine pressed her cheek, +And gave response in happy tears alone. + +No heed of time took we, because + Those clanging bells had quite + Absorbed us in delight. +A happiness so perfect awes + The failing pulse and breath, + Like the mute doom of death: +Then, in an instantaneous pause + Flashed on my vacant eye + A swift Eternity; +And starting, as if clutched by demon-claws, + +Awakened from a dizzy swoon, + I felt appalling fears + With ringings in my ears, +And wondered why the glaring moon + Swung round the dome of night + With such stupendous might. +Next came, like the sweet air of June, + A treacherous calm suspense + That bred a loathly sense, +Some nameless ill would overwhelm us soon. + +She passed like summer flowers away. + Her aspect and her voice + Will never more rejoice, +For she lies hushed in cold decay. + Broken the golden bowl + Which held her hallowed soul: +It was an idle boast to say + "Our souls are as the same," + And stings me now to shame: +Her spirit went, and mine did not obey. + +The black truth, with a fiery dart, + Went hurtling through my thought, + When I beheld her brought +Whence she with life did not depart. + Her beauty by degrees + Sank, sharpened from disease: +The heavy sinking at her heart + Sucked hollows in her cheek, + And made her eyelids weak, +Though oft they opened wide with sudden start. + +The Deathly Power in silence drew + My Lady's life away. + I watched, dumb for dismay, +The shock of thrills that quivered through + Her wasted frame, and shook + The meaning in her look, +As near, more near, the moment grew. + O horrible suspense! + O giddy impotence! +I saw her features lax, and change their hue. + +Her gaze, grown large with fate, was cast + Where my mute agonies + Made sadder her sad eyes: +Her breath caught with short plucks and fast, + Then one hot choking strain; + She never breathed again. +I had the look which was her last: + Her love, when breath was gone, + One moment lingering shone, +Then slowly closed, and hope for ever passed. + +A dreadful tremour ran through space + When first the mournful toll + Rang for My Lady's soul. +The shining world was hell; her grace + Only the flattering gleam + And mockery of a dream: +Oblivion struck me like a mace, + And as a tree that's hewn + I dropped, in a dead swoon, +And lay a long time cold upon my face. + +Earth had one quarter turned before + My miserable fate + Pressed down with its whole weight. +My sense came back; and shivering o'er + I felt a pain to bear + The sun's keen cruel glare, +Which shone not warm as heretofore; + And never more its rays + Will satisfy my gaze: +No more; no more; O, never any more. + + +II. DAY DREAM. + + +What art thou whispering lowly to thy babe, +O wan girl-mother, with Madonna lids +Downcast? Why pressest thou so close his pale +Geranium cheek to thy yet whiter breast? +Ah, doubtless sweet; to feel him draw the stream +That fills with strength his lily limbs! And laughs +Thine own heart with his deeply dimpled laughter, +Answering straight thy dainty finger's touch? +And understandeth he that murmurous moan, +Wherewith thou hushest, patting him to rest? + + What visions charm thy gaze, now resting wide +In settled sweet content? Beholdest thou +Thy babe, now sprung a man, walk sunhazed slopes +With one lovelier than visions; lovely as +The truth, O Love, when thou dost smile on me? +Or seest thou him still greater grown in might, +And stout of action marching on to reach +That changeful coloured flag, whose waving crests +The glittering heights of fame, for which men pant; +Unmindful there what tempests rage and sweep; +Alas; what dream has made that watery veil +Hide thine eye's light from mine; even as a mist +Passing between me and a harvest moon! +And whence this shadowy wall that baulks my gaze? +Why fadest thou, thyself, in mist, O Love? +Whither hath fled thy babe--and where art thou?-- +Where am I?--Is it life--a dream--or death? + + Ah me; alas, this crushing wretchedness! +And I a vainer fool than one who yearns +Clutching at rainbows spanned across the sky! +Ah, hope diseased! My spirit lured astray +By siren hope drifts hard by some dark fate: +And hope alternating despair has mixed +My life so long with charnelled death, that I +Can scarce resolve the present from my past, +Nor what might once have been from what is now. + + Ah, Dearest! shall I never see thy face +Again: not ever; never any more? +I know that fancy was but naught, and one +Born of past hope: I know thy earthly form +Is mouldering in its tomb; but yet, O Love, +Thy spirit must dwell somewhere in this waste +Of worlds, that fill the overwhelming heavens +With light and motion; that could never die; +And wilt thou not vouchsafe one beaming look +To ease a lonely heart that beats in pain +For loss of thee, and only thee, O Love? +Or hast thou found in that pure life thou livest +My soul was an unworthy choice for thine, +And therefore takest no count of its despair? +And yet, yea verily, thy love was true; +I would not wrong thee with another thought: +I would not enter at the gates of heaven +By thinking else than that thy love was true. +But I obtain no response to my cries, +Making within my soul all void, and cold, +And comfortless. + Ay, empty, as this grate, +Of life, wherefrom the fire has well nigh fled, +Leaving but chasmed ugliness and ruin: +And weak as faltering of these taper flames +Half sunken in their sockets, by whose gleam +I see, though faintly, where my books stand ranged +Most mute; though sometime eloquent to me; +And where my pictures hang with other forms +Instinct from what I know: where friends portrayed +Like ghosts loom on me from another world. +Then what remains, but, like a child worn out +With weeping, that I sink me down to rest, +To sleep, not dream--and if I could to die? + + +III. MY LADY'S VOICE FROM HEAVEN. + + +I had been sitting by her tomb + In torpor one dark night; +When fitful tremours shook the doom +Of cold lethargic settled gloom, + That weighed upon my sight: + +And while I sat, and sickly heaves + Disturbed my spirit's sloth, +A wind came, blown o'er distant sheaves, +That hissing, tore and lashed the leaves + And lashed the undergrowth: + +It roared and howled, it raged about + With some determined aim; +And storming up the night, brought out +The moon, that like a happy shout, + Called forth My Lady's name, + +In sudden splendour on the stone. + Then, for an instant, I +Snatched and heaped up my past, bestrown +With hopes and kisses, struggling moan, + And pangs: as suddenly, + +Oppressed with overwhelming weight, + Down fell the edifice; +When touched, as by the hand of Fate, +My gloom was gone. I felt my state + So light, I sobbed for bliss. + +The loud winds, spent in seeking rest, + Dropped dead. My fevered brow +Drank coolness from the grass it pressed; +And in my desolated breast + A change began to grow, + +While feeling those tears slowly drain + The load of grief which had +A sluggish curse within me lain, +Save when remembrance wrought my brain + For vivid moments mad. + +My tears, as treasures of a wreck + That in the ocean slept, +Recovered, ran without a check; +And earth was my good mother's neck + To which I clung and wept. + +I rose at length, and felt a dense + Benumbed dead weight. And now +The night air hung in deep suspense! +A singing hush that pressed my sense + And stunned me like a blow: + +Through my lids clenched the living air + In gold and purple rings +Danced musically round me there, +The light it held throbbed with the glare + And beat of rapid wings. + +Mine eyes I dared not try to raise; + My Lady's beamed on me +In fixed serenity of gaze, +And were what old sunshiny days + In childhood used to be. + +A gasping lapse; and I was whirled + Round the faint void of space; +In dizzy circles hugely hurled, +I saw the constellated world + With every orb embrace, + +To one stupendous vortex-light, + Spinning a fiery ram, +Then fail, struck out by sudden night; +When swung adown in headlong might, + Earth's touch shook through my brain. + +The dumb sound in mine ears was burst + By her portentous voice; +As sweet as death to one accursed, +As unto one near blind for thirst + A running water's noise. + +Her voice in some translucent star, + Remote, beyond my sight, +Was singing marvellously far; +And yet so strangely near to jar, + As jars too strong a light. + +She sang a song. She warbled low, + She did not sing in words; +I felt it in my spirit glow, +And knew it, as with joy I know + The morning shouts of birds. + +But hard the task I undertake, + With mortal tongue to reach +The utterance of my Love, and make +Her high immortal meaning break + To clearness through my speech! + +I can no more, with glimmering trope + That into darkness runs, +Reveal its depth, than they could hope, +Who on in lifelong blindness grope, + To sing of rising suns. + +"Or e'er that life my King had lent + Was lifted into rest, +His message through my lips He sent, +And on thy path His glory went + To guide thee to the blessed. + +"But thou didst turn thy face, and scorn + His grace divine as nought; +And set thy gaze to earth forlorn, +And rage at fate, till gaunt and worn, + Death mouldered in thy thought. + +"Thou, blindly gross, didst toy with clay, + And in the ghastly gleam +Of charnel gloom didst kiss decay; +And many full moons waned away, + And left thee in thy dream. + +"For with thy Lily's worldly dress + Thou didst thine eyesight fill; +And scorn to know its loveliness +Were but an empty boast unless + Made living by His will. + +"Thou mourn'dst not most the vanished soul + Which was my Lord's through thine; +But more the broken pleasure-bowl, +Whose golden richness shed, when whole, + Its splendour in thy wine. + +"And therefore living wert thou made + To taste the cup of death; +And therefore did the glory fade, +From guidance into deadly shade + That iced thy shuddering breath. + +"Permitted, now I come to thee: + I warn thee of thy sin; +I urge thee cleanse thine eyesight free, +That purified thy soul may see + The way his love to win. + +"His love incomprehensible + Did never turn away +From penitent whom harm befell; +But springeth like a desert well + For thirsting poor estray. + +"Let him who scorneth mercy shown, + Unhappy one, beware! +For whoso lives in pride alone, +His pride shall harden to a stone + Too great for him to bear. + +"And whoso, having warned been, + Refuseth still to turn, +Behind his shadow, shrunken mean, +A poring spectre shall be seen + With livid stare and girn. + +"Thou troubled one, who unto me + Art next my Lord's own grace, +O turn to Him, and He will be +A refuge from thy misery, + A smile upon thy face! + +"A righteous strength will nerve thine arm, + And courage fill thy breast: +And having bravely warred on harm, +The cries of victory shall charm + Thy dying eyes to rest. + +"And succoured ones shall praise his name + Who, toiling for them, died. +And, nobly sung, his honest fame +Shall beat in hearts unborn, and claim + Their love and grateful pride. + +"And Love will lead her sacrifice + To where a shining row +Stand beckoning to the heights of bliss; +And she will clasp his hands and kiss + Welcome upon his brow." + +I knew not when the singing ceased + To trance my brightened soul, +Then from that long eclipse released. +But looking hopeful towards the East, + I saw flush pole to pole + +The dawn, that had begun to show, + And through dank vapour burned, +As in a sick face lying low +The rich incarnadine would glow, + When healthy life returned. + +Small drowsy chirping met the light, + And dim in lowlands far +Lone marsh-birds winged their misty flight; +What time Her aspect on my sight + Beamed from the morning star. + +It waned into the warbling day; + That, rising fierce and strong, +Now looked the Western gloom away, +And kindled such a roundelay, + The world awoke with song, + +And fresh delicious breezes came + With scents of paradise +So tingling through my knitted frame, +That never since I lisped a name + Knew I such joy arise. + +Pure was the azure over head; + Bright was the earth around; +While I on resolution fed, +And moved, as one called from the dead, + In silence on the ground. + +Toward my home I walked, elate + With hope and settled plan: +And reverent to the will of Fate, +In every step I trod my weight, + A sober-minded man. + + + +PART THE THIRD. + + +I. YEARS AFTER. + + +Our world has spun ten circles round the light +Since here she vanished. In my helpless gaze, +To mark the spot, was fixed this carven stone, +Raw, garish, stolidly obtrusive then, +Now harmonising kindly with the rest. +A spray of centipedal ivy creeps +From death to birth, and reaches to her name; +With kisslike touch its tender leaflets feel +The letter's edge,--I scarce can think it chance. + + Now scene by scene that strange old long-ago, +Crowding my opened memory, presents +Tumultuous, as in dreams, some dreadful state +Wherein I knew not falsehood from the truth; +Where hope ascending struck the star of Love, +Then fell down headlong grovelling in despair; +But rose at length and walked the beaten way. +So dim and far these things; so worn and changed, +I scarcely feel that I am he who sought +And won her love. And is it true indeed, +That I absorbed in tenderest intercourse +Of trustful glance, and trustful clasping hands, +With her went wandering by the river side; +While over head melodious branches sang, +Scattering the gold of sunset-dazzled flowers +Breathing their perfumed sweetness from our path, +That flickering went to where in purple woods +The rugged church tower burned a wall of fire! + + Did I, when silence awed the winter woods, +And giant shadows trenched the frosty ground +From bole and limb whose vault held in the night, +Love to behold the full-grown magic moon +Cast splendour glittering on the silver rime? + Yes; mid the notes and emerald flush of spring, +With swollen brooks exulting through the fields, +And rainy wind that in an ocean-roar +Bore down the forest tops the livelong day, +Through straggling gleams, through random wafts of shade, +Rejoicingly I trod the glistening paths. + Yes, I it was, in dreamy golden haze, +Beheld poor men hard toiling all the hours, +And thought them happier than the birds that sang, +That sang and trilled in gurgles of delight. + + Dallying I loitered in the golden time +Long after the loved nightingale had ceased +To pour his passionate impulse over plains +Of shivering corn, now ripened into wealth; +When sunset-coloured fruit in orchard crofts +Hung slowly mellowing under azure noons; +And, hushed in darkened leaves, the dreaming air +Swelled gently to a whispering sound, and died. +With joy I wandered on from knoll to knoll +And lost in marvel, drank the lisping winds, +The fairy winds that lisped me all was good. +Nor marked I when the clogged horizon flew +In dusky vapour crowding up the skies; +But woke anon when deathlike pallor thrown +From wrathful drift laid the whole land in gloom; +When war, enormous war, broke through the heavens, +In sheets and streaking fire and thunderous clap, +With shock on shock, that crushed the ripened corn, +And swept the piled up midsummer to ruin. +That wrenched great timbers of a thousand years, +Shaking the strong foundations of the land. +And when at last the terrible tempest fell, +Wide heaven was emptied of the sun and stars, +And void of more than all their light to me. + + Like fretted me to hollow weariness +When my sweet Dove of Paradise went off, +Ascending, glory-guarded, into heaven. +Then feeding on the past, and fondling death, +I grew in livid horror: soon had grown, +By foul self cankered, to a charnel ghoule, +Had not Almighty God, gracious in love, +Permitted her own presence once again, +Mysterious as a vision, yet once more +To come a shining warning and reveal +Athwart my path unfathomable gulfs, +And kindle hope wherewith I still might gain +The hills that shine for ever to the blessed. + + Much striving has been mine since those events +Ruled the pulsation of my daily life: +And now they are a vulgar chronicle, +And gossiped over by the rudest tongues. +A haunting song of old felicities +Lured me, scarce consciously, down here to muse +Upon my shattered dreams; safe from the roar +Of interests in our grim metropolis, +The beating heart of England and the world. +Not seen by me, since on that wondrous night +Her consolation came into my soul; +Yet here again I stand beside her tomb-- +And here I muse, more wise and not so sad. + + Hers was a gracious and a gentle house! +Rich in obliging nice observances +And famed ancestral hospitality. +A cool repose lay grateful through the place; +And pleasant duties promptly, truly done, +And every service moved by hidden springs +Sped with intelligence, went smoothly round. + + The steward to that stately country home +Looked native there as lichen to the oak. +He first held station, chief in care and trust, +That day which gave his baby mistress birth; +And her he loved as father loves his own, +Bearing her too that reverence which we feel +Toward those who, born to loftier state than ours, +Sit their high fortune with becoming grace. +His love she ever sumptuously returned +In bounteous thankfulness for service done: +How brightly twinkled then his shrewd grey eyes, +And shone the roundness where his honest cheeks +Played to the rippling gladness of his mouth! +In childhood rambles, it was mostly he +She chose for partner, spite of blandishment; +And to her winsome ways he would forego +His pompous surveillance of wine and plate, +To guard her, lilting, where the summer lay +On honeyed murmuring limes, and under elms, +August with knotted centuries of strength +And rooks sonorous in their shadowy heights. +By thymy slopes, foot-deep in sward they roved, +Both lightly garrulous, and she, sweet child, +Fusing her whole attention into joy, +Until they stood before the lake, that gleamed +With water-lilies, sun, and moving cloud. +Then straight the flanking sedge, and reeds remote, +Gave clattering ducks and wild outlandish fowl, +That tore in stormy scampering and splash +To snap with clamour at the crumbled bread, +He had provided slyly, bent on fun: +The swans meanwhile, majestic, puffed, and slow, +Came proudly into action; but alas, +To small result; for by mischance the spoil +Through dexterous skirmish fell to meaner bills. +"Our bread is all cast on the waters now, +And well I'd like to know how many days +It must bide there before 'tis found again!"-- +Some fool's dull joke repeated: good man, he, +Unversed in deep text comment, never dreamed +What time its Abyssinian mountain roots +Swollen by fresh torrents mixed in Nubian lands, +And thundered down from rocky ledge to ledge; +How sacred Nilus flooding bank and plain +Transformed old Egypt to a shining sea: +And slaves in swarthy crowds, despised as dirt, +Paddled upon the water scattering corn, +While swam to their sad eyes a raking glance +Of temple sphinxes, palms, and pyramids, +Faint sacrificial fire with dismal cries; +And small hard masters, armed with blooded thongs, +Jocose and fierce, scourged out their utmost toil. +Long ages ere man heard this promised hope, +THE FIRST SHALL BE THE LAST, THE LAST THE FIRST. +But the dear child his vacant prattle heard +In wonder, and believed it lore profound: +And ever after, when in solemn church, +(The very church I have before me now!) +Or household prayer, these words were touched upon, +Pert visions would intrude of gabbling fowls +Mid splashing water, sedge, and lily stars. + + In wending home, he filled her lap with flowers; +And she, ere yet the house was reached, unloosed +His guarding hand, ran forward, glinted through +The porch, and with a joyous outcry lit +The room, where sat in converse or at books +Her parents: then, as she an hour before +Had seen those mirrored marvels of the lake +All trembling merge to one confused turmoil +Of beauty broken into shattered light, +When o'er its surface swept the hungry fowls, +So blurred with shifting catches, so involved +Through eagerness, her babbled narrative +To the kind mother, who, embracing her, +Felt satisfied her child had been well pleased. +Then the great father, he would lightly lift +To knee his darling girl; with fingers cup +The tiny chin, and kiss the rosebud mouth; +And gently his large tawny hand would stroke +That woven sunshine glowing down her back, +Which changed to deepest auburn glossed with gold, +Calling her tricksy names. But, when at length +Appeared the calm inevitable nurse, +He laughed; and she in screaming laughter flew +By stalwart arm thrust high above his head +Immeshed in wild flowers emptied from her lap, +Which shaking off, he brought the screamer down, +And gaily swung her into willing arms. +She talked these childhood memories while we strolled +Among the scenes which bred them; for she loved +To dwell on things which some regard as slight: +But in her presence, told by her own self, +With clear apt words and satisfying voice; +The violet poise of her most graceful head +Flung forth in lighted gesture to reveal +The very fact; her hovering white hand +Almost in music warbling with her words, +And bounding all the tenderest care to please;-- +Now, one by one, these aits of memory glow +In hallowed splendour, and have made less dark +A life I feel not altogether vain. + + So common was her mother's lot, that who +Can say "Like is not mine" is blessed indeed: +For they are countless that on shades have thrown +Their passion had been chilled for evermore! +Scarce at her bloom, and years before she met +The destined man her husband, girl-like she +Adored a youth with sparkling genius graced, +Who bound on great adventure spread all sail; +But needed ballast, working common sense, +And meeting storms, he foundered and was lost. +For long his fate dragged at her heart; it drained +Her strength; it left her vague and desolate: +Her life became as chill uneasy dreams +Wherefrom we cannot break. Yet be it said, +Lowly and truly gentle were her ways; +She was a tender and obedient wife, +And in a sweet and plaintive graciousness +Her every act performed. I trust her mind, +Subdued by constant sadness unavowed, +Grew clear of shadows, and at last could dwell +Upon the future, that in one straight path +Reached Justice throned in everlasting light, +And learned to feel that chastisement is love. + Somewhat through lethargy; and partly sense +Of duty in forgetfulness of grief; +With pleadings due to her own kindliness, +She came to take another as her lord; +Then came to yield herself in all and wed +Her husband's own indomitable will: +He having gained her, cherished her, and loved +Her mild compliance with the strength of life. + + He was a man of thews and goodly frame +Made swart in battle. Under Indian suns +Our foes had often there been taught to know +That weight of arm, resistless when he closed +Charging upon them with his sword and eye. +But when his father died, he left the East +For England; here to rule his own estate, +And reign among the county gentlemen, +Who duly came with pride to own him chief. +He had the kingly look of born command, +An eagle set of eye and curve of neck; +A cutting insight backed by solid sense; +Vast knowledge, and the facile use of it, +To break obstruction, or direct the force +Of will resolved to compass every end. +Withal a broad and generous natured man +Who ever kindly turned the doubtful scale +Against himself: no tenant ever mourned +The day when the new master came to rule; +Nor were old village gossips heard lament +The good times fled with their departed lord. + Culture went hand in hand with strength in him: +Broad-versed was he in science; rock and soil, +Plant, shell, bird, beast, to complex form of man, +With something of the stars. Historic works +He mostly read; and ofttimes dug for trace +Of steps long past in archaeology. +He loved the singers of our native land +Who take our souls up to the worth of life; +And those deep thinkers whose conclusions show +The secret principles that work the world. +He prized laborious Hallam; but declared +Carlyle half mad; "A coil of restive thoughts, +That touch on nothing sound or practical, +Told in outrageous jargon, cumbersome +As any Laplander's costume!" Which I +In ruffled pride would always straight oppose, +"Sound or unsound, his word is daylight truth, +That breeding heroes once was England's boast, +And now we brag of making millionaires. +Your 'practical' means shortest cut to wealth: +But far too frequently purse robs the heart; +One growing heavy drains the other dry. +His style, poetically pregnant, oft +By note of admiration merely, hints +More than crammed Pro Con of your favourite's page." +At this he shouts a scornful roaring laugh, +The table shaking, and the vessels chinked +As fell his weighty arm: with massive gaze +In hurly-burly sort he bantered me: +"Young bubble-dreamer, plotting stanza rhymes, +What can you know of laws: what know of plans +Which bound these varied interests of ours, +Through crossing currents, fixed for certain ends, +To frame this state we call society, +The full outcome of immemorial time? +Know, here on earth wealth must not be despised, +For we are as we are. While men subsist +By interchanging goods and service, gold +Will be the grease that smooths the whole machine. +I grant a few, the greatest, live content +To give forth what has ripened in their minds; +But greed alone brings each result to grow +And spread its uses through the mass. Beside +Where honour, reason, or instinctive life, +Quite fails, there gold will prick the sluggard loon. +It wakes the drowsy lounger of the East, +Who lolls in sunshine idle as a gourd, +To toil like Irish hodmen. Roused, he hears +Coin ringing lively music; falls to work, +And digs, and hews, and grinds: he sees, not far, +Himself, a chief of horsemen richly clad, +Armed with long spears and silver-halted blades, +Seizing pachalic power by a swift blow. +But labour, having brought him gold, brings fears. +The weight of wealth has made his footfall staid; +He longs for order, settled government, +And stands, a stern upholder, by the law. + + "I know you flout this 'gold materialism,' +For what you call the 'gold of evening skies:' +But let me tell you, boy, for you 'tis well +My lands are broad and bankers true, or else +Your maiden, she, poor girl, I often think, +Would want a crust to eat and shoes to wear." +Thus he, in what I call his 'copper-gilt,' +For which I paid him tinsel; "She want shoes! +Her feet will press the flowers of paradise, +And, being angel, she will need no food." +"Eugh! Get your tackle, let us catch some trout." + She never stayed a long while from her home, +But lived a quiet life; contentedly +Taking the continent and many things +On trust; feeling our landscapes satisfied +Her love for scenes. When from a visit she +Returned, no lovelier picture ever blessed +My sight than when she swam into his arms, +And stood in beauty, frail, against his strength +Supporting her, and kissed his lips and cheeks +And brow. He then, as if his daughter yet +Were but a child, would press the upturned head +Between his hands, where peered the innocent face +Rosy with smile and blush, like a sweet flower +Bursting its tawny sheath: whereon he gazed +A father's gaze immeasurably kind; +And long, in tenderness akin to pity, +There held her, who was beautiful and good. +One eve full late in balmy summer time +We feared the wind breathing of night had chilled +Her tranquil mother, as we paced a walk +Leading espalier-trellised to the house; +She ever heedful parted silently, +And flushed with sunset vanished from our gaze; +But we beheld her soon dawn from the porch +In haste bringing her mother's mantle. When, +As comes the tide-wave up an easy beach, +Played with a billowy sound and look of foam +The thousand folds round her advancing feet, +Her shape divine looking as great as ocean's +Light beyond: yet no sea bird that gleams +From the blue-arched illimitable heaven +Could glide with lightness airier than she +To hang the garment round her mother's neck; +And then strike, womanlike, the folds in place; +Kissing the thankful lips, and deftly fix +The fastening at her throat. While pondering thus +And patching these rich fragments, strange it seems +What little things obtrude on my regard! +I now remember every sculptured group, +And painted scene, and portrait, figured vase, +Each print unique, and gem, we once beheld +When visiting a mansion near, enriched +By generations of collected Art: +The masters, by whose hands the works were wrought, +Long mouldered into dust. Ah, well I know +Why some have burned their symbols in my brain +And rise before me now! + Stone-bound, Narcissus +Droops melting in himself; and Echo by, +In shrunk despair, hangs envying what he wastes. +Through smouldering morning mists a glorious sun +The mountain-shoulder burns; above, transmutes +The zenith cloudlets into airy gold; +And deep down, seen through pure crystalline blue, +Glimmer the village, lake, and mountain range. +Superb at ease a Lady stands and smiles +Sweet welcome to the world: though centuries +Have lapsed since she approved her painter's work, +Her smile has such sincerity, all feel +They must have known her some time in their lives. +Here bossed on silver vase, a marriage train +Moves round to music: lookers-on cast flowers +Before the timid bending bride: meanwhile, +Stalwart and proud, her bridegroom smiles abroad +As at a dazzling sun: the pipers blow, +The harpers twang, the cymbals clash, youths sing; +Six maidens walk behind to hold her veil, +One pair are sad, the next look vain, and two +Prettily whisper secrets to themselves. +Here from old paper stands, and looks of men +The manliest, and king of English kings, +The lion Cromwell, in his dress of war: +Beneath him coils a monster welling blood, +Whose severed heads stretch round in scattered gleam +Of mitre jewelled, coronet and crown. +Sharp cut on gem, set in a thick gold ring, +The size and roundness of a lady's nail, +Love bleeding on the dart himself doth point; +Who thus had died, had not with tenderest touch +Immortal Psyche held the anguished heart +Fast to her own, and purified the pain, +And fanned him with her wings. + And now, as then, +Along those hushed rich corridors we moved, +Poring each masterpiece we favoured most, +And would no longer stay, but felt some chance +Must serve us for the rest: musing, I pass +From scene to scene of My Dear Lady's life, +And leave my other memories undisturbed. + + Beneath this airy sapphire's brooding rest, +Its shadows overcast me with a chill +Like coming storm, that black calamity +Which struck and took our Darling from their charge +And mine. Grief stupefied us all. At once +The childless mother lost her wavering strength, +And lay prostrated; never tasting life +On earth again! Beside her husband sat +And watched her fading; saw the last poor smile +Wane from her features; till the closing eyes +Lit into tearful rapture; when he knew +Love's immortality to her revealed. +With both her own she mutely clasped his hand, +And held it in most gentle pressures fixed: +But when the tender grasp relaxed and fell, +The world closed round him to a stony blank. + + And now was stricken down the mighty man; +As the ripe harvest levelled by a storm +At morningtide; which, ere sun warmth anew +Can flatter into strength, a second storm +O'erwhelms and scattereth to waste at even. + + When that torpidity which follows pain +Through strangeness passed to natural regard +For daily wants; his vacant home he loathed: +His spacious garden grounds; his lake; his woods; +The breezy air; the overhanging heaven, +He loathed: he loathed them all. When spring aroused +The amorous songsters of the copse and field +To seasonable joy, their music mocked +His sadness with its echoes, babbling tales +Of what had been: and he, in bitterness, +Resolved to quit a place where every turn +Stood like a foe, whose settled leering eye +In silence gloared with hope to mark his fall; +He left our country. Far, in Eastern climes, +His nation serving well, he fought and died: +And never had a nobler man upheld +The majesty of England's worth and name. + + Long toil-devoted years have gloomed and shone +Since these events closed up my doors of life. +Partly from choice, and part necessity, +With constancy have I sustained and urged +The work it was my duty to advance. +For, when my vision cleared again, I looked +And saw how mean a thing was man, who used +The produce of his fellows' energies +And gave back nothing. + + Then my spirit saw +This Island race two thousand years ago +In simple savagery, controlled by priests +More fell and bloody than the wolves that howled +At midnight round their monstrous altar-stones, +Scenting the sacrificial human blood. +Saw girt with legions lynx-eyed Caesar come +To taste of Briton's valour. When appeared +Legions succeeding legions, and the swarms +Marshalled by skilful discipline had fallen +To tributaries of all-conquering Rome. +Saw when Rome's grip, through fierce luxurious guilt, +Could hold no longer; and with tattered plume +Her eagles left her slaves to stem or tide +The hungry Pict incursions as they could. +Next when a burly genial race here raised +The White Horse Standard: men who wrought the soil +Till yellow corn, responsive, sunned the plains. +When, lured by booty, Ravens from the North +Bent hitherward: stiffly the contest tugged +Long years; till both the wearied champions joined +Their hands, as common home to share the Isle. +With peace the land grew fat; and wholesome bonds +Of nobles to their kings, and serfs to them, +Fell slackened or distorted to misrule; +When Norman William, hard as rocks and fierce +As fire, with charge of mailed horse and showers +Of steel, won England. Her rough sons he drilled +Grimly: by stern command and strength of sword +He forced obedience where he fixed a law. +For ages long against men's stubborn minds, +With give and take, the bold Plantagenets +Kept up the drill. At length the race, now grown +By constant wrestle into thews of power, +Moved calm with strength beneath the Tudor's sway. +And then a Northern Stuart wore their crown, +Whose son, unmindful he was over men +Truth-lovers, lied to them and lost his head; +For Puritans held no respect for lies. +Next flared Charles Satyr's saturnalia +Of Lely Nymphs, who panting sang "More gold; +We yield our beauties freely; gold, more gold." +Hapless explosions, folly, frenzied plots; +Till well coerced by Lowland William's craft. +Then plans that led to nought, or worse, enforced +By Marlborough's cannon thundering over-seas. +Then through the Guelphic line; our race now grows +To that great power which is to sway the world. + + Down from those human shambles, wolf-belapt, +To when, in pardonably grand excess +Of pity, through our people's will was bought +Free indolence for Isles of Western slaves: +And now, when thousands blandly would deny +The proven murderer his rope, the thief +Due chastisement; and when a General +May blunder troops to death, yea, and receive +His Senate's vote of thanks and all made smooth; +And when, as much from universal trust +In other states' goodwill as from the pinch +Of blinking parsimony, we our fleets +Let rot, and regiments shrink to skeletons.-- +From those fell rights to such urbanity +The march indeed is long; tho' kindly freaks +May sometimes clamour Justice from her throne; +Yet gentleness is still a noble gain, +And we will trust such freaks are nobly meant. + + To touch the power we hold, what work has been +Of vigorous brawn, and keen contriving brains! +Stout men with mighty battle in their limbs; +Thinkers, whose cunning struck beyond the strength +Of hosts; priests sworn to God, whose daily lives +Preached gospel purity and kindliness; +Wise chroniclers, whose patience garnered facts +For present want and food for coming time; +And dames who made their homes a paradise, +And kept their husbands great;--have greatly given +The light and choicest substance of their lives +For generations mingling each with each, +Wave multitudinously urging wave, +Toward the one great broadening flow of things, +Then passed into the gloom that swallows all. + + Could I dwell here in our proud Island Home, +Preserved by countless victories; made strong +By kings and kingly councillors; enriched +By artisans, whose skill surpassed all men's; +And by such wondrous song immortalised +It glorifies mankind: could I dwell here; +Here feed on this accumulated wealth, +Like senseless swine on acorns of the wood, +And own no wish to render thanks in kind? +Surely there could be found some waste wild flower +To yield one honey-drop that I might drain +To swell the general hive! + + At last resolved +Out to its utmost spray my force should strive, +And bring to fruit its yet unopened buds, +I, craving gracious aid of Heaven, straightway +Began the work which shall be mine till death. +If it be granted me that I disroot +Some evil weeds; or plant a seed, which time +Shall nourish to a tree of pleasant shade, +To wearied limbs a boon, and fair to view; +I then shall know the Hand that struck me down +Has been my guide into the paths of truth. + + And She, my lost adored One, where is She? +Where has She been throughout these dragging years +Of labour? + + She has been my light of life! +The lustrous dawn and radiance of the day +At noon: and She has burned the colours in +To richer depth across the sun at setting: +And my tired lids She closes: then, in dreams, +Descends a shaft of glory barred with stairs +And leads my spirit up where I behold +My dear ones lost. And thus through sleep, not death, +Remote from earthly cares and vexing jars, +I taste the stillness of the life to come. + +What time his scythe in misty summer morns +With cheery ring the mower whets; and kine +Move slowly, breathing sweetness, toward the pail +Their milking-maid is jingling, as she calls +"Hi Strawberry and Blossom, hither Cows;" +While slung against the upland with his team +The ploughman dimly like a phantom glides: +What time that noisy spot of life, the lark, +Climbs, shrill with ecstasy, the trembling air; +And "Cuckoo, Cuckoo," baffling whence it comes, +Shouts the blithe egotist who cries himself; +And every hedge and coppice sings: What time +The lover, restless, through his waking dream, +Nigh wins the hoped-for great unknown delight, +Which never comes to flower, maybe; elsewhere, +The worshipped Maid, a folded rose o'er-rosed +By rosy dawn, asleep lies breathing smiles: +Then ofttime through the emptied London streets, +When every house is closed and spectral still, +And, save the sparrow chirping from the tower +Where tolls the passing time, all sounds are hushed; +Then walk I pondering on the ways of fate, +And file the past before me in review, +Counting my losses and my treasured gains, +And feel I lost a glory such as man +Can never know but once: but how there sprung +From out the chastening wear of grief, a scope +Of sobered interest bent on vaster ends +Than hitherto were mine; and sympathy +For struggling souls, that each held dear within +A sacred meaning, known or unrevealed:-- +And these, in their complexities and far +Relations with the sum of general power +Which is the living world, now are my gain; +And grant my spirit from this widened truth +A glimpse of that high duty claimed of all. + How wildly flares the West about the sun, +Now fallen low! And as one, nameless, sails, +Lost deep in witching reverie, along +A silent river; passing villages +Busy with toil; flowered banks and shadowy coves, +And cattle browsing peaceful in the meads; +Who only wakes to consciousness, when full +A burst of sunshine from the sinking orb +Smiting the flood first strikes his dazzled sight;-- +So to the present hour am I recalled +By yon red sun-light flaming up the spire, +And vane that sparkles in the warm blue heaven +And that too-well-remembered tolling bell. + + Now on the broad mysterious ocean leans +The sailor o'er his vessel's side, and feels +The buzzing joys of home; wondering if fate +Will bear him on to end his being there. +Now pleased the housewife down the path descries +Her husband's footsteps hitherward; his meal +Prepared, the children each made tidy; she +With smiling comfort means to soothe her man, +By labour wearied, through the evening hours. +They whirl their life web, humming like a wheel, +These airy insects. Birds have ceased to sing, +But twitter faintly, settling to their rest; +And not a rook's caw rends the placid air. +I must begone; but ere I go, will kneel +To kiss this ivy--modest earthly type, +That would with constant verdure grace her name, +As I enshroud her memory with my love! +For She has been the blessing that has nerved +My strength in failing hours of blackest night, +When doubts oppress and fears distract; and when +Gigantic Evil's hoofs are crushing good, +And pity burns in terror; while, appalled, +Blanched Justice shrinks aloof; and not a voice, +The smallest, dares uplift itself against +The dripping blood-red horror which pollutes +With death and danger, heaven and earth and sea; +When men's belief grows wild, seeing alone +The dreadful black abominable sin, +Forgetful that the light still shines beyond; +And doubting last the very truth of God, +They hate their fellow creatures and themselves; +Groaning beneath a Despot, who thinks less +Of precious human blood, than shipwrights count +Of water in the dock, so many feet +Will bear so many tons, if it but aid +One little step his brutalising aims, +Who as an armed thief sacks his people's wealth. +Then shines my Love's star-brightness thro' the gloom; +And comes, as comes a glorious Conqueror +Returning from that Despot's overthrow, +His brow yet flashed and pale with victory: +Whose prowess long withstood the charging shocks +Of hosts that swarmed; who, baffling with his skill +Their cunning combinations, in good time +Closed his own force and wrought them utmost woe; +Smashed the huge liners of the hostile fleet, +Their swiftest frigates sank to watery hell: +Others he scared like fowls; and trailed the rest +In foamed victorious wake, a captured prize, +Where thronged his people stand in proud acclaim +Of "Welcome, Welcome, Welcome! To our hearts +O Saviour of thy country! to our hearts +O Father of thy people! welcome back!" +And shout in exultation his dear name; +Who moves through storms of music, and beholds +Gay seas of faces tossed with happiness, +And lit through rapture into wondering awe. +And as that grateful multitude forgets +Whatever wrong he may have done, do I +My scathing sorrow, and embrace the good. + + And when, in after years, that honoured One +Returns at last unto his native land, +From having wrought his last great victory, +A solemn corpse; in state his people close, +Solemnly to do honour to the dead, +And stand in silence, mid the mournful sway +Of martial music wailing he is gone +Who saved them from the shackles they abhorred; +And in all reverence, with tenderest hands, +And tearful eyes, and hearts that burn and throb, +They lower their consecrated Hero down, +Down sinking slowly to his lasting rest: +Whose glory rises to a settled star +Lighting the land he loved for evermore. +So comes my love to me: its glorious light +Yet hovers sacredly, and guides me on +To grander prospects, and more noble use +Of powers entrusted me. Henceforth my soul +Will never lack a spot whither to flee, +When crowding evils war to shake my faith +In righteousness: for thinking of Her life +Made up of gracious act and sweet regard, +Compassionately tender; and enshrined +In such a form, that oft to my fond eyes +She seemed divine, I scarcely can withhold +My wonder Heaven could spare Her to a world +So stained as ours. And now, whatever come +Of wrong and bitterness to break my strength; +Whatever darkness may be mine to know; +A ray has pierced me from the highest heaven-- +I have believed in worth; and do believe. + + +II. WORK. + + +Sweet is the moisture of the trellis-rose +Dripping in music down through glistening leaves; +And sweeter still its fragrance that we breathe +On throwing wide our lattice to the morn. +Sweet to see thrushes bright-eyed speckle-bosomed, +Search dew-grey lawns with keen inspective glance; +And rabbits nimbly nibble tender grasses, +Or pause when startled at each other's shade. +And when the orchard boughs bend low with fruit, +With joy we watch the mounded harvest wains +Glide amid singing hedgerows smoothly by. +'Tis fair to watch hung pale in milky azure +Mist slowly closing into wandering cloud +Driven by the clean and light elastic wind; +And through that lone harmonious sunshine hum +Of unseen life mark how the floating seeds +Pass like flown fancies out beyond regard. + + But sweeter than all roses, sights of birds, +Richer than fruit, more than whole lands of corn, +Fairer than glories of the brightest day, +Dearer than any old familiar sound +Of childhood hours, than every glittering joy +Thrown from the teeming fountain of the earth, +Is our impulsive answer to the call +Of Duty. + + They who would be something more +Than they who feast, and laugh and die, will hear +The voice of Duty, as the note of war, +Nerving their spirits to great enterprise, +And knitting every sinew for the charge. +It makes them quit a happy silvan life +For contest in the roaring capital. +And in its ever-widening roar stand firm +And fixed amid the thunder, foot to foot +With opposition, smiting for the truth. +To such the rage of battle charms beyond +The heaviest ocean-plunges dashed on cliffs, +The tempest's fury on the grinding woods, +Or elemental crashing in the heavens: +Beyond a lover's gladness when he feels +His maiden's bosom throbbing tremulously, +Beyond a father's when he feels in hand +The rounded warmth of little firstborn's limb, +Or in beholding him grown tall and strong: +And their delight will never wane, but wax +In greatness with the roll of time, and burn +More brightly fed with noble deeds. For souls +Obedient to divine impulse, who urge +Their force in steadfastness until the rocks +Be hewn of their obstruction, till the swamp's +Insatiability be choked and bound +A hardened road for traffic and disport, +Tall giant arches stride across the flood, +Till tortured earth release its mysteries +Which straight become slaves pliant unto man, +Till labours at the desk at length result +In law: who pondering on the stars proclaim +Their size and distance and pursue their course; +Who work whatever will give greater power +Or profit man with leisure to observe +The wondrous heavens and loveliness of earth; +Who will instruct him in the truth whereby +He learns to reverence more his fellow man; +Who point his spirit to the worshipping +Imperishable things, from which he comes +To scorn the fluttering vanities of wealth +As poisoned sweets and baubles should they dim +His eyes one instant to that awful light +Wherein he moves; who do and who have done +All that has ever aided man to free +Himself, imperfectly, from grosser self +And made his seeing pure:--such souls sublime +Will never want for blessed joy in work, +Working for Duty which can never die. + + Men may seem playthings of ironic fate: +One stoutly shod paces a velvet sward; +And one is forced with naked feet to climb +Sharp slaty ways alive with scorpions, +While wolfish hunger strains to catch his throat; +One lingers o'er his purple draught and laughs, +One shuddering tastes his bitter cup and groans; +But there is hope for all. Though not for all +To sail through sunny ripples to the end, +Chatting of shipwrecks as pathetic tales; +All are not born to nurse the dainty pangs +That herald love's completion, and behold +Their darlings flourish in the tempered air +Of comfort till themselves become the springs +Of a yet milder race: all are not born +To touch majestic eminence and shine +Directing spirits in their nations' sight +And radiate unformed posterity: +But through transcendent mercy all are born +To enter on a nobler heritage +Than these, if each but wills to choose aright +In serving Duty, man's prerogative: +Which is far pleasanter than paths of flowers, +Than warmest clustering of household joys, +And prouder than the proudest shouts of fame +That follow action not in conscience wrought. + + Fair Duty, most unlike the blight of death, +Whose dismal presence levels men to ruin, +Lifts up his nature into rarer life. +Hers is a broad estate open to poor +And rich alike: here rudest peasant may +Move as their equal with baronial lords, +And those who serve be great as those who rule: +Here a smirched artisan who merely bolts +The plates of iron fortress, breathes the pride +Of that trained chieftain who commands its guns; +And one that points or fires a single piece +Claims honour with the mind who planned the war. + + Fair Duty, hard and perilous to serve, +Exacts devotion that is absolute, +Ere she reveal the heaven of her smile; +And gnaws with misery the traitor slave +Who having known her countenance and moved +At her behest relapses into sloth, +Or drudges serf to his own base desires:-- +Sworn knight, and armed with mail and sword of proof, +But coaxing brutish ignorance with praise, +And with the wasted hearts of honest men +Gorging the monster he went forth to slay. +But whoso faithfully reveres her law +As primal, and of every want supreme, +Making edged danger discipline his strength, +That changes hindrance into past delight, +Fair Duty dowers with her celestial love, +From which the mystic blessing glory grows: +And glory born of Duty is a crown +Of light. + + And all thus crowned illume their work +In splendour that no earthly eye may pierce, +And know that every seed they set, and stone +They fix, and truth they reach, unite to found +A well-planned city in a governed land +That rising babes high a Temple built +Firm in its centre to the praise of God. +And each beholds his labours glorified, +Alike the toiler at the desk, a king +Upon his throne, or builder of the bridge: +The desk in lustre shines a kingly throne, +The throne diffuses radiance like a sun, +The bridge spans death--a pathway to the stars. + +MARCH, 1865. + + + + +NELLY DALE. + + +Ah, Nelly Dale, nigh fifty years +Since you and I set out together, +Joyful both, as the summer weather, +That swarmed our pathway to the meres +So rich with blossom, and opulent +Successive honeysuckle scent, +It smiled a golden garden, gay +With flutter of insects all the way! + +The kine were white and smooth as silk +At Flowerdew's, where we went for milk +With jug and can. The can you bore +Jingled and tumbled when you tore +Your new frock striped with lilac, while +Crossing that high-built awkward stile. + +Leaving our cottage gates at noon, +Adown the dusty hill we soon +Turned in a water-alley, dry +As our discourse; for we were shy, +Speaking not till the double ranks +Of willows on their shadowed banks +Had closed us from the road, and we +Were all we saw and cared to see. + +As if let out from school we ran, +Until we settled stride for stride +To even walking, side by side; +And tho' to keep apart we tried, +The jug kept clinking against the can! + Once pausing in an upper path +That hemmed great pasture ribbed with math, +We saw the prospect openly +Melt in remote transparent sky; +Some fancy kindled, and I began +To whistle "Tom the Piper's Son," +Wondering whether, when grown a man, +I should remain to plod, or plan, +As others about had always done, +Or to some wondrous country stray, +Over the hills and far away! + But turning to your comely face, +The opened flower of native grace +That casts a charm on homely ways, +Your mother's boast, her constant praise; +Contented here, I hoped I might +Be never from my darling's sight. + +Ah, me, our young delight to roam +Along that lane so far from home! +Laughter, and chatter of this or that; +Ripening strawberries, mice and cat; +The birthday near; the birthday treat, +With something extra good to eat, +And currant, cowslip, elder wine, +As real lords and ladies dine! + +Equal delight our silence next; +Making-believe that you are vext, +When swooping round to kiss you I +Tumble your bonnet all awry, +And promptly you the strings untie +To set it duly straight again; +How smartly twinkle ribands twain +To bows, turned sidewise in disdain, +Till by your nimble fingers fixed +They settle amicably mixed! + Moments of mutual mute surprise +Made converse of our glancing eyes, +As we went onward, all things seeming +Strange, and rich, and fair, while dreaming +Transient glimpses of what alone +Is ever by great-winged angels known. + +We knew not whether you or I +First saw the splendid butterfly +Trembling about us as we turned +To watch how blue and crimson burned +In flashes 'twixt those blushing wings! +Nelly, I see you watch the lark +That fluttering high, aspiring sings; +We both watch till our sight grows dark, +And wonder whither he is fled +In sapphire ether overhead. +Tho' vanished, still his rapture rings +And thrills our bosoms, marching slow +Our winding way; when brilliant, lo +From somewhere starting, re-appears +Our friendly butterfly, and nears +A spider-web, in holly spun +With rainbow hues that net the sun, +Making coy circles ere he alight +Entangled in the toil of death! +Forward I spring, without my breath, +To see the fiend, high-elbowed, whirl +Around those limbs and wings, and twirl +His thread to thwart the chance of flight. +Fate on a single instant hangs, +And ready the demon's eager fangs +To penetrate that sylphic breast! +Nipping the wing-tips gently I +Flirt him from danger suddenly; +Strike with my cap a rapid blow, +Dashing the enemy down below +Thro' grass crushed safely into dust. +There shivering on my stretched forefinger +A little while his terrors linger, +Doubting if yet his wings to trust, +Ere, with a bolder flap or two, +He flutters into airy blue. + +Could any mortal boy resist, +When heavenward, in a rosy pout +Your lips you offered to be kissed; +Fresh as carnations breaking out +Of dewy sheaths, on summer dawns +Yet pale upon the misty lawns! + We pass from shadowy splendour soon +To face the blazoned afternoon, +Where wide around the basking sun +Lies on the meadow fast asleep. +Near random bushes, one by one, +Nestled around a pond, the sheep +Are scattered and doze in graceful shade; +And hazed cornfields beyond the glade, +Undulating and dazzling sight, +Seem quivering for predestined flight +To worlds of unrevealed delight. +In lustrous sheen, their stately looks +Sedate as parsons reading books, +Flock grey-billed, see-saw-gaited rooks +Strutting; or when they wings assume +Pluck the warm air with fingered plume, +Labouring, anxious if weight and size +Make flight most hazardous or wise! + Nelly we sauntered on and on +By hedgerows, brightly overhung +And sprinkled thick with snowy showers +Of woodbine stars; where bindweed flowers +Ample and moon-white nobly shone, +And over green abysses slung, +Mid honey-haunted sound of bees, +Swayed lightly to the scented breeze. + + In passing starwort's silvery gems, +By maple's warm fawn-tinted stems, +Caprices that gnarled the oak and thorn, +A sudden scream of rageful scorn +Startles us from the hedgerow nigh; +Whence two disturbed fierce blackbirds fly +Uttering threats of vengeance dire! +While we, who lit this angry fire, +Are wondering such discordant throats +Can tune those soft melodious notes +The fondest lover's listening ear, +At even, turns entranced to hear! + +But if I sang of every sight +That afternoon which gave delight, +Those treasures would my numbers throng +Beyond the compass of my song; +Therefore, Nelly, to be precise, +We bought the milk, and paid the price +Charged in that rural paradise. +The rolls of butter, the jars of cream, +Churn, and cleanly pans, now seem, +Thro' fifty years of vanished time, +The memories of a nursery rhyme; +Or story, like The "Babes in the Wood," +Written for children to make them good. + +Homeward we went in soberer mood; +Haply the weight we had to carry, +By stile and gate oft made us tarry +To change our hands, and ease the weight +By making both co-operate. +At length we knew the hour grew late, +Because we saw our shadows rise, +Mocking our motions, thrice our size; +And keeping faithful phantom pace, +Tempting us to an elfin race +For fairy treasure; all in play! +For which, whatever they might say, +We knew our lives would have to pay! + Both breaking into prattle showed +How pleased we trod the dusty road +Once more; and rested where the rill +Sings issuing, halfway up the hill; +Where maids and wives their pitchers bring +To fill, and gossip at the spring. + To gossip ourselves we durst not stop, +As we had yet to reach the top +Where, starting from before the moon, +Our church spire quickened, rose, and danced +Higher and higher as we advanced, +And on a sudden ceased, as soon +As we were on the level; then, +There your mother stood at the gate +Impatient we were out so late; +Inquiring how, and why, and when; +She thought we had been drowned, and lost, +And by some savage mad bull tossed; +So long had she been looking out! +Whatever had we been about? + Altho' we saw so much that day, +But little then had we to say, +And told her a bewildered tale +Of garment torn by splintered rail; +Of spiders, blackbirds, butterflies; +Of rooks so near that looked so wise! +Of ghostly shadows, some of the way, +That had been tempting us to play, +Tho' sure they must have known we should +Be making all the haste we could! +The gentle scolding given and past, +We bade each other good-night at last +When floating in the stillness by +Came sounds like "late," and "supper," and "bed;" +And brighter through a deepening sky +A million stars shone o'er my head, +And bats flew fast and silently. + +When memory wings her way to you, +I nurse my faith to think it true +For one day, Nelly, you were mine! +Ah, Dearest, had that day divine +Made us two one for good and all! +The nursery words I now recall, +Of Tom the Piper's Son's one tune, +Mused over in that day of June, +Have proved the prelude to my fate! +We were not fashioned to translate +Each other's will as man and wife: +And tho' I was not broken-hearted, +As Burns when from his Mary parted, +And fled the fragrance of his life; +Yet are you near and dear to me! +For on the bridge below the hill +I see you smile as sweetly still; +And in your clear wide-opened eyes +The spacious wonder of the skies. +While every thoughtful dainty grace +Rests well contented in your face, +All fascinations of the rose, +Uniting in your presence close. +Indeed, from glowing hair to feet, +So lightly poised, shaped so complete +You seem a being 'twixt a flower, +The glory of a shining hour, +And one ordained to satisfy +The claims of immortality. + +Your beauty, like a queen's or king's +Good word, gives price to common things: +That can your ruddy fingers hold +Hangs lovelier there than purest gold; +And, as the poor, grown rich by chance, +Run raptured in extravagance, +My fancy riots in the fields' +Increasing wealth its charter yields: +And at your lintel, by the bower +Of vine leaves screening noonday heat; +The grapes, that hang there small and sour, +Are soft in bloom and more than sweet! + + Beholding kittens as they play, +Black, tortoise, white, or silver grey; +Or ducklings on the water glide, +Yellow and soft, and artless eyed: +Or neatly-shapen chicks astray, +Pecking incessantly on their way; +Each such a trim completed creature, +In perfect movement, hue, and feature: +A foolish sadness makes me sigh +They lack immutability. +But you, my Nelly, are ever young. +Fresh and happy you dwell among +The brightest flowers, and flourish where +Meadows are ever fresh and fair. +As you were then I see you now, +Standing beneath an apple bough; +Your face amid its blossoms, bright +With rosy laughter and delight, +You seem a blossom the partial sun +Has chosen to make a larger one. + +What may your pilgrimage have been, +Since both of us lost our Eden days, +I never rashly tried to glean; +And know not if your childhood ways +Were trodden by your maiden feet +When, flushed and shy with hope and fear, +You went your loitering swain to meet +And listen to sounds you loved to hear! +But if sometimes your heart was fain +Along our honeysuckle lane +Again to roam, in gracious flight +Your memory would have found delight +In wandering there a child again! + And if a matron you became, +With a matron's worries and daily strife; +The pain and sorrow, the hurt and blame +Mixed with pleasure, of being a wife, +I know not. But of this am sure, +That if with daughters you were blessed, +They found your bright example lure, +Thro' ways by wisdom proven best, +And sympathetic, generous trust +To kindly conduct more than just. + If old experience yet holds true, +And by a generation's lapse +Your daughter's child resembles you, +Then by that happy law perhaps +Another Nelly may be seen +To grace some other village green; +As native there as morning dew; +Or larks aloft, when lost to view +They lift us thro' the trembling blue +To soar with them in ecstasy; +Or primroses, whose welcome faces +From sunny banks and shady places, +Tenderly glimmer in pallid gold +Caught as early morning broke, +When, dreaming daylight they awoke +Enamoured from the moistened mold. +And if a Nelly, tho' changed in name, +Her fair endowments will the same +Point every grace that charmed before +Thro' unrenowned ancestresses, +Then still there beams a joy that blesses +The traveller by your cottage door; +Who, pleased in after years to trace +Remembrance of your playful face, +May linger on your presence while +Before him still you turn to smile. + +NOTE. + +The two portions of "My Beautiful Lady," entitled "My Beautiful Lady," +and "My Lady in Death," were written in 1849, and published on the 1st of +January, 1850, in "The Germ," a magazine which ran to only four numbers. +"Dawn," and "My Lady's Glory," were written about the same time; but all +the other poems were written between 1857 and 1861. The first complete +edition appeared in 1863; the second in 1864; and the third in 1866. + +"Nelly Dale" was written in 1886. + +T. W. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. NELLY DALE*** + + +******* This file should be named 17574.txt or 17574.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/5/7/17574 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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